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... 03 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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After their funning in bed, Michael feeling sorry for having a top man tied down, at least he left Cubby with vivid memories of a little oral workout: tongue over hairy pecs, stopping at each nub to nibble, painting a wet streak down the already present trail, getting a kick out of deep-tonguing Cubby's bottomless bellyhole pit... Michael could not outlive it all, saying over the lunch table at Knife-Spoon-Fork, in Soho, "Too bad we both couldn't give in a little?" he forks a load of salad into his mouth, softly chews through the smile.
"Yeah, too bad," Cubby wasn't sure about giving up his hole just yet, though wasn't discounting his whole theory, if he gave in once, he would want to have a shaft up his ass all the time.
"Because," Michael started to cave, "if we did and remained, um... Like, `monogamous' about it," he searched for the right rendering, "we might start to like each other more."
The way Cubby was reading Michael, "You mean, you want to start a relationship?"
After all which was said, Michael pieces all his thoughts together in one bunch, "Now that you mention it, would you want to? That is, if you're not too busy at the studio?"
Cubby sat back in his chair. At one time he considered himself born into high society, but with coming out, the silver spoon dropped out of his mouth. Still, mannerly, he wipes lips with a napkin, before speaking, "What impression you got, about Lucas and me..."
"I thought he was Lucas?"
"Luca, Lucas... what's the difference? Whatever," Cubby explains something he deems important, before entering into what he perceives as a serious endeavor, "you know how Luca and me, we're supposedly hired out as escorts?"
"Uh, yeah," Michael blushes, like he's the one under the microscope, "I was under the impression? I mean, to look at Mr. Braddock, I wouldn't think, in his position, he was into pimping dudes out?"
At lunch today, Cubby had hoped to cover many bases. However, the day was not long enough. They would need to sit there for hours, indulging in several courses of a multi-course meal in order for Cubby to explain how his life had proceeded thus far, chooses his words, "Remember how I told you Renzo had a twin, Nico?"
How could Michael `not' forget tripping over Renzo, picking him up, helping to dust him off, the whole time attention falling on his absolutely handsomely good looks?
"I seem to remember!"
Cubby sensed something deep there, the smile on Michael's face, maybe more thoughts he couldn't get into just now, "Well, Nico, he came on board at the Hotel Mozambique last year and has proven to be a self-starter, working himself into a position of management."
Not sure what Cubby was getting at here, Michael asks, "Managing who, or what?"
"How do I put this," he asks himself, Cubby finally conjuring up, "Nico has polled the staff and come up with a list of those who would like to make an extra couple of dollars on the side, of their regular paying job."
Michael knew Dean would call it, "Rent-a-boy?"
"I had thought the same thing, telling Nico that when he approached me, but he didn't want to make us sound cheap. Trust me," Cubby says it with a sort of pride, "we don't come cheap!"
From the scant amount of information Michael has gathered thus far, from Cubby's family history, growing up well off, excommunicated from his family over coming out, "I don't condemn what you did. I probably would have done the same thing, if it meant having food to eat and a roof over my head."
"I suppose there are worser things," Cubby says.
Going back to mixed thoughts, regarding twin relationships, "It's hard to believe Renzo and Nico are twin brothers, unless there's something about Renzo I don't know?"
Cubby knows Michael and Renzo have only known each other for the time it takes to trip over someone and say you're sorry, "There's lots you don't know about Renzo. Trust me, he and Nico are total opposites."
"One question," Michael says, putting his fork down for the last time, "Renzo, his brother doesn't hire him out, does he?"
"That's where things get weird."
They had already sat, dined, were on their second glass of water, Michael asking, "I'd sure like to hear more, but if I don't stop drinking, I'm going to have to take more than one leak?"
Cubby was ready to suggest, Michael's cell playing a jingle, "Hold on. I've gotta take this."
Twofold, Michael had to find out what was up about tonight, was he going home with Dean or had to take mass transit? Other option, he had to take that leak, so excused himself. Multi-dexterous, Michael could fish out his dick and talk into his cell at the same time, aided by sandwiching his phone between head and shoulder, extra hand needed initially to pull his 9.5c out!
Returning to the table, he had pocketed the phone, reporting, "I hope you don't mind, but Dean wanted to meet up with us? Says he wants to do a little shopping too."
"Fine with me," Cubby replies, thinking right back to a couple of hours ago, flanked by both Dean and Michael, totally in the buff, reflecting on all those hairy masses, right down to the... "Where did you say to meet?"
Michael didn't sit, rather grabbing his hoodie, "Outside?"
Sure thing, soon as they are outside the small restaurant, there's Dean, climbing up the subway stairs.
First thought, Michael asks, "Where's your car?"
"Same place I left it, parking garage near Braddock's?"
"Oh," Michael replies, thinking of Dean's habit, driving into the city, parking, running about on the subway or bus, then, when he's ready to leave for good, retraces his steps to the garage, "so, are we done for the night?"
Both Dean and Cubby stare at Michael, unsure which one of them he was addressing.
For certain, Cubby had a longing not to part company just yet.
Dean, unsaid, he wasn't ready to cut ties, "Don't you want to take in the sights?"
"Of course," Michael says, "but what about work tomorrow?"
"What about it?" Dean tosses the idea by the wayside, "Christmas comes once a year. Work," he shrugs it off, "that's like every day!"
"I wish I could say the same," Cubby sides with Dean, though he wasn't saying he was on the clock, just the opposite.
"What did you have in mind?" Michael asks.
"Hmm, I'd like to answer that in a certain way, but..."
Cubby smiled, knowing Dean wasn't thinking about the holidays, "Me too!"
"Fine," Michael says, "you two go find a room and I'll go shopping for mom!"
Barging right between the two, they almost turn Michael's bod inside out, Dean taking hold of the right arm, Cubby tagging the left wrist, but loses his grip.
Doing a twist-around, Michael complains, "Guys, ya-know?" he slams into Dean's front!
"Hm-m, who should get a room?"
All Cubby can think of the situation at hand, "It must've been fun."
"What?" Dean asks.
"You, the teacher, Michael the pupil?"
Dean had already cautioned Michael about keeping things under wraps, asking, "What did you tell him?"
Smartly, Michael replies, "Everything and nothing!"
Instead of `getting a room', the three head off towards Rockefeller Center.
"Ah-h-h-h-h..." Dean exhales, after a deep inhale, "breathe in that fresh, city air, boys!"
Wise-assing his friend, Michael says, "You'll have to forgive my friend, Cubby, on account of he's a little sick in the brain!"
Though, in the cold air, coupled with Michael's friend' being kind of a hot daddy', Cubby didn't feel in the mocking-mood, "I find it kind of..." he inhales-exhales, "exhilarating!"
"Oh-mi-god," Michael rushes his way of thinking, "I've got two sicko's on my hands," fake slaps himself aside the head, the lad hoping to wake up and recover!
`Typical', Michael thought, him being the one in the middle, physically manhandled by his 31-year old mentor, and friend, out of the way, placing him on the lefthand side of the three friends, Dean picking up the slack in the conversation, "So, Cubby, now that I've cleared your air..."
Rolling his eyes, Michael felt insulted, though not totally bent out of shape. It wouldn't be the first time Dean has moved in on his action. Regardless, on the streets of Manhattan, there was plenty of `action' to be had, even if it meant only taking in the eyecandy across the street, unless of course, two sets of eyes lingered two long...
Noticing Michael hanging back, Dean, from their first walk on the city streets, last summer, reaches his hand out, arm's length, grabs his young friend, "Hey, don't get lost?"
Still, the fabric of his hoodie, caught up in Dean's hand, Michael's attention was `across the street', "Hold on a sec, will ya?"
The go-between, Dean knew how a scenario could play out. Attention focused on Cubby, Michael could very easily have been gobbled up by the crowded street. Feeling like being drawn-and-quartered, his right hand was draped over Cubby's shoulder, the other clutching Michael, which made it awkward for the pedestrian happening from behind, "Excuse me."
His mind was already on Michael, but Dean figured, even though Cubby was in front of him, anyone coming from behind his ass, could very easily slip through, behind Cubby and then...
But no, the dude lingered, "Excuse me, but can I get by?"
Dean was ready to cuss the dude out, not exactly in a Holiday spirit, either, when Michael's eyes lose focus on the opposite curb, "Hey, pops, why don't you cut my friend some slack?"
Little did Michael, nor Dean realize, there was a reason Cubby, having heard the familiar voice and `greeting', quietly giggled and softly growled from the depths of his throat!
With Dean dropping his hands from keeping tabs on the two, raising his shoulders, in a stance to duel gladiator battle with anyone who obnoxiously came up from behind, whom could have very well passed by, puts an arm out in front of Michael, "I'll handle this!"
In a gruff voice, the bespectacled man first glances to Cubby, then nastily focuses on Dean, "Oh really? What do you intend on doing about it?"
All of a few inches taller, Dean steps up to the older man, older than his 31 years, till spit could fly in onto his glasses, "This!"
Cubby made no move to stop anything, but Michael was ready to hold Dean back. He couldn't think fast enough. Then it was over, except for catching the mean strangers glasses, saying, "What the hay, Dean?"
Then Cubby let on he knew what was coming, laughing out loud.
Which, threw the blame on the cub, rather than Dean, "You knew? Know him, Cubby?" Michael turns a head.
When Dean turned around, smooshing his lips against the older dude, the glasses popped right off the bridge of his nose, landing a catch for Michael.
Retreating, Dean says with a smile, "Of course he knew!"
"You knew?" Cubby stands there with popped open mouth. Gasping, "How did you know?"
Maybe Dean liked what he saw when he turned around, not to mention ready to plant a kiss on the stranger's kisser, but the man Cubby obviously knew, didn't suddenly gear up for retribution, other than, "Who cares how he knew?" he gaily throws opinion. "Sure would like to get me some more of that!" he licks his lips.
Knowing a sex-crazed man when he sees one, Michael says, "That and more, huh?"
Turning his head, like his ward has rudely spoken out of turn and context, Dean scolds, "Really, Michael?"
It was like introductions had already begun, the tall, mature man turning on, "Michael, is it?" he shoves his greeting hand towards the 19-year old.
Surprised, because, if anything, he thought the one who kissed was turning the frog into the prince, which would have turned the tables. But, not, "Yeah," Michael shook hands, like it was one up on his `sex-professor', "hey, how's it goin'?"
Feeling left out, especially since he foiled a perfectly good scam, Dean says, "Well, Cubby, are you going to enlighten us?"
Short, sweet, to the point, Cubby states, "Off and on I live with Garrett."
Which made Garrett show his brighty-whities, flash them at Michael, "Garrett Wynston, at your service!"
Right hand filled up with Garrett's hand, Michael holds up his left, "These yours by chance?"
What a flirt!
"Not when I'm this close," Garrett says, taking his specs and shoving them in his trench-coat pocket.
Seeing he has lost his `pickup' to Michael, Dean decides to poke fun, "So, what's with the Waldo hat?"
In reality, Michael thought the wearer was quite handsome, but deflected his comment to the red and white striped hat, "I think it's cute!"
"Cute, is it?"
Cubby could see it coming, his friend, mentor, sometimes-landlord's generosity. Figuring, with a 6-digit salary, he could afford another hat...
"As my pappy used to say, spread the cuteness!'" Garrett whips the hat off his head, reaches behind Michael, yanks his hoodie off his head and fashion-consciously places the Waldo' hat on top of Michael's head, arranging it.
"Oh, brother," Cubby hears out of the corner of Dean's mouth.
Figuring it was meant for his ears, Cubby resounds, "Trust me, for Garrett, it's like a drop in the bucket!"
Opening up Pandora's box, while Garrett walked and talked with Michael, the trio split up into 2'n'2, Cubby nonstop answering questions fired off by Dean. Of course, any stranger, Dean thought it his duty, on a mother's behalf, to interrogate, make sure a guy was good enough for his dear ward's attention and after hearing the first five facts, "I see."
Not being able to tell if Dean was for or against, Cubby comes out with the clincher, which seals the deal, "All I know is, when I didn't have anyplace to call home and missing the main meal of the day, Garrett was there to take me in and feed me."
Talking down to Cubby, Dean says, "Looks like he did a good job!"
For the first 40 steps, Dean was dead serious in his words and taking it all in, but now, patting his chum's tummy with the back of the hand, "Starvation? That part of the story is kinda hard to believe, Cubby?"
Meanwhile, while Cubby spilled his down and out story, Michael was just finishing up his summer tale of meeting the new neighbor next store, complete with the hilarious `honey' story, "Yeah, I kind of think Dean had no idea I knew his cock and balls were all stuck up with the sticky stuff!"
Feeling casual, Garrett had woven his arm in, around the crook of Michael's elbow, "Must've provided a sweet, yummy treat!"
With the same camaraderie, Michael allowed the winding arm, felt cool, like they were a couple, though more father and son than anything him and Dean had done.
Having not divulged the complete details of his recalling, Michael says, "Well, it's like I suspected. I didn't let on that I knew, but I could make out the stained stains, though they didn't look any different than cum."
Comfortably, Garrett taps Dean's elbow with his own, leans over to his left ear, "Sure would like to taste those honey-globes sometime!"
A few or more times, Michael has been able to capture a surprised moment, Dean standing there with his mouth agape in surprise and wonder. This case, not only this, but tagging Garrett's sleeve, clutching his wrist, in attack mode, "Michael, I can't believe you're telling a complete stranger all of our private business!"
Scouting out on his own, like he's out of the loop, Cubby sizes up those excusing themselves to walk around, "Hey," he speaks to a lone sidewalk occupant.
He sure knows how to pick'em, the chubby dude turning right around, pulling out his cell, handing it to Cubby, "Want to put your number in here?"
Not missing an opportunity himself, Cubby says, "Woof," whipping out his own cell.
Michael was amazed, Garrett sticking up for him, much like Dean would. In doing so, it only firmed up Dean's opinion more, like this dude was okay to be hanging with Michael. In a city with tons of horny guys, one had to be careful.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending who it involved, exchanging cell numbers wasn't enough for Cubby and he peeled off from the friendly stroll to Rockefeller Center, going with the cub he picked up. Sometimes calls could be missed. Cubby wasn't about to miss this one!
The others, they were fine with Cubby going his own way, knowing how things could go!
Already sensing a `daddy' type relationship developing here, one much like he's already experienced with Dean, Michael chances it, "So, what is it you do for a living Gary?"
Smile on Garrett's face, it is apparent, the inference catching with favorable repose, "For a living," he addresses the true question, "I happen to be founder and CEO of Wynston-O'Kay Publishing, if you've ever heard of it?"
"Heard of it?" Dean jumps in, "Only the biggest risk-taker in the world, to mix gay publications with," he doesn't know how to call it, "the other?"
Michael sees an in, cuts a joke, fronts Gary with his important question, "Getting hard, Dean?"
"No, it's not making me hard!"
Fortunately, noise from the street, passing conversation, an ambulance siren, Dean's elevated tone didn't carry.
Neither did Gary's, whom centered in the middle of the trio, "Hmm, I could take care of that for you?!"
Getting an impression here, Michael asks, "Only his?"
"Woof!" Gary replies, showing an interest in the teen.
Dean puts it back on Michael, "You hard too?"
"No, not really," Michael replies, after having called Dean out, retracts.
Perhaps Michael and Dean stated they weren't hard, but that didn't sail for Gary, "How would either of you, or both like to see how I've decorated my apartment for the holidays?"
Dean was all for it, Michael on the other hand, whines, "Oh, but I wanted to see Mariah sing."
More into cubs, than bears, making a judgement between ages here, Gary placing himself in the category of a muscled otter'. Of course, one could only tell if he were in his naked-beach' outfit. Though, not wanting to customize things too much, though conscious of the age difference, not wanting to allow this young stud get away, rescinds his offer, "Hmm, I didn't know Mariah was singing?"
In a short half-hour, Dean felt he had gotten to know Gary well enough to rant, "I can't fuckin' believe you're picking Mariah over me!"
It would seem the case, though Gary's main intention, bumping into the sidewalk trio, even though Dean got the bunt of the blow, intentions has been set on Michael!
Knowing Dean twice as well as Gary, at least, Michael says, "Hand Dean a crying towel, will ya?!"
Further carrying on a tirade, the swelling in his pants as fuel added to the fire, "That's what friends are for," he directs line of fire towards Michael, "to be there for you in your time of need?!"
Working his arm around Michael's back, cuddling him, Gary replies, "Oh c'mon, Dean. It's Christmas. We can have sex anytime!"
Protective of Michael, Dean wasn't about to leave the boy in the clutches of Gary, even though he seemed like a legit, nice guy, not to mention good looking and from the initial bulge...
"Cool!" Michael says, grabbing Dean by the hand, "Lets go, so we can get a good spot!"
"It's only 5 o'clock," Gary shouts, "what's your rush? It doesn't start until 7!"
Insider knowledge, Gary had people waiting for him, reason he was headed in the same direction, running into Michael and Dean, though always scouting out the obvious!
"Are you joking?" Michael says, "I wanna be standing right next to Mariah!"
Well, he meant on the other side of her security, which Michael thought, if they faced him and the crowd pushed in, he hoped the guard towards him was cute, sexy, etc., etc.!
When it got time to mingle with the other million who showed up for the 82nd yearly tree-lighting ceremony, Gary took hold of the situation, "Stick with me."
Michael suddenly realizes, "Hey, where's Dean?"
Backing up, it was Gary grabbing Michael, literally holding onto him by a thread, stretching his hoodie out of shape, to retrace some steps.
"Oh, there you are," Gary says, even though only the inside of his head was hearing himself.
Reaching between two people, Gary grabbed for any part of Dean he could, which happened to be the split in his coat, targeting the shiny belt buckle.
He should have been grateful, instead Dean condescending, "What're you trying to do... make me explode?"
Cocking his head, smiling, Gary replies with a wink, "Maybe later!"
It was a real rush, wading through the crowd and even though it would mean getting lost again, it wasn't quite the vision Dean had of a hand down the pants', Gary's hand pulling more up,' than forwards, which was giving Dean a hurtful wedgie!
Finally coming to a halt, Gary yells out, since it was noisy, "Wait for my signal."
All Dean could do was complain, "Damn, what a grip!"
Not having seen the followup, being pushed ahead of Gary, Michael could only speculate, "He was pulling you along by your cock?"
Then Michael got the gist of it, Dean explaining, when Gary chose to string him along by his belt, he had grabbed up his Billy-bong's too, "Almost put an end, to gay sex forever!"
"Oh my," Michael replies, "that `would' be a tragedy!"
Now paying mind to Gary's signal, they hear a shrill whistle, which Michael deciphers as, "C'mon, that's our cue!"
On purpose, Michael, who wore a bright, toothy smile Dean could not see, grabbed not only his belt, but almost got his finger stuck in Dean's navel, being cute, scooping up the elastic of his briefs!
"Oh shit!" Dean expresses himself, ready to go for another painful ride!
"Oh man, this is real sweet," Michael says, hauling himself and his friend up 3 steps.
Even though his balls felt like they were wrapped in piano wire, Dean spotted someone who made the feeling quickly evaporate, "Oh, it's you!"
Placed on the other side of Gary, as Dean is thrown to the stadium seat, up pops, "Do I know you?"
Having no knowledge of their having met already, Gary does the honors, "Hey, Stephen, this is my friend, Dean and," he almost pulls Michael out of his seat, "his friend, Michael."
Wanting to get to know Michael more, Gary ignores the two.
To Dean, two guys happening to be in the same place, at the same time, to him it seemed like a fix-up. Though, rather than friendly chat, he says, "We met, but we were supposed to meet again at The Hotel Mozambigue... However, `you' stood me up?!"
Frankly, having a job which could go in hundreds of directions during the day, Stephen Braddock didn't remember. Him and Gary with history, they had this little thing about meeting guys, dating guys, sort of keeping tally on what was done with guys and how far they got, or didn't get, but not wanting to get on Gary's bad side, spending $1,000's at his store and not the competition, "Oh yes. Dean. I'm terribly sorry about that," but knowing he had stand-ins, "but how did you make out with Edgar?"
"Edgar?" Dean replies, puzzled.
Forgetful of whom he could have set Dean up with, Stephen goes off on a guessing spree, "Or was it Nico? No, wait, it was Howard, wasn't it? Did you like his nice big dick?"
Straight-faced, in a monotone, Dean says, "It was Luca."
Much like himself, it was easy for Stephen to relate, "Oh Luca! Right. Tell me, did he have you tie him to the bed?"
A little into pranking, Dean did tie Luca to the bed, but it didn't really phase him, when all he wanted was a nice blowjob and if it turned him on, plug Luca's ass, "We had a nice time, but..."
"But what?" Stephen was looking around, waving here and there, adding a fake smile.
Rather then tear the department store mogul down, Dean let him slide, "We had a nice time." He really couldn't say he didn't, tying Luca down, sitting on the Italian's hairy chest and making him lick and suck his cock until he swallowed. For him, it seemed both were getting railroaded, compared to a nice, slow row on a clear, placid lake.
"That's good to hear."
However, Dean didn't let him slide on everything, "Maybe next time you'll keep your word!"
Gary, who had been listening in while Michael and he conversed, leans over in front of Dean, "Yeah, I heard you stood my friend up, Stephen," he applies the screws.
"Oh you know me, unless I write it down, I forget everything?" Stephen tries a coverup.
"I told you what to do only ten thousand times, Stephen? Do what I do, hire yourself a boy... I mean, secretary to follow you around?"
Stephen could not refute, it a good idea, having a cute dude following him around all day, but notices, "And where is your secretary... off for good behavior?"
While Gary hung over the front of Dean, Dean went behind Gary's back to chat with Michael, "What do you think?"
"About what?" Michael asks.
"Everything and anything?" Dean replies.
He didn't say it, but mouthed the words, Michael responding, `He's cute!'
It made Dean smile, give the thumbs-up, `yes'.
It put a smile on Michael's face, `dad' giving his approval!
Instead of getting squished by Gary sitting back, Dean gets out of his way. Turning to Stephen, he immediately gets hit by, "You wouldn't know of any college student, looking to pick up a few bucks?"
Knowing the position Stephen was looking for `secretary', Dean asks, "Where do I apply?"
Smiling, Stephen leans in, saying, "I'd like that very much, long as you're into some kinky and rough sex?"
Not being a man to grovel on his belly, Dean sets Braddock straight, "Had some practice on Luca, but wouldn't mind sharpening my roping skills on you!"
He was joking of course, Dean liking the more romantic approach.
Stephen was afraid Dean would get the wrong idea, but with it all coming together, in his opinion, "Woof!"
"I take that's a yes?"
"Only if you apply for the job?"
"I've got a job. Remember? Coffee?"
Half-lackadaisical, running into new people everyday, Stephen states, "Oh, you're the coffee distributor I met with today!"
Rubbing it in, the failed meetup, Dean says, "Yeah, all of five minutes, which was supposed to turn into an hour, later, at The Hotel Mozambique?" Then, it seemed more important to him, than now, like novocaine wearing off.
"Right," Stephen loved the attitude, even though he had wished Dean could be more `meaner'. Rather than have a good thing go astray, "What are you doing after the ceremonies?"
Knowing where this was leading and much as he wanted to follow through, Dean had responsibilities, "Taking my buddy back home to Jersey."
Not immune to his friend, Michael was piecing together bits and pieces, leans in front of Gary, "Not."
"What do you mean?" Dean asks, eyeing up both Michael and Gary.
"I might have plans of my own tonight," Michael hints, eyes looking towards Gary and back to Dean.
This could have gone one of two ways, which boiled down to being told or asking. Being told he was staying in the city, meant Michael was a man with a mission and no man should try to stop him from carrying on with that mission. On the other side of the coin, as prearranged, from some conversation months ago, if Michael were to `ask' Dean if it were okay to stay at a dude's pad, Dean should respond appropriately, according to their set plan, telling Michael, in front of the dude, they had plans to do something together.
Regarding such, Dean responds, "I see. When are you coming home?"
"Not until later tomorrow." But to let Dean know he didn't forget about his playing exam at Julliard, "Wish me luck on my exam tomorrow, remember?"
"I remember," Dean replies. "Good luck with that and," he looks Gary up and down, "good luck with him!"
Smiling, Michael says, "You too. Don't get the rope too tangled up!"
Dean hadn't realized Michael was listening in, saying, "You heard?"
"No," Michael first says, changes his mind, "well yeah, some of it. Mostly though, Gary filled me in!"
Turning to Dean, Gary says, "I hope you're into the whips'n'chain thingees?"
Michael cuts his new friend down, "That limp wrist ain't gonna whip anyone, Gary!" he laughs his ass off.
Seeing Mariah take the stage, they quiet down.
Michael, with a second thought on his mind, doesn't want to become like Stephen, a misplaced thought, leans over both Gary and Dean, "Hey, Stephen, if you're looking for a secretary, my friend Jeff might be interested?"
It made Dean smile, having met Jeff Pflug that first time and several times after, with and without a shirt, that football physique, bold, hairy pecs, the squiggle of hair dividing the nice abs in half, gave his vote of confidence, "Now there's a man to whip your ass into shape!"
"Careful," Gary warns, "not a good place to have an erection!"
With an answer to everything, Dean says, winking at Gary, "I'll have Stephen loosen his belt, just in case I have to help him out!"
As it happens, after Mariah gave her performance, which put Michael in a sentimental mood, growing up on carols, remembering a time when family was `family', the three of them together, it gave Michael a sentimental feeling. Without even thinking, he tightened the grip he had, with both hands, on Gary's arms.
Soon, he was rubbing the side of his face on Gary's shoulder, which prompted Gary to remark, "Sort of reminds one of being back home, huh?"
"How could you tell?" Michael looks up at his 44-year old cozy friend, smiles.
"I'm sure we all have our stories to tell," Gary pats Michael's clutching hands with his other hand.
Paying more mind to Gary, than Mariah, Michael says, "I can see the whole tree in your glasses."
"Is this the place where I turn my head and move my lips closer to yours?" Gary chuckles.
"Your head is already turned, dah?"
Whetting his, Gary leans into Michael's puckered lips.
Nothing happens!
"Why'd you stop?"
"In case you haven't noticed, Michael, I'm like old enough to be your father!"
Michael was beyond that, "Well," he plays with one of Gary's coat buttons, "do you think, just for tonight, you can be mine?"
"It's Christmas, not Valentine's day," Gary says, a little nervous.
"A dad and a comedian, aren't I a lucky guy!"
"Hey, wanna get a room?" they hear a cop say.
Michael was sure it wasn't about he and Gary. Looking next to them, they catch Dean, pulling his hand out of Stephen's pants, both apologizing for their `lewd' act.
"Sorry about that officer," Dean apologizes.
"No problem," he smiles back. "Me, I don't mind a little free gay porn, but unfortunately this is a family event!"
Not on Dean's part, but Stephen, he was already having the cop write his vitals down!
Finished, the cop moving on, Stephen says to Dean, "I love a `cop and his prisoner' roleplay. How about you?"
Knowing where he stands, not sure if he would have a total interest, beyond sex, "Um, do you think he has a spare uniform?"
All this was boring Michael, who had convinced Gary, age didn't matter, then set about using his charms to woo Gary into kissing him!
"I think they're ignoring us," Dean says to Stephen.
Ignoring the two, Stephen says, "So, you spending the night at my place?"
Onto what Stephen liked doing to get turned on, Dean asks, "Where is it you live... a dungeon?"
"If you're game, I know of one!" Stephen gets up.
"Sit!" Dean pulls on Stephen's jacket, making his ass plummet, "Michael would never forgive me if we walked out on Mariah!"
However, she was finishing up, throwing kisses, of which Michael claimed he caught one on the cheek.
"I think it's a snowflake," Gary holds out his hand, catching a few more!
"We leaving?" Dean says, without further explanation. "See you tomorrow morning, Michael... or afternoon... or evening... Call me," he holds up an imaginary phone, like `Call Me Maybe' impersonators would use.
"Probably the next day," Michael says. Then, forgetting about Dean for the moment, "So, you want to walk me to Penn Station, Gary?"
Thinking that was already settled, Gary says, "Better yet, how about I walk you to my place. I swear, it's not a dungeon?" he holds up two hands, like he was being held up at gunpoint!
"Okay," Michael simply says. He's sure that was the case, but mentioned the train station, in case of confusion, making sure Gary wanted to make the connection.
Then, like a bad penny turning up, it's Dean again, "Hey, why don't you give me your telephone number, just in case?"
Michael knew Dean was standing there for his own benefit. Even though, as Dean and he found out, Gary was part of a whole class of friends, Stephen Braddock and those others who could afford the lifestyle of living high-on-the-hog in Manhattan. Being over protective, Michael figured it was better, since he could do the same, make sure Dean was behaving himself!
This time when Dean was leaving, Michael was sure to enunciate, "I will see you later, friend!"
Dean just cast a smile his way, mutual feeling, of something more than friendship, brotherly, a genuine caring of each others' welfare.
While away, Stephen was busy on his cell. When the handy device had been invented, the cell phone became more than a way to communicate business transactions. It became a vehicle for instant, spur of the moment hook ups. Right now came one of those times, personal business. Then right after Stephen ended that call with a smile, his bell jingled again. With Dean returning, Stephen said he had to go, for now, keeping evening plans a secret.
"I hope you didn't mind," Dean filled Stephen in on why he suddenly had to return to the bleacher area of viewing, "I don't know if you got the feeling, but I feel a certain responsibility towards Michael."
How could Stephen not get the feeling, "We all have special people in our lives."
Rather than mass transit, not which Stephen did at certain times rely on, he had called for a personal limo, which now, at the curb, "I've taken the liberty to arrange transportation."
"Does everyone who knows you, get this royal treatment?" Dean comments about the driver holding the door open for them to hop in.
"Only for those special people!" Stephen says.
`That was nice,' Dean thought, climbing in the back seat, after Stephen had entered, watching the department store magnate's ass fill the door.
They weren't headed back to The Hotel Mozambique, rather Stephen's posh apartment, Midtown East, in the heart of the fashion industry.
Dean was confused at first, entering the lobby of the lux living tower, because after they zipped up the elevator, it seemed to open upon a cafe and thinking this a commercial floor, "How convenient to have morning coffee. They serve continental breakfast?"
Stephen just smiled, knowing anyone he brought home would mistake the `foyer' of his apartment for something more then it is, "Of course!"
Difference of opinion, walking beyond the many tables, "Uh," Dean points his thumb over his shoulder, "that wasn't really a commercial cafe, was it?"
Taking off his jacket, tossing it over a sofa, loosening his tie, Stephen replies, "I sometimes have board meetings there. This way I'm not so hurried in the morning to get up and get ready."
"Oh," Dean replies, thinking of why there were 6 square tables, complete with chairs.
Five seconds later, the phone on the table buzzes off a tune, "That should be Kevyn."
Dean had no idea, "Kevyn?"
When Stephen picks up, sure enough, the security guard in the lobby is reporting to him a `Kevyn' was asking for him.
"Great! Send him up!" Stephen says with pizzazz!
One call Stephen received down near Rockefeller Center, was from Kevyn, saying he had finished a design he had on the drawing table and wanted to show it to him. More than the design, Stephen came up with a plan, how to get out of his after-event engagement with Dean, to meet his buddies downtown, at the `dungeon-club Christmas party', which, like meeting up with Dean, had entirely slipped his mind.
"Do I know him?" Dean asks, putting down a picture he was looking at, Stephen with the guy at Braddock's he met earlier, the dude who designed the cock-pocket briefs.
Before Stephen could answer, at the door was `Kevyn', "I'm so glad I caught you," Kevyn's attention was not on Stephen, but Dean, until he thought he lingered too long.
"Kevyn, this is Dean. Dean, one of my most promising window designers, Kevyn Callan-Caniff."
"Impressive," Dean thought, of the name, sounding like someone special, well known, respected, admired. Other than illustrious descriptions, shaking Kevyn's hand, he felt more of a buzz!
"Thanks," Kevyn replies, adding, "really it's J. Kevyn Callan-Caniff, but I go by the name Kevyn."
"Oh? What's the `J' stand for?"
Blushing a little, because that's how Kevyn felt every time he had to explain, "Jerry!"
Thinking through the name in his head, Dean would agree, but did not want to further provide embarrassment, "Trust me, you would not want to know my `other' name!"
By this time, all had been forgotten, about their host, Kevyn setting a long, cylindrical container down, unzipping his coat, "Can't be any worse!"
"Give you a hint. My dad's nickname was Rip'. My parents thought it would be cute to give me that as a middle name. I get rest in peace' all the time, or attached to the surname. Either way, stoopid!" Dean chuckles.
"I didn't get your last name, `Rest-in-peace'?!"
"Cord," Dean replies.
"Oh, I get it," Kevyn smiles.
Dean says sarcastically, "Yeah, well hurry up and forget about it!"
"I already have," Kevyn smiles, stares.
"Well," Dean claps hands, "I wonder what has become of our host?"
"I know. I'm anxious for Stephen to see these sketches," Kevyn turns away from Dean, bends over to uncap the container.
It makes Dean smile, seeing Kevyn's sweater hike up, the itty-bitty indent of his crack showing!
"Maybe I can get your opinion firsthand."
Smiling, Dean would love to give a critique, "Of course. Anyway I can be of help!"
Clearing the crystal lamp from the center of a trestle table, Dean gets an idea of the history between Stephen and Kevyn, "Whatever you do, you don't want to drop that," he passes the lamp onto Dean, instructing him to put it on the smaller end table, at the side of the sofa.
"Sentimental value or something?"
"It belonged to his mother, which belonged to his grandmother and so and so forth back in history," Kevyn informs him.
"Gee, suddenly I'm getting the jitters. I wonder why?"
Kevyn smiled, this time being the one to look upon two mounds, encased in tight pants, Dean ever-so-carefully and gently, bending to affix the bottom of the lamp to the top of the table.
Standing, he wipes both hands of the duty, "Easy as pie... all in one piece!"
"Really, it comes apart. It's in two pieces."
"Oh, well, you coulda fooled me. What's next on the agenda?"
Ready to say, `drop the pants and turn around,' the thing which made Kevyn's mouth water seconds ago, he changes up his thoughts, "Laying the sketches out on the table."
Really, Dean had it on his mind to lay Kevyn out on the table... "Whatever you say, boss!"
Coming out from the inner sanctum of the apartment, Dean frankly thought Stephen would be dressed down, sexy, in or out of a robe, but then changes thoughts, with Kevyn being present. However, he was wrong on all accounts, Stephen in quite a radical getup.
Knowing what Stephen would participate in, to get his rocks off, Kevyn says, "Going out later to your club?"
"Club?" Dean inquires, though he knew it wasn't everyday wear, the shiny leather pants, tall, laced up boots and harness covering Stephen's chest, which culminated at different points across his pecs, "How do they do it?"
"Do what?" Stephen looks down his abs-stripe.
"The little ringy-dingy's holding the straps together. Do they have to custom fit you to make the rings perfectly set around your nips and the one down there," Dean points to a few inches above the belt line, "matching up perfectly with your navel?"
"Oh, well," Stephen says with an edge of proudness, "I always have my leathers custom made!"
"Wait," Dean asks, "you're not going out, are you?"
"Let me ask you something?"
Folding arms across the middle, like a dad waiting for junior to tell of his plans for the night, Dean waits.
"Ever have someone say to you, to do something, or be there, or else?"
He might not have known how a harness could be designed, to fan over a man's hot chest, matching up in all the right spaces, drawing attention the trio of hot spots, but he did know what went on behind closed dungeon doors, Dean saying, "Let me guess. Whomever is calling you out, if you don't go, either you're not their friend anymore, or if and when you meet up, well let's just say, it'll be more painful than tonight?"
Kevyn seemed to know more, "Not which it would phase Stephen to experience a double dealing of the whip across the ass?" he laughs.
It made Stephen smile. He could only wish. Kevyn, he hasn't experienced the dungeon as a participant, but one time Stephen escorted him there. In fact, he got a dude wondering if Kevyn was a `master', than a spectator!
"I see," is all Dean said.
"Well, I better be going before I rack up any demerits!"
Taking his jacket, which was leather, Stephen places it over his shoulders, all the time booking for the elevator, via the cafe.
"He didn't even look at your plans," Dean says, coming closer to the table.
"I know, but I'm sure he'll take your word for it," Kevyn says, smiling.
"Wait a minute. I only met the boss today and a few minutes ago. He doesn't know me from Adam!"
"I know, but if I tell him you like my drawings... Let's just say I have a lot of influence with my uncle!"
"Oh-h... your uncle, is he?"
"Yeah. When I got my job I wasn't that smart. How do you think a guy does that, without a person on the inside?"
Looking down at the impeccably neat drawings, Dean says, "It looks like you learn fast."
"In more ways than one, which is why I kind of knew my drawings weren't the reason he hurried me over here!"
First things first, Dean doesn't ask, but sums up, "Did Uncle Stephen order you up, to fill the void in my evening?"
"Uh, yeah, but I'm not one of his `tricks' whom take up the slack when he promises to meet up with a guy and reneges."
"Yeah, I met up with one of those today!" Dean knew they were both on the same page.
Setting things straight, Kevyn says, "And just to give you the heads up, I'm not dead set against meeting guys who are older than me."
"Does `uncle' know that?"
Kevyn smiles, says, "Of course. He's always looking out for my best interests!"
Even though he could feel Kevyn's hand touch his, just lying there on the table, Dean looks down, saying, "Is that your first play?"
"Would you want to know what the second one is?" Kevyn rotates his head, looks into Dean's eyes.
Casually Dean says, "Sure. Why not? Go for it."
Going for it, Kevyn steps forward, running his hand, which lay on Dean's hand, up the arm, to his shoulder and with both hands, places right and left hands on either side of Dean's head.
"Intense," Dean says it, when they break apart, even though it wasn't a kiss, but a stare. Still, closeness to a man became the match which got him started!
Detached, Kevyn looks down at his drawing, which encompasses the exterior framework of the main floor of Braddock's department store and few interior platforms. Though, he doesn't dwell on totally inanimate objects or discussion, "The day I came up with my brilliant idea, I was a mere fixture in the gathering of Stephen's designer workforce," Kevyn's pencil drew a line.
Beginning to feel attracted to Kevyn, right now Dean sensed it wasn't going to happen, the touch and feeling which would lead to more intense matters. Stepping to the adjacent side of the table, engaging in lesser physical substance, "I know how it can be. It was the same with me, before I struck out on my own."
"Oh, you have your own business?" Kevyn looked up, stopped pushing his pencil.
"Coffee beans. I try selling people on my idea of adding one of the world's most popular drinks to their establishment. Then, as you can probably guess, once I've got them suckered in, it's repeat business."
Perhaps the match wasn't lit, but the attempt to do so left the wick still smoldering, "Kind of like sex, huh?"
Comparing Michael to Kevyn, it was like reading two different books, connected with the same underlying theme.
Michael, he was fresh on the subject of how a gay man lives, the upstarts and the pitfalls. Knowing Kevyn was a grad student at NYU, put him in the age-range of mid-20's. Dean, from part experience, coupled with intuition, knew Kevyn had some kind of angle worked out, but for the life of him could not figure which end was up!
Instead of wildly wielding a hammer, Dean hits the nail head on, "Speaking of which, what is it you tend to look for in a relationship?"
It made Kevyn smile.
Dean, seeing a reaction which could say many things, "What?"
"Relationship. Are you meaning that in a general sense," or as Kevyn undoubtedly was thinking mentally, `with me?'
"Of course," which had Dean not speaking his mind, only not wanting to push himself into something, which in the long run would have the other person pushing themselves away.
Setting the pencil down, Kevyn ventures way, way off course, "Have you noticed the beautiful view one can get from the 17th floor?"
With Kevyn walking over to the nighttime view, a blanket of black, shimmering lights patterned against the backdrop of the city, Dean was figuring inside the glass, part of the awesome view. Yet, since his new friend was playing it cool, so was he.
In a normal situation, he would step up behind the guy, do some slow magic with his hands, massage, caress, close in on the back of the neck with lips relaxed, delivering something casual, not forced. With circumstances as they are, feeling the other person in the room wanting to take things slow, he took up an `at ease' pose, while Kevyn stood with arms caressing himself, "Yes, the view is spectacular."
For almost a minute the two stood there, gazing straightforward, until Kevyn glances to his left and loosening his left arm, from tucked under the gap between right elbow and side of his pec, allows it to drop, swing towards Dean, "Kind of romantic?"
Reading the signs, Dean says, "It could be, if that's what two people are wanting?"
Turning to Dean, the ginger-haired 24-year old says, "Thanks for not jumping all over me."
If he was reading the situation correctly, Kevyn holding back, Dean knew, "Well, I have to admit, it's not always been my approach, but at the same time, I can be civilized, more into..."
He didn't get a chance to finish, Kevyn swinging around, blocking his view, sealing off any other thoughts coming to mind!
"Sorry," Kevyn breaks off his surprise smooch, yet still holds his spell over Dean, hands to the shoulders, keeping the embrace still fresh.
"For what?"
"For trying to please me and not yourself?"
"Don't they say, `variety is the spice of life?'"
"So I've heard," Kevyn very well knows.
"In my own opinion, I think it's also true, not rushing and jumping into things, might leave a longer-lasting effect?"
Because a half hour was enough to decide for himself, Kevyn pops the question, "Tell me something, what is it you're looking for in a relationship? That is, if you're looking?"
Going back to that summer of first meeting up with Michael, he was head over heels in love. Patience and waiting it out, taught him about his mind rushing in, ahead of rationality, which Dean has not come across before, "Aren't we all?"
"You're not like other guys, though," Kevyn has figured out.
"Not true. I think I am like some other guys. I don't think I'm alone in waiting it out, pacing myself, making sure if I'm looking for something longterm, I want it to be quality and not quantity."
This could have been interpreted in a few ways, Kevyn choosing the comedic approach, "Do you shoot a big load?"
Thinking this a way out of line thought for Kevyn's benefit, Dean says, "I would, for you, if that's what you're looking for. Hmm, maybe I got you all wrong!"
For the past few years, working for Stephen Braddock, Kevyn has come across a wide array of guys in his vast empire. It seems, everywhere he went, he was running into guys who knew Braddock, from wandering the fashion district, to meeting up with clients at The Mozambique Hotel, to running into men right where he was standing now. Out of all of those, none were phasing him more, "I might be able to get a rise out of you."
He was talking about himself, but when Kevyn mentions his own hardening of the main artery, "Really, and I haven't even hardly touched you!"
Looking down, it wasn't for the benefit of seeing if Dean was hard, but the lifeless state of his hands, "I'm getting the feeling you're not really interested in young guys?"
"What gay man isn't," Dean says, but then backing down, "but why would age mean a difference?"
"I'm glad to hear you say that, because for me, it does make a difference."
Instead of belaboring the issue, plaguing it down with all kinds of catchy phrases, Kevyn shows Dean what he means, leaning in, fully embracing the issue and pressuring the man with his lips!
Same timeframe, duplicity, very much the same was happening downtown, except Michael and Gary were feeling up each others' bare bod, working each other over with hands and lips!
"Oh-h-h...Mm-mm, ah, ah..." Michael expressed being turned over like a pancake on a sizzling grill.
Gary never missing a beat, kept lips connected, until he had Michael on his back, which gave him free reign to slide his tongue south.
Now and then, Gary would pop up for air, "Are you okay with this?"
A little tired of being interrupted six times in almost a straight row of minutes each, Michael replies, "I'll let you know when you're not!"
Michael had wondered if Dean could ever be like Gary, very, very, very, very oral, licking him from the base of the neck, stopping to suckle on each nip, which made him feel so crazy he thought he might shoot! Then the sense of pulsing his hard shaft ceased, with Gary orally working over, wetting down each of his hairy pecs.
When Michael went to feel up his chest, like a wet dish rag, Gary stops and like accusing, "What are you doing?"
Well, no one has ever... "Like, a guy has never done that to me before!"
Allowing Michael's hand to graze freely, from being pinned to the sides of his bod, Gary says with renewed excitement, "Well get ready... the best is yet to come!"
Michael didn't doubt that for one bit! He unconsciously thought of running his own hands over his thoroughly wet pecs, but Gary beat him to it. Not only running slimy hands over his soft brown, wet chest fur, but stopping to pinch...
"Oh, wow!"
"What?" Gary looks up, after plucking his tongue out of Michael's navel.
"Nothing." But it wasn't just nothing which was making Michael hot, "I mean, your hands."
"What about them?" Gary's tongue was getting impatient.
"Pinching my nips. It's like electric lines right to my cock, that's what!"
"Oh, is that all," Gary stops talking and gets with the oral action once again, sneaking a finger of spit away to lube up tweaking Michael's nips... without peeking and keeping his fingers very busy, Gary's tongue slides lower and lower!
Meanwhile, Dean is busy discovering, what seemed to be off-standish, translated to making love to a guy much in Michael's league, before he went to work on his friend's transition. With the sounding of a clock chime, Dean stopped unbuttoning Kevyn's shirt, "Oh my god, I almost forgot about Michael!"
"What about him?" Kevyn asks, feeling a draft on his chest.
"Cell, cell, where's my cell?"
Taking it in stride, knowing Dean was nervous over leaving Michael off, on his first real male sex encounter, sings in canon, "Heigh ho the derry oh, where is Dean's cell!"
"Not funny!" Dean says, even though he thought it a little cute, speed dialing Michael. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."
"If Michael is as busy as you were being, it'll probably go to..."
As Kevyn predicts, Dean leaves the cliche, `call me when you get this.'
"I wouldn't worry a bit," Kevyn slides over the cushions of the sofa, said like there's an inside story to his comment.
"I know you told me," Dean says, "that Uncle Stephen and Gary are business partners, but..."
"Uh," Kevyn loudly butts in, "but they are more than that."
He knew he would get a reaction from Dean, partners or merely, "Fuck-buddies?"
"No," Kevyn leans towards Dean, pinning his back to the bulky arm of the contemporary sofa, "you see, Uncle Stephen, whom I call Stephen', so there's no favoritism to be seen, when not in public, I call Gary, Uncle Gary'!"
He waited for Dean to fit the pieces together.
"Uncle?! Like, how does that go?"
He knew he would get slapped with the question, "Easy. Uncle Stephen has a sister and a brother. One of them is my mother and the other, Uncle Gary."
"Wait a minute. If I'm thinking straight, your Uncle Gary's last name is Wynston?"
With each answer, Kevyn, whom thought, if he played his love life like a card game, could come out of this, not only with a boyfriend, but an unofficial `in-law', whom has been the focus of Dean's caring attention.
"Uncle Stephen is a Braddock. Aunt Sue and Uncle Gary are Wynston's. Same mother, different fathers. Get it?"
"Oh," Dean replies, "sure I get it."
"Good," Kevyn lifts Dean's arm, placing it over the back of his shoulders, nestling his own shoulder in the pit of Dean's arm, "because I was getting a little worried that I would need to draw you a diagram!"
Realizing it, preoccupied with Michael, Dean sees how Kevyn has weasled his way into his arms, "No diagram necessary, but you might have to give me a short summary of where you think this is going?"
"Well," Kevyn abandons his protective nature, going for Dean's belt, "I figure, since your ass is parked here and you haven't cast me off onto the floor, you're as interested in me, as I am in you!"
"Apparently!" Dean looks down, not which he could feel the leather talon slip through his belt buckle. "Tell me though, why the change?"
"Change? What change?" Kevyn finds it sexy to have it explained to him!
"Back-offish, standoffish, off-the-wall, whatever you want to call it and then suddenly you're going at me like Jimmy Fanz in heat!"
"I hope you're as hairy!" Kevyn says.
Not waiting, he lifts Dean's sweater, only to be frustrated by a shirt underneath. Good thing he undid the belt and button of Dean's pants, making it easier to lift the shirt.
Nonetheless, feeling a sexy jolt of his own, Dean helps, pulling at the tales of the shirt and sweater both, exposing his robusto, hairy front, "Like it?"
In the scene, Kevyn replies, "Woof!"
Saying the opposite of what he means, Dean responds to the 24-year old's facial attack, "Whoaaa! Slow down, will ya?"
Doing the separation himself, Dean pulls the sweater from the tee shirt, pulling each arm out, "Oops! Sorry!" he says, having elbowed Kevyn in the ear!
It's like, his words went unheeded, Kevyn wrapped up in what he was doing, just wipes the spittle from his mouth.
So as not to repeat the same thing, Dean ops to leave the collar of the tee shirt at the back of his neck. Then, noticing a draft in there, looks upon Kevyn, shirt where he left off, half unbuttoned.
Without lips leaving Dean's bod, Kevyn peels his own shirt off.
"Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" Dean exclaims his pleasure of viewing what he can see of Kevyn's ginger-dark brown fur.
Sitting up, Kevyn displays his completely furry front, placing hands behind his neck, "You like?"
"Woof!" Dean says, which translates from the hirsute' to English, Yup!'
Downtown, things had heated up rather quickly and just as Dean and Kevyn were getting down to busy, Michael and `Uncle' Gary were finishing up.
After giving Michael quite an oral workout, Gary had sunk into the bed, lying on Michael's chest, applying some hot lip action.
At first, Michael tried bowling Gary over, but he was a little much to handle, "Um, you're crushing my lungs, sort of?"
Taking the hint, Gary grabbed Michael by the shoulders and flipping over like a flapjack on the griddle, turned the two of them together. Of course, his lips were busy, so they couldn't say anything.
Like, Michael should have thanked Gary, but manners and courtesy weren't part of the heated sexual protocol. In fact, when Michael felt time to either shove his cock down Gary's throat, or up his ass, the only thing he could think of saying, "I'm going to come. Should I do it on my your chest?" he sat up on his hind legs.
"Depends," Gary smiles.
"Oh what?" Michael says, stroking himself, the back of his knuckles grazing Gary's shaft.
"If you're going to be back... again... and again and again and again?"
"You mean," Michael gulped, sure his meaning was, "you want me to fuck you?"
It's what he wanted, but not without condition, which Gary again vaguely put it, "Not unless you're going to come back again and again and again?"
It's then Michael gets it, not which he doesn't think it himself, "You like me, don't you?"
Big grin on his face, still stroking, Gary responds, "Woof!"
In slow, stuttering words, Michael says, "Then, do you want me... to... um, like..."
"Woof! Do me again and again and again?"
"You're a sick pup," Michael said, but if he waited any longer to make up his mind, talking would have made the moment go bust.
"Like, how should we do this?"
First fuck, Michael wasn't sure.
Quick as a bunny, Gary reaches in the side table, tossing Michael a condom and tube of lube, then flips over onto all fours.
Fortunately, having been tutored by Dean, Michael knew a few positions for fucking and was glad Gary picked one of the hassle-free, which left his ass almost in Michael's face. Dean had mentioned he could do his own lube job, but his tongue on Gary's ass crack, seeping down into the hole, then finger-feeling, where his tongue had just been, `yech', it didn't float. So, after forming the condom onto his cock, giving it a few shakes, which Michael figured it hadn't shrunk at all, squeezed some lube out. All the while, he sensed Gary keeping himself stiff, which he did have to mention, "I hope I'm not keeping ya?"
"I'm sure the wait will be worth it, woof!"
Keeping himself in excellent, muscled, tip-top shape, it wasn't tough for Gary, `at his age', to contort his shoulders, turn and give Michael an evil grin!
Michael rolled his eyes at this `woof' stuff, yet thought it kinda cute, putting on a show with those smiley lips. "Okay, here goes nothing ya-ole-woofer!"
Gary smiled, one which Michael could not see. Michael was nervous, so he judged. He figured, if it came to it, which it did, Gary had to abandon his cock, reach back with both hands, once the tip of the condom touched his ass, pulls back with brute strength, same time feeling something pierce his portal...
"OH-H-H-H-H-WOW!"
After that, Gary didn't have to do much of anything, except `hold onto his hat', with Michael riding him harder than a steed out of a rodeo gate!
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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.