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... 04 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Next morning, Dean waking up next to Kevyn, his back was to the lad. Turning over, it was like a sudden surprise slapping him the face, but the tingling sensation goosing him all over, as if an aftershock from the `big one!'
Differently, in a new day's light, tall glass panels allowing the morning to stream in, the sheet wound up around Kevyn's loins, having him to think, with a deep exhale, `this is how man pictures a Greek god!'
Coming up with a splendid plan, Dean thought it would be nice to surprise Kevyn with breakfast. Slowly, he moved the one foot he had under the cover, so as not to disturb the only part tucked under the lad, tangled around the thigh, encompassing both nuggets and candy cane. Stopping for a moment, Dean had to think, "Yeah," sums it up to himself, about Kevyn's cock, feeling it up with his hand last night, it did sort of take on the shape! Successful, having carefully outed himself from the bed without waking the sleeping beauty, he heads out the door.
From Kevyn's quick tour of his uncle's rather lux, upright condo-apartment, Dean discovers the immensity and on his own, strikes out to find the kitchen from memory.
Snagged, Kevyn appears at the door, calling down the hallway, "Trying to sneak out on me?"
"Sure," Dean says sarcastically, clutching up his junk, "thought I'd give the neighborhood a scare!"
Slowly walking down the hallway, minus the wrapped up family jewels, Kevyn says, "Tell you the truth, last night when I was licking them balls, I was a little scared myself!"
Dean chuckled, Kevyn thinking it kind of funny himself!
Thinking on how Kevyn was savoring each one of his balls, chowing down on his cock, then finally experiencing it, up Kevyn's rear, "I didn't scare you away?"
"You didn't give me a chance! Where was I to go, with my head up against the wall and you coming at me from behind, like a drill sargeant?"
Playing with Kevyn, Dean says, "If you didn't want me to `give you the drill', you should've said something!"
Smiling, Kevyn says, bumping his chest up against Dean, "Okay, I give in. Yeah, it felt good and as far as scary? Um-m, after the initial, `fulfilling' shock, it felt pretty damn good!"
"Well, just to let you know, I believe you."
"About what?" Kevyn's perplexed.
"Your first fuck?"
"Oh, that."
"I can always tell, when a guy is nice and tight!"
Another show of misunderstanding, Kevyn asks, "Oh, I won't be tight for you the next time?"
Not sure if there was going to be a next time, which Dean had hoped for, "Like, when?"
Casually, Kevyn bats it back, "Tonight... Tomorrow night, the next night and the night after that?"
Which brought them up to, "And the night before Christmas?"
"Bring on the North pole!" Kevyn lets the invitation stand.
"With my big, scary candy cane?!"
They both laugh, hug, cuddle and kiss, Kevyn saying, "I know, from experience, Uncle Stephen is a lousy cook. Therefore, if we want breakfast, we'll have to get it elsewhere."
"That's good, because I thought I would give Michael a call and ask him if he'd like to meet us... if that's all right with you?"
"From all you said about Michael, I'd like to meet him in person!"
It was settled, both showering, then Kevyn helping Dean to pick something out from his uncle's wardrobe.
Turning into a regular try-on session, Dean stands before a mirror, dressed in, assuming, $200 slacks and the accompanying jacket, no shirt, "Hm-m, I think this looks kind of good on me. What do you think?"
Coming out of the closet, two hangers over a finger, two dress shirts, Kevyn spots the space between the jacket buttons, "Mm-mm, I would definitely say it looks yummy on you!"
"Well, if you try to eat me, we'll be late for Michael!"
"How about a taste?" Kevyn carelessly tosses the shirts to an armchair.
Approaching Dean, hands quickly relieve him of the jacket, so he can feel up all hat hot man-hair, "Mm, love the taste of fur on my tongue."
Giggling, Dean says, "More tongue, less talk!"
From the shower, Kevyn had put on only a pair of briefs.
Under Dean's dressy slacks was... Nothing!
"Hey, did you like what I did to you last night?" Kevyn asks, looking up from his knees, unfastening the doohickey on Dean's pants, clasping the top together.
Thinking of at least six things, Dean inquires, "Uh, which thing are you talking about?"
"When I was tongue-massaging your navel?"
"Oh. That. Yeah, it was kind of unique, though," he turns to look in the mirror, Dean commenting on it, "your nibbling around the edge... looks like I got ring-around-the-collar, except a red ring around my navel?"
"What a baby!"
From fingering his own navel, to looking down upon Kevyn's sweet, handsome face, "Like, what's that about?"
"It's not like I tattooed your navel? I mean, give it a day and it'll go away."
"Who's complaining," Dean smiles. "Matter of fact, I think it felt kind of," searches for the word, "awesome!"
"That's cool," Kevyn shares, "because it feels really good licking a deep, sexy, pungy, hairy navel!"
"Stop it... You're going to get me hard!"
It floated Kevyn's boat to hold off on the blowjob until later, thinking there was no sense on cutting down on the volume of the orgasm which would come later.
Not only did Kevyn pick out a suit, light blue dress shirt, tie and socks, he picked out a few other threads which was like shopping at Braddock's, which Dean thinks, "Isn't your uncle going to miss this stuff?"
"That's okay. Blame me. He doesn't care if I borrow and don't give back. There's a whole store, where that came from!"
Strangely, Kevyn found Dean and Uncle Stephen to be about the same size, right down to the shoes. Because he lived there, he often saw his uncle walking around in the buff. Comparing his uncle to Dean, in other respects, he knew the fuck last night would be much more spectacular, than Uncle Stephen could shell out. Not from firsthand, but Uncle Stephen would often have unexpected guests!
With both arms filled to the gills with clothing, Dean says, "Great, now what am I supposed to do with all of this?"
"Right this way, sir," Kevyn treated Dean like a Braddock's customer!
Walking down the hallway, back into the room they slept in, Dean, a bit disoriented by the size of the living space, says, "This is where we slept last night."
"You catch on quick!" Kevyn laughs. "This is also `my' room."
"Really?" Dean says, not which he did not look around last night and think of the room as a guest chambers, complete with a sitting room. Last night, while stripping Kevyn down, he looked over the lad's shoulders, thinking it was the biggest Tv he's ever seen, hanging on a wall.
"Right. When my mom shipped me down from Boston, she appointed Uncle Garrett the person to find me a place to stay. Uncle Garrett approached Uncle Stephen and said his place was the most logical."
Dean comes out with, "Don't get me wrong here. I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but staying with your uncle, it's easier to keep tabs on you?"
"Like, oh-my-god! That's the same thing Uncle Garrett used as weight when suggesting it to Uncle Stephen. I mean, if anything were to ever' happen to me... Well, you just don't know, The Wrath of Mom!"
"Let's hope I never do," Dean acts scared shit!
"Oh, you have nothing to worry about, about her."
"Why's that?" Dean still stands there, weighted down with apparel.
"Because," Kevyn smiles, "I like you. If I like you, you'll be a shoo-in with her!"
"She has that much confidence in you?"
Kevyn finally realizes nothing being done, walks over to a closet, "Absolutely! She did caution, when I started to go to school in New York City, not to outright fall in love with anyone. But..." Kevyn laughs as he says this, "too late!"
"Oh, you've fallen in love with someone?" Dean plays dumb. "Do I know him or her?"
"It's definitely not a `her'!"
Perhaps a little insecure about Kevyn divulging a name, his, he skirts the subject, "So, where do I put these clothes?"
Kevyn knew Dean evaded the subject, but that was okay. At least he had one thing in his favor, a tight ass!
Meanwhile, after receiving the call from Dean, Michael got himself together.
In doing so, Gary had stirred awake just as Michael was zipping up his pants, "Where are you going, my love?"
Michael couldn't help by smile, saying, "`Your love' is getting dressed to meet Dean and his friend, Kevyn, at The Rainbow Room. Coming?"
Leaving room for a jab, Gary says, "Oh, I had enough of that last night!"
"I `meant', coming with me to meet Dean?"
First thing to cross Gary's mind was, after the extensive sex they had last night, tearing the bed to shreds, "Did you shower?"
"Uh, no. Why?" Michael freezes at the button of his pants.
Walking over by Michael, Gary jokes, "Oh, never mind that question. I can smell it for myself!"
With a straight face, something he picked up from Dean, regarding any comment without a reaction, says, "Rude!"
"Oh! That! Well, if you're intending on going for brunch at The Rainbow Room, they won't let you in, in `those' clothes, let alone the stench when you walk in the door!"
Letting go of the pants, which causes them to fall open in a `v', Michael says, "I smell that bad?"
"Some would call it `bad'. Me?" Gary leans over, takes a whiff of Michael's pubes, "I'd call it sweet!"
Rolling his eyes, Michael says, "You're a sick pup!"
It then occurs to Gary, "By the way, what's the hurry in dressing? I'm thinking something I don't really hope is true?"
Knowing what it looked like, Michael says with honesty, "Like, you think what we did last night was a one-time thing and I'm trying to sneak out on you?"
"No, not really," Gary says, lying through his teeth. Then, confessing, because it's good for the soul, "Uh, yeah, that's sort of what I was thinking."
"More rudeness! Honestly, Gary, I was letting you sleep, since you got all perspired and worked up from me fucking you, I thought I'd let you sleep. Besides, with you heckling me about, `the best fuck you ever got,' you think I'm going to pass up compliments like that?"
Gary could see Michael wasn't really angry at him. Cuddling up, because Michael hadn't showered yet, so they were both ripe, "Oh baby, forgive me for even bringing something like that up?"
Last night in bed, sex was like, `sex,' but this morning, Gary hugging him, Michael couldn't get over, it was like hugging his dad, which he doesn't remember ever doing, but equated it to hugging Dean, "That's okay. I had my assumptions too."
A different impression, Gary asks, "I hope our difference in age is still comfortable with you?"
"Of course," Michael replies. To show it was, Michael grabs the only attached' article Gary had on', his cock, saying, "C'mon pop, show me where the shower is!"
Startled, yet sensual, Gary replies, "Mm, I could get used to this, son!"
Since it was a nice, pleasant, 39 degrees outdoors, Dean and Kevyn met Michael outside.
Kevyn greets Gary, "Uncle, aren't you going to the office today?"
"The nice thing about being founder and CEO, there's dozens under me who can take my place!"
Michael smiles, thinking he would only want Gary under' him. He didn't get to enjoy afterthoughts, with Dean introducing Kevyn, but then, there' was another dreamy thing to think about, "Hey, Kevyn!"
Pairing off, the dads' walked ahead of their sons'.
Conversing, staying on course, not to get lost, Michael learns Kevyn, since he's graduated college, with a degree in design, working on a masters in business, "I'm from Boston, but chose to get away from the drama of home and attend NYU. My mom rented an apartment for me and I lived there until I graduated. Lately I've been staying with Uncle Stephen, because he goes away a lot and his apartment is way cooler than mine!"
"Good reason. Gary's place is like, really amazing too!"
Laughing, like he cut a joke, Kevyn says, "When you've got loot, you can live in `amazing!'"
Out of the four of them, Michael learns he was the only middle class person among them, who didn't have `green clout.'
Kevyn, from Boston, before he came to attend NYU, in New York City, lived on Commonwealth Ave.
Comparing notes, Michael told of living in a moderate size home, in West Windsor, New Jersey. When his dad passed away, the house was already paid for, but the other expenses slowly drained their bank account.
When he hears Kevyn describe `the neighborhood' in Boston, growing up in a $5,000,000.00 condo, Michael exclaims, "Shut the fuck up!"
All Kevyn could do was laugh, saying, "Yep, it is what it is!"
Dean had to lean in to Michael's ear, "Um, they don't take kindly to people announcing themselves around here, like that?!"
"Sorry," Michael replies, but adds, "Do you know how much Kevyn's apartment costs?"
Dean knew. Michael wasn't the only one finding out about Kevyn's history, though he corrected, "It's a condo, not an apartment."
"Pardon me," Michael limps his wrist, sticks his pinky out.
"Get used to it," he catches up with Michael, Kevyn moving ahead with Gary. "In case you don't know, Gary is one of the 10 wealthiest men in New York!"
"I know," Michael says, but shrugs it off, like the money doesn't matter, even though nice to have, "but I think he's a cool guy."
"You're getting along?" Dean probes.
Michael says, like he's proud, "Uh yeah. In bed, we're compatible!"
"Aha!" he keeps his tone in sync with their conversation, "All my tutoring has paid off!"
"We, like didn't fuck around?"
"Like, oh-my-god, don't go `smart' all of a sudden on me. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't know your way into a package of condoms!"
"Oh yeah," Michael says sarcastically, "thanks for showing me how to rip it open with my teeth, while my other hand is busy!"
Smiling, Dean says, "You're welcome. Anything else you want to thank me for, while gratitude is on your mind?"
"Probably. I'll thank you when it comes up."
Elevator opening up to a circular room, Michael's eyes are wide open, seeing the set up, "Have you ever been here?"
Dean says, "Once, before they remodeled, during some New Year's Eve party a guy brought me to."
"What guy?"
"Don't remember," Dean is truthful, surveying the changes, "but they sure did a good job. Elegant, huh?"
Michael thought so, but even more, the waiters, servers, even cleanup crew, he could swear they were all hired on solely good looks, "I'll say!"
His head moving to and fro, Dean had an idea Michael's mind was in the gutter, "I meant the Christmas decorations!"
"That's what I meant," Michael was thinking the same!
Instead of confronting each other with what was and what was not, the two reported to their perspective dates, Kevyn saying to Dean, "How do you like the place?"
Instead of us his own ideas, Dean borrows Michael's, "Hot place!" he pushes Kevyn's chair in.
Michael mimicking Dean, does the same, Gary saying, "Thanks, babe!"
Dean's eyes were on Michael, regarding Gary's thankfulness, silently speaking, `Oh really?'
Michael responds with shrugging both shoulders, then smiling!
Right away their waiter came over, which was the first smile Kevyn and Michael share, watching Dean and Gary's eyes following him from the kitchen access. It was even confirmed, Dean with wishful thinking, "I hope he's ours!"
Gary, whom had been a regular patron, locks eyes with the head waiter, calling him over with his hand.
"Excuse me a moment," Gary said, standing for a brief chat and smuggling an undetermined amount of greenbacks into the waiter's hand.
When the man in tuxedo reported, the head honcho bends towards the waiter's ear, "Remember our talk earlier, Griggs?"
Not crazy about working under a dictator', Sander corrects his boss, who could never get his name correct, or else didn't, on purpose, "It's Van'-Grignon," making sure he emphasized his dear mom and not homophobic stepfather.
"Step back here a moment."
The guys at the table thought it kind of rude, why the waiter, in the middle of pouring out glasses of water, still clutching Michael's glass in his hand, wondered what that was about?
"Sorry for the delay," the waiter sets Michael's glass down, begins to fill it.
"Not a problem," Michael replies. "I wasn't thirsty anyway!" Feeling chummy, the waiter seeming about the same age as himself, Michael asks, "So, what's with `Hitler'?"
He caught Sander's smile, but it quickly disappeared. If by chance Sander's boss heard what he said, it might mean deeper trouble.
"Oh, nothing. Like I said," it was apparent Sander was under the gun, "I'm sorry for the delay."
Then, it's Michael who notices, Gary looking up at Sander, "I know you from some place."
"Where do you know him from?" Michael asks, because the waiter was just doing his job.
He searched his mind for a minute, "It'll come to me."
By this time, Sander had rounded the table. Dean probably shared the same feeling as the rest of them, the waiter very cute, but also on his side where it came to the head waiter pulling him aside, also mocking Gary, "Well, I don't know you, but I'd sure like to!"
Meant to criticize, but nicely, Kevyn put on his wickedest impression of evil, "What was that, Dean?"
Opening up the circle around himself, Dean replies, "What I meant, Kevyn, dearest, darling, is `we' want to get to know, Sander," Dean drinks from the goblet, just placed in front of him.
After Sander passes, back to Michael, Kevyn says, "You're good at covering up fast, you know?"
Dean knew it. It's something he credited himself with, like a strength of the nature about him, but didn't gloat, "When I said, I', I meant we'."
"I'm not sure I'm into something like that."
"Like what?" Dean asks.
Kevyn says, "You know, three in a bed, rub-a-dub-dub?"
"That's a tub."
"Same difference, but without the water!"
Meanwhile, Gary had remembered where he saw Sander, at least his picture, "I had an appointment downtown, with an old friend. He had his family picture on his desk. I could have sworn the lad in the picture was you, but it could have been an older shot?"
Half-serious, Sander says, "On the grounds it might incriminate, would it be all right to evade an answer?"
In all seriousness, it might not have been Sander's father, but being he was under the impression this group, or at least one in particular, the one called, `Gary', in all likelihood, it might have been him in the picture, sitting on a financial executive's desk.
"It's not important," Gary swept it under the rug. Though, there was a sense of, if this were the same lad, what did the father do to cause dislike? He's known Van-Grignon for years. Not too personal, he was a fine financial advisor.
Michael, he was more interested in other things, than bloodlines, "What do you do when you're not waitering?"
"I study art," Sander wasn't sure he wanted to share, information, having too many details seeping back to his father, turns to Gary, "but you'll keep this confidential?"
"Of course he will," Michael guarantees, a knocking knee under the table, hinting of it!
"Of course," Gary reiterates, thinking something like, knee against knee closed the seam of his own legs up, which made for stimulation of the family jewels!
"I go to the Brooklyn campus of the Pratt Institute."
"And you study art?" Michael guessed.
"I've always been interested in art. I..."
Standing there, talking about himself, it caught the eye of the head waiter, who again approaches.
Before he could even speak, Gary backs out from the table, which sandwiched himself between both employees, saying, "Excuse me, a word with you, please?"
Michael wondered what that was about, but happy, knowing Sander was about to get a tongue-lashing, not, "You were saying?"
Dean and Kevyn were interested as well, however, under the table they were playing right hand-left hand squeezies!
"I study art, but I have a few, almost a dozen works I am interested in displaying at a gallery. Only problem, is finding a gallery."
Going out on a limb, a very long one, as Dean had clued Michael, one in which, if you were wrong, you would have help snapping off a twig, falling to the ground, uses himself as go between, "Gary's my boyfriend, but he's not the jealous type." There. Michael had used the exact line Dean had told him was a shoe-in, but left the thinking behind the response, wishy-washy. Only the boyfriend's name was different.
Michael was expecting one of two responses, either `not gay', or, "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to flirt with you."
Still, he could be straight, Michael approaching the tip of the limb, "My mistake. You probably already have a boyfriend, huh?"
With such entertainment, plus outcome, Dean and Kevyn thought it a kicker, to see if Michael was going to wind up flat out on the floor!
"Not yet."
`Whew!' Dean breathed easier, let the worried steam out of his collar.
Not dwelling on himself, nor how Michael `knew', Sander goes forth, "I wasn't sure about you."
"In what respect?" Michael sips.
"Don't get me wrong, but I thought perhaps your boyfriend was, your father?"
Michael didn't have to say anything, Gary stopping back, "Well," he sits, scoots himself in and almost excited, "we don't have to worry about Michael's `Hitler' bothering us for the rest of the meal!"
"What did you say to him?" Michael asks.
Of course, Dean and Kevyn wanted to know. Sander, it would be kind of intriguing.
"It's amazing what one can find out, if one only asks?" Gary giggles.
Sarcastically, Dean asks, "Are we going to hear it all at once, or before each course?"
Turning to Dean, Gary says, "It's amazing how charming a man Michael turned out, under your tutelage?"
"Are you going to get on with it? Today?"
Sander was under the impression the four had been friends and lovers for a long, long time. Unlike his boss, the friends could mock each other out and still laugh about it.
"Well," Gary cracks his knuckles, before getting started, "come to find out, Sander's daddy `thinks' he's the head cheese around here, but really, when Sander turns 21, it will be in his power to very well kick the head waiter out the door!"
"Wow," Michael says, thinking of how high the elevator took them, but without much concern, "that's a long drop!" he laughs.
Infectious, Sander catches himself giggling, but saying, "I don't know about the Rainbow Room, but I know I can't touch my late mom's inheritance for another 3 years, except for college tuition."
"Well," Gary places a reassuring hand on Sander's arm, "now we all know." He was also a little fired up over the man he did financial dealings with. Here was an 18-year old darling, not much different from Michael, being treated unfairly, "In the mean time, if you need anything between now and turning 21, come to me and we'll see what we can work out."
Inside info, Sander says, "Does that include hanging out with your boyfriend?"
Joking, Gary says, "You can borrow Michael anytime you need him, except when I do!"
"Get that in writing, Michael," Dean advises.
Settling down to business, Michael looked at the front and back of the menu, one sheet, asking, "Where's the prices?"
Before Sander could answer, Gary was saying, "What the heck do you care? Breakfast is on me!"
"Hmm," Michael smiles, "that might be something horny to wake up to?!"
"Um, Michael?" Dean is there to critique his ward's manners in public, even thought tables were well-separated.
Kevyn, already on it, "Mm-mm, don't give me any ideas!"
Dean just rolled his eyes, kept entertained, hearing stuff like, Kevyn's idea of eggs, sunnyside up, one over each pec. Michael, his big rush was a bagel, horse-shoed over Gary's cock, which also gave one the impression more than one would fit!
Another topic, Michael told of his birthday coming up, December 24, which Dean had already formulated some plans, including breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It was also discovered, Kevyn's birthday December 27, Sander chiming in, "Oh wow."
"What?" Michael and Kevyn ask at the same time.
"Mine is December 28!"
"Why couldn't we be December babies?" Gary asks Dean, not which it really mattered.
Dean mocks Gary, "You still celebrate?"
Getting even, Gary asks, "I was about to ask you the same!"
Michael gets an idea, "We should do it together, all three of us."
"Mm-m, can us old men get in on that?" Dean asks, screwing up Michael's true intentions.
Being kind, Michael says of his dear mentor, "Get your mind out of the fuckin' gutter for once, Dean?"
Acting adamant, Dean says, "I like my mind in the gutter, for your information!"
"I kind of like the idea myself," Gary gloats!
The gang still getting to know Sander, he says, "I'm more the relationship status guy."
Smartest remark so far, Michael says, "Then we need to get you into a relationship! But who?"
"Don't look at me," Dean says, placing a palm to his chest, "you're the one with all the hookups lately!"
"Me?" Michael differs in opinion. "It's `your' Kevyn's Uncle Stephen who stood you up, remember?"
Snooty-like, Dean says, "Well, if it wasn't for me getting stood up, you would never have gotten Cubby all tied up and at your mercy!"
After saying it, Dean, whom would never do or say anything which would hurt Michael, realizes what he's said in front of Gary.
Too late, Gary shifts his ass around in his chair, almost facing Michael, "Oh? Who's Cubby? What's this with the rope? I thought you weren't into..."
Something he's also learned from Dean, not which his mom hadn't beat his mentor to it, facing the music, "It's not like how it seems. It was a one-shot deal. I'm not into that S&M stuff, like you're thinking, okay?"
Smiling, Gary says, "Oh what a shame!"
The gang got back to talking with Sander, whom did more casual chat than waitering. Gary even had the nerve, something `over' the head waiter, to call him over to fetch a pitcher of water, when theirs went dry.
Michael turns to Gary, asking in a whisper, "So, you going to tell me what you said, which turned the monster into a mouse?"
Not getting it at first, after the head waiter set about filling glasses, Gary replies, "Oh, that. Let's just say, I got all the dirt on how Sander's father is giving him the shaft..."
Jumping to conclusions, Michael questions, "Sander and his father are getting it on?"
"No, moron, what I meant is, since Sander does not yet have the monetary freedom, except to pay for art school. First off, he's not Sander's biological father that has been yanking him around on a chain."
"Hm, that explains some of it, I suppose."
"If Sander had a bank account to draw from, he wouldn't have to wait tables and concentrate on his work. That's why," Gary stutters, sits on his thought for the moment, "with your permission, I'd like Sander to come stay with us for a while, until he gets better situated with some income."
"Waitering?" Michael, right now, evaded the real question, giving himself some time to think about the boarding arrangement.
"No and yes. Y'see, while I was chatting with the head honcho, I managed to talk him into keeping up false pretense about Sander working here, when he will not be working here at all, but managing an art gallery for me downtown."
"You have an art gallery downtown?" Dean cuts in on the conversation.
Sander had run to the kitchen for the main course, one in which there was no price on the menu for the eggs and fish, so Michael didn't know he would be savoring an $800 breakfast!
"Not yet!" Gary laughs it off.
"But you promised him," Michael means Sander, "a job and there's no place for a job?"
"All I need is a little loft space and like his job description goes, Sander's job will be to fill it!" it's how Gary thought it would go.
Kevyn, having ran out of things to talk about with Dean, for the moment, says, "Hm-m, might be something for future investment," he slips, "for us?" he looks for comment from Dean.
Dean confesses, "I'm afraid I don't know much about art. I was a failure myself, at paint-by-numbers, kept painting outside the lines."
Michael terms it, "Hopeless, Dean."
"I know," Dean smiles across the table.
Gary then sees more to it, than an art gallery, "Hm-m, might be side business for people to come, view the art and then have a little latte, while viewing the art?!"
Returning to the table, it was funny, not only to Gary, but seeing Sander in a different light, instead of the waiter as a pee-on, held the reins, instructing platters to be brought to the table.
It didn't go without saying, Sander realizing it for himself, having someone to stand up for him, "Thanks for all you've done for me, Mr. Wynston."
Michael smiled too. Whatever the reason, however sensed, while thanking Gary, Michael felt something too, caressing Gary's arm, "You're a good person. I can feel it."
Gary turns to Michael, "I hope you're feeling more than my arm!"
All Michael could think of right now, is last night, plugging Gary's ass, an arm around Gary's thigh, stroking and fucking, both set off at once!
Finishing their meal, which Michael had to leave some on the plate, he was astonished, "They don't have doggie bags?"
Manners again flashed in Dean's mind, a subject they didn't touch on much, except where gay sex was concerned, "Michael, in an establishment such as this, they don't have'em," which meant to leave it on the plate, eventually for tossing in the trash.
Being he didn't come from a six-digit-income-household, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
Knowing, at these fancy joints, `takeout' on leftovers not the norm, Gary didn't want to make Michael look like the fool, "I agree. It's so delicious, why leave it, when it will make a perfectly good midnight snack?"
It made Michael smile, thinking of how Gary was snacking last night!
Much to the head waiter's dismay, he was put in charge of packaging up the leftovers at Michael's table. Also, Gary again dropped some word of advice, to make sure they were delivered, instead of making it look like takeout.
He laughed, saying to Michael, for his benefit only, "I think I've got some old neckties, when the food shows up!"
Michael didn't readily get it, "Neckties?"
Giggling with excitement, coupled with mischief, Gary says, "Yes. I've arranged it for the man himself' to deliver the leftovers," meaning William, the head waiter, would be in charge of transporting the food to Gary's fashion-district upright condo, entering, unpacking, setting his dining room up for the midnight snack' and then cleanup. Of course, Gary made sure he would be paid for his time, hence, the neckties!
"Well, I hope you don't expect me to dress formally?" Michael asks.
"Why would you think that?" Gary is perplexed.
"You mentioned neckties?"
Listening into this part, as they put their coats on, Dean says, "I think what Gary means, is the neckties are to be worn around the wrists and ankles?"
Kevyn, in on it too, "Question, Uncle Gary?" he's too changed up the name, from years of calling his uncle, `Garrett', all because of Michael!
"What's that?"
"Are the rest of us invited for the midnight snack? I mean, I wouldn't want to spread any germs, with anyone else snacking on my food?"
"Such concern," Deans says of it, which translated, likes the way Kevyn has snuck in the invitation, "like, what time do you want us there?"
Michael is quick to condemn his friend, "Uh, midnight snack give you an idea, dodo-bird?"
"Hmm, might make a nice Christmas-Birthday gift for you, Michael?"
"What?" Michael asks his good friend.
"4 neckties?"
Now, knowing what that was about, Michael says, "Great present, Dean. I'd love to tie you to the bed and have my way with you!"
"On second thought, you're getting money!"
Upon hearing that, Gary got an idea of setting up a birthday party for Michael, but he didn't have much time, nor privacy to do so, "That's great. We'll all meet up at my place later on tonight. Uh, Dean, I really need to talk to you about setting up that cafe in the art gallery?"
As of this moment, Gary didn't even have the space planned out, but because he had the hots for Michael, he intended on making his 20th birthday a night to remember!
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It was also established, that was Sander's last meal to be served at The Rainbow Room. With half the day gone and Gary in demand of Dean's attention, the three headed out to do some shopping of their own.
"One problem," Sander says, "there's a freeze on my bank account."
Michael could side with that, "Um, like, that makes us even, because I don't like, have a bank account, except for school!"
Both knew their grieving wasn't falling on deaf ears, "I've got a little stashed away," Kevyn says.
He was being modest.
Heir to not only his mother's estate, being the child, son and nephew, of the Braddock lineage, Kevyn knew where he stood and what he would eventually inherit. He knew ways to siphon some of that off. His Uncle Gary having made a quick getaway, Kevyn got on his cell.
Michael and Sander hung close, looking at the shop windows they passed, each saying what they liked and didn't like. Michael was amazed, Sander saying he liked a pair of lacy, girl-panties!
"Okay. All is fixed," Kevyn touched his call off to Uncle Gary. Somehow, it was easier talking to his uncle about monetary matters, than his mom. She always was asking what for?', whereas his uncle only wanted to know how much', to extend the credit limit.
"Like, how much can we spend?" Michael was figuring around 200 bucks.
Joking around, Kevyn says, "Should we start at the BMW dealer, on W.57th?"
"No-o-o-o, you're pulling our chains?" Michael exclaims.
He was, but then Kevyn thought, `might be fun', "Why not?"
Turning around to the street, to hail a cab, they see a stream of traffic, "Then again," Kevyn says of his silent thoughts, of taking a taxi, "it's only about 5 blocks. How about we walk it?"
They had plenty of time, except Michael had to inform, "Uh, nice, but I've got a trombone exam in about an hour?"
"Where?" Kevyn was unfamiliar with the territory.
"I think," Michael turns to his left, then right, then back left, "maybe 4 blocks that way, then 20 up there?" he faces north, which was the snarled traffic in front of them.
"Where's your trombone?"
"Oh shit!" Michael says. "I left it at Gary's place!"
"And what time do you have to play?" Kevyn asks.
"An hour and a half?"
Kevyn, a grid of Manhattan locked in his brain, says, "No way we're going to make it."
"We've got to make it," Michael implies, "my term grade is riding on it!"
"Okay, okay, let me think," Kevyn started the wheels of his brain churning.
Silent on the subject, Sander comes up with an idea, "If they have a Sam Ash in the neighborhood, you could rent a trombone, maybe?"
Still in panic mode, Michael didn't think a Yamaha trumpet could replace the expensive one his mom bought him, since acquiring it in high school, "No. Sorry, but it just won't do." Then, turning right around, from putting Sander down over a cheap imitation, "However..."
From dejected to hero status, Sander is transformed, Michael throwing an arm around his shoulder, taking him in his confidence, "...There is a musical instrument store up near 65th street. Betcha they could have something."
Tearing off, heading west, Kevyn exclaims, "Hey, wait for me guys!"
It's not like Sander and Michael were in town long. They needed their navigator, waiting up for Kevyn. Same time, Kevyn was punching data into his cell, coming up with an address, saying, "Oh great, only 18 blocks up Broadway!"
Yet, none of the trio were chubby, just out of running shape.
Kevyn, the most athletic of the three, had seen the inside of a gym often. Even Dean had noticed, though a little tough picking out the six or eight pack contour, camouflaged by the ginger red hair fanning out over Kevyn's abs.
Sander didn't need a gym, naturally trim, having played Lacrosse in high school, being a semester out, didn't keep up with the running, only doing light jogging if he felt like it. Completely smooth, he could be mistaken for a swim club applicant.
It was amazing though. Least athletic of the three, it was Michael, who probably ran on a tank of adrenaline, kept telling the other two, "C'mon guys, throw a little hustle into it!"
It was then, his hustle almost did him in, "Oh shit!"
Grabbing him by the clothing, in the nick of time, Michael almost ran down some subway stairs!
"Looks like we saved your ass," Kevyn says, right in Michael's ear.
"That's nice," Michael runs around the railing, keeping on, like nothing happened!
"That's gratitude," Kevyn says to Sander.
"Guys! You coming or what?" Michael was a yard ahead.
"I'll say," Sander mutters back, both picking up the pace.
Being the holidays, the music store, which had some quality instruments, being close to Lincoln Center, was fresh out of most brass instruments, the clerk saying, "I'm sorry, but the only trombone I have is my own personal one."
"I'll take it!" Michael says.
Even after a hectic morning, the clerk was in good cheer, "No, you don't understand. I said it's the trombone I own?"
Michael backs down, "Oh. Right. You did say that."
Sander, knowing more about paintbrushes and pallets, asks, "What about renting it to Michael?"
Providence! The clerk was hoping to get a name, "Michael, is it? Where do you go to school, Michael?"
Kevyn recognized the demeanor right off. Seeing an `in', he didn't claim to know much about how music is put together, but knew the reputation behind the illustrious music college, "Michael goes to Julliard!"
"Julliard? Impressive!"
Seeing an `in' himself, Michael helps build up his case, "Yeah and I've got a trombone jury in less than hour, but my trombone is sitting in a condo over in the fashion district. We'll never make it there and back in time. I'm really in deep shit!"
"Yeah, that does stink," the clerk, who looked to be about mid-30's, says, half-joking, because he was on the positive side of debating himself. "Look, I could lend you mine, but I would need a deposit?"
Desperate, Michael confronts, "Where's your credit card, Kev?"
"I couldn't sell it?" Nick tells them.
"Oh," Michael says, tapping Kevyn's Chase Visa on the counter. Looking around, Michael for the first time discovers he hadn't even introduced himself, "I'm Michael."
"Nick," Nick says with a smile, already knowing he was Michael', adding cute' to the visual resume. Fact of the matter, to Nick, they were all cute!
"What in the store is equal to the retail of your trombone?"
`What a wheeler-dealer,' Kevyn thought, knowing Michael's plan.
Swallowing, because he hated to even part with his musical treasure, even in lending it, Nick says, "It's a Conn."
Sander, misunderstanding, lack of musical knowledge, states, "No, we're legit. I swear it."
Sweetly, Michael turns to Sander, "Thanks, but why don't I handle this?" he runs a hand over Sander's cheek, sweet-like, like just beginning a torrid love-making session.
"Old or new?" Michael turns about abruptly, hitting Nick with the trick question.
"Old. My father was semi-pro, did a little stint with the NY Philharmonic about 20 years ago."
Again, Sander, who knew how much a van Gogh could go for, but musical instruments, not, "How about this flute?" he holds one up.
Michael watches, Nick smiling, which was indication, "Probably ten of those flutes wouldn't pay for it, Sander, but good try."
Nick was getting to know them, grabbing every bit of detail about the hot lads!
Grabbing the Visa out of Michael's hand, Kevyn did his own bargaining, "How about we take 10 of every instrument on the wall? Would that be enough?"
"What tha?" Nick says, knowing there was close to a half million dollars of inventory on the wall!
Michael, knowing what people thought of college students, "Trust me. Kev's card can take it. He just offered to buy Sander and me a BMW for Christmas... each!"
At first, Nick thought he was on the take, but then, thinking if Michael was a bonafide music student at Julliard, the only `Conn' would be his trombone, "Let me see your student card, Michael."
"My student card?"
Then, like Nick thought he was calling the hot looking student a crook, "Um, we offer students from area schools a discount, for showing their student ID."
Thinking it legit, Michael takes his wallet out of his back pocket and presents his Julliard ID card, "Brand new," he smiles at Nick. While Nick studies the card, Michael studies Nick!
"Looks okay, but..." Nick rubbed his full, black beard.
"I know how it is and I understand if you don't want to lend me your own, personal instrument. It becomes personal, almost like a boyfriend," Michael doesn't realize, "though I realize, somethings money just cannot buy."
Lamenting, even though Nick stood there a 6'1, he looked like he was filled with grief over having to turn Michael down. When the three first entered the store, it was bad enough, the beauty which walked in, had taken Nick's breath away. Indecisive, "I don't know."
"That's okay," Michael put hands in his pocket, like his purpose had been defeated, turns to walk out, "I'll go and do some haggling with the jurors. Maybe they'll be sympathetic and cut me some slack."
Sander, who knew what it meant to have a completed art work, to show for his worth at the end of a semester, places a hand on Michael's shoulder, laments, "That's okay, Michael, we're here for you."
Kevyn joins in, on the other side of Michael, "Yeah. When you get your `F', we'll all go out and get drunk."
Nick knew music schools, especially ones like Julliard, Mannes, or Manhattan School of Music, how tough it was to get in, the standards they set and would be highly unlikely to fall for an excuse, of forgetting an instrument on the way to an exam, "Okay. Take it," Nick was nervous, "but you've got leave the credit card with me and..." he looks around, right at Sander, "him!"
"Me?" Sander is shocked.
Not at all appalled over the idea, Kevyn says, "You can have me, too?"
Looking at his watch, Michael didn't have any choice, "Okay, give me your trombone and your can keep Kev, Sander and the Visa." Nervous as all hell, "I've got like 15 minutes to run there and warm up."
So, the exchange was made, but it wasn't like walled up in a prison.
"Y'know," Sander asks, "I'd like to come back here sometime and paint this wall?"
Nick didn't get it right away, "It sure could use a coat of paint. I don't think the inside of this shop has been painted since..."
Even Kevyn knew what Sander meant, walking over to Nick, who's back was towards him, places a hand on his shoulder, "No, no, no, what Sander means is with his little paintbrushes, paint a picture of what the wall looks like."
It took a few seconds for Nick to process it, "Oh yeah. That's what I thought... he didn't mean," accepts the criticism with a smile.
Casually slapping Nick in the stomach with the back of his hand, Kevyn says, "Of course! Why do you think I had to come over and explain it to you?"
Unfortunately for Kevyn, all this flirting didn't pay off. More, Nick was interested in why anyone would want to paint a replica of the instrument wall.
"First," Sander explains, "because I don't think anyone has ever thought of painting such fine instruments?"
Nick had another idea, "Do you paint nudes?"
Not the first time a guy has shot the question to him, "Are you volunteering?"
Kevyn went and sat down on a piano bench, tinkling on the high notes of the piano. Knowing he had to hang around for the duration and feeling a little fatigued, from both sleep-famine, Dean's fault of course, and boredom, lack of hearing anything but sudden tweets of a flute, he took to lying down on the bench.
What he was missing, was Nick, hanging over both Sander's shoulders, coaching and coaxing him along on how to blow into a flute.
Meanwhile, over at Julliard, Michael was wowwing himself, never having played on such a fine instrument. Too late to warmup, his foot was in the door of the room, having just enough time to shed the trombone's `coat of armor'.
Recorded, he had to state his name and three pieces he intended to play. First though, he had to perform proficiency scales dictated by faculty members: D1, A2, E2, B2, b2, f-sharp2, c-sharp1, g-sharp2, B-flat and Chromatic 2. He was unsure, being he never played on Nick's instrument before, but sailed through each with flying colors.
Next, one of the male faculty members, whom Michael knew as the , musicology prof, Dr. Kestwick, brought sheet music up to the stand, placed it there, smoothed out the pages, asking, "Place this for us, please?"
Wonder what was going on, Michael recognizes it as a piece he played for his Julliard audition, to get into the prestigious college, sitting right in front of him.
"But..." he was ready to come clean.
Dr. Kestwick, who's back was to the cam and the other jurors, winks, questions, "Not too difficult for you?"
Short stare into Kestwick's eyes, Michael says what he doesn't mean, but for the benefit of the other two prof's, "It'll be a challenge."
For a split second, before Prof. Kestwick sat down, he grazed over the instrument, just saying, "Huh." Before he sat down, he looks up at Michael, back down at the trombone, then Kestwick turns to the camera, "Michael will play for us, McKay's `Concert Solo Sonatine'."
In Michael's opinion this would be a cinch. As predicted, he plays all the way through without a hitch.
Unlike he's heard it could be, the 3 prof's talk among themselves, without addressing Michael. Now he's sweating, thinking there must've been something he's slipped up on, finally breaking silence, "Uh, was my playing okay?"
Sitting with legs crossed, the manly way, Kestwick asks, "Michael, where did you get your instrument?"
"My trombone?" Michael asks, like he heisted it. He was sure his face was red!
"Reason I ask," he gets up, walks over to Michael, "may I?"
Knowing Kestwick wasn't asking for his hand in marriage, though he was hot enough to say `yes', Michael hands him the trombone, confessing, "Careful, please. It's borrowed."
"Aha!" Kestwick says, carrying the instrument back to the jurors.
Michael watches as they examine it, as if a zombie creature from Mars.
Then, about 3 minutes later, Professor Kestwick returns it, asking, "We're under the impression this is the instrument of the late Ethan Brownley?"
Not sure, since he only got Nick's first name, he quickly thought, if that's what Professor Kestwick thinks, it's probably true, telling what he did know, "I borrowed it from Nick, down at the music store?"
"Oh. Well that explains it then. When Nick's father passed away, he inherited his estate, which included one of the best sounding trombones in the world. Nick's father played with the New York Philharmonic, you know?"
He didn't know, "Lucky guy."
"You're very privileged to play on such a finely crafted instrument," one of the other jurors speaks up.
The third juror, she didn't know what to say, Michael supposes, still taking the compliment, "Someday you may follow in his footsteps."
"That would be sweet," Michael replies.
All the while, trying to keep tabs on his breathing, he mentions to Kestwick, standing right there in front of him, "I'm ready to play the cadenza from Rimsky-Korsakov's `Concerto for Trombone and Orchestra."
Swatting it aside, Professor Kestwick says, "Save it for next time. You're done for today."
Michael couldn't believe it. He was being judged on a high school piece he used to audition for Julliard on, the McKay piece, asking, "Are you sure?"
"Sure we're sure," Kestwick says, "If you're worried about your grade, you passed. Thank you for playing for us."
Thinking it was only his audition prof, Michael looked to the others, who were smiling too, which he doubted to himself, `This can't be!'
But it was.
Stunned, he just sat there, until Professor Kestwick got up, and said, "Fine job. You can go, Michael."
Excited he didn't have to play the cadenza, Michael did just that, packed up, threw his coat over his arm and walked out. He couldn't believe it, waiting there in the foyer, just breathing, he didn't need to play the extensive trombone piece. Not meaning to, he lingered till the jurors started filtering out.
Shocked was not shocking enough, hearing from behind, "How about some coffee, to celebrate your performance?"
Right away Michael thought about `payback', for the professor getting him out of playing the cadenza, which is why he was glad he had an excuse, "I have to get the trombone back to Nick. He's waiting for me."
He didn't say his friends were waiting as collateral!
"I've got plenty of time on my hands. Let me walk with you."
Fair enough, Michael felt obligated. When they reach the music store, he could conjure up another lame excuse!
Even though Professor Kestwick knew Michael's itinerary, he used it as conversation, asking where the music student was from and other pertinent details, which ended on a sour note, upon learning, "Oh, you've got a boyfriend."
All along, it's been the case, Michael thinking Kestwick was trying to do more than flirting, which didn't seem right, "I didn't think it was right for professors to date their students?"
"Technically, you're right, but un-technically," Kestwick sums it up, "you're not in any of my classes, so, if you didn't have that boyfriend, we could um, you know?"
"We can still be friends?" Michael says, whole picture in front of him.
Brief conversation, with much information, brought them the short route to the front of the music shop.
"I can't believe it's locked," Michael tries several times, before shading his eyes and looking inside. "What the heck is Kevyn doing in there?"
Thinking he had the right angle, knew all the answers, Kestwick says, "Your boyfriend making a little nookie with the owner?"
With one handful, Michael turns, says, "Kevyn's not my boyfriend!"
"Oh."
"And he's not `making a little nookie'. He's lying on a piano bench, sleeping."
Making himself useful, also embarrassed he was in error, Kestwick says, "Here, let me try to wake him up for you."
Knocking, yelling, "Hey, Kevyn, let us in!" it made Michael laugh, thinking Kestwick, like him, being a musician, picked up on something, whether a tune or a person's name, real quick!
Michael couldn't see, but so startled was Kevyn, out of sync of where he was, turns over and rolls right off the bench, onto all fours!
"Oh-h-h, that's gotta hurt!"
"What does?" Michael nudges Kestwick, gaining access to the glass door.
"Your friend. He woke up and probably forgot where he was."
Looking around and because the professor was taller, "You see anyone else?"
"Who am I looking for?"
"My other friend, Sander and the shop owner, Nick."
"Nope."
By this time, Kevyn gained control of his senses. Walking to the door, they could visibly see him move his head side to side, like trying to work the kinks out.
"Kev, where's Sander and Nick?"
"Oh, they went out for coffee about an hour ago," Kevyn replies, though his attention wasn't on Michael, "Who's this?"
"Hi, Kevyn, I'm Professor Kestwick, but you can call me Simon."
Michael giggles, saying, "You look like a Simon!"
"You do," Kevyn has to agree, but mainly he was lost for any other words, other than what he truly was thinking about the tall, hot man.
"Oh, you're back?"
From the rear, Nick and Sander ushered the two in.
"Tell me," Michael asks, not that he was mad, only curious, "what was the purpose of leaving Kevyn's credit card, when he could have very well have stolen everything in the store while you and Sander were out..." delayed, "having fun?"
Turning to Sander, Nick asks, "Did you have fun?"
Sander shrugs a shoulder, "I thought I was having fun!"
"You guys are pathetic. Here's your `bone back," Michael almost hits Nick in the balls!
"That... was a close one," Nick notices, from feeling his balls slightly butted.
"You shouldn't have moved."
"I know. My fault. So, who's the hot man with you?"
"How do you even know he's like us?" Michael asks Nick.
Fortunately, Simon had talked Kevyn into giving him a tour, which put them out of earshot!
"The lisp? Weak handshake? Limp wrist?" Nick replies.
"He didn't do any of those things," Michael condones.
"Oh, well I think he did crook his pinky a little, didn't he Sander?"
Playing it cool, and staying unbiased, Sander replies, "I wasn't paying attention."
Michael, seeing the two acting chummy, asks, "So, what are you two now, a couple?"
"How do you even know I'm gay?" Nick says, standing with one arm crossed, the other in the elbow pocket.
Staring straight at Nick, Michael says, "Um, the limp wrist?"
Nick instantly throws his hand towards the opposite elbow, "What limp wrist?"
Sander states, "Fess up to it, you had a limp wrist, Nick!"
"I can't believe you said that and after I footed the bill for coffee and pastry?!"
"Get over it, Nick," Sander says, going to find Kevyn.
"By the way, do you think you can handle two men tonight, Nick?"
"Two?" Nick replies.
"If my suspicions are correct, Professor Kestwick has, for the past ten minutes, tried his luck at picking up Kevyn and when he finds out Kevyn is not up for grabs, he's going to be targeting you... or Sander."
"Sander?" Nick is flabbergasted, "Well, I just better go see about that!"
In a huff, Nick hands Michael back his trombone and heads off to find Sander!
"Hmm," Michael thinks, "I could walk right out that door and..."
Instead, he holds on to the multi-thousand dollar instrument, closes the door, turns the lock and goes searching out the others.
If not for the tight grip on the handle of the Conn trombone, it might've leapt out of Michael's hand. Behind the grand piano, surely out of eyesight from door or windows, the panting he heard became reality.
More shocking than erotic, Michael stands there, wide-eyed, gasping, "Kevyn?"
"Oh, hi, get a look at this, will you?"
One thing, Michael had his `heart in his hand', the one not holding the trombone case, approaching what he perceived as a hot, steamy, gay-sexy scene, thinking Kevyn in the midst of the heat. However, he rested a little easier, "Oh, I thought maybe... Never mind."
Standing there, pants split open, Kevyn held his cell, taking random shots, "You thought maybe I was cheating on Dean?" he comes over to stand next to Michael, forgetting the cock pix for now.
"Um," Michael, with guilt, looks away from Kevyn, "yeah, kinda. Sorry, but isn't your cock out and stroking, still cheating?"
First laying eyes on Michael, Kevyn thought, since Dean and Michael were very good friends, if he `had' to cheat, it would be with Michael, "Nah," Kevyn changes up the conversation, "By the way, how did your audition go?"
"My jury?" Michael corrected him. Then again, Michael thought, `Does Kevyn really care?'
Faced with all the clothes-stripping, Professor Kestwick coming into the fracas, Sander and the store owner going at it, weaseling his way in, for himself, Michael, as Kevyn most likely thought also, looked upon Sander, sandwiched in between Kestwick and Nick's bare chests and semi-briefed loins, as the most interesting thing in the world right now!
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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.