Date: Sun, 9 Jan 2000 19:49:23 -0800 (PST)
From: Brew Maxwell <brew_drinker23@yahoo.com>
Subject: Nick's Adventure with the Doctor, Part 2

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people
is purely coincidental.  It is also a work intended for adults, and it
involves sex between men, women, and young adult men.  If you are offended
by material of this kind, or if it is illegal in your political
jurisdiction to read material of this kind, please exit immediately.  This
story is posted to the Nifty Archives, and it may be read and downloaded
for the pleasure of individuals.  It may not be posted to any other media
outlet without the written consent of its author.  The author appreciates
comments from readers.


Nick's Adventure with the Doctor, Part 2

It took more than the usual hour to get to the Country Place because we
stopped along the way at Shoney's to get breakfast.  A couple of the
busboys and waiters stared at us too long for it not to be sexual interest.
After we ate and smoked cigarettes, we were back on the road.
	I always like to see the reaction of people when they see the
Country Place for the first time.  The gardens were magnificent, and Bob
kept them in first-rate shape.  Doug reacted with disbelief when we first
entered the grounds.
	"Is this your place," he asked, obviously astonished at it all.
	"Mine and my brothers'.  The family has had it for five
generations.  We didn't run slaves on it, or anything.  But it's been here
that long.  Longer, really.  We figure that at least part of the house is
about two hundred years old."
	Doug reacted with the usual surprise when we finally drove up to
the house.  Inside, he went from room to room, gawking and commenting on
how beautiful it all was.  I was proud of the place, of course, even though
I couldn't take a bit of credit for creating it. That was all my mom's
doing.
	We put our stuff in my room.  I had plenty of clothes there, but I
brought in my overnight bag, too.
	I asked, "What do you say we go down by the pool?  Or would you
prefer to walk around the place and see what's here?"
	"Let's don't do anything right now.  I want to talk to you.  Sit
down."
	I sat down on the sofa that's in front of the fireplace in the
sitting room that's part of my suite, and Doug sat next to me.
	"What's on your mind," I asked.
	"Well, er. . .it's about us.  And what we've been doing."
	"The sex, you mean?"
	"Yeah."  He paused and started to say something, but hesitated.  "I
don't really know how to say this."
	"You want it to stop," I said.  The anxiety on his face made me
believe he was really uncomfortable with our love-making, and I wanted to
make this as easy for him as I could.
	"Oh, no.  Not stop."  He was pretty adamant.
	"You want more?"
	"Well, yeah.  In a way.  I mean, what we've done has been fabulous.
I've experienced pleasures I didn't know the human body was capable of, and
you've been terrifically patient and gentle.  But I was wondering
when. . . ."
	"When do we get around to the butt-fucking?"
	"Yeah."  There was relief in his voice.
	"I'm ready any time you are.  I haven't said anything because we
hadn't talked about it, and I didn't know if you were interested.  A lot of
guys aren't, you know."
	"I'm ready, but I've got some questions first.  Does it hurt?"
	"It doesn't hurt me.  But I've been doing it for years, so I've
probably got calluses up my ass."  He laughed.  "Seriously, the only
discomfort is when the head of the guy's cock opens the ring of muscles
that holds your shit in.  How's that for a clinical description?"  He
laughed again.  "That muscle stretches, though.  What I like to do is get a
guy ready by using my fingers.  And plenty of lube, of course.  I won't lie
to you.  My cock is pretty big, and some people have trouble taking it the
first few times.  I've never had anybody bleed or anything, and, after the
initial entry, everybody has always said it was good.  I'm not bragging.
I'm just trying to tell you how it is."
	"What does it feel like when you're in?"
	"You mean to the guy takin' it?  It feels like tremendous fullness.
It's like when you've got to take a mamouth shit, but more's involved than
just a dick up your ass.  There's an incredible closeness.  You've probably
read porno stuff about guys slamming into their partners and all that shit.
That isn't sex; that's rape.  It's just like when somebody jerks me off.  I
don't want it rough and frantic.  I want it to be a communication about the
way the other person feels toward me.  That's the way I am with butt-sex.
I want the other person to enjoy it.  Oh, and there's the business about
the prostate.  I guess you know about that?"
	"Yeah.  I've even removed a few."
	"How romantic," I said and made a face.  He laughed.
	"Doug, the one thing you can't ever lose sight of is that sex is
supposed to be fun.  If it isn't, it isn't sex.  It's brutality.  It's
abuse.  It's rape.  If we're ever doing something that makes you
uncomfortable, you just say so, and I'll stop.  I can control myself.  I'm
not twelve years old."
	"See, Nick, that's the kind of attitude that I want in a sex
partner.  You're a nice man.  Do you know that?"
	"Aw, shucks, Doc."  He laughed again.
	"I mean it."  He had bought a pack of cigarettes earlier in the
day, and he lit one.  That was the first one he smoked without my smoking
at the same time.  Then I lit one, too.
	We sat in silence for few minutes.  He was obviously thinking about
what I had said.  He put his smoke out, and I finished mine a minute or so
later.  I moved closer to him on the sofa and put my arm around his
shoulder.  He leaned into me.  I repositioned us so that we faced one
another.  We leaned toward one another and kissed.  We kissed for a long
time--in fact, long enough for me to get hard.  I put his hand on my
crotch, and I put mine on his.  His boner was making a tent out of his gym
shorts, and mine was getting a little uncomfortable in my tight cutoffs.  I
took his hand and led him to the bed in the other room.
	I pulled back the covers on the bed, and we undressed each other.
He was nervous, and he trembled a little.  Standing, I pulled him to me,
and we kissed again.  I let my hands run down to his butt cheeks, and I
rubbed them softly.  He moaned a little.  I put my hand in his crack and
fingered his asshole.  I didn't insert a finger yet because I didn't have
any lube, but I played with it.  He responded with delight, and I could
tell he was going to like butt-sex.
	I led him to the bed, and we both got in.  We continued kissing and
fondling one another until we were both highly aroused.  Then I put him on
his back and crawled down between his thighs.  I licked them and caressed
them.  I had him bend his knees with his feet flat on the bed, and that
gave me access to his hole.  I licked it, and a chill of pleasure went
through him.  I licked some more, and then I stuck my tongue into his hole.
It was probably just my imagination, but it seemed to open a little for my
tongue.  After a few minutes, I got out a tube of KY jelly from the bedside
table and spread a generous amount on my longest finger.  I swished it
around on his butthole, and then I gently inserted the finger as far as it
would go.  He took it easily.  I inserted a second finger and then moved my
fingers apart to stretch his muscle ring.  He didn't complain, and the
periodic moans of pleasure that came from him let me know things were going
well.
	I asked him to lube my cock.  He put a big dollop of KY on the head
and worked it down the shaft.
	"Are you ready," I asked.
	"Yes.  I want you."
	"Lie back and put your ankles on my shoulders.  I'm going to push
your legs up toward you.  Let me know if I push too far."
	I did that.  I positioned the head of my cock at his asshole, and I
pushed a small part of it in.  I didn't hit the muscle ring yet, but I was
touching it.
	"Strain down like you're taking a shit, and that'll loosen the
muscle a little," I told him.
	He did as I said.
	"Here goes," I said.  I slowly moved into him.  The first part of
my cockhead passed the ring without any apparent discomfort.  The bigger
part, the ridge at the bottom of the head, was more difficult for most
people to take.  I moved slowly, but not so slowly as to draw out the pain,
if there was any.  In an instant, the head of my cock was past the muscle
ring.  He gasped.
	"How you doing," I asked.
	"This feels incredible.  It didn't hurt when you passed through my
sphincter.  I could feel it stretching, but it didn't hurt."
	"Good.  That's the only potentially painful part.  Now comes the
good part."
	I slipped the rest of my cock into him.  I waited a few seconds
before thrusting in and out to let him get used to having me there.  Then I
started sliding in and out.
	"See if you can pick up my rhythm," I said.  After a few more
thrusts, he had it.  From there, the rest was a piece of cake.
	His ass was tight, as all virgin asses are, but the ride was
smooth.  I pushed back on his legs a little, and that must have done the
trick of having my cock make direct contact with his prostate because he
started moaning and gasping and breathing harder.
	"Did I find the spot," I asked.
	"Oh, God, yeeeesssss!  Don't stop.  It feels wonderful."
	I didn't stop.  I continued plowing his ass with all the skill I
possessed.  After twenty or thirty thursts, I felt his ass contract.
	"You're coming," I said.
	He didn't answer, but the look on his face said he was.  His
contractions set me off, and I burst inside him just as the first spurt of
cum shot out of his cock.  It hit his chin and dribbled onto his chest.  He
shot seven more times, at least.  By the time he was finished, we were both
drained.
	I had forgotten to get a towel or anything else to clean up with,
so I got out of bed and went for one.  On the way back, I picked up
cigarettes and a lighter.  We could use the ashtray on the nightstand.
	After I cleaned him up and lit up a smoke, I looked over at him.
He was still in a kind of stupor some people experience after intense sex.
I didn't touch him or say anything for a few moments.  When he looked like
he was regaining his faculties, I asked him how he'd liked it.
	"Do I have to say anything?  Can't you tell?"
	I laughed.  "I'd say you had a pretty good time."
	Then he laughed.  He took a cigarette from the pack, and I lit it
for him.  We lay back, basking in the feeling of warmth and friendship and
union that we had achieved.
	We didn't stay in bed too long, though.  I wanted to get up and do
something.
	"Let's go for a walk around the park," I said.  We call the fifty
or so acres around the house "the park" because it looks like one.  "You
don't need to get dressed.  Nobody else is here, and fuck 'em if they are."
	I could tell he was a little hesitant, but he did as I said.  I
took a leather fanny pack out of my closet and put cigarettes, a lighter,
and keys to the various buildings in it.  I slung it over my shoulder.  We
didn't even bother to wear shoes.
	We went out the front door of the house and were face to face with
the magnificent liveoak trees that line the drive and circle the house.
These trees are at least a hundred years old, and they form a beautiful
canopy of maybe forty feet over the front drive.  They go around both sides
of the house.  On the left, as you face the house, is a porte co-chere, or
covered entry, to the "public" side of the house--the library, billiards
room, smoking room, etc.  On the right is the "service" entry--it opens
into the hallway that leads to the kitchen, pantry, etc.  That's where
deliveries were supposed to be made in the old days.  The front drive
doesn't go to the highway.  It's about a half mile long, and the drive into
the place is another mile and a half.  We're pretty isolated.
	On either side of the trees were huge beds of daylillies and
cannas, I think they're called.  Anyway, there were big splotches of yellow
and red, and they were really very pretty.  In the spring, they were full
of pansies, alternating yellow and blue.  It was quite a sight.  We walked
down the drive and then turned right to come up to the "garden."
	Doug was completely taken with the display.  The colors were
fantastic, and the stuff was so well cared for that it looked like a
picture in a book or magazine.  The garden is terraced down to the river,
and there are granite stairs leading to the landing at the foot of the
garden.  At the top of the garden are several patios, or terraces, and the
last one had the pool and pavillion.  The pool is huge, and the pavillion
is an enormous party house my dad and uncle had built when they inherited
the place when I was six years old.  It has a big party area, with two pool
tables, ping pong, a full bar, and a full kitchen.  The building also holds
a work-out room with a full complement of machines and free weights, a
locker room, a shower room, a steam bath, and a sauna.  Behind it are four
guest houses, that are really remodeled slave quarters.  They're identical:
living room, dining room, kitchen, and "extra" room, downstairs; four
bedrooms with baths, upstairs. My parents used to have big weekend parties
that started on Friday afternoon and lasted until Sunday night.  These
guest houses were great for those.
	When we went into the pavillion, Doug was amazed at its size and
accommodations.  After I showed it to him, he said,
	"This would make a great place for a jerk-off party."
	"A what," I asked, not sure I had heard him correctly.
	"A jerk-off party.  Have you ever been to one?"
	"I don't even know what you're talking about," I said.
	"I've never been to one, either, but I've only read about them on
the Internet.  Apparently, guys get together at a place like this, and
everybody is nude.  That's required.  Sex is encouraged, but only jerking
off.  No sucking or fucking.  'No lips below the hips' is the motto.
Anyway, they have dispensers with oil in them, and guys come and drink and
eat and jerk each other off."
	"That sounds like fun," I said.
	"Yeah, I guess it is.  This place would be great for one, too,
because you have showers and lockers and it's all one big room.  Guys could
even go in the pool, if they wanted to."
	"You read about this on the Internet," I asked.
	"Yeah.  It was a site called 'Melbourn Wankers,' I think.  From
Australia.  You ought to check it out."
	"More than I want to check out the site, I want to have the party.
Let's do it tomorrow night."
	"Are you serious," he asked.
	"Hell, yeah, I'm serious.  Why not?  It sounds like fun."
	"Who would you invite?  How many guys do you know who would come to
something like that?"
	"Don't worry about that.  I know plenty.  Before we do anything,
though, let me talk to Bob.  He manages this place."
	There was a phone in the pavillion, and I called Bob's pager
number.  While we were waiting for Bob to call me back, I got us beers from
the cooler in the kitchen.  We sat at a table, drank our beers, and smoked
cigarettes.
	When Bob called back, I explained what I was thinking about.  "Do
you think we could do that," I asked.
	"Hell, yes.  I went to one of those in San Francisco once and had
the time of my life.  Where are you right now?"
	"I'm in the pavillion."
	"I'll be there in five minutes."  He hung up without saying
goodbye, and that was a sign he was excited.
	Bob pulled up in less than five minutes, and he joined us in the
pavillion.  I made the introductions, and he and Doug shook hands.  Bob was
fully dressed, of course, but he took off his clothes to fit in.
	"God, Nick, this is a fabulous idea.  I never thought about it
before," Bob said.
	"Thank Doug for the idea.  I'd never heard of a jerk-off party
until a half hour ago."
	"Doug," Bob said, "you've got good instincts.  I like that."
	We planned the party.  We figured we could put up about forty
people in the guest houses and another twenty inside.  That was sixty.
There were some local guys Bob knew who would come, too, but they wouldn't
necessarily stay the night.  We would call ten guys, five each, and tell
them to invite five other guys.  That would give us a pretty good crowd.
They should start arriving around five the next evening.  We'd have a big
bar-b-que ready at eight, and then the fun would begin.
	I called my brother Scott and told him what was going on.  He said
he couldn't come, but he would send two bartenders and two waiters from the
clubs to handle the food.  He also said he would send snacks and
liquor--and charge it all to me, of course.  Like that mattered.  Scott
also said he would get six dancers who might be interested in the party to
go.
	I next called my brother Matt.  He said he'd come and bring at
least ten guys.  Then I called Mike Sutton's number and remembered he was
in California.  I called the vice-president of the Branding Circle, and he
said he'd be glad to come and would bring at least ten guys with him.  I
also called my buddy Tom Grant, and he said he could get at least ten guys.
I figured that was plenty from my end.  If all those guys spent the night,
it would be a crowd.
	Bob called some of his local friends, and he came up with a pretty
good invite list, too.  So, the party was a done deal.
	"So, what's next, Bob," I asked.
	"Well, the house and the guest houses are ready.  We've just got to
worry about the food."
	We planned menues for the bar-b-que and for breakfast the next
morning.  I called Scott back to find out if his waiters or bartenders
could cook, and he said he'd send a cook, too.  I asked him to send thirty
filled ketchup squeezers and several extra gallons of oil, and he said he
would.
	Planning the party took the rest of the afternoon.  Around five,
Bob said he'd better be going.
	"Why don't you stay and eat with us," I asked.
	"Well, you know. . . ."
	"Call him up.  Tell him to get his ass over here, too," I said.
Bob always had a boyfriend living with him.  Bob lived in the old overseers
house on the estate.  He had done a magnificent job of decorating the
place, and it could have easily been a feature in a magazine.  Bob's taste
in men tended toward the rough.
	Bob called his friend Travis, and he said he'd be over as soon as
he showered.  Travis worked as a lineman for the telephone company, and Bob
said he usually came home pretty dirty.
	"Where'd you find him," I asked.
	"I met him through a mutual friend."
	"Is it love," I asked, "or lust?"
	"The latter," was all he said, and the three of us laughed.
	Travis got there in about thirty minutes.  I could tell he was a
little nervous about meeting people, so I went out of my way to be
charming.  I made drinks for all of us, and then I went inside to get the
steaks I'd taken out earlier.  Bob came with me, and we quickly put
together a pretty fair meal.  We decided to wait awhile to cook, so I got
out some cheese, crackers, and a bag of Swedish meatballs that were in the
freezer.  I ran them under hot water for about ten minutes, and that's all
it took to defrost them.  Two minutes in the microwave were enough to get
them ready to serve.

Chapter Two

	Doug and I had decided to get dressed before Travis got there so he
wouldn't be intimidated by two naked guys greeting him for the first time.
I put on the minimum, cut-offs and a tank top, and Doug put his shorts and
a tee shirt on.
	This Travis guy was quite a hunk.  Bob has a good eye for men, even
if they aren't the most refined guys on the planet.  He must have been
twenty-three or twenty-four, was nicely tanned from being outside all day,
and had some pretty awesomely developed muscle in his upper body.  His face
was pretty easy on the eyes, too.
	Bob kissed Travis when he walked into the pavillion, and Travis
blushed.  He looked at Doug and me with a kind of helpless look on his
face, not knowing how we'd react to such an open display of affection.
That boy might have been as queer as the proverbial three-dollar bill, but
he was macho to the core.  I assumed in his line of work gays weren't
tolerated really well, and he had probably spent his entire life developing
the mannerisms of the totally manly man.  I understood that, having pretty
much done the same thing myself.
	Bob introduced Travis to me and Doug, and, when we shook hands, I
felt the hardness in his palm that comes from hard manual labor.  When I
had first started working out, I hadn't used gloves, and my hands had
gotten that way in a matter of weeks.  I liked it well enough, but my
brother Matt convinced me that calluses didn't exactly feel all that good
on some of the more tender spots of the human body.  Since then I had used
gloves to work out, so my hands were as soft as Doug's.
	I made drinks for everybody, and we relaxed.
	"What kind of day did you have, babe," Bob asked.
	"Aw, you know.  The same old shit," Travis replied.  "Nothing much
ever happens."
	When he said that, I could clearly tell Travis was anything but
relaxed.  I really felt bad for the poor guy.  He might have been rough
trade, but he was still someone that Bob cared about.  I thought hard of a
way to put him at his ease.  Then it hit me.
	"Tell Travis what you did this afternoon, Bob," I said.
	Bob knew instinctively where I was going with that remark, I
thought, and he grinned at me.
	"These two guys and I planned a jerk-off party for tomorrow night."
	"A what?!"  Travis was obviously taken aback.
	"A jerk-off party.  It was Doug's idea.  He and Nick are...what?
lovers?"
	"I'd say fuck-buddies at this point," I responded.
	I could see Travis take a deep breath, and his body language told
me he had relaxed at least by half with that one line from me.
	"So what the fuck is a jerk-off party," he asked.  "Although I
probably have a pretty good idea."
	Doug explained it.  Travis looked at Bob with a knowing grin, as
much as to say 'I didn't think you set me up, babe.'"
	"You know any guys to invite," I asked.  "The more the merrier."
	Travis looked at Bob again and laughed.  "Jesus Christ, man.  I
thought these guys were straight.  When you kissed me, I almost shit my
pants.  Dammit, Bob, don't do that shit to me."
	Bob leaned over and kissed Travis again, and that time Travis was
obviously much more comfortable with the kiss.
	"I'm sorry, babe," Bob said.  "I really didn't realize you were
that uptight.  I won't ever do that again."
	"Fuck," Travis said, and I noticed tears develop in the corners of
his eyes.  He wiped them away with the napkin I had given him with his
drink, and I felt a genuine wave of affection for that guy wash over me.
	"Anybody for pool," I asked, eager to change the subject and move
on to something that would lighten the atmosphere.  "How about Bob and
Travis against Doug and me.  Best two out of three games of Eight Ball for
blow jobs.  Winners call their preference."
	Travis laughed a nervous laugh.  There must have been more depth to
that guy than the surface revealed.  "Now that I can handle," he said.
	I looked at Bob and Doug, and they sort of shrugged, indicating
they were willing.
	"Okay, so let's do it, guys," I said.  "We'll play a practice game
first, since I haven't shot pool in forever."  That was, of course, a gross
lie on my part, but I had no idea of how comfortable the others felt on a
pool table.  I wanted to give them a chance to warm up before the real
thing started.
	I racked a table, and Travis and I lagged for which team would get
to break.  He beat me, and I knew right away that boy was no stranger to a
pool cue.
	The practice game was good, and it turned out Doug had much better
eye-hand coordination that I thought he would have.  When I thought about
it later, I realized surgery was all about eye-hand coordination, but, at
the time, I assumed a non-athlete like Doug would be lame, at best.  He and
I ended up winning the practice game, so we got the right to break.  He
told me to take first shot, and I did.  I didn't sink any balls, but I
managed to scatter the balls to hell and back.
	Bob shot next and missed.
	Doug shot, sank one, and then missed on his second try.
	Travis sank one, too, on his first shot, but he went on to sink two
more in succession.
	I shot again, and I managed to sink three before scratching.
	The match went on like this for a good while.  Finally, we were
down to the eight ball in the last of the three games.  It was tied one
game each.  Doug had missed on his last shot, and then it was Travis' turn.
He called his pocket, lit a cigarette, and generally took his time.  The
shot wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible, either.  With his Marlboro
dangling from his lips, Travis banked the eight ball into a side pocket,
and he and Bob won the contest.
	By that time, we had each had three drinks without eating anything
but a few snacks I had put out, so everyone was in kind of high spirits.
Bob and Travis "high-fived," and then they hugged one another.  Travis
actually kissed Bob, and it was a good bit more than a peck on the lips.  I
knew, then, he felt at home with us.
	"So what'll be, guys?  Y'all are the winners."  I took the initiave
since it had been my idea to play and bet in the first place.
	"I say another round of drinks, then dinner, and then we get down
to particulars," Bob said.
	"Right on, dude," Travis said.  "I'm so fucking hungry I'm liable
to bite off and swallow any cock I suck right now."
	We all laughed at that, but I thought we all could use a nice juicy
steak.  Bob and I set about getting things ready, leaving Travis and Doug
in the pavillion while we went into the house to prepare dinner.

	Bob was a first-rate cook, but we were having the usual all-guys
meal: baked potatoes, salad, and steak.
	"I wonder what they're talking about out there," Bob said.
	"Me, too.  They don't have a whole hell of a lot in common," I
said.
	"What does Doug do for a living," Bob asked.
	"He's a surgeon."
	"A what?"
	"You heard me.  He just finished his residency in general surgery
on Monday.  I met him yesterday, and I took his cherry."
	"Jesus Christ, Nick.  We've left the two opposite ends of the
education scale alone in the pavillion.  They're probably sitting there
staring at the floor.  I took Travis' cherry a week ago tonight."
	"Are you shitting me?  What, had he always been into girls before?"
	"Nope.  I gave him his first sexual experience.  Ever."
	"No.  No.  No.  That can't be true," I said.  That guy oozed
sexuality, and there was just no way he hadn't been fucking since he was
old enough to get a hard-on.
	"I thought the same thing, but it's true.  You can see how shy he
is, and he told me he's known he was gay since he was thirteen.  This isn't
New Orleans.  In a town of 2,300 people, a star high school football player
can't be out fucking the boys, even if there were some to fuck.  He says he
genuinely wasn't interested in girls and used to make up stories about
fucking girls so he would fit in.  He was a total and complete virgin until
last Thursday night."
	"Damn," I said.  I really didn't know how to react.
	"Did you notice the way Doug was looking at him?  I think your
buddy might be interested in him."
	"Aw, no, man.  You think?"
	"Well, my instincts are usually pretty good.  Travis seemed pretty
interested in Doug, too, unless I'm completely wrong."
	"Damn.  The surgeon and the lineman.  That's quite a couple."
	"Don't misunderstand me about Travis.  He's not educated, but he's
a smart guy.  Very smart, in fact.  Would you be terribly hurt if it
happened between them?"
	"Shit," I said to indicate that Doug was just a lay, as far as I
was concerned.
	"Well, I feel the same way about Travis.  Let's see what develops."
	Bob and I finished up with dinner, and we called the guys in from
the pavillion.  We might have eaten on the patio, but it was just much
easier to set the table in the breakfast room and eat in there.  They came
in right away, and we all sat down to eat.
	It was almost 9 o'clock.  Everyone was really hungry, so there
wasn't a lot of conversation at first.  I had gotten a bottle of so-so red
wine from the wine cellar, and everybody thought it was great.  The steaks
were excellent, and everything else was just as it should have been.
	About five minutes into the meal, Doug said, "Travis, does Bob know
your news?"
	We all looked at Travis.  Bob obviously didn't know.
	"Well, tell us, man.  What is it?"  Bob obviously assumed Travis
had good news to share.
	"Aw, man."  There was a long pause, but we all waited for him to
tell.  "Tomorrow's my last day on my job."
	There was a long pause when nobody said anything.  Then Bob piped
up.  "Did you get a promotion, or what?"
	"I wish.  I fucking got laid off.  Not fired.  Laid off.  There's a
difference, you know."
	Another silence.
	"Oh, we know the difference," Bob said.  "Man, I hate that for
you."  We all seconded Bob's sentiment.
	"What are you going to do," Bob asked.
	"I don't know.  Doug and I have been talking.  Maybe it's time for
me to move away from bum-fuck Egypt and go to a city."
	"New Orleans," I asked.
	"Maybe.  Or Houston, Texas.  Someplace big where there are jobs and
opportunities."
	"Doug's fixin' to move to Houston," I said.
	"I know," Travis replied.
	Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small, brief smile cross Bob's
lips, telling me "I told you so."
	There was a long pause in the conversation.  Then I asked who
needed more wine.  "This won't keep," I said.  "We have to finish the
bottle."  I topped off everyone's glass, and then the bottle was empty.
	"I've got a cousin in Houston," Travis said.  "I seen him Christmas
a year ago, and he told me it's a boom town."
	"I'm driving out there Saturday to look at houses," Doug said.
"I've asked Travis to go with me to help with the driving."
	"Cool," I said.  I saw what was developing, and, frankly, I was
happy for both of them.

	We finished dinner with coffee and cigarettes.  Doug had put a
frozen pie in the oven, but nobody wanted any.  I got up and made myself a
Stinger.  When I came back I realized I hadn't asked the others if they
wanted one, and they all did.  So I got back up and made three more.
	After a while, Travis said, "We had a bet, and I was a winner.  I
want to collect my winnings."
	I had all but forgotten about the bet.
	"Right," I said.
	"I choose Doug," Travis said.  "I won the fucking game, after all."
	"Well, Bob, I guess that leaves you and me, buddy."
	"Yep, I guess so," he said.  "You guys want to go upstairs?  There
are lots of rooms up there, and they're all ready for you."
	"You mind if we go back to your house," Travis asked.
	Bob caught my eye and winked.
	"Hell, no.  Y'all take my house.  Nick and I can find a place here,
can't we, Nick?"
	"Oh, yeah," I said.  "Lots of them."
	They went ahead and left, leaving Bob and me with the clean-up.
	"Don't you wish you could have been a fly on the wall in the
pavillion while we were in here cooking," Bob asked.  He was grinning from
ear to ear.
	"Damn right, man.  That must have been pretty intense."
	"Would you have ever guessed it," he asked me.
	"Well, I don't know Doug well enough to know, frankly.  I've known
his for something like thirty-six hours.  He was attracted to me because I
looked pretty rough to him, I guess, but last night we ate at Antoine's,
and Eddie was our waiter by coincidence.  I also put on a classical piece
at the gym and commented on a painting he has.  Maybe I'm too refined for
him."  I laughed at my own joke about myself, and Bob laughed, too, when he
realized what I had said.
	When we had finished cleaning up, Bob asked me if I really wanted
him to collect on my debt.
	"It's up to you," I said.
	"Can we postpone payment," he asked.  "I'm so tired I'm about to
fall out on my feet."
	"That's cool with me, dude.  But I still owe you.  Don't forget."
	"Whatever," he said, and we both went to bed in different rooms.

	The next morning I woke up around 10 o'clock, and, when I went
downstairs, Bob had already made coffee for us.  He was sitting on the
patio next to the pool, reading the paper.  I got a cup and went out to
join him.
	"Morning," he said.  I said "morning" in response.
	We sat in total silence for a little while.  Bob set the paper
aside, and he and I drank coffee.  I lit up a cigarette from the pack that
was on the table, Bob's I assumed, or maybe mine.  I didn't give a shit.
He lit up, too.
	"We've got a hell of a lot of work to do between now and 9 o'clock
tonight," he said.
	"I know."
	"You know, the idea of a jerk-off party is great, but we should
have planned it for next weekend, not tonight."
	I had thought about that very fact.
	"I know.  What were we thinking," I asked.
	"We weren't thinking with the right head, that's for sure."
	I smiled, but that was the most emotion I could muster.  We
finished our coffee, and Bob went inside and got the pot and cream and
sugar.  We had another cup and each smoked another cigarette.
	When we were just about finished, we heard two cars drive up.  At
first I thought it might be Doug and Travis, but then I realized they had
walked back to Bob's house the night before.  Bob's truck was at the big
house, and Doug didn't have a car with him.  At best, one vehicle could
have belonged to Travis, but there were clearly two driving up.
	Before I had time to figure out all the possibilities, Scott,
Philip, and six guys from the clubs came around the corner of the house.  I
was really glad to see them.
	I said hello to Scott and Philip, as did Bob, and we shook hands
with the other guys.
	"We've come to save your asses," Philip said.  "Who the fuck
thought you two guys could organize the kind of party you're having by
yourselves?"
	Bob and I looked at one another and broke into huge grins.
	"You guys are here to save the day," Bob said.  "I was just
thinking the same thing."
	I laughed.  "So was I."
	"Well, we all think it's a great idea, and we're here to make it
happen," Scott said.
	We made two more pots of coffee, and we all drank coffee, ate the
sausage biscuits they had picked up at Burger King, and talked.  The six
guys with Scott and Philip were all employees of the clubs, and I assumed
they were on the payroll for that day.  I didn't care, of course, but I was
damn glad to see them.
	By noon, we were ready to start setting up.  Two guys set up a
large bar in the pavillion.  Two more cleaned the pool.  It wasn't really
dirty, but it wasn't exactly up to party standards.  I hadn't even thought
of that.  Around 1 o'clock a pick-up truck drove up with two huge bar-b-cue
grills on it, and those were unloaded and set up.  Fifteen minutes later a
van pulled up loaded with food.  There were, like, a hundred steaks, a
hundred potatoes, a shit load of salad stuff, hors d'oeuvres arranged on
beautiful trays, finger sandwiches, huge platters of dessert stuff.  That
stuff couldn't be put out yet, but at least it was there.
	Around 4 o'clock, a DJ showed up to set up his equipment.  That
party was turning into something else.
	When I looked at my watch and saw that it was 4:30, I realized we
hadn't yet seen Doug and Travis.
	"Doug and Travis haven't made it down here yet," I told Bob.
	"Yeah, I've noticed.  That's probably a good thing.  Let's leave
them alone a little longer."
	By 5 o'clock, everything that could be done had been done.  That
was going to be a rip-roaring party, if all the stuff we had ready was any
indication.  There were close to fifteen guys there already, some in the
pool, some in the pavillion shooting pool, some exploring the property.
Scott, Philip, Bob, and I were sitting at a table on the patio drinking
coffee.  Just then, Doug and Travis walked up.
	"Well, glad you could make it," I said, grinning.
	"Don't give us no shit, man," Travis said, and he punched me
lightly on the arm.  "It's all your fucking fault, anyway, and we want to
thank you."
	"Hmmmmmm," I said.
	Doug grinned more than I thought he was capable of.  He hit me,
too.
	"Watch the arm, guys.  I might have to see some fucking surgeon, or
something."
	Doug and Travis howled, and Bob laughed, too.  Scott and Philip sat
there impassive.  They hadn't even met those guys.
	I took care of the introductions, and they all shook hands.
	"So, is the party still on," Doug asked.
	"Fuck you, dude.  No thanks to your sorry asses.  Yeah, it's on,
and we've got more food and booze and shit here than you could imagine.
Get yourselves some coffee or a beer or whatever you want, but I need a nap
before this thing starts.  We've worked our asses off all day without you
guys."
	Bob agreed with me about a nap, and Scott and Philip said they
could use some rest, too.  The four of us went into the house.
	Once in my room, Bob said it was time to collect his debt.
	"Top or bottom," I asked.
	"Sixty-nine, Nick.  Sixty-nine."
	We undressed and got in bed.  We moved into the sixty-nine
position, and we sucked each other off to spectacular climaxes.  After
that, we went to sleep.  I had a timer next to my bed, and I set it for two
hours.  We'd be ready to party by then.

The Party

	The first group of guys came right around nine.  They were mostly
locals.  We had printed up some flyers with the rules on them, thanks to
Philip, and a guy from the clubs gave them out as guys got there.  The guy
giving out the rules was naked, and he had a fantastic build and a cock to
match, so I think they all took him seriously.
	By 11 o'clock, the place was rocking.  Everybody was naked, as per
the rules, and the food, which had gone pretty fast at first, was holding
out after it had been replenished.  A couple of guys were seeing to it, and
they did their jobs well.  Every now and then I'd pass by the table and get
a couple of meatballs, some crab dip, and three or four finger sandwiches.
I never sat down and ate a steak, but I ate enough to keep hunger at bay.
	I don't know how many people actually showed up for the party, but
it must have been a hundred or more.  It had been billed as a jerk-off
party, but I don't really remember seeing anybody actually jerking off or
jerking off somebody else.  I saw two or three guys at a time with hard-ons
leave the room to step outside, so maybe that happened, so maybe it all
happened under cover of darkness.
	Doug and Travis were there when it started, but I lost track of
them pretty quickly.  I suspected they had walked back you to Bob's house
for whatever they wanted to do.  It was obvious to me Doug really liked
Travis, and I think Travis really liked Doug.  When I thought about it
later, I realized they were perfect for one another. They were both new to
sex, really, and they could learn together.  Doug was close to thirty years
old, but, in a sense, he was just beginning his life as an adult.  He had
been a student since he was five, and that's a long time to be at the beck
and call of teachers, even if you were already a doctor.  Travis was only
twenty-two, but he had been pretty reclusive all his life, apparently.
Neither guy had had much sexual experience, and it was kind of cute
thinking about them falling in love and experimenting with all the things I
had been doing for years.
	I had no idea how, or at what time, the party actually ended.  I
more or less collapsed on a sofa in the pavillion after the DJ had packed
up, but there were still guys there when I felt myself drifting off to
sleep.

	I woke up the next morning around eleven, and all the food had been
put away by somebody.  I assumed Philip and Scott, or somebody, had
supervised that near the end of the party.  I had drunk way too much, and
my head and neck hurt when I woke up.  I went into the lockerroom of the
pavillion and found some aspirin.  I took four and laid back down.  In a
half hour, I felt good, so I got up and went looking for my boys.  Scott,
Philip, Bob, Doug, and Travis were on the patio.  They were all dressed,
but I was still naked.  It didn't bother me, and I knew it didn't bother
them.
	"Well, look who's up," Scott said.
	"Hey," I said, halfheartedly.
	They poured me coffee, fixed it for me, and Scott handed me a
cigarette.  I looked over toward the driveway, and there were still a
couple of cars there.  I didn't recognize them, but I figured they belonged
to guys who were still asleep.
	"Where is everybody," I asked.
	"There're gone, bubba," Philip said.  "That was a hell of a party,
though.  Everybody had a great time."
	"Who do those cars belong to," I asked.
	"Well, the red pickup is mine," Travis said.
	"The rest belong to us," Scott said, "including you.  You must
still be fucked up."
	"I ain't fucked up, bubba.  I feel great."
	After saying that, I dove into the pool and swam ten laps.  When I
got out, I shook myself off, spraying water onto the whole table.
	"Shit," Bob said.  The rest just laughed.
	"You guys all seem to be dressed.  I ain't fucking getting dressed.
So there."  They laughed.
	"Nick, Travis and I are about to leave.  Will you walk out to
Travis' car with me," Doug asked.
	I poured myself another cup of coffee, tucked a cigarette behind my
ear, and said I would.  When we got to Travis' truck, Doug turned me toward
him.
	"How can I thank you, man?"
	"What the fuck are you talking about," I asked.
	"You don't know," he asked.
	"No.  I really don't.  What are you talking about?"
	"How can I thank you for making it all right for me to be gay?"
	"Doug, you're a hell of a nice guy, and you can operate on me any
time you want to, but I really don't know what the fuck you're talking
about."
	"Are you still drunk?"
	"No, but I damn sure know I was last night."
	He laughed.
	"Nick.  Look at me.  You allowed me to discover who I am sexually.
How can I ever thank you enough for that?"
	"You don't have to thank me, Doug."
	"Oh, yes, I do.  I've never met a guy like you before.  Nobody I've
ever known has been as open and accepting as you have.  You're the best,
man.  Travis and I are going to Houston together, and I really think this
is the start of something permanent between us.  Thank you."
	"I'm really happy for you man.  The surgeon and the lineman.  I
don't take credit or blame for that matchup.  Y'all are gonna have to work
that out between you.
	Doug laughed.  "That's a catchy line: the surgeon and the lineman.
I like that."
	He took me into his arms and kissed me tenderly.  Then he opened
the door to Travis' truck and blew the horn to let him know Doug was ready
to leave.  Travis came up, hugged me goodbye, and they drove off together.
About six weeks after that day, I got e-mail.  In the "From:" box where the
sender's name was, it read "The Surgeon and the Lineman."

The End

Postscript
	I didn't stay in close touch with Doug and Travis after that
summer, but they showed up in New Orleans for Mardi Gras last year.  We met
for a drink at their hotel after the Bacchus parade the Sunday night before
Mardi Gras.  They both looked terrific, and a blind person could tell they
were very much in love.
	Doug had settled into his practice and was busy removing gall
bladders, fixing hernias, and yanking tonsils out of little kids.  He loved
his work, and he said he thought he was pretty good at it.  Travis was in
school at Rice University, no less, majoring in computer science.  He had a
3.7 GPA, and his professors were already talking to him about graduate
work.
	"We're sorry we haven't kept up with you, Nick," Doug said at one
point.
	"Well, I haven't been exactly bombarding you guys with e-mail,
either, now have I?"
	"I know, but we owe you so much."
	"Bullshit.  What do you think you owe me?"
	"Well, you got us together, for one thing," Travis said.  He had
lost some of the Mississippi twang in his speech.
	"That was coincidence, man," I said.  I hadn't "fixed them up," or
anything.
	"Yeah, but you helped me know it's okay to be gay and to really
care for another guy," Doug said.  He took Travis' hand into his when he
said that.  "And that's what really made it all possible."
	"Has he learned to say 'cock' instead of 'penis,'" I asked Travis.
	Doug blushed.
	"Hell, no," Travis said.  "I don't think he has the testicles for
it."
	We all roared with laughter.