Date: Sun, 8 Jan 2006 20:44:26 -0800 (PST)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: closets, chapter 3 for adult friends category

My sincere thanks to those who have written with their compliments.  I
write for you!


CLOSETS CHAPTER 3
LITTLE-KNOWN FAGS:  AN INTERLUDE


    The three of us - Calvin, Lonnie, and I - must have spent three hours
primping like high school girls before the prom.  Just hanging out naked
with them was a treat for me, and getting my balls carefully shaved by a
lithe, nude young hunk beats all hell out of having to do it myself.  There
was a "fainting couch" in my room, over which Lonnie draped a quilt, and
they laid me out on it to work on my Cinderella treatment.

    While Lonnie trimmed delicately with the razor and scissors, and Calvin
worked on my toes, the two of them kept up a running banter on some of the
characters I was likely to meet at the club.  I asked how the membership
worked, and learned that it took three existing members to nominate a new
one.  There had originally been twelve founders, all white men of
substance.  But the color barrier had been broken right away when J. P. and
two buddies (one of whom was Peter DuPree, J. P.'s best friend, Bryce's
grand-father) had nominated Dr. Jim Wragg, the local black dentist.  That
led the way for others, and now there were quite a number of black members.
And not all the present members were gay or even bi-some were simply
gay-tolerant men who liked to work out and lounge in an all-male
environment.

    "How come it isn't just a bunch of old men?"

    "Two reasons," said Calvin.  "One, they've been very deliberate in
recruiting and welcoming younger guys.  The younger you are, the less dues
you pay.  Eighteen to twenty-three is free.  Twenty-three to twenty-eight
half price."

    "Which accounts for both of us being in," chuckled Lonnie.  "But
second-what else is there to do in this county, especially for gays?  How
do you meet men without getting your face bashed in?  I think most of us
like having the one club for all ages.  The older guys are really nice,
they don't pester us if we aren't interested, and they can help us younger
ones out a lot.  Jobs, apartments, mortgages, deals on cars...."

    Calvin whooped.  "Like Raymond Logan,"

       Lonnie blushed.  I looked inquisitive.

    "I told Ray if he would lose 25 pounds, I would fuck him," Lonnie
admitted sheepishly.  "Hell, I didn't think he could do it.  He weighed in
at 252 to start.  In three months, there I was in a back room with him,
with about 15 guys hanging around outside laughing.  I had it so dark in
there, I couldn't find his asshole-he had to guide me in.  But I learned
something-in the dark, it really don't make that much difference.  He asked
if I'd do it again in 25 more pounds, and I said 'yes.'  And I haven't paid
for a haircut since, either.  Ray is a hairdresser, with his shop in the
same building as the club."

    "Right next to Rita's Prom and Bridal and Rick's Tuxedo Rental," took
up Calvin.  Actually, both those formal shops are the same place, just two
different doors.  And there's a florist, and two antique shops, and a
travel bureau.  And a pharmacy, and a men's wear store.  You'll own that
whole building, and the Club is the two floors up above it all.

       "And by the way, Rick and Rita are the same person, too."

    "Don't tell me."

    Lonnie had to tell me.  "Rick takes some of the nicer size tens out for
a little test drive.  There's at least three straight men in Hebron who've
gained local fame by taking Rita out on a date, only to discover upon
getting into her panties that Rick was along for the ride, too.  Rick got a
black eye from one of them.  The other two just went along and fucked him
anyway.  And one of those was Sheriff's Deputy Joe Shaver, who has turned
out to be a good friend of the Community."

       "Oh, I heard just last week that they had been seen out together at
the Dew Drop over in Beulah," inserted Calvin.

       "That's nothing, they had breakfast on the porch of his trailer
twice last month."  The two were obviously vying for the title of "best
informed gossip."  "Well, anyway, if a good-looking woman comes into the
locker room dressed for an evening out, don't panic and cover yourself or
anything.  It's just Rita."

    "And if an ugly fat woman comes in, don't cover for her, either.  That
would only be Wanda Wiggins, the cleaning woman.  She came with the
building, and the old guys on the board won't can her.  We've gotten used
to her.  She's seen every queer in the county naked and hard."

    "And she rates us to her buddies at the bingo parlor.  I'm 9.95,"
confessed Lonnie.

    "Why the demerit?"

    "My nose is a smidgen too big for her taste.  I kind of think so, too,
don't you?"  He cocked his head sideways.

    "No, I like it just like it is."

    "Yeah, it fits right into my asshole," laughed Calvin.

    Lonnie gave him a glare, then shrugged, unable to deny that his nose
had been inserted into Calvin's asshole many times.

    I looked inquiringly at Calvin.

    "Oh.  Ten."

    "The woman has taste."

    The two men rolled me over and swiveled me around to they could work on
my backside.  I don't need much touch-up back there, but Calvin lotioned me
down and, before I could protest, Lonnie slid an enema insert up my ass and
flooded my bowel with warm water.

    "What the...."

    "You better run!"

    Amidst much laughter, I trotted to the john desperately pressing my
buttocks together.  As I found blessed relief, I reflected that surely I
would be ready for most anything that might come up at the club tonight.
When I returned to the bedroom, I found Calvin working intently on Lonnie's
toes.  I selected a razor and went to work on shaping his chest and pubic
hair into a symmetrical and manageable pattern.

    Around seven-thirty, we finished with the last detail, a round of
manicures. I had never felt so completely polished in my life.

    "It seems a shame to put clothes on now," I commented.

    "You won't have them on long, Cupcake," answered Lonnie.

    We needed to get something to eat before going out, since we all
intended to be too busy having fun to eat there.  We dragged cold fried
chicken, coleslaw, deviled eggs, and the inevitable green bean casserole
out of the fridge.  I figured I'd look just like that Raymond Logan guy
within the week.  At least Lonnie would still fuck me, with the lights out,
while Calvin laughed.

    "Oh, holy shit, that looks like Mazelle Holderby's pecan pie.  The only
god-dam secret left in this town is what kind of special syrup she brings
in to make that thing," wailed Lonnie.  "I'll just hold my mouth open, and
y'all smoosh it all in.  Then kill me."

    "High blood sugar would kill you.  You may have one tiny wedge, and one
only," dictated Calvin.  "I'm not hanging around with bloated,
hypo-glycemic bitches with clogged arteries.  And put one of those pieces
of chicken back, hawg."

    Under Calvin's watchful gaze, we managed a modest meal of the
heart-stopping foods, though the pecan pie certainly tempted
over-indulgence.  Finally, it was time to dress.  Both Calvin and Lonnie
had left small overnight bags with fresh clothing in the foyer, from which
they produced nice casual clothing to wear for the evening.  I followed
suit from my own suitcases.

    I was just pulling a shirt over my head when my cell-phone rang.  It
was Ralph Spurlock, Grand-daddy's law partner.  He wanted to see me in his
office at eleven the next morning for the reading of J. P.'s will.  That
would clear some things up, I thought.  I agreed to the time, and hung up.

    "Eleven-at least you won't have to be up real early," said Lonnie.  "In
case you want to stay out late, I mean."

    We headed down the stairs for the garage.  Suddenly, Lonnie's cell
began to blare the opening notes of some country tune.  He pressed it to
his ear, and Calvin and I heard almost exactly the same conversation that
they had heard from me moments earlier.

    "Well.  It looks like I have to be up by eleven, too."

    Both of us looked questioningly at Calvin, who shrugged.  We got all
the way to the car and Lonnie, who insisted on driving, was just backing us
down the driveway, when Calvin's cell phone blared, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T," and he
grabbed at it as if a hamster had just woken up in his pocket.  "Sure,
Mr. Spurlock.  Yeah, fine.  I'll see you then."

    It remained to be seen how many such calls went out that evening.  But
I now knew there would, indeed, be others beside myself who stood to
benefit financially from my dear grand-pere's passing.  So far, I couldn't
dispute J. P.'s judgment.  I was glad these two were being included in the
estate.