Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2005 16:16:10 -0800 (PST)
From: T Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Long Distance Love 03

The following story is a work of fiction set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately reflect persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If
sexual scenes involving male to male relationships
offends you, then you should not read this story.
Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in
most states and countries, you are not allowed to read
this by law.

"Long Distance Love" 03 (M/M oral)
WriTtenby T. Chase McPhee

%

Milton stood close to Marc Ambergini, as they entered
Maquamat's. He didn't wish to loosen the reins he held
on 'Mr. Moneybags', as when they were a duo, it would
be easier to reinforce the intensions of 'the play'.

A spiffy water, donned in rather a colorful array of
clothing, which resembled a tuxedo, appeared as Milton
and Marc led the way through the main double doors of
Maquamat's.

"Mr. Ambergini, sir, your room awaits."

Milton suggests to the waiter, "Ah, you can drop the
formalties and address my friend here as 'Marc'."

This action, on Milton's, part embarrassed the hell
out of Marc. Milton knew the humiliation it would
present, in lieu of the formalities Ambergini has been
used to.

"Um... ahem... Mr. Ambergini?" The maitre'd
questioned.

"Looking back at Milton, Mr. Moneybags decided, for
now, to go along."

"Very well. Get on with it."

Seems like Milton wasn't the only one enjoying the
spectacle of degradation. If they could only see the
painted smile on the face of the maitre'd, as he led
the entourage towards their room.

Milton wasn't totally through with the humiliation.
His knowledge of pompous asses, like Ambergini, has
dotted his long professional career.

Leaning forward, he temporarily stopped Ambergini, as
the procession detoured around them. Whispering into
Marc's ear, "As we pass by each table, you will stop
and greet each person with a smile, handshake and
warm, friendly words."

Ambergini, aghast at such a suggestion, showed a tinge
of rage. Not that kind, as visible with road rage.
Just a pathway of anger, given the humiliating thought
presented to him by the music director.

Milton added, "Or there will be hell to pay later," he
continued the whisper, so that no other ears could
detect the words.

Marc hesitated for a minute or so, staring at Milton,
with the sly smile upturning his lips. At this point,
he had many conflicting thoughts. One, to haul off and
punch Milton's lights out right then and there.
Contrasting those feelings, down yonder, he sensed a
need to be dominated by this man, this 'master'. A
third feeling began to set against the logic. Marc
wanted the 'hell to pay later'. All of this summed up
to conjuring up some acting skills and see how his
performance would add to their after dinner
rendezvous.

"I don't think so, Milton."

"Hmm... okay, Marc. It's your hide. I'm trying to keep
humored by your continued aggravation, but my patience
are wearing quite thin."

'Ooooh', Ambergini woed to himself. If he didn't get
to his seat soon, his thick salami would be out in
full view. Perhaps his new attitude towards
submitting, in opposition to being dominated, became a
new mystery to himself. Yet, the force of suggestion,
coupled with the epitomy of the character Milton
projected, gave him the incentive to comply without
question. So, as they traveled between tables, Marc
Ambergini let down his pompous attitude, smiling,
shaking hands, even introducing Milton as his
'associate', commending him often.

Milton's head didn't swell, but he did feel more of an
importance, as Marc introduced him as 'the best
musical director that ever lived'. He thought Marc,
along with other explanations, sure had the gift to
'bs' people. No wonder he got to be the way he is.
Then again Milton chocked all of this up to the great
time that he and Marc would be having later on in the
evening and who knows where that would lead!

As they entered the diningroom set aside for all those
involved with the production of 'Long Distance Lover',
Marc Ambergini pictured a side of the production crew
he never knew existed. He expected something along the
lines of a drunken stupor over most of the men, some
swinging from the chandeliers, outlandish sexual acts
being committed and the place a shambles. Not so. In
fact, they all waited patiently at the bar, enjoying
h'orderves and prepared drinks, waiting on Marc's
arrival. Michael Fabreve approached Marc personally,
representing the lot.

"Marc, this is great! What can I get you to drink?"

Marc knew right then and there he and Milton would be
getting along. Just as he was about to answer with a
gin and tonic, Milton advises Michael, "Two martini's
please, Michael."

As Michael pranced away, Marc turns to Milton and
replies, "But I like gin and tonic."

"Yeah, well learn to live with it, 'boy'! C'mon."

Milton slapped Marc hard across the back, which gave
him quite a jolt. The sensation not only disturbed his
psyche, but caused his relaxed muscle between his legs
to constrict. As he followed Milton to the bar, he
found his lips with a slight grin. He couldn't
possibly be liking this scenario!

%

"Nice place, huh Fess?"

"Oh yeah. I've never been in a place like this before.
I'm more the burger and pizza man."

"In that case, let me show you how to have a great
time, living high on the hog, Fess."

"I could learn to like this treatment, but never on my
salary."

"Hey, Fess I want to thank you for lending me the
shirt and tie."

"Good thing we're both almost the same size, Rob,
huh?"

Fess pokes the man, he considers the 'man of his
dreams'. He can't believe that after wearing a pair of
headphones for the past three years, he finally picked
up on a voice that clicked with the body. At first
that's all Fess had been phishing for, then he began
to think in different terms.

Fresh out of college, his designing skills prepared
him for a career as wardrobe, however things change.
Change they did. By chance of literally running into
Michael Fabreve at a coffee shop downtown, landed him
the job he now fills. Michael didn't have a specific
calling in mind for Fess, but later admitted he
thought Fess to be 'cute'. So, he became a jack of all
trades, wearing as many hats as Michael could come up
with. Not that Fess minded. It gave him a chance to
travel. All of the backstage, plus the neighborhood.
He enjoyed his freedom of being on a long, long lead.

Sexually, Fess Aineislis had been by no means
conservative. In fact, the twenty-five year old dirty
blonde had wondered by now why he wasn't dead via some
sexually transmitted disease. In high school he played
around with two other dudes. Upon the college scene,
he rarely missed an orgy or other sexual frenzy. There
had always been a guy on campus in his dorm room
taking an advantage of his awesome oral skills. In
fact, Fess grew quite a namesake as the campus 'tongue
massager'. One of his best traits had been giving the
most awesome tongue-fucks and lots of guys took
advantage of his talents.

While a sophomore, he happened upon a frathouse party.
All male, he figured there would be some exciting
action. Oh, there was, after the gay male population
heard that there would be a guest of honor at the
party, with the initials 'F.A.'.

Robert Palmieri, from a well bred family, had always
been a character of sorts. From elementary school age,
he had always sung his heart out, whether in the
church choir, a short production or in front of family
members, where he rode out the embarrassment of his
mom putting him in the limelight, to live out 'her'
fantasies of a son becoming a superstar of the musical
screen. With the ability and keen sense of memory, he
could sing every inch of the score to 'Oklahoma',
knowing every spoken and sung line of each character.
By his mother's standards, Robert could 'be' a one man
production of the show!

She, being a proud Irishwoman, also accompanied him on
the piano, forcing the young boy to learn all the
standard Irish works;  'Carrickfergus', 'Believe Me,
If All Those Endearing Young Charms', 'The Last Rose
Of Summer', 'Whiskey In The Jar', 'Who Threw The
Overall In Mrs. Murphy's Chowder', plus the famous, 'O
Danny Boy'. Also, early in life she put her
grandfather's fiddle in Robert's hands, but it wound
up broken on the parlor floor. Possibly the
hand-to-ass action that followed drew out those lovely
tones that would be the foundation for Robert's
singing career!

However, as Robert grew, the Italian heritage of his
father's side of the family became more evident in his
appearance. So, the Joe Feeney voice began to wear
off, transposing to the more suave, young Sinatra
timbre, belting out the standards. If he had a little
too much scotch, Rob could swing a raspy Tony Bennett
number. Thus began a new era, as he hit his later
middle school age.

Not only had the young Rob, bursting through the
barriers of puberty, begin to mature both vocally and
physically. His mom saw her little 'Irishman' began to
bloom into a dark brown haired stallion. She didn't
see anything wrong with her 'Sinatra' singing 'O Danny
Boy'.

However, when Robert brought home the lead role in the
eighth grade talent show and it wasn't an Irish tune,
she fessed up to the fact that those memories she
built up on her little Robert would be just that.
Putting all those Irish numbers away in the piano
bench she sat on, she used part of the cookie jar
contents to 'raid' the local music store.

Everyday after school, Robert's best friend would be
his mom, whom also became his bench partner. They
would always warm up with an Irish number.

As Rob sat there with Fess at Maquamat's, he poured
out some tales of his mother's nurturing. "Well, at
first she would sit down with me at the piano, this
ancient Baldwin upright she got second hand, and warm
up with a blast from the past. Usually 'Danny Boy'.
She made me hold these notes for so long, I thought
I'd pass out!"

Fess laughed at the way Robert presented the tale,
putting his hands to his throat like he choked from
asphyxiation. His original plans had been to try to
weasel his way into Rob's life, undress him and get
his tongue on that hot, twenty-six year old
Italian-Irish body. However, as the weeks passed,
those thoughts did too, giving way to other matters of
importance.

"So, if it wasn't for your mom, you wouldn't be in the
theater today, Rob?"

"Yeah. Mom literally pushed me out onto the stage in
eighth grade, at that talent show and after that I
helped myself to center stage."

"And she accompanied you?"

"For the talent show, yes. But when she discovered my
voice changing, she raided the cookie jar and got me
some piano lessons. Then came the voice teacher.
Pretty soon she had my father making regular
contributions for the cookie jar that didn't go
towards the electric bill!"

"Seems like your life was engrossed with your mom."

"Yeah. Seems like dad had busied himself with keeping
the house lit and heated. Mom never complained."

"Well, by the way it looks, Rob, you were her whole
life."

"I suppose. Being an only child and having such a
great gift of song... yeah, I guess you can say that."

"Um, when did you figure out you were gay?"

"Hah! Now that's a whole can of worms in itself!"

Fess and Rob stood there, off to the side of the
rather long bar in Maquamat's ballroom, conversing,
while sipping their drinks. Other than the face, no
one would be able to tell the difference from person
to person, as the roomful of tuxedos graced it's
perimeters.

"That just 'happened', Fess. At the time of the talent
show in eighth grade, I remember the audition. Any
student that wished to audition, had assembled in the
auditorium. Maybe there were about twenty of us guys
and girls. I picked up on playing the piano like
nothing, but Mrs. Wheeler wanted to accompany me
anyway. So, I didn't want to hurt her feelings.
Anyway, I stood up there, cleared my throat and after
she played the introduction to 'I've Got You Under My
Skin'..."

"Cole Porter. Figures, Rob."

"Hey, at the time I didn't know he was gay and neither
did anybody else."

"Just kidding. So, what happened?"

"So, as I'm singing, my attention is drawn to this guy
staring at me. I didn't know who the hell he was. I
panned the audience, as I'm belting out the lyrics and
something totally strange happens."

"What?"

"I forgot the words!"

Fess cracked up, laughing his ass off.

"What's so funny?"

"You are, Rob. You don't know it probably, but the way
you say things sometimes, you're a natural born
comedian."

"I'm not trying to be."

"So, this kid threw you off?"

"Yeah. I really broke out the acting skills and
coughed like I had a legion of frogs down my throat.
Poor Mrs. Wheeler almost went into cardiac arrest,
thinking I might start turning blue."

"Haa ha ha ha haaa.. oh man are you a funny guy, Rob."

"Yeah, so I get over that, but Mrs. Wheeler said I had
auditioned enough anyway."

"Did you get in the show?"

"Fess, bite your tongue!"

Fess stood there with his tongue between his teeth.

"Now who's the comedian?" Rob asked, a grin on his
lips.

"Okay, so what did you do?"

"Do? Nothing. I went back stage to get my jacket and
bookbag, when this fool that made me mess up walks up
to me and introduces himself."

"Ahaaa, and?" Fess asks in a sexy manner, placing his
arm around Rob's torso, hugging his hip.

"Hmm..mmmmm..."

"Like that, do you, Rob?"

"Yeah. almost as much as Donny's."

"Donny?"

"Yeah, this guy that came backstage. He apologized for
messing up my audition."

"That's nice of him. Where does the touching part come
in?"

"Oh, much later that week when he invited me over to
his house. He played piano, so fixed it with Mrs.
Wheeler for him to accompany me."

"Bet he accompanied you more than on the piano, eh
Rob?"

"Fess, can you get your mind out'tov the gutter for a
moment?"

"Sorry, Rob."

Fess had withdrawn his hand from Rob's waist, took a
sip of his drink and then holding it with two hands,
peered down into it.

"Hey Fess?"

"Yeah, Rob?"

"You want to get out of here and go someplace?"

That lifted his spirits immediately.

"Yeah? I mean yeah, sure. Tell you the truth, I'm not
really into this scene."

"Well, I think I've had 'enough' of this scene. We can
go to my place."

"Okay. Cool!"

"I'll fix it with Michael. Just play like you're a
little drunk, Fess!"

Rob took Fess' arm, letting him put on an Academy
Award's presentation, as they stumbled over to where
Michael and Jason relaxed at a table. As at the
theatre, where everyone approached Michael for 'the
last word' in their actions, they bid him good night.

"Okay men, take care and we'll see you tomorrow
night."

%

"I have never been more humiliated in my whole life,
Milton!"

"Get used to it Marc. The night is young."

"I think after our party tonight, Milton, you
should..."

"Now you listen to me, Ambergini. I don't give a fuck
what you think. After tonight it's you and me."

"You? Me? That's preposterous! Why I wouldn't..."

"Hey, Ambergini, shut the fuck up and listen..."

"Why the audacity!"

"Eeeh, cut the crap Ambergini. You love the way I'm
treating you. Go over to the bar and get us a couple
of drinks and meet me over by Michael and Jason."

"Why tha...."

Milton turned and walked away right in the middle of
words of disgust of the man whom paid his salary. If
he were out of a job, the ax would've fallen by now.
However, from the bulge in Ambergini's pants, Milton
figured Marc ate up every word dictated from him thus
far.

As Marc reported to the bar, the face behind it
focused sharply.

"What'll it be Mr. Ambergini?"

"Oh hello, Amir. Make it two scotches, straight-up."

"Nice looking man you are with this evening."

"Um," Ambergini acted a bit flustered, "musical
director at my show."

"He attached?"

"To?"

"Well, to you?"

"Oh no. Hardly, Amir. Why? You have an interest?"

Ambergini suddenly saw the light at the end of the
tunnel. Maybe he could get Amir interested in Milton
and vice versa. Glancing from Amir, over to Milton and
back again, he began right away to formulate a plan to
get Milton's harrassment off his back.

"Um, Amir?"

"Yes, Mr. Ambergini?"

"We've know each other for awhile, why don't you call
me Marc?"

"I couldn't do that, Mr. Ambergini. Against policies."

"Oh. Hmmm."

Ambergini wondered to what lengths he would be willing
to go to get Milton out of his life. To explore his
new found submission with a younger, hotter master.
So, the thirty-five year old began a scheme of things.
He eyed up the arab, as he fixed his drinks and
thought that possibly Amir might make a good match. At
the same time, he knew Amir to be a great top in bed.
Not his bed, but another aquaintance's. 'Hmm', his
cunning plan started to unravel in his warped brain.
Suddenly, he broke from his reverie, as in front of
his face, the moustached man appeared.

"Where the fuck is my drink?"

"HuH?" Ambergini began to break from his scheming.

"Oh, Milton, I was just ready to bring it to you."

"Y'know this is going to cost you, Marc?"

However, from behind a voice from the background
appeared.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Move," Milton said to Marc, pushing his arm.

"Well, hello," Milton spared no theatrics.

"Excuse me, but it's not Mr. Ambergini's fault that
the drinks are late getting to your table, Sir and I
hold myself fully responsible."

"You do, do you?"

"Yes. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Amir
Al-Ahmar."

"Milton Rossini. What time do you get off?"

"When Mr. Ambergini's party is concluded."

Milton took into account every inch of the man know as
Amir. He loved the way he received the respectful,
'sir', as addressed.

"Well, I'll go mingle," Ambergini decided to pawn off
on Milton.

He grabbed the sleeve of Marc's tux and replied, "We
still have our appointment for this evening, don't
forget Marc."

Milton could see the plot Marc had started to weave.
It might be possible that there would be more than two
passengers headed out to Katonah tonight, in the limo!

%

"Well Chiz, I have to admit that as far-fetched as
your story sounds, whether I believe it or not, is
immaterial at this point."

"Frankly, even though it is real and the way it
happened, Clay, I think the last hour with you has
made every ounce of the effort totally worth it."

"What bugs me, Chiz is that you waited so long to
introduce yourself."

"Blame uncle for that."

"Oh?"

"Well, as I told you, mom passed on and father had no
interest in me. Uncle Marc has been the only person
interested in my welfare. In a way, I grew into
seclusion, giving him the response to run my life as
he sees fit. Hah! If you hadn't stood up to him this
evening, I don't think I would have cracked out of my
shell."

"Let me get this straight," Clay begins, moving from
straight out on his back, to his side, his hand on
Chiz's hairy stomach, "if I hadn't opened my mouth and
told your uncle 'like it is', then you would have
stayed wound up in your cocoon?"

All Chiz could do is lay there, looking into Clay's
face.

"I know this sounds like something from a
swashbuckler's movie, Clay, but I didn't care much for
uncle's tone with you and something snapped. I wanted
to come on the defensive for your sake. I..."

"Don't Chiz."

"Don't what, Clay?"

"Don't get yourself all flustered. I think I can guess
why you did what you did. In fact I think I'm more
than getting the obvious reasoning."

Clay's actions spoke louder than words, as he bowed
over Chiz's bear body and aligned his lips with the
man who stood up for him on stage.

%

"Oh man you feel so good on my body, Fess."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot that I have a talented
tongue."

There, in Robert Palmier's bed, Fess lay naked, his
arms woven in and out of his hairy thighs, his tongue
slowly licking away at the hairy balls.

"Oh no.... don't touch your cock, Rob. I want to
pleasure you there."

"Well, you haven't disappointed me up til now! But
there's plenty of time for that, Fess."

Rob forced Fess from his reclining position, where he
lay tonguing the rather large orbs and dragged him up
so their faces met.

"Mmmm... ooooh man. Haven't had a kiss like that in
ages."

"So deprived, are you Rob?"

"Yeah."

"I'll have to make up for lost time."

"First I want to hear something."

"What's that Rob?"

"How you got to be such a hot oral man?"

"The whole story?"

"Uh-huh."

"This could take all night."

"Well, we are not obligated to be back to the theater
until six pm."

"That might be enough time to cover the whole
territory."

"Well, I'm hoping keep your mouth busy at not just
talking, Fess."

"Actually Rob...."

"What, Fess?" Rob asked the sulking, twenty-five year
old Irish lad, picking up his chin with one finger and
turning it to his own.

"I think my life can be summed up in about ten
seconds."

"That eventful, huh Fess?"

"Yeah. Totally extensive. Rob, for the past six or
seven years I've been an oral whore."

"Oral whore, huh? Hmm, let me see now. Does that fall
between a bass and a tenor?"

"Rob, stop being silly."

Fess, a bit embarrassed of the facts of the matter,
yet entertained by Rob's understanding, tried to
smile.

"I'm not so proud admitting that, Rob."

"Well, here's a question for you then, when did you
get off of this oral kick, or are you still on it,
Fess?"

"Yes and no."

"Well, I guess that clears things up!"

Laughter filled the rather large interiors of the
bedroom.

"What I mean is that I don't regret the good times
I've had, but feel that over the past few weeks that
maybe I've latched on to something more permanent. Do
you get what I mean, Rob?"

"Something permanent like me maybe?"

"Yeah. But I didn't want to tell you about me,
because..."

"Because you were afraid that a high falutin', 'on my
way up', couth gentleman of the stage, wouldn't be
willing to share his life and love with a man that has
spent his life whoring around with eighty-eight
different men?"

"Wow, you're good, Rob!"

"Hee heee... yeah, well mama done told me I better
shop around, but frankly I'm tired of window shopping,
Fess."

"Does that mean that you want to maybe start something
up with me?"

"Well, I'd like to know where you are right now and
where your intentions are headed. From what you've
told me, it sounds like you want to kiss the old life
goodbye and start out fresh. However, like happens to
some, they say what they want, but their heart
suddenly takes a leap back in time."

"I know what you're saying Rob."

"So, do you feel that I'm 'the one' or...."

"You're 'not' just a passing thing, Rob. I feel it."

Fess begins stating things that he's never confessed
to any man in his life. Like spitting out the preamble
to the Declaration of Independence, Fess draws on his
past and paves his future, getting his feelings out.
Getting up from the bed, it's more of a melodramatic
outpouring of feelings, as he tells Rob about his
past. The meetings with three to eight men at once and
servicing every ass with his tongue or the truckloads
of cum he's swallowed in one night or the night he was
used by the fraternity brothers as a raunchpig. Each
time a fact of Fess' sexual behavior unravels from his
mind, Rob begins to feel more pity. At the epilogue of
Fess'  concerted efforts, he winds up on Rob's bed of
hair, tears streaming forth.

"C'mon Fess. That's the past," Rob tries calming him,
the bewildered man, who for the last twenty minutes
has poured his life out on the table.

"I... I'm tired of that life, Rob. I want a real man.
I want to have a real relationship and love a man. But
I wanted you to know what I was."

"Yes, what you were, Fess. But I want you to know that
you're not in my bed right now, stripped to the buff,
crying, your tears on my chest, out of only your love
for me. That street goes both ways."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rob."

"For what, Fess?"

"Here I've thought all of 'my' self only. I'm not even
thinking about how you feel."

"That's not entirely true, Fess. For the past half
hour you told me how you've felt. In fact I would say
that all you've told me, in a way, is a confession of
your love for me."

"My love for you?"

"Sure. What other man have you told about your
salacious escapades?"

"My what?"

"The way you've explained your lust in regards to your
sexual desires?"

"Oh. None. None of those guys wanted to hear anything
in the means of a real relationship. Like me, they
were out for just a quick suck and fuck session."

"And now you've found me. What makes me so different?"

"Lots. You're not anything like them. I mean, Rob,
you're a real kind guy and you don't have sex as the
foremost activity in your life. I mean, I've never
heard of you rushing off to throw your clothes off and
get down with sucking or fucking. When you came to
work, you always talked to Michael or Jason, or one of
the other guys about some musical opening or a
magazine article you've found interesting or even a
new restaurant opening down in the village or even
about a song your mom sung to you over the phone. Man,
Rob, you have 'a life'. That's way more than I have."

"Hmm.."

"What, Rob?"

"Fess, I think you need to 'get a life' and I'm going
to help you get one!"

"How are you going to do that?"

"Do you know of the musical, 'My Fair Lady'?"

"I've heard of it. Isn't that from a Shakespear play?"

"Yeah. Hey, you do know something, Fess!"

"Thanks for the compliment, Rob."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by that, Fess. Sorry if I
insulted you."

"Well, I might have stunk in college, but I do
remember some things."

"Okay, here's a test. What Shakespeare play is 'My
Fair Lady' derived from?"

"Taming of the Shrew!"

"Right."

"Okay, a tougher one, um... Arthur Miller just died. A
composer by the name of Robert Ward wrote an opera
based on one of his works entitled, 'The Crucible'.
Describe the Arthur Miller's work that this opera was
based on."

"Oh wow. That's a tough one. Do I get a hint, Rob?"

"Yeah, um... which witch is which?"

"Which which is what?"

"Witch. You know like at Hallowe'en time?"

"Oh! That kind of witch. Okay so, hmm... witches... I
think it's probably about the Salem witch trials."

"Good enough for me. See, you're a smart guy, Fess."

"I guess."

"Your problem is that your brain has been in
hibernation. I bet you could be and do more than
sitting under a set of headphones and trying to play
nursemaid to Clay Hawkings."

"Oh, but I like Clay."

"Me too. I think the world of him, however."

"Whatsamatter, Rob?"

"I have a feeling that I'm not going to be playing
Clay's understudy for very long."

"Where are you going? You're not leaving the show are
you Rob?"

"Hey, don't get all bent out of shape, Fess. If I were
going someplace, I'd pack you up in my suitcase and
take you along."

That became a cue for Rob to renew his efforts, both
at building up Fess' self esteem and reinforcing his
relationship intentions. It's Fess whom broke off the
long lip lock, showing concern.

"Then what's all this talk about, Rob, if you're not
leaving the show?"

"My radar suggests to me that Clay and Francisco are
going to be riding off into the sunset."

"You think that Clay and Francisco are going to hit it
off?"

"Think about it Fess. What did you tell me after you
poked your head into Clay's dressing room after the
stage party?"

"Yeah. I getcha. Hard to miss the point with Francisco
stripped down to the buff and Clay halfway there."

"So, what do you think, stud?"

"Stud? Nobody's called me that before."

Rob knew what he wanted, even if Fess had been sketchy
on the details. At the mention of his feeling for
Fess, he pulled him down, mashing their bodies
together. Their semi-erections blossomed, growing into
tall stalks.

"Fess?"

"Yeah, Rob?"

"Fuck me."

"What?"

"Fuck me."

"I can't fuck you."

"Why not, Fess?"

"Because.... I've never fucked a guy. I'm a bottom."

"So? Just because somebody stuck a label on you
doesn't mean you have to stick with that position."

"Gee, I don't know Rob."

"Besides, Fess. I've never been fucked and..."

"Wait. What about with that guy at the talent show."

"We went on to have some innocent lying in bed and
kissing. After that I had one slight college fling,
but wrapped myself up in my work to become oblivious
to the gay scene."

"And you didn't fuck around with this college guy?"

"Okay. I fucked him, but I've been keeping my ass
locked up for that special man."

"Wow! Are you saying that that special man is me,
Rob?"

"Fess Aineislis," Rob looks into the Irish eyes that
are smiling, "I didn't just spill my guts to you to
have you ride off into the sunset, solo. What I'm
saying is that I want you. Do you think that you are
the only one that has been having a heatwave for the
past few weeks?"

"Do you mean that you've had your eyes on me too,
Rob?"

"Damn, Fess. I thought I threw enough hints your way."

"Wow! Hee hee..."

"What?"

"And I figured that that... that all of that eye
contact and flirting had been all my own doing. In
fact I figured you weren't even getting the hint,
Rob."

"Hint, Fess? I didn't need any hint. All I needed was
this!"

Fess' seven inches become once again melded with Rob's
dark pubes, their stomachs, Rob's dark trail and Fess'
blondish trail, their chests, Fess' lightly covered
and Rob's dark, hairy one, as their lips prey upon
each other's. They kiss passionately, tonguing and
licking, until Rob turns Fess over, completely in the
bed, lying him out on his back, like a smorgasboard.

"But?"

"Uh-huh, Fess. Time for me to give 'you' an oral
massage. You're life is about to take a turn for the
better, Fess. Get ready for a roller coaster ride!"

continued......

        Copyright 2005 T. Chase McPhee  All Rights Reserved.

        assgm.net/assgm@yahoogroups.com
            	nifty.org

       Permission is NOT granted to publish
       this story  to any PAY site, nor any site
       that is not listed above, without the
       author's prior consent.


dont strike a fault, unless you can admit you've slipped..T Chase McPhee