Date: Fri, 19 Aug 2005 05:40:37 -0700
From: David Booth <booth.d@telus.net>
Subject: No Advantage Ch 20

Special Note to All the Readers of No Advantage:

As with many readers, I felt left hanging when Lyle Wilkerson
didn't complete the posting of his novel here on Nifty.  Aside from
this note, I haven't changed a word of his novel.  Personally, I
think it's a great story.  After some searching, I was able to contact
Lyle and he gave me permission to complete the listing here on
Nifty.  For many reasons, including a busy schedule, it was a
process he wasn't prepared to do.  His e-mail address has changed
from those shown in Chapters 1 to 18.

After posting Chapter 19, as a 'feeler', I found out that many
people felt the same way I did.  Your responses have kept me busy
answering e-mails, and we appreciate hearing from you with your
thoughts about the story.

To quote a message from Lyle:

"Hi:

You're probably not going to believe this, but I never intended to
write this book.  I was working on some other projects and started
writing this rascal for my own benefit to provide myself with a
mental diversion.  As I mentioned in the Preface, the characters
took over and wrote the thing.  I'm still not exactly sure what it is
they've done, but I kinda like it and it seems others do as well.

In posting the book on the Internet, I have been fascinated by the
wide array of people who are reading it, particularly those not in
the United States for whom English isn't their principal language.
In our correspondence, some readers have also volunteered
personal information about themselves, comparing their situations
and experiences to those contained in the novel.  To these folks, I
want to extend my sincere gratitude for sharing that information
with me; knowing and appreciating "where you are in your life" has
made your comments much more meaningful and instructive to
me.

So why not spend a few minutes trying out your writing abilities
and send an e-mail?  Don't be shy or be concerned about having to
be some esoteric literary critic.  I truly want to hear what regular
people have to say about it, what they liked as well as what they
didn't.

Just send it to: booth.d@telus.net

Lastly, so you'll know, I don't claim to be a professional author as
far as novels are concerned.  I'm a business consultant in Dallas,
Texas, specializing in regulatory compliance (i.e. keeping the
government off your back) and employer/employee relations.  What
I usually write these days are operations manuals and employee
handbooks.  And, yes, I used to practice law but got bored with
doing that full time.  Wanna go bananas?  Just try writing or
editing legal articles or forms manuals.  Ughhh!  Oh, and yeah, I
am gay.

Anyway, thanks for your time and hope to hear from you.

Lyle

P.S. I will warn you, however, if anyone says anything bad to me
about Wilbur, you will die."

If you invent two or three people and turn them loose in your
manuscript, something is bound to happen to them -- you can't
help it; and then it will take you the rest of the book to get them
out of the natural consequences of that occurrence, and so first
thing you know, there's your book all finished up and never cost
you an idea.  ...Mark Twain



and now...  Chapter 20....


Chapter 20

After we left Randolph's and I got on the freeway, I noticed that
Rob was no longer following me in his car.  A few minutes afterwards
my cell phone rang; it was Rob calling me from his apartment to let
me know he was making a quick pit stop to pick up a few things.  When
I got to the Shack, after saying hello to Wilbur in the back yard and
scratching him for a little bit, I went to the bedroom to wait for
Rob.  After flopping down onto the bed, I began mulling over what
Frank had told us, particularly the part about treating sex with
respect and how that was important not just to Rob and me in our
commitment, but also to fostering a positive image of gays at large.

About the only exposure I had so far to gays in general, as opposed
to meeting some of Rob's friends, had been what I had experienced
through the Internet or seen on television or in the movies.  Frank
was right.  When you think of gays, you think of men with affected
mannerisms whose entire world revolves around promiscuous sex; that's
the image being promoted by Hollywood.  Gays aren't seen as people
who live ordinary lives like everyone else except for what they do in
the privacy of their bedroom.

Recalling my experiences participating in gay chat rooms on the
Internet, I could see that queers themselves were responsible in part
for the stereotype.  While most of the guys I chatted with had seemed
rather ordinary (except for being queer), there were the ones who
blast in and wanna know how big your dick is, do you wanna get
fucked, so on and so forth.  All they did was piss the others off.
Sure, I had chatted with other guys about sex, but when we did so we
did it in private, one-on-one discussions.

Was I curious about sex?  Of course, but what teenage boy isn't?
Did I have my own porn collection on my computer?  Sure.  And so does
every other guy at school.  It just happens my images are of men, not
women.  Am I fascinated by dicks?  Sure; dammit I'm queer.  Queer
guys have sex by using one anothers' dicks.  Guess what?  If it
weren't for dicks, straight people wouldn't have sex either.  Do I
enjoy sex?  Duhhh!

Had Rob and I spent a lot of our time up to now engaging in sexual
behavior?  Yes we had.  However, our relationship did not start out
with a roll in the hay.  We had gotten to know one another at work.
Despite his good looks, had it not been for my belief that Rob was
someone I could trust, I would never have gone over to his apartment
in the first place.  And our physical intimacy evolved into something
wonderful for the both of us.  True, it was somewhat of a "backwards"
development, having the sex evolve into love rather than the other
way around.  Why had that happened?  Because I was afraid to openly
date Rob and be with him around my friends and family while I was in
the closet that society had created for me.  As for the sex we had,
yeah, I fell into the trap set for me by society: all that queers are
interested in was having sex; they're sexual deviates incapable of
ordinary human emotions and desires.  Well, guess what?  Queers are
just as interested in having sex as straight people are and queers
have just as much need and as much capability to fall in love as
anyone else.  Now how come that last little tidbit of information
gets left out when people think of two men being together as opposed
to a man and a woman being together?  If you see a man and a woman
walking down the street together holding hands, people think: "How
sweet to see two people in love."  See two men walking down the
street holding hands and what do people think?  "Goddamned perverts!
"

My thoughts were interrupted when Rob walked in the bedroom door
carrying a suitcase that he set down on the floor.  Walking across
the bed on his knees he told me, "Hi.  Sit up."  As I sat up on the
bed he gave me a happy kiss, then pulled my shirt off over my head
telling me, "Rob wants to nurture a little bit."

Lying down on the bed together, Rob snuggled up to me to kiss and
suck a little chest.  Scratching him on the head I asked, "So how was
your day?"

"Wonderful!  Absolutely wonderful."

Rob then covered my right nipple with his mouth and gave it a long
suck and a lick while I replied, "Well, tell me about it, hoover
mouth."

Placing his head down in the middle of my chest and snuggling up,
Rob told me, "It was great.  I talked to Andy about leaving and he
told me there would be no problem at all.  He understood why I wanted
to leave and told me he would be sorry to see me go but was happy for
me.  He even called your dad to get Mr. Reynolds' phone number so he
could call him and give me a job recommendation."

Continuing to run my fingers through Rob's hair I commented,
"That's really cool.  I like Andy a lot."

"Yeah, he is super.  He also said that any time you or I wanted to
work part time to pick up some extra bucks, just give him a call."

"That's great.  I was wondering this morning if he would let us do
that."

After giving my left nipple a little lick Rob said, "Well, he will.
But you wanna know what's even better?"

"What's that?"

"I don't feel guilty any more about having been a hustler."

This was kinda strange.  I never could remember Rob ever making any
mention of his past in a happy tone of voice so I asked, "What
happened?"

Hugging me closer to him, Rob explained, "Andy had me go out and
begin working on getting all the storage into the database on the
tracking and billing program, so I had plenty of quiet time today.  I
got to thinking more about this boyfriend lover husband mate stuff
and then I realized that it explained everything about the guys who
used to pick me up."

This is wild.  How could something that helped us understand our
relationship have anything to do with guys who picked up hustlers?

After a little chest suck Rob continued, "See, I got to thinking
and I realized that the tricks were all wanting something other than
just sex; they were wanting their emotional needs satisfied.  The
guys who wanted a car job and the sober guys who fucked me were in
mate mode wanting to be the dominant male.  They just wanted to use
me to get off.  And they were the really sorry bastards, particularly
the ones who wanted to fuck me; that's why I stopped doing those
guys.  All they did was want me to pull down my pants and bend over
so they could power fuck me.  After they got off, they just ordered
me to get out; wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom or anything.
The car guys were the same way.  Shoot their load and then tell me to
get the fuck out of the car.

"The lollipops were wanting to be a lover.  They wanted to please
me by sucking me off, then go to sleep holding me for the night.
Those guys never wanted anything in return, other than for me to cum
in their mouth and then hold me; they were wanting to give.  The ones
who wanted me to fuck them were looking for a husband or a lover.
They wanted to take from me by having me give it to them in the ass
and then hold them for the night.  Of course, a lot of times they
just passed out while I was holding them, but they usually wanted to
get fucked.  When one of them wanted to suck me off, they always, I
mean always, did it with me lying on the bed, never standing up.

"The guys who wanted me to stand up while they got down on their
knees were in mate, wanting me to be their dominant male.  The way
they sucked was always different from the guys who were in husband or
lover and wanted me to lie down.  The guys in mate wanted to give a
hard and fast blowjob; the guys in husband or lover took it slow and
easy.

"The guys who wanted me to be a driver were also in either husband
or mate.  Of course, with me sitting there in the driver's seat, the
guys in submissive mate couldn't get down on their knees with me
standing over them, but they sucked in the same way, really furious,
and usually wanted me to hold their head really tightly, kinda
forcing them up and down on my dick.  The guys in husband took their
time and wanted to be gently caressed while they sucked."

I couldn't believe this.  Rob was as cheerful as he could be,
talking about these activities like it was a hockey game or
something.

"I know this sounds all confused but, Clayton, I'm telling you,
that's what was happening.  Even the words and the noises the guys
made fit.  Guys wanting to be the dominant male always, I mean always
talked dirty, calling me a bitch and stuff like that.  That's why I
stopped doing them except for a suck in their car; they always wanted
to slap me around, particularly when I was still letting them fuck
me.  Those guys always started spanking me while they fucked.  The
guys in husband made different sounds than the guys in lover.
Clayton, I'm telling you, it all fits.  Those guys were not using me
for sex, they were using me to try to satisfy their emotional needs.
"But you wanna know the really strange thing?"

I was not exactly relishing what Rob was telling me, particularly
about guys spanking his ass while they power fucked him, calling him
a bitch.  Yet, I could tell Rob was freeing himself from a lot of
guilty feelings he had and I didn't want to spoil that, so of course
I answered, "What's that?"

"I never remember having one trick that was in boyfriend, like you
and I were this morning with your quick fuck and my blowjob.
Clayton, in the couple or so years I was hustling I have no idea how
many tricks I did.  And I do not remember one, a single one who was
in boyfriend.  And you know why?"

"Why?"

"The guys in boyfriend were getting it for free with guys in the
bars.  I'm sure that guys wanting lovers, husbands or mates were also
getting it for free as well, but if the guy just wanted to play, he
wanted to play with a friend, not some whore off the street; that
would have ruined it for him.  The closest thing were the guys who
paged to make an appointment; they usually would start off in a faked
boyfriend imitation but quickly went into other modes and stayed
there until it was over."

Rob gave me a hug, rubbing his face against my chest.  He was
happy.  He was just like a happy little kid hugging his puppy.  I was
amazed.

"Clayton, I love you so damned much.  I thought I'd always feel
guilty about all that crap, but I don't now.  I really don't.  Now
don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I'd ever go back to doing it or
that I don't care if people know about what I did.  I'm still gonna
keep my mouth shut about this, but only because other people wouldn't
understand."

Raising his head to look at me, I saw tears forming in his eyes as
Rob told me, "You're the most wonderful person in the world.  If it
weren't for you, I'd have never gotten over all that guilt."

Rob then gave me a big hug, sat back up on the bed and asked, "We
need to go help with supper?"

"Nah.  Mom just takes stuff Dad has made out of the freezer.  We
got a half hour or so.  "

"Good.  I need a shower before supper anyway.  Wanna help me put my
clothes and stuff up?"

"Sure."

Rob grabbed his suitcase and we went into the closet and began
putting his stuff on shelves.  Since we wore the same size underwear
and socks we decided to forget having yours and mine piles and put
everything together.  Finishing with the clothes Rob pulled a plastic
sack out and handed it to me with a big grin asking, "Where you wanna
keep this?"

Opening the sack I saw it contained six bottles of lube.  And not
little ones.  We're talking large, economy size.  I looked at him
slightly in terror and uttered a fierce "Rob!"

In little boy tone of voice Rob said, "Well, I don't want us to run
out.  Oh, and our cock rings are in the bottom of the sack."

Sticking my tongue out at him and giving him a raspberry I smirked
back in a nelly voice, "Half in my nightstand, half in yours."

As I was putting the lube and cock rings away, Rob hollered from
the closet, "Is it okay to wear a T-shirt and shorts to supper?"

"Are you kidding?  Wear anything you want to around here.  Go to
supper buck-assed naked if you want.  Nobody around here will mind."
I toed off my sneakers and pulled off my pants to change into some
shorts.  Walking back into the closet I saw Rob was getting undressed
for his shower, dumping the contents of his pockets onto a shelf.  I
tossed my pants on the floor and pulled some gym shorts off the
shelf, put them on, then walked back to the bed, sat down and started
putting my shirt and shoes back on.

Rob walked out of the closet and I asked, "Can I have a quick hug?"

He walked over to me sitting on the bed so I could have my hug.
Damn he smelled good, even after being in a hot, sweaty warehouse all
day.

"Clayton, if you keep rubbing your nose around in my bush like that
you're gonna give me a hard on and I'll be forced to fuck you."

Giving his belly button a quick, full-mouth slurp I looked up at
Rob and said, "Don't you wish?"  I slapped him on the butt and told
him, "Go have a cold shower while I go set the table."

While I was putting the silverware out on the table, Dad came into
the kitchen, walked over to me and said, "Don't say anything to your
mother about the locker room or the bar; I'll tell her later."  Dad
was right.  No use spoiling supper with a discussion about those
types of topics.  After I fed Wilbur, Dad and I started putting the
food on the table.  Rob and Mom came into the kitchen almost
simultaneously and we all sat down to eat.

Most of the discussion at supper was about getting everything
together for the graduation party on Saturday.  Mom was always in
charge of functions and she is good at it.  Over the years she had
put together an entire set of party plans, somewhat like a menu of
services.  When she presented the proposal to the school, she swept
away the competition.  Her presentation included scaled diagrams of
the back yard set up, a complete menu showing the quantities of food
needed and photographs of similar cookouts we had held in the past.
Although Mom thoroughly enjoys doing this, she's also all business
about it; her proposal even included a line item charge for liability
insurance if the school's insurance did not cover off campus
activities.

Unlike my pool party during the summer, since this was a school
sponsored function there would be no alcohol served.  However, this
meant I'd have to "hide" trashcans in the Woods so guys would have a
place to throw away their empty beer cans.  We ain't stupid; we know
guys would sneak in beer and I don't wanna have to waste my time
picking empties up out of the bushes.

Mom gave Dad and me a computer printout of our schedules.  Dad's
was the easiest: start cooking Saturday morning.  Other than ordering
the food and supplies, Mom always kept herself open to handle any
last minute things that popped up (despite all the planning,
something unexpected always happens).  My schedule involved picking
up food and supplies and getting the grounds ready.  Because the
party would be on Saturday, starting at 2:00 in the afternoon, I'd
need to move the yard maintenance schedule up a day, meaning I needed
to water tonight so I could mow the grass and stuff on Friday as well
as clean the pool.  On Saturday I had to set up tables and chairs and
put the stage together for the band, but with Rob to help, that would
not take long.

Rob was impressed with the detailed inventories, food recipes and
diagrams Mom had prepared, fully realizing that my parents were
serious about professionally hosting functions when Dad retired from
the oil company in three years.

Dad took a key out of his pocket and gave it to Rob, explaining how
the internal security system of the Shack worked.  On the theory that
it's best to keep honest people honest, we always locked down the
Shack when we had a function to keep people out of areas they didn't
need to be in, such as the bedroom suites, the pantry in the kitchen
where the silverware and good china was kept and such.  The locks
throughout the Swamp were different; however, Rob's key (like Mom,
Dad's and mine) was a master key that would open all the locks.

Dad also told us that Andy had called him to get Sam Reynolds'
phone number so he could give Rob a job and character reference.  Dad
then told Rob and me, "Guys, I know that both of you want to get
started on this construction project, but Kathleen and I want the two
of you to spend some time together, just the two of you.  I know that
Sam, Kathy and I are going to spend most of tonight discussing ideas
so nothing definite is going to get decided.  Rob, after Andy talked
to Sam, he does want you to go to work for him but we're going to
have to hash out the concept of how to do it.  Other than meet Sam
tonight, there's really no compelling reason for either of you to sit
in with us.  As far as Kathy and I are concerned, the two of you can
have the run of the place after supper for the next few days since
we'll be holed up in the Cellar getting this worked out."

What else could Rob and I say except "thank you?"

After supper, Rob and I cleared the table; we figured since Rob was
one of the family now he might as well learn the nuances of living at
the Swamp since it is different from your ordinary suburban
household.  Like the dishwasher.  It's a commercial version.  As I
opened the door to it Rob asked, "What is that?"

"The dishwasher.  It's a commercial version."

"It's huge," exclaimed Rob, "it looks more like a refrigerator."

"Yeah, but you don't have to run it all that much when it's just us
here, so you save on water.  It also sanitizes as well as washes."

"What's sanitize?"

"Commercial establishments have to comply with the health codes," I
explained.  "They can't just wash and rinse food preparation and
service utensils like you do at home.  They have to sanitize them as
well to kill any bacteria that might remain.  After something's
washed, you have to either steam it or immerse it in a chlorine
solution to kill any bacteria.  This thing steams everything after
the wash and rinse cycle is finished.  You ever notice those triple
wash sinks they got in bars?"

"Yeah.  I always wondered why they had two rinse things."

"Those aren't both rinse.  The first is the wash bath with the soap
in it.  The second is a plain water rinse.  The third is the
sanitizing solution with the chlorine in it.  But you know the thing
that sucks?"

"What's that?"

"The damned bartenders never use the thing right.  They just dunk
the glass in and out of the sanitizing solution like it was a rinse.
To kill the bacteria, it needs to remain fully immersed for at least
ten seconds."

"So," asked Rob with a little bit of hesitancy in his voice, "are
you saying all the glasses in a bar are dirty?"

"Could be.  Depending upon the type of bacteria.  Some of the
really dangerous ones can live in the open air for hours.  So you may
be drinking bacteria that was in someone's mouth or on their hands a
couple of hours ago, particularly if they didn't wash their hands
after going to the lavatory."

"Clayton, that is gross!  "

"You're damned right it is, and all because the idiots behind the
bar don't know what to do.  It was just like we were talking
yesterday; if you understand the theory, you do a better job.  Here's
how it works.  Guy orders a drink.  Goes to the lavatory, wipes his
ass, but doesn't wash his hands.  He's now got that dreadful bacteria
on his hands; he can't see it, but it's there.  Picks up his drink
back at the bar.  Bacteria is now on the glass.  When he's done,
bartender dumps out the ice and sets the glass down to be washed
later.  The bacteria sit there and multiply some more.  After a
little while the bartender comes along to wash glasses and what does
he do?  Bam.  Bam.  Bam.  In the wash water, in the rinse, in the
sanitizing solution, on the drainboard.  Really quick, one glass at a
time.  Then does the next glass the same way.

"Now look at what he's done.  The glass may look clean, but it
ain't.  Those bacteria are so little they can get down in the
microscopic crevices of the glass so they don't all get washed off.
Some of them get left behind in the wash water and the rinse water to
infect the next glass that comes along.  But that's okay, provided he
leaves the glass submersed in the sanitizing water for at least ten
seconds, but he doesn't; he just dunks it in and out.  See, the water
in the wash and rinse ain't hot enough to sterilize the glass; no way
it could be.  It would have to be at the boiling point to kill the
bacteria through heat, so there's no way you could put your hands in
it.  Rather than slam 'em in and out of the three compartments, he's
better off to wash the glasses and fill the rinse sink.  When it's
full, transfer all of them over into the sanitizing sink and leave
them there while he washes another load of glasses to fill the rinse
sink again.  Then, empty the sanitizing sink and put the glasses on
the drainboard.  It's actually faster that way than the bam bam bam
one glass at a time way and a hell of a whole lot safer."

"Clayton, is there anything your parents haven't taught you?"

"They didn't teach me that, well, not really.  I went to this
two-day class to get my food manager's permit.  We all have one.  It
was really interesting learning how to avoid food born contamination
and making people sick or killing them."

"Killing them!  " exclaimed Rob.

"Yeah.  Just like those people who died a couple of years ago after
eating hamburgers in some fast food place.  Got that e.coli bacteria
or whatever; I think that's the one that's spread my going to the
lavatory and not washing your hands.  See, even though the butcher or
whoever hadn't washed his hands and got the bacteria into the meat,
the bacteria still could have been killed if they had cooked the
ground meat to the proper internal temperature."

"Uhhhh, does that mean that potentially you could get AIDS or
something by having a drink in a bar?"

"Nahhh," I answered.  "The HIV virus can't live in the open air, it
dies after it leaves your body.  You gotta have a fluid to fluid
transfer."

After thinking a moment while I finished putting the supper dishes
away in the dishwasher I added, "But you know what does suck?"

"What's that?"

"It just occurred to me that if a guy has an impaired immune system
due to HIV, he's the one at risk drinking in a bar.  With those
stupid bartenders not properly sanitizing the glasses, they could
pass on germs or bacteria that could make that guy sick but wouldn't
affect someone with a healthy immune system.  That's one of the major
things we learned in school in health class.  Healthy people are more
of a threat to people with HIV than people with HIV are to healthy
people.  The colds and stuff that little kids get can kill someone
with AIDS.  C'mon, let's go set out the lawn sprinkers."

As we were walking through the den to the back yard Rob said, "You
ever heard or read stuff about how the HIV virus keeps changing and
mutating?  Like how that's one of the reasons they have such a
difficult time getting the medications to work?"

"Yeah?"

"Does that mean it might mutate into something that wouldn't die
immediately in the open air?"

As the possibilities associated with that question worked its way
through my mind, I began to feel a little concerned until I
remembered what I'd learned in school.  "Well, so far, they've never
found a germ, virus or bacteria that can survive proper sanitation
procedures, either steaming or immersion in the chlorine solution.
Damn, the possibility of the unknown is even more reason for those
bartenders to do things right.  I remember Dad asking a guy once why
he was washing glasses that way, you know, just dunking them in and
out of the sanitizing solution rather than filling the sink with
glasses and leaving them immersed."

"So what excuse did the guy have?" asked Rob.

"I couldn't believe it.  The guy knew you were supposed to leave it
immersed for at least ten seconds.  But the reason he didn't do it
was that when he gets in a hurry, he might break a glass if he piled
'em up in the sink to let them soak.  Wonderful.  Save a glass.  Let
bacteria live and kill people."  I thought of something and started
chuckling while I asked Rob, "Hey, maybe we ought to let Frank know
about this so he can start a new crusade."

Smiling broadly, Rob answered, "Yeah, maybe we should.  It'll be a
lot easier for him to get bartenders to change their behavior for the
better than fags in general."

Chuckling at the thought of Frank taking on bartenders over their
glass washing technique I told Rob, "Frank seems like a nice guy.
How long have you known him?"

"Mmmm," thought Rob, "probably two or three years.  I met him right
after I got off the streets.  Hell, even after we started talking it
was months before I even knew he was a lawyer.  He's really
intelligent and has a great sense of humor.  I always enjoy seeing
him, but I do feel kinda sorry for him."

"Why's that?"

"Frank's husband died several years ago in an accident.  I know
Frank would like to be in a relationship but it's tough for him.
There's the problem meeting guys his own age.  AIDS pretty much wiped
out his generation.  I know he's said that nearly all his gay friends
he had twenty years ago are just about all dead.  And there's the
damned overemphasis on sex in the gay world.  Like Frank says, why
fuck with someone's body if you can't fuck with their mind?  He's
just like everyone else, you and me included.  What we really all
want is an emotional attachment and the sex is just a way of
expressing that in addition to sometimes screwing around just for the
fun of it."

Thinking about what Rob had said I told him, "Rob, I don't care if
this boyfriend lover husband mate stuff is a busted clock or not.  I
do know it's made me understand and appreciate the different reasons
and emotions we have when you and I are intimate.  Before, all of
that was all jumbled together.  You know how you said that
understanding all this makes you not feel guilty about what you used
to do for a living?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it's also done something for me.  I don't feel guilty about
enjoying and wanting to have sex with you.  I guess saying you're not
guilty is a way of saying you're not ashamed about what you do.  Most
people wouldn't understand this, but I'm not the least bit ashamed to
admit that sucking your dick is a way to express my love and need for
you.  I understand that now.  Sure, it can still be just for fun,
like this morning before we left the bedroom, but it also is a whole
lot more."

"Just like washing glasses in a bar.  When you understand the why,
you do things right, do a better job and nobody gets hurt."

Smiling and looking at Rob I told him, "I like that."

"What?"

"Washing glasses.  That's a great analogy, just like a busted
clock."

Smiling back at me Rob agreed, "Yeah, I guess it is the same
thing."

Washing glasses?  Busted clocks?  Who says people in love don't
create their own special language?  Oh, well.

The sprinklers for the grounds at the Swamp are the commercial
type, like you see on a golf course, so it took about forty-five
minutes to get them all set up.  After resetting the sprinkler timers
to go off a day earlier during the night we went back to the Shack.
Sam Reynolds arrived and Rob got to meet him.  During the ten-minute
or so conversation, Sam confirmed that he did want to hire Rob, then
Sam, Mom and Dad went off to the Cellar for their conference.  Rob
and I went to the bedroom.

Getting on the bed we of course began snuggling.  "You feeling
horny?"  I eventually asked after I could feel the bulge in Rob's
crotch when my leg pressed against it.

"Nope, not really," he replied with that wicked grin of his, "I'm
beginning to feel like a movie star."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Right now?"

"Yep.  Where's the video camera?"

I scrambled off the bed to get the video camera and tripod out of
the closet in the den.  After getting back to the bedroom, I found
Rob naked and ready for action.  Boy was he ever ready.  I told him
to lie down on the bed so I could get the camera set up and adjusted,
then stripped and took his place face down on the bed.  Rob turned on
the camera and we made our first home movie together.  In classic
tradition, at the conclusion, Rob finished by depositing his money
shot on my butt and back for cinematic posterity.

After popping the tape into the VCR and rewinding it so we could
view our screen debut together, Rob stopped me saying, "There's
something I want you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"I wanna tape you jacking off in bed watching the thing the first
time.  I wanna be able to watch it later so I can learn exactly how
you like your dick stroked so I can do a better job of masturbating
you."

That sounded like a pretty good idea to me so I told Rob, "Okay,
but on one condition; I get to tape you jacking off the first time
you watch my tape so I can learn how to do the same for you."

Being videotaped by your nude boyfriend while you jack off watching
a video of him fucking you was somewhat of a new experience for me.
But not an entirely unpleasant one.  Besides, it had been a while
since I had jerked off lying on my back.  After getting propped up on
some pillows and getting comfortable, Rob repositioned the camera
while I lubed up my hand and dick.  Rob told me he was ready so I hit
the play button on the remote and settled back to enjoy the movie.

As I had expected, Rob was beautiful when he fucked.  During our
fifteen or so minute session we had changed positions several times
so I could see how he looked from the side, back and front as he
fucked me both laying face down on the bed and while on my hands and
knees.  Watching his muscles work in sexual unison was mesmerizing.
Seeing the dimples in the sides of his butt cheeks form and disappear
with each fuck stroke left me in awe, just as did the sight of his
balls rocking back and forth when he dog fucked me.  But the absolute
best was the ending with Rob facing the camera, up on his arms
pumping away, clearly in boyfriend mode enjoying himself in order to
reach his climax.  Watching the smiling expression on his face and
his eyes half-closed in pleasure, I realized for the first time since
the video had started that I was masturbating, and that realization
came only because my eyes began shutting as my own orgasm started to
match his on the tape.

I am not the least bit ashamed to admit I'm a noisy fuck.  About
the only time I don't make noise when I'm enjoying sexual
satisfaction is when I have Rob's dick in my mouth, but even then I
still give out yummy "mmmm" sounds.  And I make an incredibly wide
variety of sounds when I'm ejaculating, depending on what I'm
feeling.  But for this particular orgasm, I made a sound I don't ever
recall coming out of me during an orgasm.  Absolute dead silence.
The bedroom was completely quiet except for the soft whisper of my
breath exhaling from my lungs as the semen squirted out of my dick.
For the first time in my life I actually heard the sound of drops of
cum landing on my stomach like gooey raindrops.

I will not say it was the best orgasm I ever had.  But it ranked
right up there with other particular ones I recalled.  I was left
with an incredibly relaxed and contented feeling knowing that I was
able to help Rob enjoy himself in the manner I had just watched.

As my senses came back to me, Rob shut off the camera and quietly
lied down on the bed next to me, then began using his finger to toy
with the splats of ejaculate on my stomach.  With my eyes still
closed I softly called to him, "Rob."

"Yes, Clayton."

"You know something about our new house in the Outhouse?"

"What?"  I could tell from the tone of his voice Rob was not
expecting me to be talking about the Outhouse at the moment.

"It's gonna be two stories tall and have a set of stairs."

After a long silence, Rob finally realized I was not going to say
anything else until he said something first.  He finally said, "Yes,
Clayton, there probably will be a set of stairs in our new two story
house."

"I wanna put a big closet underneath those stairs, a really big
one."

After another prolonged moment of silence, with a tone of voice
indicating Rob was beginning to think I was losing my mind, he
responded, "That would be nice."

"Yes.  And I wanna pad the floor, put mirrors on the walls and
ceiling and call it the Fuck Room."