Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2013 19:19:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jerlar <jetdesk2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Porterville 2

This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of
this nature offends you then you should not read this story.  Additionally,
if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read
this story by law.
  This story is purely a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to person's
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental.
  The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the consent of the author.


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Mark Stevens

PORTERVILLE




CHAPTER TWO




	When Britt opened his eyes the next morning, he thought he was
dreaming. He had had this dream many times before, the one where he thought
he was back home, back in his old room. It took him a few moments to
realize he was not dreaming that he really was in his old room, waking up
in his old bed. As he lay there, the events of the following night slowly
came back to him. Had he actually spent the evening with Devon McKenzie?
And, was it truth or dream that the two of them had a date of sorts that
night? As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to his feet,
he suddenly remembered for certain everything that had happened the evening
before, and that he was indeed, going to meet Devon.
	He gathered clean clothes and headed down the hall to the
shower. He decided spending some time under a hot steamy stream would bring
him around. Later, when he returned to his room to dress, he did indeed
feel like he might survive his late night.
	Britt finished dressing, pulled the covers hastily over his bed and
hurried out into the kitchen. He found his mother sitting at the table with
her usual morning cup of coffee. He greeted her with a smile.
	"Morning, Mom."
	"Good morning, yourself," she said. "I didn't hear you come in last
night."
	"Guess I was quiet enough then, huh?" he grinned.
	"Are you much of a breakfast person?"
	"Nope," he shook his head. "Just a cup of that coffee you have, and
I'll be on my way. How about yourself? What do you have planned this
morning?"
	"I have to be at the Center at ten. Three others and I quilt
today. I won't be home until around three or after."
	"Good. I have my morning booked up as well."
	"More research?"
	He nodded. "That's right."
	Britt poured a cup of coffee for himself. As he came back to the
table and pulled a chair out, he said, "While I'm thinking of it, I have
plans this evening for dinner. I won't be here."
	"Working on your book?"
	Britt thought about the question. "A little, I guess. I'm meeting
Devon McKenzie for dinner. I met him last night, and we got to talking. I
think he might have some information that will be useful."
	"Devon McKenzie?" It was plain to see his mother was surprised. "I
didn't realize the two of you knew each other."
	"We actually don't," Britt answered. "We got to talking last night,
and I don't even remember him in school. He was a few years behind me."
	"What could he possibly know that would be of help to you?"
	"I'm not sure that he does. We got to talking, as I told you. After
all, he has lived his entire life here, has never left town or home, so he
must have a lot of knowledge of what's happened over the years."
	"I see," Catherine Williams said quietly. "Britt, may I ask you
something?"
	That was the second time in the past twenty-four hours Britt had
been asked that question. He wondered, now, what his mother's question
would be. Aloud, he said, "Sure, Mom, what's on your mind?"
	"Are you interested in Devon for any other reason than the
knowledge he might have of Porterville?"
	Britt wasn't sure exactly how to answer his mother's
question. Carefully putting his thoughts together, he said, "I think Devon
is a very nice guy; a guy who needs a friend. And God knows, I know
absolutely no one in town any more that I could even begin to call a
friend. So, I guess to answer your question, I'm interested in Devon's
friendship."
	"Just don't let yourself get hurt," Catherine warned her son.
	Britt was puzzled. "Hurt? How could I get hurt?"
	"I just know when you deal with the Porters and the McKenzie's,
fireworks can evolve. Just promise me you will be careful."
	"Don't worry about me," he assured his mother. "You're little boy
can take care of himself."
	"I hope you're right." Catherine drained her coffee cup and stood
to her feet. "I need to get busy. Have a good day, Britt."
	"You, too, Mom."
	Britt drank his coffee. His mother soon left, and the house was
pleasantly quiet. As he sat in the kitchen enjoying the solitude of the
moment, he ran the conversation with his mother over in his mind. Why did
she think he could get hurt by befriending Devon McKenzie? Was there
something about the McKenzie's she knew? Something she was keeping from
him, he wondered?
	Britt finished his second cup of coffee and left for the office of
The Beacon. He loved writing, yet it certainly was no easy way to make a
living. He often thought having a nice quiet office job nine to five, five
days a week, would be a hell of a lot easier.
	As he came inside the newspaper office, he was greeted by Alice
Cooper.
	"Good morning, Britt," she said, giving him one of her warmest
smiles. "Back for more dirty grime, are you?"
	"Morning, Alice. "Did you get the file room all cleaned up for me?"
he teased.
	"Yeah, right," she bounced back at him. "I came back last evening
and worked all night long, making it ready for you."
	"Thanks," he said dryly. "I appreciate that."
	As he had the day before, Britt lost himself in the ancient history
of Porterville. He found some of the facts very interesting, and some,
frankly, bored the hell out of him.
	By one o'clock, Britt had made his travel through the early years
of town hood, and when he headed for the coffee shop across the street from
the newspaper office, he was entering the 1920's. It looked like
Porterville was truly going to "roar" through the 20's. Although fascinated
with the articles before him, his stomach was begging for attention.
	Britt hurried across the street and entered the local sandwich and
coffee shop, owned and operated by Ralph Sims, a man he had known ever
since he was a little boy. Walking inside the store, he let the door shut
behind him.
	"Well, Britt Williams, as I live and breathe. I heard you were in
town."
	"Hello, Ralph," Britt greeted the man behind the counter. He walked
over and held out his hand. "How the hell have you been doing?"
	"Can't complain, I guess. Still making a living, they tell me."
	"Hell, Ralph, you're one of the richest business owners in
town. Everyone knows that."
	"So, I hear you might be writin' another book."
	"That's right, I am." Britt looked along the counter. "You still
make those awesome sandwiches?"
	"Sure do," Ralph nodded. "What you gonna have?"
	"How about a ham and cheese on Rye?" Britt asked. He walked over
and pulled a coke from one of the cold boxes in the wall.  He selected a
package of potato chips and sat down at one of the three tables.
	Ralph soon brought his sandwich. He placed it on the table in front
of Britt, then pulled a chair out and sat down. "So, how have you been,
Britt? Haven't seen much of you around these parts in quite some time."
	Britt took a bite of his sandwich. "Been good, Ralph. Busy as hell,
but other than that, real good."
	"I hear you've written a few books."
	"A few," Britt admitted.
	"I also hear that's why you're back in town," Ralph continued. "You
think you're going to get some sort of story idea from this place." It was
a statement rather than a question.
	Britt nodded. "You seem to have heard correctly, Ralph." He took
another bite of his sandwich. "These are still the best in town," he
praised.
	"Of course they are," Ralph beamed. "Now, about this story; just
what do you think it's going to be?"
	Britt shook his head and said, "I haven't a clue at this point,
Ralph, I really don't. That's why I'm busting my ass over at the newspaper
office. I've been searching through newspaper files going back to about six
months after Porterville was founded."
	"I see." Ralph was silent for a minute. Finally, he said, "Are you
going to put me in a story?"
	"Who knows?" Britt grinned. "Like I told you, at this point, I
don't know if there is even going to be a story."
	"Folks like their privacy." It was a simple statement, yet, it was
one that hit Britt like a ton of bricks.
	"I know they do, Ralph. If I do get an idea and decide to write it
into a story, I certainly will respect everyone's privacy. That is not a
question with me."
	Ralph stood to his feet. "Good. How about another sandwich? On me."
	He brought Britt a second sandwich, but this time, left him alone
to eat in silence.
	As Britt finished his meal, he thought to himself, just what is it
with the people of this town? First his mother and now, Ralph? Were they
warning him in their own way to not step on any toes? Were they telling him
that perhaps something had happened sometime in the past, and they hoped he
would leave it there? In the past where they thought it belonged? This
might really get interesting, he decided, as he called out a goodbye to
Ralph and headed back to the newspaper office.
	Britt completely lost himself for the remainder of the afternoon,
totally absorbed in all of Porterville's news of the past. Once again, he
was surprised to discover the afternoon gone. It was almost six o'clock,
when he pulled into his mother's driveway. He hurried from the car to the
house, running up the steps of the porch.
	"I'm home, Mom," he called, and headed on down the hall. "Running a
little behind schedule as usual."
	"Hello, Britt." Catherine Williams was in the kitchen. "Dig
anything new up?" she asked.
	"Not much," he called over his shoulder. "I'll fill you in later."
	Britt hurried to his room and pulled his shirt and jeans off. He
picked his robe up from the bed and headed down the hall. Half an hour
later, his shower over, he was dressed and had joined his mother once more
in the kitchen.
	"You look nice," she greeted."
	"Thank you, mam," he said and grinned. "I appreciate any compliment
I can get these days."
	Britt still had a few moments to kill before he had to leave, so he
sat down at the kitchen table where his mother was eating her evening
meal. Giving her a smile, he said, "You were asking about my day. Well,
again, not much did I turn up; however, it is very interesting. I can't
believe I didn't learn all this stuff while I was living here."
	"You were a child," his mother reminded him. "History, even history
about your hometown, simply did not interest you."
	"You're probably right," he agreed. "Who wanted to read about
ancient stuff, was what I probably thought."
	"That's right," she smiled. "So, where are you and Devon eating?"
	"I think the little restaurant down on the square. I hear it's open
until ten."
	"So I hear. I also hear it's pretty pricey as well."
	"Mom, pricey, really? In this town?"
	"Don't you make fun of me, Britt Williams," she admonished him
playfully.
	"I would never do that, Mom."
	He visited with his mother for a few more minutes, then left to
pick Devon up. He had a few butterflies floating in his stomach just
thinking about the possibility of seeing Elaine Porter. Even though it had
been years since he had seen the woman, he remembered her all too vividly
as someone to avoid if at all possible. Her word was law, she thought, and
should be carried out to the fullest. Porterville was her town, as were all
the people living there, and she expected them to feel obligated to her for
what she had always done for the town, as well as for them personally.
	A short time later, he drove through the massive gate placing him
directly on the McKenzie property. The mansion was a good quarter mile from
the entrance, not even visible from the road. Britt slowly made his way
along the private drive, the butterflies in his stomach turning into
dive-bombers the closer he came to the big house.
	He braked his car in the stone circle drive, wondering if this was
even where he should park, but thinking it would be all right since he
would be here only long enough to pick Devon up. He walked up to the heavy
oak door, and touched the doorbell, his hand shaking as he pressed the
button.
	The door was opened shortly by a servant, who greeted him rather
stiffly, saying, "Good evening, Mr. Williams. Won't you come in?" The last
sounded more like a statement rather than a question to Britt Williams'
ears; a command, actually.
	"Good evening. I'm here to see Devon McKenzie."
	Britt stepped inside the entryway that was big enough to put better
than half of his mother's entire home in. The dive-bombers in his stomach
suddenly turned to giant submarines, shooting torpedoes throughout his
body.
	"Please, sir, won't you follow me into the drawing room?" This time
it was definitely a command, Britt decided.
	As he followed the elderly gentleman, he thought to himself, I
didn't even know a house in Porterville had anything such as a "drawing
room".
	The servant drew the two doors back and announced, "Mr. Williams."
	When the man stepped to the side, Britt discovered John and Elaine
McKenzie waiting. They were both in deep-seated wingback chairs, and seemed
to be awaiting his arrival. Elaine's face held just a trace of a cold
smile, making it appear that her face was about to crack. John McKenzie
rose from his seat and extended his hand.
	"Britt Williams, it certainly has been a long time since you've
been home, hasn't it?"
	Britt took the hand offered him and couldn't help noticing how cold
and formal his greeting was; not a hint of a welcome at all.
	"Good evening, Mr. McKenzie," he greeted the man. "I guess it's
been almost a year since I've been home."
	"How are you, Mr. Williams?" The words had a cold harsh ring to
them, causing them to sound hollow to Britt's ears.
	He turned to Elaine Porter McKenzie. "Hello, Mrs. McKenzie. How
have you been?"
	"I understand you are planning on writing a book about
Porterville." It was a plain, simple statement; yet, Britt had no trouble
detecting the cold meaning behind her words.
	"Word does seem to get around, doesn't it?" Britt could put a
little hidden meaning into his own words, he decided, feeling somewhat of a
triumph inside as he answered her.
	"You consider yourself a good writer, Mr. Williams?" she pursued.
	"I take pride in what I write, if that's what you mean,
Mrs. McKenzie. As for being a good writer, all I can say about that is this
is my eleventh book, and they have all made Number One on the chart."
	"So, just what do you think you will find to write about in
Porterville?"
	Britt shook his head, and said, "I really don't know if I will turn
anything up, Mrs. McKenzie. So far, only a lot of historical fact and
nothing that would come close to making a good story about growing up in a
small town."
	"I see. You do remember that Porterville is a very private town, do
you not? We're not a town that wants its business displayed all over the
world for people to read about."
	"I realize that. Porterville would only be a resource for such a
story. The town, the people wouldn't be, in any way, placed on `display' as
you put it."
	Britt heard the drawing room doors slide back once more, and was
relieved to see Devon McKenzie entering the room.
	"Good evening, Britt," he greeted. "Are you ready?"
	"I understand, Mr. Williams that you think my son might have some
information you could use in your book." This time it was John McKenzie
speaking.
	"All right, Dad, I imagine Britt has had enough input from you and
Mother about his book. Why don't you just sit back and see what, if
anything comes of it?"
	"Devon, don't use that tone with us," Elaine McKenzie admonished
her son. "Your father and I are just concerned about the town, that's all;
nothing more. People's lives are private, and they should remain that way."
	"I'm starved, Britt. Let's get the hell out of here before we lose
our appetite."
	"Remember you have a meeting first thing in the morning," John
McKenzie reminded his son.
	"Goodnight, Dad."
	John and Elaine McKenzie watched in silence as Britt disappeared
with their son through the door. It was plain to see they both disapproved
of not only their son going out, but with whom he was choosing to spend the
evening.
	Once inside the car, Devon turned and faced Britt. "I am sorry
about that. Those two can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."
	Britt started the engine of his car. As he drove through the circle
drive and headed toward the gate, he said, "Don't give it a second
thought. Trust me, your parents are not the first to send out negative
feelings about the reason I have come back to Porterville. Even my own
mother thinks I should leave well enough alone and do my researching
elsewhere." Britt smiled at Devon. "Besides, you and I both know we're just
using my research as an excuse for us to spend the evening together."
	"That's true," Devon grinned. Then the grin disappearing from his
face, he said, "It's just a damn shame I even have to come up with an
excuse to spend time with you."
	"Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do," Britt
reminded.
	"Maybe so, but I'm about ready to just say screw it!"
	As Britt paused at the gate before turning onto the main highway
leading to the heart of Porterville, he reached across the car and touched
Devon's cheek. "Hey, do me a favor, okay?"
	Devon reached up and touched the hand with his own. "And what, may
I ask, would that be?"
	"I really don't give a damn about anything you might have to add or
take away about my possible story, Devon McKenzie. At least for tonight,"
Britt added. "Tonight, I just want us to enjoy the time we have
together. "I think I've missed a lot by not being here over the years,
getting to know you. Now that I'm here, I'd like to change that."
	"I would like that as well," Devon assured him.
	Britt turned onto the highway and drove the short distance back
into town. "I hear this is a good restaurant we're going to."
	"The best Porterville has to offer," Devon declared.
	"According to my mother, one that is a little too pricey for
Porterville," Britt grinned.
	"It probably is expensive, but the food is really good."
	"Well, I have to admit, my mother has never been very far from
Porterville. I have tried to get her to come to the city several times, but
only once did I succeed. She says she's too old for new things, and I can
just come home even if it's only once or twice a year and spend time with
her."
	"Your mother is sweet," Devon said. "She might be a little `small
town as you say, but she has a good heart; something my mother could use."
	"You're mothers all right," Britt said, even though deep down
inside, he had a hard time believing his own words. "She's just a little
too superficial, and that's probably not even her fault. My God, look at
her family line. You especially, should understand that it probably hasn't
been easy for her. From what I can gather, your grandfather, her own
father, was rather big on money and the power it has. And I think, from
reading articles of the past, it goes way beyond him the same way."
	"You're right, of course; yet, it doesn't give her the right to
treat people the way she does. Like tonight, for example, she was
belittling you, and for no reason at all, except that she simply cannot
stand the fact you're here to dig up some facts and see about writing a
book. She has no power, no control on what you actually write, and that
drives her absolutely crazy. She only tolerates things and people she can
control."
	When Britt reached Porterville's city limits, he slowed down and
asked, "So, does she control you?"
	"In a way, yes, I suppose she does. Hell, I'm still living at home,
for God's sake. How many thirty-five year old men do you know who still
live at home?" His voice had a bitter ring to it.
	"Well, actually, when you think how big your home actually is, it's
not exactly as if you are living right under their nose," Britt remarked,
choosing his words carefully. Then trying to lighten the moment, he added,
"I will admit, though, if you had your own place, we might find something
to do with ourselves besides just talk. Eventually," he finished.
	"Oh, that would be no problem. For us to spend some time alone,"
Devon added. "My parents have a cabin on Porter Lake."
	"How could I forget," Britt grinned as he pulled into a parking
space just down from the restaurant on the town square. Porter Lake was
about thirty-five miles north of Porterville, located on more of the
original Porter land.
	"Yeah, how could you?" Devon retorted.
	The restaurant was indeed "uptown" and "plush", Britt thought as he
and Devon were shown to a table.  He looked around and discovered a dozen
or so people dining as well. About half of them, he recognized. He even
waved to a few of them. He couldn't help but notice some of the looks that
came across the room his way.
	Smiling at Devon, he said, "Wouldn't you love to know what's going
on in their heads?"
	"Why don't I just reach across the table and give your hand a pat?"
Devon grinned. "Then there wouldn't be any doubt in their mind at all."
	"Maybe another time," Britt answered.
	They ordered a drink and sat back to enjoy themselves. Under the
table, Britt felt pressure as Devon pushed against his shoe. He returned
the favor, and both felt instantly connected.
	"So, how does it feel to be back in the old home town?" Devon
asked.
	"Strange, I guess, would describe it," Britt remarked
thoughtfully. "Strange because so many things are different, and strange,
because, in some ways, nothing has changed."
	"That sounds a little confusing," Devon said just as the waiter
brought their drinks.
	"So, what do you suggest?" Britt asked, looking the menu over.
	"I like the New York Strip," Devon said, pointing to a place on the
menu. "It's delicious, and usually what I order when I come here."
	Britt closed the menu. "Sounds good to me."
	They turned their order in and sat back to enjoy their drinks, as
well as each other's company. Devon had a question for Britt. "So, tell me,
Britt, do you like living in the city?"
	Britt took a sip from his glass. "I love city life, Devon. Sure,
there are hassles, among other things involved in living in a big place
like that, but all the things it has to offer, I just love. The plays are
marvelous during their season."
	"You like drama?" Devon asked.
	Britt laughed. "You have to ask that, knowing that I love writing
the way I do?"
	"Guess I never thought about that. You're right, they run hand in
hand."
	Later, as they enjoyed the great tasting food before them, both
Britt and Devon enjoyed finding out things about the other. Britt was
astonished to discover just how bitter Devon was toward his job, his
family, and even the town of Porterville."
	"That amazes me, Devon. I would think that you would be in your
element here. You have a high up position in the family business, you are
influential in your community, and your word is law in some instances. So,
if you are that unhappy, why haven't you done something about it? You have
a college education. There are lots of jobs you are qualified to do."
	"I feel I owe it to my parents to stay here and take care of things
with the company."
	"Can I ask you something?"
	"You can ask me anything."
	"Do you feel you need to stay, or do they feel you need to stay?"
	"Probably a little of both, I guess."
	"You don't think they want you happy, even if that means you moving
away from here?"
	"Hell no, they don't."
	The bitter sound in Devon's words held a harsh ring, and it took
Britt completely by surprise. "What do they expect of you?"
	"I think they want me to stay here so they can have control of my
life. This is especially true in my mother's case."
	Britt thought about Elaine McKenzie, and although he hated to admit
it, he had to agree with Devon. Control was written all over her face. He
shivered, thinking about what the man must have to deal with. Aloud, he
said, "Well, one thing's for certain, we're not going to change either one
of your parents, at least by the time tonight's over, so what say we just
let the subject drop? I'd much rather discuss better things. One thing in
particular," he added.
	"And that would be?" Devon's eyes twinkled as he spoke.
	"How about going for a drive? Britt asked, looking at his
watch. "It's still early, even if you do have a meeting first thing in the
morning."
	Devon reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. "Let me
get this, Britt."
	Britt shook his head and said, "No way, put that back in your
pocket. I ask you out, and I intend to treat."
	"At least let me get the tip."
	Britt laid a bill on the little black tray in front of him. "It's
taken care of. Let's split."
	As they reached Britt's car, Devon asked, "You feel up to a drive
out to the lake? I'll show you where we might be able to spend some time
together. That is, if you are interested in spending some time alone with
me."
	Britt crawled behind the wheel and started the engine. "Get your
ass in here, Devon McKenzie, and show me the way."