Date: Thu, 18 Aug 2011 00:27:30 -0400 (EDT)
From: dastardlyd3@aol.com
Subject: "Searching for Love" Chapter 6

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TO THE READER;

THIS STORY TELLS OF MAN TO MAN SEX, NOT IN ALL CHAPTERS, BUT ENOUGH THAT IF
YOU DON'T APPROVE OF IT, OR IF YOU LIVE WHERE YOU SHOULD NOT READ IT, I
SUGGEST YOU LEAVE THIS SITE.

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Searching for Love

Chapter 6

    The next morning began according to the pattern set the day before.
Owen awoke, woke Walter, kissed him and suggested he shower while Owen made
coffee.  Walter was out of the shower before Owen returned to take his
shower.  Walter finished shaving as Owen finished his shower, then brought
Owen his coffee.  They kissed.  Walter dressed as Owen shaved, then Owen
quickly dressed, they kissed, locked up the apartment and walked to the bus
stop.  There was a big line, so they easily made it onto the bus.  They had
to hang on to the metal posts, for there were no straps for them that day.

    At the entrance to the building, Owen patted Walter on the shoulder and
wished him a good day.  Walter declared his intention of eating lunch in
Owen's store, then they parted.  For Owen, the day was routine, as routine
as it could be said when the store was due to close, the customers were
sad, worried about getting another job, and some worried about losing close
friendships.

    Owen's boss came by about 10 a.m. to ask Owen how things were going.
Owen replied, "I'm still plugging away on the inventory.  I've got some
things that have never sold, and probably won't sell before I close the
shop.  I'd like to send them back to the warehouse.  Would that be
possible?"

    "Sure, Owen.  You know your sales better than anybody else.  No sense
letting merchandise sit here and gather moss."

    "When I get to the office, I want to learn what sells in what stores.
I don't know anybody else's sales.  Do we keep an inventory or sales
history?"

    "Good question, Walter.  I've been carrying that around in my head, but
that's not a good idea.  We need to set up a scanner to read the bar codes.
It will give us an incoming merchandise record, then we can scan the
merchandise going to the stores to know what each should be accountable
for."

    "I'd like to visit each store, to get to know the managers, and to
listen to what ideas they might have," Owen said.  "I'll bet that with this
many stores, there are some big differences in the customers and what
sells.  Maybe we ought to vary our merchandise from store to store if
there's a good reason."

    "Very good, Walter.  Keep your ideas coming.  Write them down, and we
ought to discuss them when you move to the office.  Let me know what you
want to send back to the warehouse, and I'll arrange a pickup.

    "Now, is there anything I can do to make the last days better?  Should
I send a supply of crying towels?...I thought not.  You're doing well.
I'll try to come by tomorrow morning, but if I can't, be sure you let the
office know what you want to return."  Smiling, he shook Walter's hand and
left.

    For Walter, the day didn't go well.  The managers were not happy to be
taking an inventory, and there was a lot of grumbling.  It was around 10
a.m. that anyone asked about inventorying the storage closets.  A groan was
heard in all departments as the direction to inventory the storage closets
went out.  Walter understood why as soon as he opened the door to one and
found it was a virtual recluse's store of useless items, many broken or
defaced, some left over from many a year ago's change of technology.  What
might have been state of the art some years ago was now just an antique of
no value.  Some of the equipment had value as spare parts for furniture or
machinery in use.  Some might be of value in other ways, so the search had
to be done carefully.

    Some documents came to light, documents of value.  They needed to be
mentioned in the inventory, then secured for transmission to the home
office.  Review of documents required some special knowledge, so managers
detailed knowledgeable employees to evaluate the worth of the documents.

    While inventory went on in all departments, someone thought of the need
to move furniture.  That required the strength that many women and some men
did not have, so security personnel pitched in and moved furniture.  Not
surprisingly, some documents were discovered.  Extra computer cords and
cables were found.

    Most interestingly, behind the desk of one of the most attractive
secretaries was found an almost full box of condoms.  She denied knowing
about them. As the word went out, many roars of laughter were heard, and to
the woman's chagrin, men and women were looking at her and whispering. She
lasted only a few minutes, then ran to the ladies' room and was heard to
cry.

    While conducting the inventory, the security people accompanied
electricians from the company that maintained the alarms and electric
locking systems.  The goal was to assure that the building could be
safeguarded with few guards on duty after the company moved.  Most of the
alarm systems were operating.  A few did not operate properly, but they
were repaired.

    At 11 a.m., Walter came into Owen's store to buy a sandwich and to tell
about the big discovery.  Owen listened, then described a female customer
whom Walter said was the secretary.  Owen related how the woman came into
the store regularly to buy condoms, which were not kept in plain sight.  He
had seen her leave the building during the morning with a big man in a
suit.  He had a shock of white hair that hung over his forehead.  The rest
of the hair on his head was black.

    Walter recognized the man from Owen's description.  He was the
secretary's boss.  They must be carrying on an affair.  Both wore wedding
rings, so it was a hot bit of adultery.  "Too bad!  It's not my job to
`out' them.  Revealing their affair wouldn't help the business.  It might
just make things more difficult."  So, Walter made as though to lock his
lips with an imaginary key.  Then he began to laugh.

    Customers had been coming into the store regularly until Walter
arrived.  They started coming in again as they laughed.  When asked what
was funny, they replied it was a private joke.

    Walter returned to work following lunch.  As Owen locked the store,
Walter appeared, right on schedule, for the bus ride home.  Owen had
everything needed for the dinner tonight.  They just had to prepare it and
start it cooking.  John was not due for over an hour.  They shared the
chores, and dinner was in the oven, salad made, and a bottle of wine
cooling in the refrigerator, in time for them to have a leisurely shower.

    The shower was crowded for two, but they "suffered" with it as they
rubbed each other with every turn or bend.  Both cocks rose to full staff,
and, when rubbed together, excited them both.  They stopped washing and
concentrated on kissing, caressing, and beating each other's cock slowly.
Walter turned Owen away from him, rubbed his cock against Owen's ass, and
pushed it up against the hole.  With lots of soap suds as a lube, Walter's
cock slid right into Owen's ready ass.  Owen leaned forward so that Walter
had better access for fucking.  They were both horny.  Walter n into Owen's
ass while Owen kept moving his ass up and down and around.  That hastened
Walter's orgasm.  He grabbed Owen's shoulders, pushed in hard, then
shouted, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming."  Owen's sphincter clamped down on
Walter's cock because Owen was cumming.  Walter leaned over Owen, chest to
back, wrapped his arms around his lover, and kissed Owen's neck.  Owen
kissed Walter's hands.  They stayed quiet, not moving, until Walter's cock
slipped out of the hole.

    "I'd like to stay here, Walter, Sweetie, but we've got a dinner guest
coming, a dinner to get on the table, then get to the rehearsal on time.
The director is a stickler for starting the rehearsal on time."  They
rinsed off, kissed, dried each other, then left the bathroom.  Walter went
to the bedroom and got dressed.  Owen went to the kitchen, to check the
progress of dinner.  The salad had been made, the casserole was baking
nicely, and the wine was cooling in the refrigerator.  He left to get
dressed.

    In the bedroom, Walter had laid out underwear for Owen, but kept the
choice of shirt, pants and socks for Owen.  They kissed, caressed, and
rubbed their bodies together a little.  There would be time for more play
in bed at bedtime.

    John arrived right on the stroke of six p.m. Owen answered the door and
invited him in.  Walter was waiting inside the living room.  Owen
introduced them to each other.  John reached his hand forward to shake
Walter's, but Walter wrapped his arms around John and gave him a warm hug,
saying, "Owen has told me about you, all nice things."

    "C'mon, you two, dinner's on the table."  They sat down.  The round
table was small, and knees touched knees.  John felt Walter's knee rub up
and down against his leg.  He moved his leg so that further friction would
not be easy for Walter.

    The meal was good, the conversation good as John learned about

Walter and his job, but Walter did not reveal much about his history.
He accepted that, and told about the choir, the number of members, the
director, the music they sang, and the trips to the restaurant on Sundays.
It seemed they had barely sat down at the table when they finished eating,
and cleared the table.  Owen told them to leave the dishes.  He'd do the
washing up after choir rehearsal.

    At the church, all the choir members were seated in the loft, hymnals
in their laps, when Artur Bernstein appeared.  He thanked them for being
punctual.  John suggested Owen introduce Walter.  "Mr. Bernstein, I have
brought a friend tonight, Walter Wilson.  Walter likes to sing, and hasn't
sung in a choir for several years."

    Mr. Bernstein went to the corner where Walter was sitting, introduced
himself, and asked him his voice range.  Walter wasn't sure, but probably
baritone, he thought.  "Good.  We'll check that range out, but first, let's
warm up, then practice our processional hymn."  The rehearsal went along
well, and Walter was evaluated to be a baritone-bass.  He was encouraged to
try the bass part, but not to strain to match the range of the deeper
basses.

    Mr. Bernstein took them through the hymns which the congregation would
sing along with the choir, then produced the anthem which the choir would
sing.  He handed Owen a copy of the sheet music noted for the tenor
soloist.  "Owen, I think you can handle this.  You seem to sight read
easily, and the range isn't too high."

    Gulping, Owen replied, "I'll sure try."  He did try, and it was good.
Mr. Bernstein promised Owen more rehearsal time on Sunday morning.  The one
and one-half hour rehearsal ended with a general feeling of satisfaction.

    Walter had been greeted by several choir members, but they didn't have
time enough to chat.  John told him that there would be time on Sunday
after church, when many of the choir members went to lunch together.

    Back home at the apartment house, Walter thanked John for the chance to
sing in the choir.  He hugged him closely and gave him a kiss, but John had
turned his cheek, so that was what Walter kissed.  Owen wasn't paying
attention to their hugging and kissing.  He had led the way to his
apartment's door, then turned and saw John turn away from Walter, Walter
drop his arms, and the two parted.

    Inside their apartment, Owen went to the kitchen and started rinsing
the dishes.  He filled up a dishpan with detergent and hot water, then
washed and rinsed the dishes, and handed them to Walter to dry.  When the
dishes were all put away, Owen kissed and hugged Walter, and thanked him
for helping with the dishes.  Walter thanked Owen for cooking the dinner
and doing the washup.  Together, they walked to their bedroom and stripped.

    "I'm afraid I'm a bit tired tonight.  I hope you don't mind, but I'd
like to get ready for bed, then cuddle," Owen said to Walter.

    "No problem.  It's getting a bit late, and we have to work tomorrow.
We can make up for tonight by tomorrow night," Walter said as he hugged and
kissed Owen.

    Bathroom duties done, they cuddled in their warm bed, and were soon
sound asleep

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TO THE READER;

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dastardlyd3@aol.com