Date: Sat, 6 Mar 2004 14:06:53 -0800 (PST)
From: Evan Bradely <evanbradley33@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Crew Chapter 18

The following fictional story deals with sex among males.  If you are offended
by such material, are too young, or reside in a location where it is not
allowed, please depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about
yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights.
EvanBradley33@Yahoo.com

Chapter 18
Fission and Fusion
			Jack's Sports Bar & Grill

Quite unaware of any other dramas than the one involving Rich and him, Wes had
returned after his week in the big leagues.  It wasn't his former team before he
was sent down to the Renegades, so he didn't really know anyone.  Substituting
with a big league team was exciting in one sense, but it was rare that anyone
really connected with a stand-in player because the regulars knew the sub
wouldn't be around long.  Oh, they were all polite and friendly on the surface,
but because he'd always been surrounded by fans and groupies, he'd felt lonely
for the first time in his life.  As a consequence, his mind kept turning back to
Rich, feeling what it was like to be in his company, feeling that hot bod next
to him, making love to that handsome face.

Wes wasn't used to missing a buddy.  It left him feeling uncomfortable - as
though Rich were more than a buddy, a possibility that he'd missed.  He'd
located a gay bar and gotten a couple of blowjobs, but all it did was make him
relive sex with Rich, increasing his frustration.  He couldn't dodge the
unmistakable conclusion that Rich meant a lot more to him than he had imagined,
leading him to worry about his leaving Rich sobbing on the carpet.  After two
days in his new location, Wes started beating up on himself for panicking at
Jack's Bar and Grill and later for treating Rich badly.  He resolved to try to
patch things up with him as soon as he returned to the Renegades.  He thought
Rich would be more than ready to make-up too since he had been deprived of Wes's
company.

Actually, Wes made it back to the Renegades immediately before a game, so he
had no chance to contact Rich.	He felt he needed to see him in person first
rather than phoning him.  He was hoping to see him at the game that evening.
Something must have affected Wes when he played his week in the big leagues,
for he was hot as a firecracker that night.  He made an astounding eight
exciting hits, including a home run with the bases loaded, and three great
defensive plays.

Most of the crew had uncharacteristically gathered at Jack's AFTER rather than
before a Renegades game.  Only a few minutes with them alerted Wes to an
underlying tension, something present but unacknowledged.  Wes realized it
focused on Hal and the new guy Brett.  About a minute later he realized that
Drew was absent.  And this Brett was pawing Hal constantly - while members of
the crew tried very hard not to be observing any of that byplay though every
now and then surreptitious expressions of displeasure with Brett and Hal's
behavior were observable.  'Hm-m-m-m-m,'he thought.  He needed to find out from
Rich what had happened while he'd been away.

Wes was literally the toast of the tavern, with one table or booth after another
proposing that the entire bar raise glasses to their hero.  However, the tenor
of the evening for Wes changed quickly when Rich walked into Jack's in the
company of Carl Ralston, a promising Renegades rookie just out of college - so
handsome he immediately caused boners among men.  Carl was cocky and full of
promise.  He and Wes had largely ignored each other through the first half of
the season because they were fairly evenly matched in skills and were highly
competitive, each thinking himself superior to the other.  Carl had enjoyed a
successful game himself that evening with three hits and six defensive plays.

As Rich and Carl walked by the table where the city's three sports journalists
were relaxing, Fred Hutchins, an older reporter, caught the look in Rich's eye,
remembering Wes's departure with a bimbo a couple of weeks before.  He
realized that Rich was deliberately turning the tables on Wes.	'Good!' he
thought.  'Wes deserves it, grandstanding the way he did with no thought at all
for his buddy.'  Fred glanced at Jim Dockley, the hotshot reporter hungry to
break a story about the Renegades.  Fred wanted to gauge Jim's reaction, but Jim
was busy schmoozing a cute college coed.

While Rich shot a smile at the crew, he and Carl repaired to the bar where they
ordered a pitcher.  Carl was a hunk!  His tawny hair crowned an oval face that
always sported a winning, friendly smile.  Dark brown eyebrows arched over
laughing brown eyes.  His straight nose pointed at unusually red lips that so
constantly widened into a smile that one later remembered lots of white teeth
when he called forth Carl's image.  Carl had a somewhat more muscular build
than Wes, with big biceps, quite muscular forearms, flaring lats, and a waist
that wasn't far from slim.  Like his biceps and forearms, Carl's thighs bulged
with muscle.  His ass was so molded from hard muscle that it made some men and
many women want to slide their hands over it.  He was the archetypal Boy Scout.
Carl and Rich made a handsome couple.

Rich and Carl stood at the bar chatting for half an hour.  They were observed by
everyone, even Jim Dockley.  They leaned into each other, whispering, then
throwing their heads back, laughing, slapping each other on the back, grabbing
the other's upper arm and squeezing.  With each interaction, Wes's face grew
stonier.  Finally, their pitcher of beer finished, Carl and Rich turned to
leave.	Rich grinned at the crew and waved at Wes, underlining the fact that
Wes was receiving what he'd dished out to Rich.  Not one member of the crew
doubted where they were going or what they would do when they got there.

After the departure, Wes remained quiet, not joining in the conversations around
the big table, which shifted to different topics as though there were no deep
implications in what had just transpired in the bar.  Of course, not a one of
the crew missed the payback Rich had arranged.	Wes started hammering the beers
down.  Then he switched to boilermakers until the senior bartender refused him
anymore, announcing he'd find Wes a ride home.

At the next night's Renegades game, Rich sat down close to the field instead of
joining the crew.  In fact, he sat right where he did when he had earlier
cheered for Wes, a position and implication not missed by Wes.	However, Rich
now cheered for Carl, which left Wes fuming.  When Wes had a hit, Rich did
nothing, and those hits occurred less often over the next three games.	It
appeared to all that Wes was moving into a slump.  Carl, on the other hand, was
hitting big time and making great defensive plays.  The better Carl played, the
worse Wes played.  If Wes needed any evidence that his ploy of arrogantly
leaving Rich defeated on the carpet of his living room was a mistake, he had it
in magnitudes now.  That more than anything else pierced his gut, leaving him
feeling nauseated.  What the hell was this?  Wes Stanfield feeling nauseous over
a guy?	A former player who couldn't make it on the field?

In the locker room after a game, for reasons no one could discover, Wes punched
Carl, and they duked it out until Randy Travers and the other coaches and
players broke them apart.  Randy called them into his office, where he reamed
them out for forgetting the team and allowing personal differences to affect
their game.  "I'm playing great," Carl protested.  "He's the one who's lost it.
You should be criticizing him, not me."

"We're a team, you know," Randy ripped out, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"If you're contributing to his playing that way, then you share in the blame.
I'm not having any more of this hostility from either one of you.  We don't play
again until next Thursday, so I'm going to give both of you a chance to turn
this around - or be bounced off this team!"

That last remark sobered the two young players. Randy Travers was not one to
bandy words.  "I have a friend who has a fishing cabin out on the Vanamee River.
You two are going straight there from here.  I'll give you a map.  You're
staying there until Wednesday afternoon.  It would be good if you returned from
the cabin as each other's friend.  That may be too much to expect.  But I'll
warn you:  you'd better return as professional players committed to the team and
each other.  Do I make myself clear?" he asked.  The two chastened players shook
their heads without looking at each other or Randy.

"What do we eat?" Carl asked.

"It's a fishing cabin.	You eat what you catch.  Or any canned food you find
there or groceries you take with you.  I'm warning everyone on the team to stay
away from you this weekend."

After Wes and Rich moped out of Randy's office, he pulled a little note pad from
his desk and made a call.  He'd checked with his old friend, Fred Hutchins,
finding out that Rich Adams was the other corner of the triangle.

He hated these situations.  He didn't have the best player material to start
with.  His job was to help them finally grow up, develop into big league
material, or gently move them out.  Everyone knew he was good at that.	But
these affairs of the heart or dick really tested him.  Even though married, he'd
had several player lovers over the years.  Who could help it, being surrounded
by these paragons of masculine pulchritude.  It was an important part of his
life.  He had a player-lover now.  But he was always careful never to allow
these relationships to slop over into his professional or married life.  It was
probably one of the hardest lessons he had to teach the green, young guys
entrusted to his tutelage.  To so many of them, life drew down to a bat and a
baseball and the bat between their legs and the balls dragging down behind and
hits if not home runs in both playing fields.  He expelled a weary sigh.  His
script was clear.
			    Rich's Office

On Monday morning, when the secretary showed Randy Travers into Rich's office,
his face immediately registered his surprise.  "Coach! I'm amazed!  The coach
of the Renegades paying me a call?  I can't imagine why."

"Wes Standfield and Carl Ralston."  Rich's smile fled his face.  He gestured for
Randy to sit in one of the chairs in front of Rich's desk while he came around
and sat in the other chair.  "They're in trouble, Mr. Adams, and I need your
help.  I think you know that you're the center of this situation."

"Please, call me 'Rich.'"  Rich didn't know how to reply to Randy's last remark
without perhaps outing Wes and Carl.  "How can I help?"

"Did you know that Carl and Wes were fighting in the locker room?"

"No," Rich answered in a subdued manner.

"I think their fight grew out of feelings both have toward you.  They're both
randy, young bulls.  You should be proud.  You have them fighting over you."

Rich gulped.  "I'm not proud that they are about to lose their places on the
team."

"Then help them," Randy said.

"How?"

"I have banished them to a friend's fishing cabin out on the Vanamee."

"Together?" Rich yelped in surprise.

"Together.  If they can't learn to work together, no matter what their
differences, they'll never be any good in the big leagues or in the minor
leagues.  I think you can step in at the fishing cabin and help them work out
their differences since they seem to originate exclusively with you.  You don't
want to be responsible for two promising careers ending up on the trash heap,
do you?"

"Of course not."

"Then go to the cabin after you close your office today.  Help them talk this
out.  I  know they'll listen to you."

"I promise I'll go.  Even a little early maybe."

"Here's a map that will help you find the cabin.  Oh, by the way, they've been
living on what they catch in the river or in a can.  You might move the
proceedings to a warmer level if you were to take three pizzas with you."  They
both laughed.

			    The Fishing Cabin

When Rich arrived at the cabin, he found the two players sulking, not talking to
each other at all, the TV turned on to ESPN.  But as soon as he walked in the
door, their attitudes changed.

"Hey, Lover," Carl burst out, hopping up and scooting over to embrace Rich.  He
tried to lay a hot kiss on Rich, who held him off but gave him a warm smile.

"What are you doing here?" Wes asked.  "We're supposed to be here by
ourselves.  I'm not going to sit around here while you two neck," he said
crabbily.

"Glad to see you too," Rich said coolly.  "Randy Travers sent me out here.  Wait
a minute."  He walked to the car, grabbed the three pizza boxes, and walked back
into the cabin.  "Brought you some survival food."

"All-l-l-l-l right!" Carl enthused.  "Pizza!" he exclaimed, making Rich smile
that Carl's youthful, college jock demeanor still lurked just beneath the
surface of his new professional identity.  It was one of the many refreshingly
attractive features of the guy.

"Why'd Travers want you out here?" Wes asked grumpily.

"He wants to save your careers."  Silence followed the implicit warning.  Carl
and Wes glanced at each other and then away.  "If you guys can't get it
together, can't put the team first, can't become a team yourselves, you're
through.  You'll be washed up like me," Rich warned.  "I guess you know that
Randy Travers is not a man who bluffs."  Carl frowned, wondering why Rich was
putting himself down like that.  "He's figured out that I'm involved in your
problem with each other," Rich continued.  "Asked me to come out here so that
the three of us could work through this.  You guys open to that?"

"He knows we're bi?" Wes squeaked, shocked.

"I don't know what he knows," Rich replied evenly.  "We didn't discuss sexual
orientation.  As Randy put it, he knows that I'm apparently at the center of the
differences between you two.  He asked me to come out here so that all of us
could talk.  I'm supposed to send back to him two professionals committed to
themselves and the rest of the team.  If you have questions about what he's
thinking about our relationship, you'll have to ask him."

"Okay . . . I'm open to saving my career," Carl stated with conviction.

Wes just stared.  "I won't go further, Wes, until you agree," Rich said, passing
a pizza box to Wes and then another to Carl.

"Yeah, . . . okay, I agree," Wes snapped back.

"Wes, why are you pissed off at Carl?"

"You know why.	So does he.  I have to say it?"

"Yes, you have to say it if we are going to work through this."

"I'm jealous of you two.  Carl, you were just waiting for a chance to move in on
Rich, take him away from me.  But I'm glad I know now what a whore and slut
you are, Rich."

"Don't call him that!" Carl broke in.  "What a hypocrite you are!  You're the
one who was catting around on Rich with bar bimbos, letting reporters'
suspicions run your two-faced life.  I suppose you thought you were fooling
everyone with that dumb-ass trick.  We'd all seen you and Rich.  We knew the
score.	Besides, your past isn't entirely unknown to some of the players."  Wes
colored, whether in anger or embarrassment, Rich didn't know.

"Ground rules, guys - no name-calling," Rich stated gently.  "No heat.	No
matter what you feel, just state it simply without anger.  Imagine that you are
telling Randy Travers. . . . You finished, Wes?"  The latter, his mouth set,
shook his head in the affirmative.

Rich turned to Carl.  "Carl, I think you should let me tell my side next.  Then
yours.	Okay?"	Carl shook his head in agreement.

Rich turned back to Wes.  "I was so excited the first time I watched you play.
Don't know what it was, but when I watched you on the field, my dick started
getting hard.  My eyes never left you the entire inning.  If the ball wasn't
near you, I didn't know where it was.  As the song says, 'I only had eyes for
you.' And when you slugged the ball into the outfield, it was as though
lightning shot through me.  I hadn't felt charged like that at a game since I'd
washed out of the minors.  It was exciting again, beautiful, but it wouldn't
have been if you weren't there.  You see, Wes, by the second game I knew it was
you too."  Wes was hanging on every word Rich spoke.  "It wasn't just some
vicarious thrill from the game; it was you.  I'd connected with you in some
profound way I'd never experienced before.  Oh, I'd been with men and women in
college, especially other jock stars.  But never anyone like you."  As Rich
uttered his last sentence, his voice grew soft, with just a hint of longing.
Wes caught it.

Rich arose and walked to the bar, pouring himself a Coke.  He returned to his
chair in the living room in front of the massive stone fireplace.  "When we made
love, I soared through magic vistas.  I'd never had sex like I had with you."
Now Wes was wide-eyed.	Carl was frowning.  Twice he started to break in to say
something, but he realized it would have been inappropriate at that point.

"Then you pulled that stunt with the bimbo, leaving me sitting there in the bar
with our friends, humiliated, ashamed, hurt.  At that moment, I knew I counted
for nothing with you - no better than a toss in the hay and certainly not as
desirable at that moment as the bimbo."

"I explained to you why I did that."

Rich held up his hand.	"I know what you told me.  You're a real dumbass, Wes!"
Rich tossed his head:  "Sorry about the name-calling. . . . You see, what you
never figured out was that your self-centered explanation couldn't possibly
counter the message that I received that night - whatever I was feeling being
with you was deceiving me because you felt NOTHING like that.  Nowhere close to
that!  Otherwise, you'd never have treated me that way."  Rich arose and walked
over to the windows looking out on a back lawn sloping to the river.  "I was
partly to blame.  I'd assumed that you were feeling exactly what I was
feeling. . . After a few days, I realized that if you'd opened up to me about
how much Dockley's suspicions were bothering you, we could have thrown him off
the track.  We both could have shown up at Jack's after a ballgame with dates.
Could have enticed Dockley over to the bar to meet our dates - stuff like that.
But you really weren't interested in maintaining what we had.  You'd throw it
over in a heartbeat to protect your precious reputation.  You taught me a
lifetime about deceit and betrayal in those moments."  Inwardly, Wes blanched
at Rich's reproach, realizing that it was sound.

As he had done during Wes's last visit to his home, Rich walked around the
living room in a big circle.  "Then you came to my house, insulted me with
sophomoric crap that you seemed to think I'd swallow."	Wes colored, glancing
quickly at Carl to catch his reaction.	"I knew you thought you could walk away.
Maybe return when it felt convenient, but maybe never return to me.  So I
decided to show you what it felt like.	The Golden Rule thing, in case you're
wondering."

"You hooked up with Carl just to make me jealous?" Wes asked.

"Yes," Rich answered, turning immediately to Carl.  "I'm also ashamed to admit
it, Carl," he said, walking over to him.  He pulled Carl up off the sofa and
into his arms.	"I used you, Carl, which is shameful.  I never meant to hurt
you, and I apologize if I have.  You see, I'm no better than Wes."  Here he
turned his head around to look at Wes.	'That's how I understand all too well.
I only cared about me, about getting even, which blinded me to what I was doing
to you."  With his last word, he turned back to Carl, planting a quick, chaste
kiss on Carl's lips.  "I'm sorry.  But I have to tell you, that the same things
I had experienced watching Wes on the field were what I felt watching you when I
finally opened my eyes - exactly the same.  I couldn't believe it.  Two guys
lighted me up like Fourth of July fireworks.  I felt the same for you that I
felt for Wes.  It shocked me.  I thought that could happen with only one guy."

Rich pulled Carl around so that they were both looking at Wes.	"Carl, it's your
turn."

Carl looked at the two men, taking a moment to collect his thoughts after the
startling disclosures.	"Well, I'd noticed Wes and you together a lot.	I knew
that you two were sex buddies.	Guys like us can read the signs.  I thought
you were hot looking, Rich.  Seemed to be a really nice guy.  I had quietly
asked around about you.  Nobody had anything negative to say about you.  When I
heard about your college baseball background, I knew I wanted to be with you."

Carl looked down at the floor.	"It sounds stupid, but I wanted you too, Wes."
Here Carl looked under his eyelids at Wes for signs of contempt.  He saw none,
just Wes's head reared back in surprise.  "Somehow, you both walked into my
heart and libido and took up residence.  Next thing I knew, I was hearing
whispers about your dumping Rich for some bimbo.  I started plotting how to get
Rich when, one night after a game, I found him in the parking lot leaning up
against my car.  I couldn't miss the deduction that he'd cared enough to find
out what car I drove and deliberately stationed himself by it so that we'd have
to talk.  He asked if he could buy me a beer.  He had me follow him to his
home."	Carl grinned.  "Damn!  It was hot.  I guess you know how wonderful this
guy is in bed," Carl said to Wes.

"Yeah, I know."  Wes paused, standing up, shoving his hands in his pockets,
starting to pace as Rich had earlier.  "I was an ass.  I lost everything with
that desperate move at Joe's when I picked up the barfly. I hate myself that I
didn't realize it even then.  Way too late did I understand how much I'd lost,"
he said, looking deeply into Rich's eyes.  "And you're right:  I thought you'd
cave in the face of losing me forever."  Wes walked over to Rich, sliding his
arms around Rich's waist, ignoring Carl.  "Rich, I apologize for treating you so
shallowly as though you had no feelings.  A lot I told you that night at your
house is true.	I was terrified of Dockley.  That's no excuse though for what it
did to you.  I'm so sorry."

"I accept your apology," Rich said, smiling gently, sliding the palm of his left
hand over Wes's cheek.	Wes felt tremors moving deeply within him.

The stubble scraping erotically against Rich's palm made his cock jump.  Wes
ground his cheek into the loving hand caressing him.

"So who wins?" Carl asked apprehensively.

"All three of us," Rich said.  Carl and Wes looked at him as though he'd spoken
in a strange dialect.  "I know now how none of us has to be hurt again."  They
looked at him in doubt.

Rich moved gently out of their arms and walked over to the carpet in front of
the fireplace, where he started disrobing.  Rich and Wes's expressions
registered surprise, then interest, then excitement.  'What the hell is he
doing?' Wes thought to himself.  'Does he think I'm going to watch him and Carl
make love?'  Rich dropped his briefs, his cock stretching forth in a steely
salute.  He stood before them in his lean, muscular glory, a light smattering of
brown hair covering his pecs in whorls, his dark nipples stiffly peaked.  His
brown cock was elevated at a 90-degree angle, the deep cleft in the bottom side
of his glans excitingly visible.  The younger men both had loved running their
tongue up and down that groove before gently pulling their teeth across the
flared ridge of the cap of his stalk.  The same short brown hair coated his
sculpted, muscular thighs.  Those clear, dark eyes pulled Wes and Carl into
their depths.  Rich was one hot Daddy!

Rich gave them only one command:  "Strip."

Carl immediately grinned.  Ever since he'd seen Wes in the showers, he'd wanted
to see him in a state of arousal.  He wanted to see that rod hard!  He'd seen
those thighs so smooth that he wanted to run his fingers up and down the taut
skin.  He'd grooved on the small sack fat with balls.  Wes's brow wrinkled in
doubt.

Noting their confusion, Rich explained:  "I either belong to both of you, or I
belong to neither of you."  Wes and Carl looked at each other, trying to assess
the reaction of the other to Rich's proposal.  Could they share this hunk?
Were they interested enough in each other to try what Rich was proposing.

"You mean a threesome?" Wes asked?  "I've heard they never work.  They always
fall apart because of jealousy."

"I want you both.  You both are sexy hunks.  Give me time and I'll convince each
of you that I love you equally.  Maybe not for the same qualities, but not one
of you any less than the other.  I don't care what people think about a
threesome.  If we decide it can work for us, it can.  I told you how you are
special to me, how you make me feel alive in ways I haven't felt in a few years.
I can keep both of you happy.  I bet you even discover that you can make each
other happy without my contribution," Rich observed.

"What if I don't want to share with him?" Carl asked Rich.

"All or nothing" was Rich's reply.

Both players continued to stare at Rich, wanting to be certain they were
understanding him.  "Damn!  Raise the ticket prices and these civilians get
downright mean, don't they, Wes?" Carl asked, grinning impishly.

"Demanding, cruel, evil," was Wes's reply, a grin directed at Carl, slowly
spreading out across his boyish, handsome face.

Suddenly, Rich wrapped one hand around his beautiful cock and started pumping
- seriously.  "Well, I guess I'll just have to get myself off.	Too bad - I was
ready to suck, rim, and bottom," Rich said.  Wes and Carl looked at each other,
alarm on their faces.  They both leapt on Rich, forcing him to the rug, holding
his arms and legs down, setting him off into peals of laughter, but being
careful to let him know their genuine esteem for him, sexual moment or not.
They took turns giving him slow, passionate kisses.

"You forgot what I told you," Rich said a little breathlessly.	"Strip!"  Wes
and Carl looked at each other, grinning.  "You stay right there," Wes issued a
command of his own to Rich.  "I've got some catching up to do."

Carl was dropping cargoes, tee shirt, and briefs at the speed of light.  Wes had
drawn Carl's eyes to him as he slowly stripped.  Carl wasn't disappointed in his
first glimpse of Wes's cock, which was a couple of inches longer and slightly
thicker than his own.  He noted that their pubic trims were small bushes.  But
he felt gratified that his ball sack was fatter and his foreskin, when retracted,
left a collar of skin around his glans.

Rich arose.  "Hey, you weren't supposed to move," Wes protested.

"We have to do something first," Rich said, walking over to lay a hot,
passionate kiss on Wes, interrupting his removal of his clothing.  Carl's face
sobered.  Rich broke off the kiss, turning to Carl and gesturing him over, where
he laid exactly the same passionate kiss on Carl.  He turned back to Wes,
brushing lips across Wes's, sliding his tongue along and just inside.  Then he
turned to Carl, repeating the same kiss.  Placing his hands on the back of their
heads, Rich gently but firmly pushed their faces together.  They initially
resisted.  "Come on, Lovers," he whispered.  "We have to get to know each other.
We have to create a relationship for all three of us.  I want it.  So do you if
you'll just be honest.	Trust me.  Look how far I've brought us already."

Only a few seconds passed before Carl moved forward toward Wes's lips.
Following Rich's lead, he brushed his lips across Wes's.  Then he backed off,
watching Wes's reaction.  Wes's tongue involuntarily brushed across the surface
where Carl's lips had been.  He smiled ever so briefly and leaned toward Carl.
As Wes brushed his lips across Carl's, Rich reached down and clasped each hard
cock in a hand.  "Again," he whispered, "with tongue," knowing that it was the
quickest way to introduce the two to complete intimacy.  They complied.

Rich pulled his hands back, placing one on each of their asses, surprised that a
tremor passed through him as he touched those magnificently muscled specimens.
Then he shoved Wes and Carl together.  "Now really claim each other," he
ordered softly.  They did, igniting, throwing their arms around each other,
kissing hotly for so long that Rich could hear them pulling air in loudly
through their noses.  He grinned.  They broke the kiss, breathing hard, looking
into each other's eyes.  Then they closed again.  Rich reached down between
them, clasping their cocks, and with excruciating slowness began stroking.  Carl
whimpered.  Wes redoubled the passion of his kiss.  Rich felt precum beginning
to ooze from the steel rods he was holding, so he smoothed the warm liquid over
the soft, fleshy caps, setting the nerve bundles there afire.  Rich started to
step back, but Wes grabbed his arm, breaking off his kiss with Carl and moving
his mouth to Rich's.  After a long kiss, Wes moved his head back to let Carl in,
who immediately shot his tongue into Rich's mouth.

Moaning at Carl's loving assault, Rich slowly sank to the rug, pulling the other
two down with him.  "Don't know about you guys, but I can't wait much longer.
I'm ready to fire.  Let's do a chain.  With that, he pushed Wes's legs apart and
started licking his inner thighs and balls.  Carl flopped between Rich's legs,
while Wes moved in between Carl's legs.  A chorus of gentle moans and sighs
followed along with licking and sucking sounds.  The noises arose so commonly
among all of them that it was as though one was experiencing the other two at
the same time - a veritable Greek Chorus.  Soon hands were caressing either the
one being serviced or the one doing the servicing.  After the roller coaster of
emotions they had experienced, all three were so cocked and drawn that they
couldn't hold off.  Wes was the first to fire, followed by Carl and then Rich.
The chemistry they had created among themselves left them so committed to each
other that they had yet to discover the depths.

(To be continued.)