Date: Fri, 5 Sep 2014 09:40:22 -0700
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: To Be a Brother 8

This story involves explicit homosexual activity.  If such offends you, or
if you are underage, please read no further.

The story is completely fictional.  Any similarity to actual persons or
events is purely coincidental.  Reference to actual locations is made only
to make the story seem more real.

I welcome your reactions to the story.  It means a lot to know that I am
being read and appreciated or not.  And I do appreciate it when readers
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MANY THANKS TO THE MANY READERS WHO EMAILED ME ABOUT SOMEBODY'S ELSES
CHAPTER BEING PUT UP IN PLACE OF MY CHAPTER 7.  I'M GLAD TO SAY THE PROBLEM
HAS BEEN REMIDIED.



Copyright 2014 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.





                                   TO BE A BROTHER

                                   by Macout Mann



                                    Chapter VIII

                                 The Belmont Stakes


Neither Tom nor Jim had figured to be important players in the Saga of
Regie's Hope.  And no one paid any attention to them when the five of them
had breakfast at the hotel.  All that changed the minute they arrived at
Belmont Park.

The character of the place was completely different from yesterday.  The
five of them were dressed in sport coats, because even in 2014, on Stakes
Day you couldn't be admitted to the Garden Terrace Dining Room without one.

The atmosphere was especially electric.  California Chrome had won the
Preakness and was the odds-on favorite to win the Triple Crown.  Still,
attention was focused on the owner of Regie's Hope and his entourage.
Wherever they went cameras flashed.  Both amateur and professional
photographers wanted pictures.  Jim and Tom were never out of range of a tv
camera, unless they drifted completely out of the Piries' orbit.  They were
even introduced to Bob Costas.  The NBC folks were preparing for interviews
during the tv coverage leading up to the race.  One gal even asked Tom for
his autograph.

At noon they climbed to the fourth floor of the clubhouse for lunch.
Manhattan style Clam Chowder was the featured soup.  "I suppose they've got
to serve that," Mr. Pirie said, "but putting tomatoes in Clam Chowder has
always seemed barbaric to me."

Jim thought eighteen dollars for a Cheeseburger was pretty gross, but it
did taste great.  The other four men ordered Reubens.

Unlike yesterday, it seemed to Jim that hardly anybody was paying attention
to the races that were being run, despite the fact that there was plenty of
action at the pari-mutuel windows.

It was still almost three hours to post time for the featured race when the
tv coverage began. Malcolm pointed out that the whole coverage from post
time to the awarding of the trophy could be done in thirty minutes, but
that would provide time for only six minutes of commercials.  For the
telecast to be profitable, the network would require at least five times
that number of commercial minutes.  So on tv in advance of the race the run
was handicapped by experts.  The owners, jockeys, and trainers of the
favorites were interviewed.  Even Reg was questioned about how it felt to
have a horse named after him.

There was a million dollar stakes race run about an hour before the
Belmont, the Manhattan.  Malcolm, Reg, Tom, and Jim watched it.  A horse
named Fire Iron was way ahead during until the very end, but another horse,
Real Solution, finally caught up and won.

Then it was time for the whole group to go to the paddock, where the mounts
for the Belmont were being assembled.  Thousands of people, it seemed, were
there, most to get a close up look at California Chrome.  Odds on him to
win were 4 to 5.  Malcolm explained that a lot of people were buying two
dollar tickets on California Chrome, who would not cash them in if he won.
The ticket in time would be several hundred dollars more valuable than the
$4.50 payout.

The odds on Regie's Hope were 12 to 1, but the odds on most of the field
were much longer than that.  Next to California Chrome, the next favored
mount was Wicked Strong at 5 to 1.  Then there was Commanding Curve at 8 to
1.  The odds on the rest ranged from 11 to 1 up to close to 50 to 1.

Mr. Pirie's stable was identified by simple silks, green and white
separated by a gold bar.  Regie's Hope's jockey, Juan Haviero, looked very
dashing, as did the horse's saddle towel.

When "Riders up" was called, it was time for the group to return to
Mr. Pirie's box.  "New York, New York" was sung.  The Call to the Post was
sounded, and the horses paraded to the starting gate.

For the race the trainer, Mr. Swanson, and his wife joined the rest of the
group in Mr. Pirie's box.  They all screamed themselves hoarse as the
eleven horses ran the twelve furlongs and streaked to the finish line.

For most of the race, Commissioner led the way with General A Rod in second
place.  California Chrome was back in the pack with Regie's Hope fighting
to keep up with him.  Sometimes Regie's Hope got in front of the California
horse but couldn't stay there.  As it happened, General A Rod faded.  A
horse named Tonalist made its move in the stretch and overtook Commissioner
to win.  Commissioner was second.  Wicked Strong was the show horse.
California Chrome and Regie's Hope finished fourth and fifth, just out of
the money.

A two dollar bet on Tonalist to win returned over twenty dollars.  Not bad.

Mr. Pirie had bet ten thousand dollars across the board on Regie's Hope,
but he was philosophical about his loss.  The stallion's fifth place finish
and overall earnings record would ensure hefty stud fees.  "Besides," he
told the group, "for me racing's a hobby, not a vocation."  Even Tom had
bet ten dollars for Regie's Hope to win.  Jim hadn't bet.

Some of Mr. Pirie's friends had invited him and the Swansons to an
after-party, so he told the boys to go on to King Umberto without him.
Reservations had been made.

King Umberto wasn't nearly as fancy or as pricey as Essex, but the food was
delicious.  The place had begun as a pizzeria and still featured what many
said was the best pizza on Long Island.  Reg chose the Veal Ripiena, the
others a Chicken and Seafood dish, with Shrimp and Scallops in a Lobster
Sauce.

The proprietor remembered the Pirie brothers well, and was sorry their
father couldn't join them.  The waiter didn't bother to i.d. Jim and Tom,
so liquid refreshment was also abundant.

For the four of them it would be their last night together for almost four
months, so they returned to the hotel directly from dinner.  "You guys can
fuck each other all the time," Reg told Tom and Jim, so we get to decide
who does who."

"Who does whom," Tom kidded.  "I'm game for whoever."

"For whomever," Reg laughed.  "I'll take you."

The sleeping arrangements turned out to be the same has they had been the
night before, except they used the Pirie boys' room instead of Jim and
Tom's.  And the play was a bit more ribald.  Guys were fucked and sucked at
the same time.  At one point Reg had one pole in his ass and a one in each
ear.  Jim humped Malcolm while he was being sucked by Reg.  By the time
they all fell asleep there were sore dicks all around.

Next morning, the flight to Lafayette was uneventful.  The three guys were
all grateful for some extra shuteye.