Date: Thu, 19 Apr 2007 17:51:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: 5b & 6c 02

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblances to real people,
alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in
nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon
persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental
areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
you should not read this story. Additionally, if you
are under 18 years of age, in most state and
countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by
law. Check with your local laws regarding such. %
Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction.
In real life, use protection.

%

"5b & 6c" 02
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Proceeding to his bedroom, Tom stripped off his shirt,
as he stood up to put his head and arms through his
tank top, his reflection hit him. To the only person
listening, he said, "Am I really as young looking as a
twenty year old?" From the back, Gino didn't appear to
have any bodyfat. `Well, guess what?' he thought,
`Gino spends his life jumping around', he summed up
what he knew of Gino's dancing career.

Back out in his living room, Tom sat down, picked up
his flute, turned the music back a page and started to
play. He played up to a resting place and stopped. He
looked up at the ceiling. Silence. Now he thought `was
I too hard on him'? As a musician, Tom was good at
doing two things at once. In fact, up until a point,
he was able to block out the `boom-booms'. "Now what
am I doing? Making excuses for..." Tom thought it
harsh, so cut himself off before saying it. "Oh well!"
Tom went back to his practice, but at every stopping
place, it haunted him that no `boom-booms' were coming
through the ceiling. He even tried playing the flute
with his metronome, setting the resounding chamber as
high as it could go, producing metric pitter-patters.
Then, he felt guilty, thinking Gino might be able to
hear his metronome!

"I-i-i-i-i-i-i..." it troubled him to think about it.
"I could always go ask?"

So, he set down his flute, picking up the palm-sized,
blue metronome, he left his apartment and climbed the
flight of stairs. He wondered why he troubled himself
to break up his practice time. Maybe it was only a
matter of being civilized, not waiting til Gino
stormed his apartment, seeking to have him cut off the
punctuating ticking of the metric beat.

"Hi again. Say, I was wondering....."

As Tom spewed forth, explaining about the
`tick-tocks', Gino busied himself checking out Tom. As
opposed to the last visit, he wasn't wearing the LSO
tee shirt, so there was more to gaze at.

At the end of his speech, Tom says, "Mmm... smells
good!"

"Yeah. Momma wrapped me up some veal parmesan, to
bring home." Then, not thinking of Tom already turning
him down, he asks, "Want some?"

"Oh, I don't want to impose," Tom replied, in the most
cordial way he knew how.

"No imposition, I assure you and Momma always packs
away enough for two."

Tom remembers he's holding the metronome.

"This doesn't bother you?"

"Let me hear it and I'll tell you!"

As before, silence prevailed, Gino waiting for Tom to
say something. It's apparent the metronome's beat
never even permeated through the floorboards.

"Um... it does smell mighty good."

"It's your's for the eating, unless you've got
something else in mind for dinner?"

"No, actually. I'm not good at planning for myself. I
usually do `take out'."

"One thing Momma always taught us kids. How to cook."

By the time Gino finished talking, Tom stood in the
kitchen, taking in the fragrances of the veal
parmesan. By this time, it was okay to drink some
`spirits'.

"I do have a bottle of wine downstairs."

"Normally I would already have some, but I've been out
of town and need to shop."

"Good. I'll be right back."

At the same time, as descending the flight of stairs,
Tom thought about changing into something more
suitable for dining.

"Oh hell!" He said out loud to nobody but himself. He
forgot his key. When the door closes, it automatically
locks itself, one of the small pitfalls he hoped to
correct after he moved in. Soon he was up, knocking on
Gino's door.

"It's open!" Came the yell from the other side.

Tom tried it and it opened. Stepping in, he said, "The
problem I'm having with my own door."

"Oh?" Asks Gino, "How's that go?"

"I locked myself out."

"Oh, same thing here when I first moved in. Problem
is, the springy thing. It closes the door
automatically, locking yourself out. Is that what
happened to you?"

"You've guessed it!" Tom says.

"Don't worry. I have a way to get in."

"You know something I don't? Secret passageways or
something?"

"Hee hee... nah. As far as I know there's none. No, I
was thinking of the balcony."

"Balcony?"

"Yeah, well, I did open my sliding door for some fresh
air, while heating up the parmesan. I heard you
playing."

"I hope I didn't disturb you?"

"On the contrary, Tom. Your playing is just what this
neighborhood needs to brighten up the atmosphere.
Besides, five stories up, who is going to hear?"

"Um, the guy on the sixth floor?" Tom smiles, knowing
the score. "So, how did your `rescue' story go?"

"Oh... Right! I climb out there, down my balcony and
onto your's."

"No way. That's the most dangerous stunt I've ever
heard of. I'll have to get the super."

"That'll take you the night to locate him. It's Friday
and he goes off on the weekends. Only way to contact
him is his beeper."

"What am I supposed to do? I can't stay here for the
weekend!"

Tongue in cheek, Gino didn't mind the suggestion at
all! "The sofa isn't too comfortable. But don't worry.
I'll have you back in your apartment."

"Wait!" Tom couldn't stop Gino from doing it, saying,
"Kids!" When he actually thought about it, twenty-four
`wasn't' much older than a twenty year old. Besides,
other than being a cubeboy, whatever the hell that
meant, he thought Gino seemed pretty level-headed. Up
until now, when he followed Gino out onto his balcony.

"Wait. I've got an idea." Gino went to his closet,
producing a rope. "I used this to tie down some stuff
to the roof of my car, when I moved in here last
year."

"Really? I thought you used it to tie people up and
hold them hostage!" Tom replied, like a smart ass.

"You into that stuff?"

"What stuff?" Tom inquires.

"Never mind," Gino repairs his statement. "Tell you
what. I'm going to tie this around my waist. You help
lower me down."

"What happens if you fall? This'll burn my hands."

"Typical musician!" Gino laughs, tying it to the
wrought iron on the balcony.

"Typical insane person," Tom says of Gino's idea, in
the first place!

"Here goes nothing."

"Is your Momma's address and telephone around here,
just in case?"

"Next to the fridge, the book on the table, under `T'.
Just scrape me off the sidewalk, put me in an envelope
and send back the remains, C.O.D.!"

"Yikes, Gino! Don't even think about it!"

"Hmm..." is all Gino thought about, lowering himself
down. Within a couple of minutes, Gino sat on the
railing of Tom's balcony. Stepping inside the
boundaries of the rectangle, he asked, "Alright if I
go in?"

"Sure. I'll meet you down there."

"No need. Where's your keys?"

"I have a little magnetic hook on the refrigerator
door. You'll find them there."

"Smart."

By the time Gino came to the top of the stairs, Tom
was there to meet him at the door.

"Here ya go!"

"What's this?"

"Your keys."

"I know it's my keys. But what's this other dohickey?"

"The dreaded spring. I took the liberty of taking it
off for you."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"That's all there is to it?"

"That's all there is to it," Gino mimics.

"Thanks, Gino!" Tom wanted to so badly thank him with
a hug, normal for the place he came from, where guys
weren't afraid to show their feelings, but he
hesitated. Instead a handshake made do.

"No problem," Gino said.

"Here's your rope. When you untied yourself, I figured
you were finished with it."

Tom hands Gino the nice coil.

"Thanks, but I've got to get back to the parmesan."

"Oh, I thought I smelled something burning...." Tom
says.

"Yikes!" Gino panics, heading for the door.

"So, I turned off the gas and left the oven door
ajar."

Gino stops in his tracks, halfway between Tom's
apartment and the stairway.

"I thought you didn't know how to cook?" Gino joked.

"I know a little more about cooking than boiling
water... here, let me get the wine."

Back up in 6c, Gino handed Tom the corkscrew, but gave
him fair warning of not wanting more than one glass,
since he had to go out tonight and dance his tail off!

"You can keep the rest," Tom said, setting the bottle
of wine in the middle of the table."

"Oh, I guess I better rustle up two goblets."

"Not unless you have two straws?"

Right away Gino thought how romantic, to be meeting
Tom's handsome face, at the wine bottle!

"Straws? Really Tom? How uncouth!" He hid his real
emotions.

"Of course I'm kidding."

"Me too," Gino said.

Tom felt a tingling down below table level, as he sat.
He wondered how it would go, meeting up with Gino's
lips, at the wine bottle. Then again, he cautioned
himself. He wasn't after younger guys. But one thing
did cross his mind. Gino seemed to conduct himself
more like an older man, than a younger twenty year
old!

"So, what time do you have to be at your night-time
gig?" Tom asked, as Gino sat down.

After pouring the wine into each goblet, Gino replies,
"I need to be on my cube by nine."

"Nine? Your cube? Tell me... what is all this about?"

Gino was being careful. He didn't want to scare Tom
away. Normally, since he was out to a lot of other
guys, he would throw terms around loosely, like `gay
club', `gay this', `gay that', but he was being super
careful not to let himself out of the closet too soon.
He had his gaydar on and it seemed favorable, but
still he wasn't 100% sure.

"Not much to tell. I go in, take off my jacket, climb
up on a cube and start dancing."

"Oh, so that's why they call you a `cube-boy'."

"Right, here, hold your plate over here," Gino
suggests, holding up a utensil for flipping pancakes,
holding a flat piece of disguised veal. Right away
Gino thinks, this veal is in disguise and so is he.
How uncomfortable it is being out of the closet to
most of the world, yet at this moment he's keeping his
real self hidden. He feels like the piece of veal! He
then realizes something. He's already invited Tom to
the club. Even before he gets inside, he's going to
see the `boy population'.

"Hot... hot... hot..." Tom reviews his first taste of
veal parmesan.

"Here's to us!" Gino says quickly, toasting Tom's
mouth on fire. Almost as quickly, Tom grabs a water,
untwists the cap, chucks two ice cubes in a glass and
pours it over it. "Here ya go."

"Thanks." Drinking the water faster, Tom extinguishes
the fire, holding two of the small cubes in his mouth.
He crunches up the last remnants. "Quick thinking, but
I'm afraid my taste buds are `burned out'."

"I should have warned you."

"No problem."

Blowing on another chunk of veal, Tom sets it on his
tongue. He takes a drink of water.

"Hey, I can still taste!"

"Alright!" Gino cheers. "I thought I was a prime
target for a lawsuit! Hee hee hee!"

Smiling, Tom, takes another drink of water, then sets
his glass down, taking up his wine glass.

"A toast."

"Um, to cooler veal parmesan?"

Tom smiles, even though he thought Gino's response a
little corny. The thing he smiled about is Gino's
infectious smile. His third gulp of wine was weakening
his wall he built up around himself.

%

Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
collection, without prior consent from the author.