Date: Wed, 25 Apr 2007 16:35:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: 5b & 6c 03

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" 03
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Here's to friendship!"

Gino repeated, "Here-here!"

Each took a sip of their wine. Gino knew he should be
taking it easy, but instead followed his sip by a
small gulp. Right now, in this moment, he wasn't
thinking of much later. He also glanced up at the
clock on the kitchen wall. It read just shy of 5pm.
Right now he sat there, smiling.

Tom smiled back. Then he caught up to Gino, taking a
gulp after his sip.

"Phew!"

"I didn't take it, you to be a drinking man, Tom."

"Once in a while. Holidays, mostly and family
occasions," Tom explained himself.

"Unlike being in an Italian family. Wine for lunch,
dinner and after dinner."

"I hope it hasn't turned you into a....."

"Wino? Nope. Like I said, I'm out of it. I ran out
just before my trip back home. My...." Gino almost
said, boyfriend, a loose term since he had a few of
them - nothing serious mind you - but he was trying to
be careful. "...friend came over to see me off."

"Oh, so you went back to Italy?"

"Not really. Hoboken, New Jersey, about a four hour
drive from here," Gino cued Tom in. "The folks still
have their restaurant going. Travaglione's is world
famous, y'know?"

"I think I've heard of it," Tom sort of fibbed. He
might have heard of it, being a resident of New York
City for a few years, before moving to Lake Quinn. If
he did, it would have been the mispelled version,
`Travaglioni's'.

"Really? Do you think you've dined there?"

"I'm not sure. I have been to Hoboken, for...." Tom
was suddenly lost for words, thinking of every year,
for the past three, attending the Jersey City Gay
Pride Festival. "A few friends and I have ventured
over the Hudson, to go there." `Phew'! Tom thought,
getting over that hurdle.

"Wow! I could have been there!"

"Really? When were you there last?"

"Like I said. I moved to Lake Quinn, about a year and
a half ago, to this apartment, from Hoboken."

"Oh, so you're a transfer student?"

He was almost ashamed to say it, but then thought of
something his dad said, `never be ashamed of your
achievements... sometimes things don't work out and it
could be for the good'!

"Right. I... I transferred from Julliard."

"Wow! From Julliard to Lake Quinn Community College!
We should be honored by your presence."

The first time Gino went over this, was with his
friends. Already he was thinking of Tom, as one of his
friends. So, he leveled with Tom, saying, "I flunked
out."

"Oh." Tom said it like a let-down, yet not his
intentions. "I mean. Well..."

"I burned out, in my first year and a half. I was
taking more gigs than I could handle."

"And your folks?" Tom moved the conversation from his
own feelings.

"They are being good about it. Like my father says,
`somethings don't work out and it could be for the
good of it'."

"Sounds rational. Like I wouldn't have met you?" Tom
suddenly got a strange demeanor come over himself. At
first, he thought of it in a friendly way, but then
the meaning sunk deeper. He went for his napkin on his
lap, but had to check for `other' reasons.

Gino could only hope Tom's thoughtful response was for
one reason and one reason only, but for now he took as
a friendly gesture. He also took another hefty sip of
wine.

"To friendship!" Gino tilted his wine goblet back.

"I'm beginning to get my taste buds back," Tom said.
However, with a few more sips of wine in him, he
wasn't thinking entirely clear. As he smiled, he
thought about tasting salami, instead of veal!

"Oh, so now you can give me a more defined comment on
mom's cooking."

"I think I must've had this. Either it was me or one
of the other guys," Tom states, thinking back over the
last few years, of his trips across the Hudson.

At the mention of guys, Gino got to really wondering
about Tom. At the same time, he swallowed a piece of
veal, washing it down with another gulp of wine. He
sat there, smiling.

"What?" Tom asked, thinking as if Gino had something
to say."

"Ohh, nothing," Gino responded.

At the same time, Tom thought of how the wine coated
Gino's lips, which made them an invitation of sorts.
Sitting there, his wine goblet in hand, Tom licked his
lips.

By now, both men's elbows were on the table, both
holding up their wine goblet, each waiting for the
other. Gino came through, with another toast. "To
friendship!"

Tom's elbows leaned forward. They were starting to get
past the point of no return.

Both seriously looked at each other. Both knew, but
weren't stating their true emotions. It was if each
waited for the other to make `the move'!

"I," Gino started, after taking a hefty glup of wine,
"I wanted to clarify something."

"You're mom didn't make the veal parmesan. You did?"

"No," Gino simply shooed it aside, going on with the
easiest way to tell his secret, "what I wanted to
mention to you is I don't dance at your usual
nightclub."

"No?" Right there, Tom found out the powers of gaydar.
For the last five minutes it's been on `roving' and
now it was zeroing in.

"I..I.." `Here goes nothing' Gino thought, then said
out loud, "I dance at a gay nightclub."

"Oh my... you're gay?" Tom said, joking.

"Get off it. You are too!"

Laughing out loud, Tom started it up and Gino caught
on, laughing his ass off. They enjoyed each others
joking for a time, then calmed down.

"When did you get the idea?" Gino asked.

"Actually, not until about five minutes ago. After you
almost slipped about the club. I figured there had to
be something special about it. Though I have to admit
I've never been to a gay club."

"No?"

"No. I've got gay friends, but it's been more like out
to their homes, um we did have a party one summer at
Jordi's summer place at the Jersey Shore."

"Jordi's, eh?"

"I danced in the sand for the first time."

"Were you drunk?"

"I guess you could call it that."

"Then had wild sex?"

"I wasn't `that' drunk. I was in control of myself."

"So, you never had any wild sex?"

Tom figured there was a point Gino was getting to, so
asked, "Are you trying to get at something?"

Gino sat there. He realized he had been way too
obvious, so he leveled with Tom, "Yeah. Y'see, I've
been to some wild parties, plus I get it all the time
at the club, guys hitting on me, but with each time,
I've always stuck to my guns and haven't given in.

"So, you're a virgin?"

With Tom's suggestion, Gino had another impression.

"Are you?"

"I asked you first?" Tom giggled.

"Yup," Gino said.

"Me too," Tom said, going on to explain, "I've been
saving myself for that special man. I was actually
hoping it was Jordi."

"So you and this Jordi are close?"

"Jordi? No way. I'm talking here about Conrad. We
dated for two years, then... don't get me wrong here.
I liked Conrad a lot, but he could see it wasn't going
to work out for him."

"And why is that?"

"Conrad was eighteen at the time. One of my bud's kid
brother. Here we were at Jordi's summer place, dancing
in the sand and then Conrad trades himself off to one
of our other buds."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah and I asked him, `What are you doing?'. Well, he
had a few beers in him, but if he hadn't, I wouldn't
have found out Conrad's real intentions."

"He wasn't looking to settle down, I take it?"

"Yeah. I mean no. You're right. He wasn't ready to
become a `one man' man. But then again, I didn't blame
him. Here I was, twenty-three years old and he's
eighteen. He's still in his younger years, like you."

"I'm twenty years old."

"And I'm twenty-four. Almost twenty-five."

"And I'm almost twenty-one. Tell you something, Tom.
No disrepectfulness towards Lake Quinn Community
College, but going to a high-end professional school
like Julliard, wakes a person up."

"I know."

"You know? You went there?"

"No. I received my degree from Manhattan School of
Music. I hope to get my masters from there someday."

"Wow! You're teaching at LQCC with only a bachelor's
degree?"

Gino suddenly realized his statement as a put-down.

"Um, I..."

Lost for words, Gino filled in the blanks with kinder
thoughts, saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Tom. I..."

At the same time, Gino replaced his hand with Tom's
hand, instead of the goblet of wine.

"It's alright. I know I should have applied with a
master's degree, but my teacher at MSM knew the dean
and... I hate getting in like this."

"Hey, it's alright knowing somebody. The thing is and
don't get me wrong here, but are you good at flute
playing?"

"I would think so, after my conservatory education.
Plus, I played flute since I could blow through it!"

"Then there's nothing to be ashamed about it. I'm
sorry I used a bad choice of words."

Right away, Tom thinks of the age ratio. 20 to 24.

"Um, I think I better go. It's getting late and I
should practice a little more."

"Oh, so you're not up to going to the club?"

"Tonight?"

Gino loses hope, saying, "Maybe another night."

"Thank you for the dinner."

"Care for desert?" became Gino's last ditch efforts.

"Another time, thanks and thank you for correcting the
problem with my door."

"Oh, you're welcome."

Tom left with a handshake, which made Gino feel like a
total idiot. But as he cleaned up the dishes, he
laughed it off.

"I'm such an idiot! I'm such an idiot! I'm such an
idiot!" He sang over and over, to no specific tune.

He also wondered if Tom had closed his balcony door.
He didn't hear any flute playing from the time Tom
left, which was around 5:15, til he had to leave for
the club, at 8:30.

%

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