Date: Thu, 31 Jul 2003 17:13:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: R. V. Picard <corbin75408@earthlink.net>
Subject: Pud Chapter 1

This story has a degree of sexually-explicit behaviour between men.  If you
are offended by such powerfully emotional things, aren't at least 18, are
from a locality proscribing such material, please don't read any further.

This is totally a product of my fevered brain, so please don't think you
recognise someone as a real person, cause you'd be wrong.  The same goes
for the places.  In this story, you'll find smart people practicing safer
sex and some not.  The author recommends that you always make the smart
choice and use a condom.  Eroticize it.

The author retains all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites
are allowed without the author's consent.

Note: This story is not intended to be the lube merchant's best friend.  It
may take some getting used to, but if you stay with me, you may get a bit
of the 'bodice ripper' and a bit of the 'storke story' to boot.  I just
hope it's different enough from other things you've read to give you at
least a modicum of amusement.

Almost any writer wants to know that people are affected in some way by his
work.  Please send any comments you may have to R. V. Picard at
corbin75408@earthlink.net

Special thanks go the three mentors who's encouragement and empowerment
have allowed me to share this with you by sharing themselves.

Thank you Sara, Tim and Patrick!


Chapter One

"Well you see, Your Honor, I was not yet 43, the chicken wasn't at all
vexed about it, and General Motors doesn't care one way or the other."

As soon as the punch line left my mouth, the room spiraled down into a
silence equal in magnitude to that which must have been present in Great
Seti I's tomb prior to its entrance being breeched after many thousands of
years.  Within the space of that chasm of silence, the glaciers slid down
the globe, had their way with the continents and receded to their present
day positions of beauty and grandeur; the Himalayas lifted and weathered;
the Great Wall of China was built and I died a thousand deaths of
embarrassment because I thought no one would laugh.

Imagine then, my joy when Ash erupted a single projectile giggle into the
very heart of that leaden silence.  The effect of this eructation of
suppressed mirth was like the firing of some shared neuron in hive-brained
insects, causing fundamental and raucous laughter to possess everyone
present.  Guffaws descended upon them. It was as if the Holy Spirit
blithely and hurriedly handed out what he thought was the gift of tongues
but found, in his haste, he had picked up the Laff Bag instead.

Folks, these people were pissing themselves with laughter.  It wasn't of my
doing, even though I had told the joke.  I can never tell them right, but
this time . . . THIS time, it had worked.  Quite frankly, I was astounded
and relieved at their quite unexpected reaction.  The most I had expected
were a few politic chuckles and a rather too quick change of subject.
What's the expression?  Past experience doth make fools of us all . . . or
that's blood under the bridge or something like that.

It was Joe.  It's always Joe.  When Joe's around, I rise.  When Joe is
near, I'm more than the various pieces that have, for some years now, made
up the person know to my little section of the cosmos as Pete.  Peter
Ulysses Dorn, if you must have the whole truth.

Before we go any further let's just beard this particular lion in its den,
then, shall we?  Thanks to my wonderful and otherwise completely loving and
supportive grandmother, I was, in my nascent months, given the nickname Pud
which I considered to be a consumetly cruel and unnatural burden to hang
upon an innocent baby.  Never mind the wellspring of tenderness which first
spawned that appellation.  Obviously, she and my family didn't care one
whit about the torture which came to me in later years because of that
ill-considered name.  Both Peter and Pud were used as the basis for
unceasing sexual innuendo and ribbing as I grew.  Everyone did it: my folks
and relations, the preacher, the barber, everyone.  I could see it coming
in the flash of an eye or the lilt of a chin.  Yip, here it comes.  Get
ready for the double entendre.  This one's gonna be a real pip!

"Well Mr. Dorn, it's been nice visiting with you and your little Peter."

"Peeeeeeet . . . errrrrr?  What'ca doin'?  Pullin' yer pud?"
Bwaaahahahahahahahaha!

Ah yes.  All were so relentlessly witty, all were sure they were the very
first humans to have the scathingly brilliant idea to make light of my
name.  Exasperation very quickly became my constant companion.

Now, I consider myself to be a man with a gentle nature, but it comes hard
won, let me assure you.  For many years, I built layer upon layer of
emotional defenses until the resulting edifice could have withstood a
sustained siege with no problem at all.  Just like the inhabitants of
besieged castles, I was secure within myself.  My walls were impenetrable.
The resources within those lovingly constructed walls were sufficient to
sustain me for quite a long while indeed.  Those resources, in fact,
sustained me for years.

Please understand that my collection of defenses were not just in response
to a little teasing about my name.  My childhood was peppered with
incident.  I'll save the gory details until some soggy night by the fire,
some night more appropriate to either a comedy of errors or a horror story;
I can adjust to which ever you're in the mood for at the time.  Just
believe me when I convey to you that, as far as incident is concerned, my
life has contained an embarrassment of riches.  Had I been able to choose
those things which befell me, as some of the world's religions believe, I
doubt my choices would have resulted in such walls being erected around my
feelings.

So, I think you begin to get the picture.  I'm a man, my own man.  I've
learned to protect my emotions and be content within myself.  I survived
what was, to others eyes and in truth, a fairly idyllic boyhood and armed
with a bright mind, a strong constitution and an invincible will, I eased
into manhood with an outward projection of surety, strength and competence.
Success in my chosen profession as viewed by those `other eyes' seemed to
have been conferred, but had, in reality, been carefully planned and
constructed, by me, for my protection and comfort.  It's a shame it was all
so empty.  Half the joy of drinking a noble wine is in the sharing of it
with someone who has the capacity to enjoy it as much as you do.  A fellow
commentator upon the virtues of the vintage, a fellow romantic who can
speak to the art that caused this miracle of taste to happen.

It was Joe.  It's always been Joe.  When Joe's around, I rise.  When Joe's
around, I can tell jokes, I don't burn the eggs or break their yolks when I
turn them, doors close with only one try and my soul soars.  We don't
complete each other.  Rather, we enhance and magnify each other.  Our
chemistry is elemental.  Combined, we are the Grail, the missing element
from the periodic table of elements in nature.

When I was a kid, I just knew he'd be there one day.  This was a knowledge
based on the bedrock of faith.  I've always believed that a person is
graced with faith.  It's not my belief that it can be achieved and striven
for.  It either is given you or you lack it.  I had it where Joe was
concerned or I probably would have led a really miserable existence.

I didn't have a sense of what his name would be or his physical stature or
his intelligence or indeed anything regarding anything about him other than
that he would assuredly be male.  It's my belief that my orientation was
set when I was a zygote!  My love could be none other than male.

And so it was, on a cool May night, in a quiet corner of a dark restaurant,
that a really bad joke which was in imminent danger of bombing,
unaccountably ignited like tinder touched by a windborne firebrand.  The
flames of laughter flashed around our tight little evening party and
utterly consumed all the oxygen in the room.  `I' wasn't laughing.  I was
in extremis tying to gulp in precious air.  I couldn't breath for the very
good reason that here he stood.  He was looking directly at me.  I might as
well have had a javelin piercing my chest and pinning me to my chair. I
KNEW him.  We had never seen each other before but naturally I would have
known he was there even had I been blind.  His presence seeped into my
being and exchanged an unknowable essence with my own spirit.

To those enjoying a tumultuous laugh, time must have skittered by and what
by any actual clock would have been merely seconds, seemed to Joe and me to
be elongated, languid hours of peace.  Tranquility and recognition were our
harbor and joy was the wind which pushed us toward each other.

He came to me.  I rose into his rock solid loving gaze.  Our right hands
levitated toward each other and these opposite poles of touch's sense
sealed themselves together.  The potential that was us became flesh.

"Vivienne?  Will you please stop the damn chortling and introduce us?" he
asked my chum Vivvy.

"Joseph William Smith, please meet Peter Ulysses Dorn." she gasped between
giggles.

The world cracked open when he smiled at me and a new entity was born.
That new entity was us; we.

"Hi Peter, I'm Joe."

"Yes, of course you are.  You have to be.  Joe, I'm Pete."

Having said that, what little oxygen was left in my lungs was at last
expended and always having been one to know when and how to make an exit to
best effect, I immediately fainted like a movie queen and spilled my red
wine in a phenomenally beautiful arc down the front of his white linen
suit.