Date: Tue, 4 Jan 94 23:54:12 -0800
From: Emellie Giggles <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Toby

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Toby

By Lady Poetess. Copyright c 1999.

Feel free to reproduce and distribute as long as you leave the credits and
the author's note below intact. If you somehow make money out of this,
well, good for you but please send some to me at egiggles@moose-mail.com!

Author's note:

This is actually a part of an ongoing fantasy fan-fiction about a fictional
group of friends in New York whose weekly poker games form the basis of
their story of finding love and laughter. These friends are - under
inexplicable circumstances! - dead ringers from some music and movie
celebrities, obscure or well known, that I find worth a write or two. The
men and their lives depicted here have nothing in common with the real
people they are based on apart from their appearances and names. I am not
speculating on their sexual orientation or personal past. Again, everything
is strictly fictional, apart from the character's good looks. Suing me is a
waste of time, as frankly, to be blunt, I'm penniless.

ONE

"Forthsworth County!" John Cusack yelled in exuberance from his standing at
the back of the hay truck. "I love this blooming countryside." He cocked
his head at the other man sitting more quietly in his corner and reading a
paperback. "How's my toff accent, Toby?"

   Toby's British accent was genuine, as was his face, a blend of
aristocratic classic handsomeness and boyish earnestness. "'orrendous," he
said in exaggerated Cockney accent.

   "Well, at least I can get me some great countryside photographs," John
said.  "Lighten up, Toby, it's your vacation."

   "I know," Toby answered, turning the page.


"Who's the man?" Toby murmured an hour later, standing up from his seat and
walking across the diner.

   He looked outside the diner glass pane, but there was no one. Yet he
thought he had seen.

   "You're losing it," John said good-naturedly.

   "Probably."


Toby saw him again that night, only this time the man was stark naked. He
stood in the shadows, his towel slung over his shoulder, his bag of
toiletry and a change of clothes forgotten on the ground.

   The woods were bright enough, thanks to moonlight and a battery-powered
electric brazier placed at the riverbank, right beside a neat pile of
clothes. The man in the river was basked in golden light and shadows, dusky
play of light and shadows highlighting the breathtaking sculpture of the
man's musculature. The man was humming a tuneless song - and Toby found
this even more attractive than the man's body - as he gracelessly ran a wet
cloth over his chest.

   Toby's fingers clawed into the bark of the tree he was holding on to,
feeling his blood rush in giddy arousal. The bather stretched, every muscle
in his glorious wet chest and torso rippling in a sensual rhythm. Toby
licked his dry lips, his hand rubbing over the insistent throbbing in his
shorts as his eyes feasted on the man's lightly furred stomach with its
corrugated muscles and the deep pubic dimples that made Toby's hand itched
to touch them. Then the bather turned, revealing perfectly tapered back of
adequately broad shoulders gently sloping into narrow hips, before
spreading gently along the curves of well-muscled thighs. The deep
mysterious furrow of his buttocks beckoned to Toby like a siren call, then
the man bent over, the back muscles tensing and the buttock cheeks
tightening. Toby groaned, thrusting his hand into his shorts to grip his
swollen cock. He massaged himself gently, his fingers pressing lightly
along the engorged shaft, his thumb rubbing the sensitive tip, spreading a
few drops of semen that leaked out from him along the broad head.

   Fuck, why wouldn't the man turn around and show Toby his cock? Toby bit
back a moan as he watched the man looked downwards, his hand motion
indicating that he was gently cleaning his crotch with the cloth. Toby shut
his eyes as he imagined the stranger's hands on him. His grip tightened and
he quickened his motions, tightening his grip when he reached the tip,
loosening a little when he pulled his grip back. His cock was now pulsing
in incipient release.  Toby spread his legs as he gripped the tree for
support. Then he arched his back, and he couldn't help it, he gave a loud
cry of relief. "Aa-aa-aah God!" he moaned hoarsely as he arched his back,
thrusting his pelvis up as a warm arc of creamy fluid spurted from his cock
to splatter on the tree, on his stomach.

   "Who is that?" he heard the bather say.

   Shuddering, panting, Toby huddled into the shadows. A cold chill froze
his lust when the man's eyes looked straight into Toby's. In what seemed
like an eternity, their eyes held. Toby thought he was drowning, then he
wanted to protest when the man broke their visual contact, looking around
him.

   Toby realized the man hadn't actually seen him. He should be relieved,
but he felt instead something more mundane and infinitely more painful -
disappointment.

TWO

Nicholas Christopher Lea liked his name, but very little else about
him. Not many people had a last name like Lea, a thought that gave him
something to be proud of. He lived alone in the cottage his parents left
him, and Little Farthsworth was small enough for him to build up a steady
clientele of people in need of odd jobs and manual labor to be done. As
usual he would stop every morning at the diner's, where Clara had agreed to
let him place a box at the counter. The folks of Farnsworth would leave
messages in the box for the one and only cheap slave labor in probably the
whole civilized world.

   He saw the most beautiful creature in his entire thirty-six years of
life sitting in the diner. The man was seated in his usual place, the same
seat facing the window for three days now. Nick could lose himself, staring
at the man's classically handsome features, with those exquisitely sculpted
cheekbones and strong jaw line and deep, attractive dimples. The man was
pale and his golden hair shone like the sun.

   Nick saw the faint reflection of himself in the glass pane. He wasn't
handsome, and he wasn't golden. And he was never more aware of the glass
pane separating him and the glorious man inside the diner.

   No use thinking, he told himself as he pulled out the notes in his box.

   He heard a gaily voice behind him, but he ignored it until he felt the
warm shine of a smile on him. He turned and his heart skipped a beat. The
man was there, actually smiling, the vivid blue-green eyes behind the
glasses so deep Nick could spend his life drowning in their depths. "Err,
hi," he said tentatively. "You need anything fixed? Plumbing?"

   He felt heat creeping up his face when he realized what he had just
said.

   "No. My name's Toby. Tobias Stephens, but call me Toby. Look, this may
seem odd, but mind if I join you in your work?"

   Maybe he was finally getting his long overdue luck, but Nick didn't
question his good fortune. "Sure."


"Let me get this straight. You want me to help you find a fairy circle?"
Nick didn't know whether to be disappointed that Toby, like every fucking
one else, wanted something from him, or to berate himself for thinking Toby
would be different.

   They were outside Nick's cottage by the river, ten miles away from the
nearest house. Nick dithered at the toaster he was supposed to be
mending. He had painstakingly planked a thick board onto a dead oak to
convert it into an outdoor table where he could work outdoors, which was
where he was at the moment. He looked up at Toby sitting five feet up on an
oak branch.

   "Fairy circle?" he called back. "What is that?"

   "I've been reading about fairies and other fay creatures, and this area
was a hotspot for fairy sightings twenty years ago. Since you live here all
your life, I thought maybe you have some experience in these sort of
matters."

   Nick had lived here all his life, never venturing farther than
Wickolmshire thirty miles down the highway. He was content here, but
hearing it from Toby, Nick felt rather backward and stupid. He had lived
here all his life. That sounded pathetic, he realized. He had heard of his
parents' native soil in Canada, but he had never bothered with anything
beyond that.

   "You believe in fairies?"

   "No," Toby answered. "But it sure beats reading John Grisham. That
fucker can't write."


"So why don't you go to London? It's more fun there," Nick asked as he
hammered the broken church porch floor. Usually the Father wouldn't let him
enter the church, but the priest decided that God would understand this
time.

   "My friend John needs some countryside photos. He is making a coffee
table book for some publication house."

   "John." Nick wanted to demand if Toby was fucking John, if John meant
anything to Toby. If Toby was even willing to give Nick a second look. "I
saw him with his camera the other day, pestering the locals to pose for
some pictures."

   "There's John. He has no shame. He would make himself a complete fool if
that is what it takes to get what he wants." Toby climbed down the tree,
his gray slacks stretching taut over well-rounded buttocks with each
movement (Nick couldn't help it - he stared). He dusted himself and rolled
his sleeves up, revealing muscular arms dusted with fine gold hair. "Me,
I'm chronically shy. I close up whenever I'm in a crowd."

   Nick could only shake his head. Toby was actually unaware of his
beauty. Nick had noticed the female folks and some men cast appraising
glances at Toby, but the latter was completely oblivious. He looked at
Toby's hands, always encased in thin kid gloves. "Why are you always
wearing these gloves?" he couldn't help asking.

   "That's for you to find out." Toby's voice was almost flirtatious as he
picked up his coat and cast Nick a backward glance. "I guess I better go
back before John sends out a search party. Thanks for the great day."

   "You're welcome." Nick's eyes followed Toby until the man left the field
of his vision.

THREE

Nick was sleeping like a child. Toby sat back and watched the man, ignoring
his half-hearted attempt to fish. The sun was setting, and light was
dancing on Nick like fairies on midsummer's night. Nick slept like the
dead, snoring softly. Not that Toby blamed the man for neglecting their
aborted fishing lesson for Toby. Nick had helped Matthews the furniture
mill owner unload six truckloads of timber products the whole morning and
afternoon.

   Dare he? Toby swallowed and slowly lay himself down on his coat on the
grass beside Nick. "Nick?" he whispered. No answer. He edged closer and
surreptitiously inhaled. Nick smelled of faint sweat, sawdust, and
maleness.  "Nick?" he whispered again. Nick's only answer was to roll onto
his back. Toby could hear his own heart thundering as his blood surged into
his penis, into his temple to pound wildly. He hesitated, then placed his
head on Nick's chest. He shut his eyes and stopped breathing.

   It was so easy to imagine his head right at home in the nook of Nick's
arm and chest. "Nick," he whispered softly, a prayer. He felt Nick's arm
reaching up to fall on his back. The illusion of Nick as his lover and
protector was tantalizing, intoxicating. There would be no more loneliness,
no more hollow feeling. He would be home.

   He reached out his trembling right hand to touch Nick's face. He
couldn't help it, he so wanted to touch the face that even now in sleep
retained some of its tensed wariness. His gloved finger touched Nick's lip,
and Nick's eyes opened.

   "Hello," Nick murmured, his eyes nothing but tender warmth. "It's not
very polite to take advantage of a tired man." He began to pull at the
gloves.

   "No, don't," Toby started to say.

   Nick paused. "Why?"

   "You wouldn't believe it if I tell you." Toby swallowed and pulled at
his hand that Nick remained holding tightly.

   "There's little I believe in anymore. But for you, I may just believe."

   "I'm psychic." Toby smiled bitterly. "My bare fingers upon touching you
will have snippets of your memory transferred here." He tapped his
head. "Touching you will tell me things about you, sometimes secrets you
don't want me to know."

   "I see. And you don't want to know me. I understand." Nick started to
push Toby away.

   The loss of Nick's touch was too awful to contemplate. "No. I don't want
to know you and then know everything. after a while you will hate me when
you can't lie to me or keep anything from me. You will walk away. They
always walk away."

   "Then you're not even giving me a chance." Nick looked hurt and
bewildered.  "And yet you put your head on my chest and smelled my scent. I
was awake the moment you touched me, by the way. You spent the whole week
following me, staring at my ass and crotch. Hell, you jerked off when you
saw me bathe in the stream."

   "You saw me that day?"

   "Oh yes. If I didn't take pity on you I would have taken you there on
the riverbank." Nick smiled wolfishly. "So don't tell me you don't want me,
Toby. Your eyes are like bowling balls rolling down the alley each time I
take off my shirt to work."

   "You are so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you?"

   "Yes I am." Nick pulled Toby over him and kissed the man hard. He gave a
grunt of approval when Toby opened his mouth and allowed Nick access. His
tongue slithered in the man's mouth, licking and rubbing, then withdrawing
to the tip before thrusting in again. Toby's thighs splayed over Nick's
crotch, Nick's cock jammed at Toby's thighs, his hips moving in a motion
mimicking that of his tongue's. His hands snaked under Toby's shirt,
pushing it up to Toby's chest, then his fingers explored Toby. He pinched
Toby's wine-dark nipples, playing with the fleshy nubs, then he was turning
them over, he on top.

   Toby looked at their touching crotches and slowly pulled Nick's zipper
down.  "Whoa," he murmured when Nick's cock leapt from the confines of his
jeans to smack at Toby's chin. "It looks hot. Maybe I can cool it a
little." With that, he stretched his mouth wide and took Nick's cock in. He
licked at the tip, swirling his tongue around the smooth head, licking at
the ridge, before swallowing it until his throat protested and Nick's rough
pubic hair tickled his nose. Then he withdrew his mouth to the tip before
repeating the tasting of the tip.

   He gasped when he felt Nick's mouth closed over his own cock.

   Nick pumped his cock into Toby's mouth, matching his rhythm with Toby's
own pumping of cock up Nick's mouth. Their hands were a frenzy of
exploration, feeling each other's nipples, tugging and rubbing each other's
balls, and then Toby's fingers pierced Nick's anus. Nick arched his back at
the penetration, crying his pleasure, then he was jetting his salty fluids
down Toby's throat. His balls stung warmly as his orgasms burned, insensate
in red hot ejaculation that seemed to last for hours.

   When his last spurt had subsided, he gasped. He rolled over onto his
stomach in silent invitation, raising to his knees and elbows. He looked
back and stared, transfixed, when Toby moved to mount him. Toby's gloved
hands rested on his thighs, then a finger pressed into the tight muscle of
his sphincter. Nick tried to relax as the finger twisted in circular
motion, testing the limit to the stretch of Nick's anus, then the finger
was joined by another, and another.

   "You're tight."

   "I haven't done this in a long time," Nick managed to groan.

   "Join the club." Nick shut his eyes and gritted his teeth when he felt
the burn that was Toby's cock head spreading his anal entrance. He cried
out in pain when the head pierced him, stretching his ass almost to tearing
point, then the pain receded somewhat when Toby's cock plunged deeper. Toby
felt like a battering ram up Nick's ass, and Nick ground his ass at Toby
impatiently, aiding the man deeper until Nick felt the incomparable feeling
of that cock nudging against his prostate.

   Toby moved, his hips a steady pumping motion. Nick could only enjoy the
ride, drowning in the potent pain and pleasure, and when he felt Toby's
warm juices slathering his burning insides, he felt like a god. Revered and
adored. Then it was his turn, his cock buried in Toby's delicious anus, and
he never broke off the kiss even when he came for the second time that
evening in Toby.


FOUR

"You looked like you just got fucked through and thoroughly," John
remarked.  "Spill it out, where did you find a stud in a crap hole like
this? I want one too."

   "Yeah? I'm not sharing. He's mine for this whole boring vacation."
Feeling better than he ever had in days, he pulled off his shirt. He
ignored John's exaggerated catcalls at the sight of the French kiss bruises
and imprints of Nick's overeager passion across his back and neck. "God it
feels great to get laid."

   "Say you're not fucking the Madman, are you?"

   "Which Madman?"

   "The man you are following these past few days."

   Toby looked at John. "He's not mad."

   "He used to be, and the folks here wouldn't let him forget it. Poor Lea
almost murdered a man when he was ten, and was kept in an asylum until five
years ago. They say he has been pretty normal ever since, but you know
these small town people, they never forget."

   "Yes." Toby looked at the wall, his thoughts a million miles away. "And
why are you telling me only now?"

   "Well, I don't see why I should, but seeing that you're involved with
him now, I thought you should know."

   "I'm not involved with him. I'm just fucking him."

   John gave Toby a who-are-you-kidding look. "I know guys like you,
Toby. You can't just fuck someone, you will get involved whether you like
it or not. Some guys are cut out to play the field, and guys as fragile as
you just aren't that type."

   "Let me handle my own affairs, okay John?" Toby grabbed his towel and
headed for the shower. "I'll think about this."


He was gone. Toby and his friend John were gone. Nick stood at the diner,
only half-listening to Clara babble about the two newly departed
strangers. He walked away, not caring where he was going, until he found
himself sitting at the spot where he and Toby had made love.

   At least that was what they did in Nick's mind. Or he'd like to believe,
actually, but he hadn't been in love to actually know if he was in love or
not. What he knew was that he had somehow, despite his better judgements,
started daydreaming about Toby and he starting a life together. His few
sexual partners in the past had never evoked such uncharacteristic
impractical wishing in him, hence he had to hand it to Toby for succeeding
in sneaking under his skin and breaking his heart.

   Maybe he would hate Toby later. Right now he just wanted to lie down and
sleep. And so he did.

He continued his life as usual, in routine that was now killing him even
more because he had tasted magic if only for a short while. He became
short- tempered, not caring if the people thought him mad all over
again. Why bother?  He had been so stupid - why should he bother being on
their good graces? His life was a rut of pathetic broken dreams. He was
unemployable, uneducated, coarse, uncivilized. He knew it.

   Except for one short week, Toby Stephens had made him feel
beautiful. Toby listened to him, and Nick felt confidence took seed in his
soul. At close to forty, he had stopped being afraid of himself and the
people around him. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Then Toby took it
all back.

   He would have wept like he did the night he slept on the riverbank, if
he didn't feel so useless and pathetic and exhausted in the same time.

   And one week later, he watched, uncertain of his feelings, when Toby
climbed down from the bus, fresh-faced and never more beautiful. "Nick!"
Toby called.

   Nick started walking the other way.

   "Nick, I have to talk to you!" he heard Toby call.

   The only reason he stopped for the heartless bastard was that he owed
Toby something for the happiest week of his life. He stood, silent and
forbidding, that Toby frowned, bewildered.

   "What's wrong Nick?"

   "What's wrong? You fucked me and then upped and left," Nick
exploded. "What am I supposed to think?"

   "I left a note." Toby paled. "Didn't I?"

   "No."

   Toby passed a large brown envelope to Nick. "What the fuck is this?"
Nick growled.

   "Why I left. For you."

   Nick stared at the documents in his hand. "The man you almost murdered
tried to rape your mother. The case was reopened eight years ago, but
somehow they never get around to clearing your name. I've started the
petition with the help of a few lawyer friends. I unearthed these while on
a mad wild goose chase to obtain paperwork certifying that you are fully
recovered from your stay in the asylum."

   "So now you find out that I'm not a loony and you can now fuck me
without qualms?"

   "No," Toby said easily. "I want to make the townspeople treat you
better."

   "They never will. Trust me, I have lived with them all my life." Nick
didn't dare to look at Toby or his nerve would break. "So you're done
now. Go back to New York."

   "Look, John has to go to Manchester to see to a family matter. I have a
spare ticket. Care to join me?" Toby looked at Nick hopefully.

   "Take off your gloves," Nick ordered.

   "But I thought you don't believe in my psychic ability." Toby removed
them nonetheless, and Nick placed the man's palms at his temple. Toby's
eyes widened, then a wide grin split his face into a million sunshine. "You
sure, Nick?"

   "I'm sure." He held his hand to Toby. "Help me pack?"

   Toby placed his bare hand in Nick's.