Date: Wed, 18 Oct 2006 16:09:39 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "Night at the Opera"

			   A NIGHT AT THE OPERA
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     "Aw, Grandma, do I have to go?" I whined as I put on my tuxedo jacket.
     "Nonsense, dear, you must learn to cultivate an appreciation of the
arts." Grandma said. "Your tie is a bit crooked, dear, straighten it out."
     I went over to a mirror on the living room wall (kept there for such
things, I think) and fixed my tie. I wish Grandma would let me get a false
front for my tuxedo instead of the real article. People laugh at the
"dickey shirt" but honest to God, the stiff shirt you wear with a real
tuxedo is a hell of a lot more uncomfortable.
     Done, I checked my hair. Stalling, actually.
     "You'll have a nice time, dear." Grandma said.
     I knew that tone of voice a little too well. "Who is she, Grandma?" I
asked.
     "Whatever do you mean?" Grandma said innocently.
     "Every time you tell me I'll have a nice time, I meet some girl or
other you've picked out for me." I informed her.
     "I don't know what you're talking about." Grandma objected.
     Never mind, I told myself "So what are our seats like?" I asked
instead.
     "I got us the second tier balcony, third right." Grandma said.
     My suspicions crystallized. "And who are the other two who will be
coming to join us?" I asked. The opera house balconies seated four!
     "Abigail Greeson and her husband." Grandma said. "So you can forget
about me pulling any matchmaking tonight."
     "All right, Grandma, I'm sorry." I said and gave her a kiss on her
withered white cheek. She smiled and we went out to the waiting
limousine. Grandma's limo, she's the one with all the money, I'm just the
lucky guy who will inherit a shitload of money when she passes on...not
that I'm pushing my Grandma into the grave. She's a swell old girl, and
when she dies, I'm going to have to attend a lot of stockholder meetings
and read prospectuses and attend board meetings and all the other crap that
comes with an estate of around two hundred million dollars. As it was right
now, I had all the fun of the money, and none of the headaches. Nope,
Grandma could live forever and that would be swell with me!
     But it did explain why, when she wanted to go to the opera, I was
drafted into service as her escort. It was a small price to pay...if you
don't mind sitting through hours of Verdi or Paganini a couple of times a
month. I had a small radio in my pocket and could quietly slip the earphone
in after Grandma got distracted. She was heavily devoted to the classics,
especially "La Traviata" which is what we were seeing (again!) tonight.
     We got to the opera house and that's when Grandma sprang it on
me. "Why, Miriam, dear!" she waved gaily. "Look, Deacon, it's Miriam, she's
Abigail's daughter." And a fairly pretty girl about my own age, just
radiating availability, came dancing up to us. Well, sashaying might be a
better word, you know, when a girl walks over to you and wants to make an
impression on you? That kind of walk.
     "Sorry, Mrs. Thibideaux, but my mother and father couldn't make it
tonight." Miriam said as she stared at me. About the way a farmer stares at
a hog he's thinking of buying! "She gave me the tickets so you wouldn't be
all alone tonight. I hope you don't mind, for I just love the opera!"
     "Oh, not at all, dear." Grandma gushed. "Miriam, this is my grandson,
Deacon, the only child of my dear son Galen." My father and mother had died
in an accident when I was only two years old, my only memories of them were
photographs and a few old home movies. "He's such a good boy, he brings me
to all these events."
     "Pleased to meet you, Miriam." I said as I took her hand. You don't
shake a lady's hand, you give it a brief hold and then let go. Miriam gave
me a squeeze as I did so, but I pretended she hadn't squeezed hard enough
for me to notice it. "Did you bring an escort with you tonight?"
     "My brother, Jordan." Miriam nodded. "He's around here somewhere."
Jordan I knew, he and I had gone to school together, sort of. Four years
older than me, he had moved away with his family when I was about nine
years old. He'd been a cute guy, I remember thinking back then.
     "Oh, I know Jordan." Grandma said. "There he is! Oh, yoo-hoo, Jordan!"
Grandma gave a not-too-elegant wave.
     I looked and now I was interested! In case you're wondering why I
wasn't giving Miriam (an admittedly pretty girl of a good family) anything
more than a passing interest, it was the usual reason, and the proof was in
my intent gaze on the auburn-haired hunk strolling our way. Tuxedos at this
level of society are always cut to fit, but in Jordan's case, there was a
lot to fit! He had a smooth, strong cheekline, a perfectly shaped and
proportioned nose, and two of the most penetratingly steel-colored eyes
you'd ever had undress you with a glance. Those teeth were perfect pearls,
which usually means a lot of high-powered dental work, but I didn't think
that was Jordan's explanation. Below this elegantly handsome face was the
body of a football quarterback, strong-armed, slim-hipped, and smooth in
motion.
     "Why, Jordan, so nice to see you after, what has it been, two years?"
Grandma said to Jordan.
     "Something like that." Jordan agreed, but his eyes were on me. "Is
this Deacon?" He gave Grandma the light touch of hands that wouldn't have
broken a soap bubble. Considerate of him, given Grandma's age.
     "Yes, this is Deacon." Grandma said. "Jordan is Miriam's older
brother." she informed me and that was all.
     "I'm very pleased to meet you, Jordan." I shook his hand. God, that
grip of his was a killer! I didn't wince at it, but it was an effort, but I
don't think he was trying to hurt me, I think he was just that strong!
     I was the one who gave him a squeeze in the grip, but he didn't seem
to notice it. "They'll be calling us to our seats very soon." Jordan said
to Grandma.
     "Yes, let's go on in now." Grandma said as she took Jordan's arm. I
was stuck with sticking an elbow out to Miriam who melted onto it like the
fake cheese of a cheap-ass pizza, and I bore up under it as well as I could
up the ramp to the balcony. I was glad it was only one flight up, or Miriam
might have dripped and stained my tux beyond the salvation of dry-cleaning
before we got there!
     Grandma took the left-most seat as usual. Jordan, as her abducted
escort, sat next to her. I took the seat next to him, which left Miriam on
the far right.
     My job was to next make small talk to our companions, and before
Miriam could steal my attention, I said to Jordan, "So, Jordan, where do
you attend university?"
     "Stanford." Jordan said in return. "But I graduate this year. In
December, frankly, I missed a couple of classes and had to come back this
year to finish up, but...." and Miriam sat neglected as I sat entranced.
     Before Miriam could scrag me for herself, the opera music began, and
by custom, all talk ceased. Miriam reached over and pre-empted one of my
hands and smiled at me when I looked at her, startled, but I turned away
and left my hand limp in hers and she gave it up after a time. Miriam
wasn't stupid, she gave up entirely at that point and I was left completely
alone to bear the travails of that idiotic tramp Violetta and her equally
stupid lover-at-first-glance, Alfredo. These two morons took one look at
each other and promptly fell head over heels. Which, when I think about it,
worked out for them about as well as doing that in real life works out,
which is, it doesn't!
     So, I sat there, waiting until the first of the three acts finished
when I could again talk to Jordan some more. I had never met Jordan all
grown up before (if I had, I'm sure I would have remembered him!), but his
family had lived several years on the other coast until just a couple of
years ago. That would have put Jordan three thousand miles away from me
until he went off to college.
     As I was musing this far, I felt my hand being pre-empted again. But
this time, it was the other hand!
     I looked at my hand, and Jordan had placed his hand on the armrest
next to mine. Now his fingers were brushing over the back of my hand. I
looked up at him and he had his face carefully aimed at the stage. The next
step was mine!
     I gently lifted my hand up and down, brushing back at his
fingertips. Now Jordan's face turned to mine, and I greeted his look with a
smile, which he returned, and our hands fumbled with each other's briefly,
and then interlocked.
     Holding hands with Jordan, I gave a quick lean over to look at
Grandma. As usual, she was entranced with Violetta's travails, oh, the
agony of being a high-class call-girl permitted to move in high society and
be adored by all the men! Grandma was mouthing the notes of the song right
along with Violetta. I guess she identified with Violetta, because Grandma
had been a strictly middle-class young girl when Grandpa found her. She
might even have been a call-girl herself, or whatever they called them back
in those days. Whatever, he married her and Grandma's days of deprivation
were over for good.
     Jordan looked over at his sister on our other side, and when my eyes
met his again, he grinned and gave me a "turn around and see" sort of shift
of his eyes and eyebrows.
     So I did and I had to grin myself. Dear Miriam who "just love the
opera," had a wire running from the knob in her ear down to her small
clutch-purse! Her eyes were closed and she was quite possibly on the way to
falling asleep!
     Jordan's hand clenched mine and I clenched back. You can say so much
with your hand if you let it, he was doing the hand-only equivalent of
putting the make on me, and I was saying, yes, yes, yes!
     Still, holding the hand of even a hunky hunk can get a bit
repetitious, and I was beginning to think of how I could extricate my hand
before we got caught and what else I might could get away with here,
tonight, when Jordan took advantage of me transferring my grip to slip his
hand out of mine.
     That surprised me and I looked over at Jordan (I had been pretending
an interest in the opera up until then, Violetta had just fainted for no
good reason whatsoever, which apparently was all it took for Alfredo to
fall madly in love with her, for she is lying on the divan and he is
pouring his heart out in song to her), and I see his hand returning and
held my own open for him again. A hand might not be much, but it beats
nothing, especially while listening to Verdi.
     But his hand buzzed over mine like a plane on a bombing run whizzes
past anti-aircraft guns, and hit its intended target which was my leg. Not
too high up, just above the knee, but with the fingers firmly ensconced on
my inner leg. I check. Grandma is more entranced than before. Miriam seemed
to have fallen asleep. I smiled at Jordan and waited to see what he'd do
next.
     A sharp race-car dash up my inner thigh to the groin! When it cupped
my basket, I gave a sharp gurgle that surprised me and Grandma heard,
looked over briefly. I was panicked but she gave me a "shhh!" motion and
turned back. She hadn't looked to see why I had made that noise. Maybe
she'd thought I had belched!
     Meanwhile, Jordan's hand was getting intimately acquainted with my
crotch. I kept my moans muffled, but it was damned difficult. Could Grandma
be so enthralled by the opera, could Miriam be so bored by it all, that
we'd go unnnoticed?
     Now Jordan's hand was at my fly and his intent was obvious; he was
going to unzip my fly! "Geez, Jordan!" I hissed. "Shouldn't we go outside
for this?"
     "Shhh!" was Grandma's only comment.
     Jordan's lips moved so close to my face, I thought he was going to
kiss me. Instead, I got the barest whisper. "Relax, Deke. Where's your
spirit of adventure?"
     "Guuuhh!" was all I could manage, which I kept to a whisper. Now
Jordan had my fly unzipped and was fumbling about inside. I wished I hadn't
worn briefs, but hell, who expects to get a blow-job at an opera? But
Jordan felt around until he could worm his hand into the flap of the briefs
and then he.... "Ahh-hahhh!" I said.
     "Quiet down, Deacon." came Grandma's sharp sotto voce response. "Be
still and let me enjoy the show."
     You may wonder at Grandma only noticing me talking, but Jordan was
seated a bit forward and at first glance from Grandma's side, he appeared
to be watching the show. Grandma was leaning back to speak with me, and he
couldn't see my crotch from back there. Not that she was trying to see,
only trying to get me to stop my groaning and moaning.
     So I bit my lip and held still. I wasn't going to make a single sound
here, if Grandma caught on, let her realize that Jordan was the one doing
all this!
     I kept quiet as Jordan caught hold of my dong and pulled it out into
the open air, I held still as his hand moved up and down the length, even
though now I had to squinch my face up like a little kid getting a
vaccination. I managed to keep my sigh of satisfaction silent as I fell
into the rhythm of his hand's movements on my dong, letting the old,
familiar pleasures of masturbation wend their way up my body to my brain,
there to nestle in like old familiar friends before a fire in winter, and
welcome indeed they are, and I figured this was going to be the entirety of
it. Jordan would get his little jolly by beating me off, and then maybe I
could do the same for him (I couldn't now, not in his forward position, not
without making a scene), and we could watch the rest of the opera in the
more relaxed state of two men who had gotten their rocks off. Later, after
I saw Grandma safely back into her limousine, I could help Jordan ditch his
sister and then we could really get it on and....
     Jordan moved and only my iron resolve not to make another sound kept
me quiet as Jordan's lips dove down to wrap around my cock, and now I was
sure he was insane, the madcap scion of a wealthy family who has tossed all
sensibility to the wind. There are plenty of them to be sure, they make
regular appearances in tabloid papers, but this would be a new one to
me. Getting a hummer at "La Traviata!" Jordan must be absolutely out of his
mind!
     But whatever his mind was, his mouth was fully under control. God, I
hadn't had much sexual experience before, but this was right up there with
the best blowjob I'd ever get! Maybe the public place and the chance of
being caught, of being humiliated, played into it, but I was loving the
feel of Jordan's lips on my pud, the way he milked me smoothly and evenly,
and I made a small snort as I realize his motions were in tune with the
music! Every word the star playing Violetta belted out as she extemporized
about whether or not to fall in love with Alfredo (she had a choice? Not if
there was going to be a musical, she didn't!), every tone she hit, that was
Jordan's cue to hit my buttons by shoving my dong all the way down his
throat. As she paused, so would he, and it was like the opera and the
blowjob were integrating into one. As the music swelled, so did my passsion
as Jordan wrung it from me, as the music dimmed, so did my desire as Jordan
released me again or held me in check.
     The music increased its fury as Violetta was remonstrating with the
off-stage Alfredo (now playing the voice in her head, I guess), Violetta
trying to be sensible, Alfredo coaxing her to be an idiot and go for
it!). I found myself rooting for Alfredo on that. And when Violetta decides
to stay independent (a lie, Act II starts with the two of them shacking up
together in a small house outside of Paris), her crescendoes were echoing
my own, and I barely managed to keep my passionate groans to a minimum
(drowned out in the diva's bellowing tones) as she chose freedom, freedom!
Or as they say in the musical, "Semper libera!" Libera, libera! Yes, yes,
yes!
     "Cuhh-huhhh!" was the sound I made as I hit my climax and spurted my
jizz into Jordan's hungry throat, while Violetta finished her song and
applause rocked the theater. Grandma didn't hear me, she was too busy
making her own noise. I closed my eyes and let the fireworks explode behind
my eyelids as I shot my spunk out and Jordan gulped it down, and then it
was over and the lights were coming up, I hastily fumbled my cock back into
my pants and, with no time to zip up, held my hand over my crotch in what I
hoped was a relaxed looking position as Jordan straightened back up.
     "Wasn't that a lovely first act?" Grandma asked Jordan.
     "I loved every bit of it, Mrs. Thibideaux." Jordan told her sincerely.
     "I could cultivate a taste for it myself." I said. "We'll have to see
how the second act develops." That was for Jordan, who caught the reference
and smiled.
     "Miriam? Miriam, dear?" Grandma said as she went to Miriam. I took the
opportunity to zip myself up.
     Miriam was out of it, still asleep despite the racket. Turns out she
had both ears plugged with her music and it was turned way up, she yanked
out the plugs and the tinny sound of a heavy metal band leaked out. "I'm so
sorry, Mrs. Thibideaux." Miriam said. "I didn't get much sleep last night,
and I guess I was sleepier than I thought."
     "That's all right, dear." Grandma said. "Why don't I have my driver
take you home, and Deacon, Jordan and I will enjoy the rest of the opera?"
     Miriam smiled gratefully (since I was definitely not going to be
caught by her) and she took the graceful exit. That left Act II and III for
me and Jordan, now with an empty seat between us and Grandma, to play
around in.
     I even dared to get down on my knees and suck on Jordan's cock.
Grandma was too busy watching Alfredo's father convince Violetta to give up
his son's affections for the sake of his social standing, and she was
dimwitted enough to agree to that, so I managed to scarf down Jordan's
lucious pud and bring him off before Alfredo gets Violetta's note telling
him they're through.
     Act III was a joy with me and Jordan just sitting there, two
come-drained lovers holding hands and waiting for the chance to get out of
there. We made arrangements to meet again the next day and so it was with a
light heart that, the opera over, Violetta dead of some unspecified illness
and Alfredo crying by her side, we went back to our limousine and headed
home.
     "Did you have a nice time tonight, dear?" Grandma asked me.
     "Yeah, Grandma." I said. "But I wish you wouldn't try to play
matchmaker."
     "But I know you better than anyone." Grandma protested.
     "Well, I guess so." I said. "But every match you've made so far has
been a complete disaster."
     "That's too bad." Grandma said. "And here I thought Jordan was perfect
for you. At least this time you didn't spend all night talking with the
woman instead of the man I'd picked out for you."
     Dumbfounded, I looked at my Grandmother, suddenly as enigmatic as the
Sphinx, and the limousine moved on through the warm, dark night toward
home.

				  THE END
		   Comments, Complaints or Suggestions?
		    Send E-mail to Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM.
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM