Date: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 13:48:13 -0500
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: Up oN THe WoOfToP... 03

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any
resemblances to real people, alive or dead in the hereafter, is entirely
coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons,
of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages,
neighborhoods, gingerbread houses, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental
or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene
involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you get coal in your
stocking! Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to
screw up your mind, you should not read this story, unless you're a
masochist and have a holiday barf bag handy.


Viewer discretion is advised. Various states, countries and the North Pole
have rules regarding reading or viewing `adult material'. It is up to the
reader to research this subject, abiding by their own laws. The pages of
this story contain `adult material', intended for an `adult
audience'. Bypass this warning at your own risk.


% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use
protection*.


*Condoms make good stocking stuffers!


Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have,
over the years, consider adding some support for `internet $pace'.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


^o^ Concluding remarks ~ reading this story could make you stiff or gooey,
so I would suggest not reading it with the Santa outfit on, unless you have
enough hair to soak it up... jus'-sayin'! :)




%



Up oN THe WoOfToP... 03
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^o^


%


After their funning in bed, Michael feeling sorry for having a top man tied
down, at least he left Cubby with vivid memories of a little oral workout:
tongue over hairy pecs, stopping at each nub to nibble, painting a wet
streak down the already present trail, getting a kick out of deep-tonguing
Cubby's bottomless bellyhole pit... Michael could not outlive it all,
saying over the lunch table at Knife-Spoon-Fork, in Soho, "Too bad we both
couldn't give in a little?" he forks a load of salad into his mouth, softly
chews through the smile.


"Yeah, too bad," Cubby wasn't sure about giving up his hole just yet,
though wasn't discounting his whole theory, if he gave in once, he would
want to have a shaft up his ass all the time.


"Because," Michael started to cave, "if we did and remained, um... Like,
`monogamous' about it," he searched for the right rendering, "we might
start to like each other more."


The way Cubby was reading Michael, "You mean, you want to start a
relationship?"


After all which was said, Michael pieces all his thoughts together in one
bunch, "Now that you mention it, would you want to? That is, if you're not
too busy at the studio?"


Cubby sat back in his chair. At one time he considered himself born into
high society, but with coming out, the silver spoon dropped out of his
mouth. Still, mannerly, he wipes lips with a napkin, before speaking, "What
impression you got, about Lucas and me..."


"I thought he was Lucas?"


"Luca, Lucas... what's the difference? Whatever," Cubby explains something
he deems important, before entering into what he perceives as a serious
endeavor, "you know how Luca and me, we're supposedly hired out as
escorts?"


"Uh, yeah," Michael blushes, like he's the one under the microscope, "I was
under the impression? I mean, to look at Mr. Braddock, I wouldn't think, in
his position, he was into pimping dudes out?"


At lunch today, Cubby had hoped to cover many bases. However, the day was
not long enough. They would need to sit there for hours, indulging in
several courses of a multi-course meal in order for Cubby to explain how
his life had proceeded thus far, chooses his words, "Remember how I told
you Renzo had a twin, Nico?"


How could Michael `not' forget tripping over Renzo, picking him up, helping
to dust him off, the whole time attention falling on his absolutely
handsomely good looks?


"I seem to remember!"


Cubby sensed something deep there, the smile on Michael's face, maybe more
thoughts he couldn't get into just now, "Well, Nico, he came on board at
the Hotel Mozambique last year and has proven to be a self-starter, working
himself into a position of management."


Not sure what Cubby was getting at here, Michael asks, "Managing who, or
what?"


"How do I put this," he asks himself, Cubby finally conjuring up, "Nico has
polled the staff and come up with a list of those who would like to make an
extra couple of dollars on the side, of their regular paying job."


Michael knew Dean would call it, "Rent-a-boy?"


"I had thought the same thing, telling Nico that when he approached me, but
he didn't want to make us sound cheap. Trust me," Cubby says it with a sort
of pride, "we don't come cheap!"


>From the scant amount of information Michael has gathered thus far, from
Cubby's family history, growing up well off, excommunicated from his family
over coming out, "I don't condemn what you did. I probably would have done
the same thing, if it meant having food to eat and a roof over my head."


"I suppose there are worser things," Cubby says.


Going back to mixed thoughts, regarding twin relationships, "It's hard to
believe Renzo and Nico are twin brothers, unless there's something about
Renzo I don't know?"


Cubby knows Michael and Renzo have only known each other for the time it
takes to trip over someone and say you're sorry, "There's lots you don't
know about Renzo. Trust me, he and Nico are total opposites."


"One question," Michael says, putting his fork down for the last time,
"Renzo, his brother doesn't hire him out, does he?"


"That's where things get weird."


They had already sat, dined, were on their second glass of water, Michael
asking, "I'd sure like to hear more, but if I don't stop drinking, I'm
going to have to take more than one leak?"


Cubby was ready to suggest, Michael's cell playing a jingle, "Hold on. I've
gotta take this."


Twofold, Michael had to find out what was up about tonight, was he going
home with Dean or had to take mass transit? Other option, he had to take
that leak, so excused himself. Multi-dexterous, Michael could fish out his
dick and talk into his cell at the same time, aided by sandwiching his
phone between head and shoulder, extra hand needed initially to pull his
9.5c out!


Returning to the table, he had pocketed the phone, reporting, "I hope you
don't mind, but Dean wanted to meet up with us? Says he wants to do a
little shopping too."


"Fine with me," Cubby replies, thinking right back to a couple of hours
ago, flanked by both Dean and Michael, totally in the buff, reflecting on
all those hairy masses, right down to the... "Where did you say to meet?"


Michael didn't sit, rather grabbing his hoodie, "Outside?"


Sure thing, soon as they are outside the small restaurant, there's Dean,
climbing up the subway stairs.


First thought, Michael asks, "Where's your car?"


"Same place I left it, parking garage near Braddock's?"


"Oh," Michael replies, thinking of Dean's habit, driving into the city,
parking, running about on the subway or bus, then, when he's ready to leave
for good, retraces his steps to the garage, "so, are we done for the
night?"


Both Dean and Cubby stare at Michael, unsure which one of them he was
addressing.


For certain, Cubby had a longing not to part company just yet.


Dean, unsaid, he wasn't ready to cut ties, "Don't you want to take in the
sights?"


"Of course," Michael says, "but what about work tomorrow?"


"What about it?" Dean tosses the idea by the wayside, "Christmas comes once
a year. Work," he shrugs it off, "that's like every day!"


"I wish I could say the same," Cubby sides with Dean, though he wasn't
saying he was on the clock, just the opposite.


"What did you have in mind?" Michael asks.


"Hmm, I'd like to answer that in a certain way, but..."


Cubby smiled, knowing Dean wasn't thinking about the holidays, "Me too!"


"Fine," Michael says, "you two go find a room and I'll go shopping for
mom!"


Barging right between the two, they almost turn Michael's bod inside out,
Dean taking hold of the right arm, Cubby tagging the left wrist, but loses
his grip.


Doing a twist-around, Michael complains, "Guys, ya-know?" he slams into
Dean's front!


"Hm-m, who should get a room?"


All Cubby can think of the situation at hand, "It must've been fun."


"What?" Dean asks.


"You, the teacher, Michael the pupil?"


Dean had already cautioned Michael about keeping things under wraps,
asking, "What did you tell him?"


Smartly, Michael replies, "Everything and nothing!"


Instead of `getting a room', the three head off towards Rockefeller Center.


"Ah-h-h-h-h..." Dean exhales, after a deep inhale, "breathe in that fresh,
city air, boys!"


Wise-assing his friend, Michael says, "You'll have to forgive my friend,
Cubby, on account of he's a little sick in the brain!"


Though, in the cold air, coupled with Michael's `friend' being kind of a
hot `daddy', Cubby didn't feel in the mocking-mood, "I find it kind of..."
he inhales-exhales, "exhilarating!"


"Oh-mi-god," Michael rushes his way of thinking, "I've got two sicko's on
my hands," fake slaps himself aside the head, the lad hoping to wake up and
recover!


`Typical', Michael thought, him being the one in the middle, physically
manhandled by his 31-year old mentor, and friend, out of the way, placing
him on the lefthand side of the three friends, Dean picking up the slack in
the conversation, "So, Cubby, now that I've cleared your air..."


Rolling his eyes, Michael felt insulted, though not totally bent out of
shape. It wouldn't be the first time Dean has moved in on his
action. Regardless, on the streets of Manhattan, there was plenty of
`action' to be had, even if it meant only taking in the eyecandy across the
street, unless of course, two sets of eyes lingered two long...


Noticing Michael hanging back, Dean, from their first walk on the city
streets, last summer, reaches his hand out, arm's length, grabs his young
friend, "Hey, don't get lost?"


Still, the fabric of his hoodie, caught up in Dean's hand, Michael's
attention was `across the street', "Hold on a sec, will ya?"


The go-between, Dean knew how a scenario could play out. Attention focused
on Cubby, Michael could very easily have been gobbled up by the crowded
street. Feeling like being drawn-and-quartered, his right hand was draped
over Cubby's shoulder, the other clutching Michael, which made it awkward
for the pedestrian happening from behind, "Excuse me."


His mind was already on Michael, but Dean figured, even though Cubby was in
front of him, anyone coming from behind his ass, could very easily slip
through, behind Cubby and then...


But no, the dude lingered, "Excuse me, but can I get by?"


Dean was ready to cuss the dude out, not exactly in a Holiday spirit,
either, when Michael's eyes lose focus on the opposite curb, "Hey, pops,
why don't you cut my friend some slack?"


Little did Michael, nor Dean realize, there was a reason Cubby, having
heard the familiar voice and `greeting', quietly giggled and softly growled
from the depths of his throat!


With Dean dropping his hands from keeping tabs on the two, raising his
shoulders, in a stance to duel gladiator battle with anyone who obnoxiously
came up from behind, whom could have very well passed by, puts an arm out
in front of Michael, "I'll handle this!"


In a gruff voice, the bespectacled man first glances to Cubby, then nastily
focuses on Dean, "Oh really? What do you intend on doing about it?"


All of a few inches taller, Dean steps up to the older man, older than his
31 years, till spit could fly in onto his glasses, "This!"


Cubby made no move to stop anything, but Michael was ready to hold Dean
back. He couldn't think fast enough. Then it was over, except for catching
the mean strangers glasses, saying, "What the hay, Dean?"


Then Cubby let on he knew what was coming, laughing out loud.


Which, threw the blame on the cub, rather than Dean, "You knew? Know him,
Cubby?" Michael turns a head.


When Dean turned around, smooshing his lips against the older dude, the
glasses popped right off the bridge of his nose, landing a catch for
Michael.


Retreating, Dean says with a smile, "Of course he knew!"


"You knew?" Cubby stands there with popped open mouth. Gasping, "How did
you know?"


Maybe Dean liked what he saw when he turned around, not to mention ready to
plant a kiss on the stranger's kisser, but the man Cubby obviously knew,
didn't suddenly gear up for retribution, other than, "Who cares how he
knew?" he gaily throws opinion. "Sure would like to get me some more of
that!" he licks his lips.


Knowing a sex-crazed man when he sees one, Michael says, "That and more,
huh?"


Turning his head, like his ward has rudely spoken out of turn and context,
Dean scolds, "Really, Michael?"


It was like introductions had already begun, the tall, mature man turning
on, "Michael, is it?" he shoves his greeting hand towards the 19-year old.


Surprised, because, if anything, he thought the one who kissed was turning
the frog into the prince, which would have turned the tables. But, not,
"Yeah," Michael shook hands, like it was one up on his `sex-professor',
"hey, how's it goin'?"


Feeling left out, especially since he foiled a perfectly good scam, Dean
says, "Well, Cubby, are you going to enlighten us?"


Short, sweet, to the point, Cubby states, "Off and on I live with Garrett."


Which made Garrett show his brighty-whities, flash them at Michael,
"Garrett Wynston, at your service!"


Right hand filled up with Garrett's hand, Michael holds up his left, "These
yours by chance?"


What a flirt!


"Not when I'm this close," Garrett says, taking his specs and shoving them
in his trench-coat pocket.


Seeing he has lost his `pickup' to Michael, Dean decides to poke fun, "So,
what's with the Waldo hat?"


In reality, Michael thought the wearer was quite handsome, but deflected
his comment to the red and white striped hat, "I think it's cute!"


"Cute, is it?"


Cubby could see it coming, his friend, mentor, sometimes-landlord's
generosity. Figuring, with a 6-digit salary, he could afford another hat...


"As my pappy used to say, `spread the cuteness!'" Garrett whips the hat off
his head, reaches behind Michael, yanks his hoodie off his head and
fashion-consciously places the `Waldo' hat on top of Michael's head,
arranging it.


"Oh, brother," Cubby hears out of the corner of Dean's mouth.


Figuring it was meant for his ears, Cubby resounds, "Trust me, for Garrett,
it's like a drop in the bucket!"


Opening up Pandora's box, while Garrett walked and talked with Michael, the
trio split up into 2'n'2, Cubby nonstop answering questions fired off by
Dean. Of course, any stranger, Dean thought it his duty, on a mother's
behalf, to interrogate, make sure a guy was good enough for his dear ward's
attention and after hearing the first five facts, "I see."


Not being able to tell if Dean was for or against, Cubby comes out with the
clincher, which seals the deal, "All I know is, when I didn't have anyplace
to call home and missing the main meal of the day, Garrett was there to
take me in and feed me."


Talking down to Cubby, Dean says, "Looks like he did a good job!"


For the first 40 steps, Dean was dead serious in his words and taking it
all in, but now, patting his chum's tummy with the back of the hand,
"Starvation? That part of the story is kinda hard to believe, Cubby?"


Meanwhile, while Cubby spilled his down and out story, Michael was just
finishing up his summer tale of meeting the new neighbor next store,
complete with the hilarious `honey' story, "Yeah, I kind of think Dean had
no idea I knew his cock and balls were all stuck up with the sticky stuff!"


Feeling casual, Garrett had woven his arm in, around the crook of Michael's
elbow, "Must've provided a sweet, yummy treat!"


With the same camaraderie, Michael allowed the winding arm, felt cool, like
they were a couple, though more father and son than anything him and Dean
had done.


Having not divulged the complete details of his recalling, Michael says,
"Well, it's like I suspected. I didn't let on that I knew, but I could make
out the stained stains, though they didn't look any different than cum."


Comfortably, Garrett taps Dean's elbow with his own, leans over to his left
ear, "Sure would like to taste those honey-globes sometime!"


A few or more times, Michael has been able to capture a surprised moment,
Dean standing there with his mouth agape in surprise and wonder. This case,
not only this, but tagging Garrett's sleeve, clutching his wrist, in attack
mode, "Michael, I can't believe you're telling a complete stranger all of
our private business!"


Scouting out on his own, like he's out of the loop, Cubby sizes up those
excusing themselves to walk around, "Hey," he speaks to a lone sidewalk
occupant.


He sure knows how to pick'em, the chubby dude turning right around, pulling
out his cell, handing it to Cubby, "Want to put your number in here?"


Not missing an opportunity himself, Cubby says, "Woof," whipping out his
own cell.


Michael was amazed, Garrett sticking up for him, much like Dean would. In
doing so, it only firmed up Dean's opinion more, like this dude was okay to
be hanging with Michael. In a city with tons of horny guys, one had to be
careful.


Unfortunately or fortunately, depending who it involved, exchanging cell
numbers wasn't enough for Cubby and he peeled off from the friendly stroll
to Rockefeller Center, going with the cub he picked up. Sometimes calls
could be missed. Cubby wasn't about to miss this one!


The others, they were fine with Cubby going his own way, knowing how things
could go!


Already sensing a `daddy' type relationship developing here, one much like
he's already experienced with Dean, Michael chances it, "So, what is it you
do for a living Gary?"


Smile on Garrett's face, it is apparent, the inference catching with
favorable repose, "For a living," he addresses the true question, "I happen
to be founder and CEO of Wynston-O'Kay Publishing, if you've ever heard of
it?"


"Heard of it?" Dean jumps in, "Only the biggest risk-taker in the world, to
mix gay publications with," he doesn't know how to call it, "the other?"


Michael sees an in, cuts a joke, fronts Gary with his important question,
"Getting hard, Dean?"


"No, it's not making me hard!"


Fortunately, noise from the street, passing conversation, an ambulance
siren, Dean's elevated tone didn't carry.


Neither did Gary's, whom centered in the middle of the trio, "Hmm, I could
take care of that for you?!"


Getting an impression here, Michael asks, "Only his?"


"Woof!" Gary replies, showing an interest in the teen.


Dean puts it back on Michael, "You hard too?"


"No, not really," Michael replies, after having called Dean out, retracts.


Perhaps Michael and Dean stated they weren't hard, but that didn't sail for
Gary, "How would either of you, or both like to see how I've decorated my
apartment for the holidays?"


Dean was all for it, Michael on the other hand, whines, "Oh, but I wanted
to see Mariah sing."


More into cubs, than bears, making a judgement between ages here, Gary
placing himself in the category of a muscled `otter'. Of course, one could
only tell if he were in his `naked-beach' outfit. Though, not wanting to
customize things too much, though conscious of the age difference, not
wanting to allow this young stud get away, rescinds his offer, "Hmm, I
didn't know Mariah was singing?"


In a short half-hour, Dean felt he had gotten to know Gary well enough to
rant, "I can't fuckin' believe you're picking Mariah over me!"


It would seem the case, though Gary's main intention, bumping into the
sidewalk trio, even though Dean got the bunt of the blow, intentions has
been set on Michael!


Knowing Dean twice as well as Gary, at least, Michael says, "Hand Dean a
crying towel, will ya?!"


Further carrying on a tirade, the swelling in his pants as fuel added to
the fire, "That's what friends are for," he directs line of fire towards
Michael, "to be there for you in your time of need?!"


Working his arm around Michael's back, cuddling him, Gary replies, "Oh
c'mon, Dean. It's Christmas. We can have sex anytime!"


Protective of Michael, Dean wasn't about to leave the boy in the clutches
of Gary, even though he seemed like a legit, nice guy, not to mention good
looking and from the initial bulge...


"Cool!" Michael says, grabbing Dean by the hand, "Lets go, so we can get a
good spot!"


"It's only 5 o'clock," Gary shouts, "what's your rush? It doesn't start
until 7!"


Insider knowledge, Gary had people waiting for him, reason he was headed in
the same direction, running into Michael and Dean, though always scouting
out the obvious!


"Are you joking?" Michael says, "I wanna be standing right next to Mariah!"


Well, he meant on the other side of her security, which Michael thought, if
they faced him and the crowd pushed in, he hoped the guard towards him was
cute, sexy, etc., etc.!


When it got time to mingle with the other million who showed up for the
82nd yearly tree-lighting ceremony, Gary took hold of the situation, "Stick
with me."


Michael suddenly realizes, "Hey, where's Dean?"


Backing up, it was Gary grabbing Michael, literally holding onto him by a
thread, stretching his hoodie out of shape, to retrace some steps.


"Oh, there you are," Gary says, even though only the inside of his head was
hearing himself.


Reaching between two people, Gary grabbed for any part of Dean he could,
which happened to be the split in his coat, targeting the shiny belt
buckle.


He should have been grateful, instead Dean condescending, "What're you
trying to do... make me explode?"


Cocking his head, smiling, Gary replies with a wink, "Maybe later!"


It was a real rush, wading through the crowd and even though it would mean
getting lost again, it wasn't quite the vision Dean had of `a hand down the
pants', Gary's hand pulling more `up,' than forwards, which was giving Dean
a hurtful wedgie!


Finally coming to a halt, Gary yells out, since it was noisy, "Wait for my
signal."


All Dean could do was complain, "Damn, what a grip!"


Not having seen the followup, being pushed ahead of Gary, Michael could
only speculate, "He was pulling you along by your cock?"


Then Michael got the gist of it, Dean explaining, when Gary chose to string
him along by his belt, he had grabbed up his Billy-bong's too, "Almost put
an end, to gay sex forever!"


"Oh my," Michael replies, "that `would' be a tragedy!"


Now paying mind to Gary's signal, they hear a shrill whistle, which Michael
deciphers as, "C'mon, that's our cue!"


On purpose, Michael, who wore a bright, toothy smile Dean could not see,
grabbed not only his belt, but almost got his finger stuck in Dean's navel,
being cute, scooping up the elastic of his briefs!


"Oh shit!" Dean expresses himself, ready to go for another painful ride!


"Oh man, this is real sweet," Michael says, hauling himself and his friend
up 3 steps.


Even though his balls felt like they were wrapped in piano wire, Dean
spotted someone who made the feeling quickly evaporate, "Oh, it's you!"


Placed on the other side of Gary, as Dean is thrown to the stadium seat, up
pops, "Do I know you?"


Having no knowledge of their having met already, Gary does the honors,
"Hey, Stephen, this is my friend, Dean and," he almost pulls Michael out of
his seat, "his friend, Michael."


Wanting to get to know Michael more, Gary ignores the two.


To Dean, two guys happening to be in the same place, at the same time, to
him it seemed like a fix-up. Though, rather than friendly chat, he says,
"We met, but we were supposed to meet again at The Hotel
Mozambigue... However, `you' stood me up?!"


Frankly, having a job which could go in hundreds of directions during the
day, Stephen Braddock didn't remember. Him and Gary with history, they had
this little thing about meeting guys, dating guys, sort of keeping tally on
what was done with guys and how far they got, or didn't get, but not
wanting to get on Gary's bad side, spending $1,000's at his store and not
the competition, "Oh yes. Dean. I'm terribly sorry about that," but knowing
he had stand-ins, "but how did you make out with Edgar?"


"Edgar?" Dean replies, puzzled.


Forgetful of whom he could have set Dean up with, Stephen goes off on a
guessing spree, "Or was it Nico? No, wait, it was Howard, wasn't it? Did
you like his nice big dick?"


Straight-faced, in a monotone, Dean says, "It was Luca."


Much like himself, it was easy for Stephen to relate, "Oh Luca! Right. Tell
me, did he have you tie him to the bed?"


A little into pranking, Dean did tie Luca to the bed, but it didn't really
phase him, when all he wanted was a nice blowjob and if it turned him on,
plug Luca's ass, "We had a nice time, but..."


"But what?" Stephen was looking around, waving here and there, adding a
fake smile.


Rather then tear the department store mogul down, Dean let him slide, "We
had a nice time." He really couldn't say he didn't, tying Luca down,
sitting on the Italian's hairy chest and making him lick and suck his cock
until he swallowed. For him, it seemed both were getting railroaded,
compared to a nice, slow row on a clear, placid lake.


"That's good to hear."


However, Dean didn't let him slide on everything, "Maybe next time you'll
keep your word!"


Gary, who had been listening in while Michael and he conversed, leans over
in front of Dean, "Yeah, I heard you stood my friend up, Stephen," he
applies the screws.


"Oh you know me, unless I write it down, I forget everything?" Stephen
tries a coverup.


"I told you what to do only ten thousand times, Stephen? Do what I do, hire
yourself a boy... I mean, secretary to follow you around?"


Stephen could not refute, it a good idea, having a cute dude following him
around all day, but notices, "And where is your secretary... off for good
behavior?"


While Gary hung over the front of Dean, Dean went behind Gary's back to
chat with Michael, "What do you think?"


"About what?" Michael asks.


"Everything and anything?" Dean replies.


He didn't say it, but mouthed the words, Michael responding, `He's cute!'


It made Dean smile, give the thumbs-up, `yes'.


It put a smile on Michael's face, `dad' giving his approval!


Instead of getting squished by Gary sitting back, Dean gets out of his
way. Turning to Stephen, he immediately gets hit by, "You wouldn't know of
any college student, looking to pick up a few bucks?"


Knowing the position Stephen was looking for `secretary', Dean asks, "Where
do I apply?"


Smiling, Stephen leans in, saying, "I'd like that very much, long as you're
into some kinky and rough sex?"


Not being a man to grovel on his belly, Dean sets Braddock straight, "Had
some practice on Luca, but wouldn't mind sharpening my roping skills on
you!"


He was joking of course, Dean liking the more romantic approach.


Stephen was afraid Dean would get the wrong idea, but with it all coming
together, in his opinion, "Woof!"


"I take that's a yes?"


"Only if you apply for the job?"


"I've got a job. Remember? Coffee?"


Half-lackadaisical, running into new people everyday, Stephen states, "Oh,
you're the coffee distributor I met with today!"


Rubbing it in, the failed meetup, Dean says, "Yeah, all of five minutes,
which was supposed to turn into an hour, later, at The Hotel Mozambique?"
Then, it seemed more important to him, than now, like novocaine wearing
off.


"Right," Stephen loved the attitude, even though he had wished Dean could
be more `meaner'. Rather than have a good thing go astray, "What are you
doing after the ceremonies?"


Knowing where this was leading and much as he wanted to follow through,
Dean had responsibilities, "Taking my buddy back home to Jersey."


Not immune to his friend, Michael was piecing together bits and pieces,
leans in front of Gary, "Not."


"What do you mean?" Dean asks, eyeing up both Michael and Gary.


"I might have plans of my own tonight," Michael hints, eyes looking towards
Gary and back to Dean.


This could have gone one of two ways, which boiled down to being told or
asking. Being told he was staying in the city, meant Michael was a man with
a mission and no man should try to stop him from carrying on with that
mission. On the other side of the coin, as prearranged, from some
conversation months ago, if Michael were to `ask' Dean if it were okay to
stay at a dude's pad, Dean should respond appropriately, according to their
set plan, telling Michael, in front of the dude, they had plans to do
something together.


Regarding such, Dean responds, "I see. When are you coming home?"


"Not until later tomorrow." But to let Dean know he didn't forget about his
playing exam at Julliard, "Wish me luck on my exam tomorrow, remember?"


"I remember," Dean replies. "Good luck with that and," he looks Gary up and
down, "good luck with him!"


Smiling, Michael says, "You too. Don't get the rope too tangled up!"


Dean hadn't realized Michael was listening in, saying, "You heard?"


"No," Michael first says, changes his mind, "well yeah, some of it. Mostly
though, Gary filled me in!"


Turning to Dean, Gary says, "I hope you're into the whips'n'chain
thingees?"


Michael cuts his new friend down, "That limp wrist ain't gonna whip anyone,
Gary!" he laughs his ass off.


Seeing Mariah take the stage, they quiet down.


Michael, with a second thought on his mind, doesn't want to become like
Stephen, a misplaced thought, leans over both Gary and Dean, "Hey, Stephen,
if you're looking for a secretary, my friend Jeff might be interested?"


It made Dean smile, having met Jeff Pflug that first time and several times
after, with and without a shirt, that football physique, bold, hairy pecs,
the squiggle of hair dividing the nice abs in half, gave his vote of
confidence, "Now there's a man to whip your ass into shape!"


"Careful," Gary warns, "not a good place to have an erection!"


With an answer to everything, Dean says, winking at Gary, "I'll have
Stephen loosen his belt, just in case I have to help him out!"


As it happens, after Mariah gave her performance, which put Michael in a
sentimental mood, growing up on carols, remembering a time when family was
`family', the three of them together, it gave Michael a sentimental
feeling. Without even thinking, he tightened the grip he had, with both
hands, on Gary's arms.


Soon, he was rubbing the side of his face on Gary's shoulder, which
prompted Gary to remark, "Sort of reminds one of being back home, huh?"


"How could you tell?" Michael looks up at his 44-year old cozy friend,
smiles.


"I'm sure we all have our stories to tell," Gary pats Michael's clutching
hands with his other hand.


Paying more mind to Gary, than Mariah, Michael says, "I can see the whole
tree in your glasses."


"Is this the place where I turn my head and move my lips closer to yours?"
Gary chuckles.


"Your head is already turned, dah?"


Whetting his, Gary leans into Michael's puckered lips.


Nothing happens!


"Why'd you stop?"


"In case you haven't noticed, Michael, I'm like old enough to be your
father!"


Michael was beyond that, "Well," he plays with one of Gary's coat buttons,
"do you think, just for tonight, you can be mine?"


"It's Christmas, not Valentine's day," Gary says, a little nervous.


"A dad and a comedian, aren't I a lucky guy!"


"Hey, wanna get a room?" they hear a cop say.


Michael was sure it wasn't about he and Gary. Looking next to them, they
catch Dean, pulling his hand out of Stephen's pants, both apologizing for
their `lewd' act.


"Sorry about that officer," Dean apologizes.


"No problem," he smiles back. "Me, I don't mind a little free gay porn, but
unfortunately this is a family event!"


Not on Dean's part, but Stephen, he was already having the cop write his
vitals down!


Finished, the cop moving on, Stephen says to Dean, "I love a `cop and his
prisoner' roleplay. How about you?"


Knowing where he stands, not sure if he would have a total interest, beyond
sex, "Um, do you think he has a spare uniform?"


All this was boring Michael, who had convinced Gary, age didn't matter,
then set about using his charms to woo Gary into kissing him!


"I think they're ignoring us," Dean says to Stephen.


Ignoring the two, Stephen says, "So, you spending the night at my place?"


Onto what Stephen liked doing to get turned on, Dean asks, "Where is it you
live... a dungeon?"


"If you're game, I know of one!" Stephen gets up.


"Sit!" Dean pulls on Stephen's jacket, making his ass plummet, "Michael
would never forgive me if we walked out on Mariah!"


However, she was finishing up, throwing kisses, of which Michael claimed he
caught one on the cheek.


"I think it's a snowflake," Gary holds out his hand, catching a few more!


"We leaving?" Dean says, without further explanation. "See you tomorrow
morning, Michael... or afternoon... or evening... Call me," he holds up an
imaginary phone, like `Call Me Maybe' impersonators would use.


"Probably the next day," Michael says. Then, forgetting about Dean for the
moment, "So, you want to walk me to Penn Station, Gary?"


Thinking that was already settled, Gary says, "Better yet, how about I walk
you to my place. I swear, it's not a dungeon?" he holds up two hands, like
he was being held up at gunpoint!


"Okay," Michael simply says. He's sure that was the case, but mentioned the
train station, in case of confusion, making sure Gary wanted to make the
connection.


Then, like a bad penny turning up, it's Dean again, "Hey, why don't you
give me your telephone number, just in case?"


Michael knew Dean was standing there for his own benefit. Even though, as
Dean and he found out, Gary was part of a whole class of friends, Stephen
Braddock and those others who could afford the lifestyle of living
high-on-the-hog in Manhattan. Being over protective, Michael figured it was
better, since he could do the same, make sure Dean was behaving himself!


This time when Dean was leaving, Michael was sure to enunciate, "I will see
you later, friend!"


Dean just cast a smile his way, mutual feeling, of something more than
friendship, brotherly, a genuine caring of each others' welfare.


While away, Stephen was busy on his cell. When the handy device had been
invented, the cell phone became more than a way to communicate business
transactions. It became a vehicle for instant, spur of the moment hook
ups. Right now came one of those times, personal business. Then right after
Stephen ended that call with a smile, his bell jingled again. With Dean
returning, Stephen said he had to go, for now, keeping evening plans a
secret.


"I hope you didn't mind," Dean filled Stephen in on why he suddenly had to
return to the bleacher area of viewing, "I don't know if you got the
feeling, but I feel a certain responsibility towards Michael."


How could Stephen not get the feeling, "We all have special people in our
lives."


Rather than mass transit, not which Stephen did at certain times rely on,
he had called for a personal limo, which now, at the curb, "I've taken the
liberty to arrange transportation."


"Does everyone who knows you, get this royal treatment?" Dean comments
about the driver holding the door open for them to hop in.


"Only for those special people!" Stephen says.


`That was nice,' Dean thought, climbing in the back seat, after Stephen had
entered, watching the department store magnate's ass fill the door.


They weren't headed back to The Hotel Mozambique, rather Stephen's posh
apartment, Midtown East, in the heart of the fashion industry.


Dean was confused at first, entering the lobby of the lux living tower,
because after they zipped up the elevator, it seemed to open upon a cafe
and thinking this a commercial floor, "How convenient to have morning
coffee. They serve continental breakfast?"


Stephen just smiled, knowing anyone he brought home would mistake the
`foyer' of his apartment for something more then it is, "Of course!"


Difference of opinion, walking beyond the many tables, "Uh," Dean points
his thumb over his shoulder, "that wasn't really a commercial cafe, was
it?"


Taking off his jacket, tossing it over a sofa, loosening his tie, Stephen
replies, "I sometimes have board meetings there. This way I'm not so
hurried in the morning to get up and get ready."


"Oh," Dean replies, thinking of why there were 6 square tables, complete
with chairs.


Five seconds later, the phone on the table buzzes off a tune, "That should
be Kevyn."


Dean had no idea, "Kevyn?"


When Stephen picks up, sure enough, the security guard in the lobby is
reporting to him a `Kevyn' was asking for him.


"Great! Send him up!" Stephen says with pizzazz!


One call Stephen received down near Rockefeller Center, was from Kevyn,
saying he had finished a design he had on the drawing table and wanted to
show it to him. More than the design, Stephen came up with a plan, how to
get out of his after-event engagement with Dean, to meet his buddies
downtown, at the `dungeon-club Christmas party', which, like meeting up
with Dean, had entirely slipped his mind.


"Do I know him?" Dean asks, putting down a picture he was looking at,
Stephen with the guy at Braddock's he met earlier, the dude who designed
the cock-pocket briefs.


Before Stephen could answer, at the door was `Kevyn', "I'm so glad I caught
you," Kevyn's attention was not on Stephen, but Dean, until he thought he
lingered too long.


"Kevyn, this is Dean. Dean, one of my most promising window designers,
Kevyn Callan-Caniff."


"Impressive," Dean thought, of the name, sounding like someone special,
well known, respected, admired. Other than illustrious descriptions,
shaking Kevyn's hand, he felt more of a buzz!


"Thanks," Kevyn replies, adding, "really it's J. Kevyn Callan-Caniff, but I
go by the name Kevyn."


"Oh? What's the `J' stand for?"


Blushing a little, because that's how Kevyn felt every time he had to
explain, "Jerry!"


Thinking through the name in his head, Dean would agree, but did not want
to further provide embarrassment, "Trust me, you would not want to know my
`other' name!"


By this time, all had been forgotten, about their host, Kevyn setting a
long, cylindrical container down, unzipping his coat, "Can't be any worse!"


"Give you a hint. My dad's nickname was `Rip'. My parents thought it would
be cute to give me that as a middle name. I get `rest in peace' all the
time, or attached to the surname. Either way, stoopid!" Dean chuckles.


"I didn't get your last name, `Rest-in-peace'?!"


"Cord," Dean replies.


"Oh, I get it," Kevyn smiles.


Dean says sarcastically, "Yeah, well hurry up and forget about it!"


"I already have," Kevyn smiles, stares.


"Well," Dean claps hands, "I wonder what has become of our host?"


"I know. I'm anxious for Stephen to see these sketches," Kevyn turns away
from Dean, bends over to uncap the container.


It makes Dean smile, seeing Kevyn's sweater hike up, the itty-bitty indent
of his crack showing!


"Maybe I can get your opinion firsthand."


Smiling, Dean would love to give a critique, "Of course. Anyway I can be of
help!"


Clearing the crystal lamp from the center of a trestle table, Dean gets an
idea of the history between Stephen and Kevyn, "Whatever you do, you don't
want to drop that," he passes the lamp onto Dean, instructing him to put it
on the smaller end table, at the side of the sofa.


"Sentimental value or something?"


"It belonged to his mother, which belonged to his grandmother and so and so
forth back in history," Kevyn informs him.


"Gee, suddenly I'm getting the jitters. I wonder why?"


Kevyn smiled, this time being the one to look upon two mounds, encased in
tight pants, Dean ever-so-carefully and gently, bending to affix the bottom
of the lamp to the top of the table.


Standing, he wipes both hands of the duty, "Easy as pie... all in one
piece!"


"Really, it comes apart. It's in two pieces."


"Oh, well, you coulda fooled me. What's next on the agenda?"


Ready to say, `drop the pants and turn around,' the thing which made
Kevyn's mouth water seconds ago, he changes up his thoughts, "Laying the
sketches out on the table."


Really, Dean had it on his mind to lay Kevyn out on the table... "Whatever
you say, boss!"


Coming out from the inner sanctum of the apartment, Dean frankly thought
Stephen would be dressed down, sexy, in or out of a robe, but then changes
thoughts, with Kevyn being present. However, he was wrong on all accounts,
Stephen in quite a radical getup.


Knowing what Stephen would participate in, to get his rocks off, Kevyn
says, "Going out later to your club?"


"Club?" Dean inquires, though he knew it wasn't everyday wear, the shiny
leather pants, tall, laced up boots and harness covering Stephen's chest,
which culminated at different points across his pecs, "How do they do it?"


"Do what?" Stephen looks down his abs-stripe.


"The little ringy-dingy's holding the straps together. Do they have to
custom fit you to make the rings perfectly set around your nips and the one
down there," Dean points to a few inches above the belt line, "matching up
perfectly with your navel?"


"Oh, well," Stephen says with an edge of proudness, "I always have my
leathers custom made!"


"Wait," Dean asks, "you're not going out, are you?"


"Let me ask you something?"


Folding arms across the middle, like a dad waiting for junior to tell of
his plans for the night, Dean waits.


"Ever have someone say to you, to do something, or be there, or else?"


He might not have known how a harness could be designed, to fan over a
man's hot chest, matching up in all the right spaces, drawing attention the
trio of hot spots, but he did know what went on behind closed dungeon
doors, Dean saying, "Let me guess. Whomever is calling you out, if you
don't go, either you're not their friend anymore, or if and when you meet
up, well let's just say, it'll be more painful than tonight?"


Kevyn seemed to know more, "Not which it would phase Stephen to experience
a double dealing of the whip across the ass?" he laughs.


It made Stephen smile. He could only wish. Kevyn, he hasn't experienced the
dungeon as a participant, but one time Stephen escorted him there. In fact,
he got a dude wondering if Kevyn was a `master', than a spectator!


"I see," is all Dean said.


"Well, I better be going before I rack up any demerits!"


Taking his jacket, which was leather, Stephen places it over his shoulders,
all the time booking for the elevator, via the cafe.


"He didn't even look at your plans," Dean says, coming closer to the table.


"I know, but I'm sure he'll take your word for it," Kevyn says, smiling.


"Wait a minute. I only met the boss today and a few minutes ago. He doesn't
know me from Adam!"


"I know, but if I tell him you like my drawings... Let's just say I have a
lot of influence with my uncle!"


"Oh-h... your uncle, is he?"


"Yeah. When I got my job I wasn't that smart. How do you think a guy does
that, without a person on the inside?"


Looking down at the impeccably neat drawings, Dean says, "It looks like you
learn fast."


"In more ways than one, which is why I kind of knew my drawings weren't the
reason he hurried me over here!"


First things first, Dean doesn't ask, but sums up, "Did Uncle Stephen order
you up, to fill the void in my evening?"


"Uh, yeah, but I'm not one of his `tricks' whom take up the slack when he
promises to meet up with a guy and reneges."


"Yeah, I met up with one of those today!" Dean knew they were both on the
same page.


Setting things straight, Kevyn says, "And just to give you the heads up,
I'm not dead set against meeting guys who are older than me."


"Does `uncle' know that?"


Kevyn smiles, says, "Of course. He's always looking out for my best
interests!"


Even though he could feel Kevyn's hand touch his, just lying there on the
table, Dean looks down, saying, "Is that your first play?"


"Would you want to know what the second one is?" Kevyn rotates his head,
looks into Dean's eyes.


Casually Dean says, "Sure. Why not? Go for it."


Going for it, Kevyn steps forward, running his hand, which lay on Dean's
hand, up the arm, to his shoulder and with both hands, places right and
left hands on either side of Dean's head.


"Intense," Dean says it, when they break apart, even though it wasn't a
kiss, but a stare. Still, closeness to a man became the match which got him
started!


Detached, Kevyn looks down at his drawing, which encompasses the exterior
framework of the main floor of Braddock's department store and few interior
platforms. Though, he doesn't dwell on totally inanimate objects or
discussion, "The day I came up with my brilliant idea, I was a mere fixture
in the gathering of Stephen's designer workforce," Kevyn's pencil drew a
line.


Beginning to feel attracted to Kevyn, right now Dean sensed it wasn't going
to happen, the touch and feeling which would lead to more intense
matters. Stepping to the adjacent side of the table, engaging in lesser
physical substance, "I know how it can be. It was the same with me, before
I struck out on my own."


"Oh, you have your own business?" Kevyn looked up, stopped pushing his
pencil.


"Coffee beans. I try selling people on my idea of adding one of the world's
most popular drinks to their establishment. Then, as you can probably
guess, once I've got them suckered in, it's repeat business."


Perhaps the match wasn't lit, but the attempt to do so left the wick still
smoldering, "Kind of like sex, huh?"


Comparing Michael to Kevyn, it was like reading two different books,
connected with the same underlying theme.


Michael, he was fresh on the subject of how a gay man lives, the upstarts
and the pitfalls. Knowing Kevyn was a grad student at NYU, put him in the
age-range of mid-20's. Dean, from part experience, coupled with intuition,
knew Kevyn had some kind of angle worked out, but for the life of him could
not figure which end was up!


Instead of wildly wielding a hammer, Dean hits the nail head on, "Speaking
of which, what is it you tend to look for in a relationship?"


It made Kevyn smile.


Dean, seeing a reaction which could say many things, "What?"


"Relationship. Are you meaning that in a general sense," or as Kevyn
undoubtedly was thinking mentally, `with me?'


"Of course," which had Dean not speaking his mind, only not wanting to push
himself into something, which in the long run would have the other person
pushing themselves away.


Setting the pencil down, Kevyn ventures way, way off course, "Have you
noticed the beautiful view one can get from the 17th floor?"


With Kevyn walking over to the nighttime view, a blanket of black,
shimmering lights patterned against the backdrop of the city, Dean was
figuring inside the glass, part of the awesome view. Yet, since his new
friend was playing it cool, so was he.


In a normal situation, he would step up behind the guy, do some slow magic
with his hands, massage, caress, close in on the back of the neck with lips
relaxed, delivering something casual, not forced. With circumstances as
they are, feeling the other person in the room wanting to take things slow,
he took up an `at ease' pose, while Kevyn stood with arms caressing
himself, "Yes, the view is spectacular."


For almost a minute the two stood there, gazing straightforward, until
Kevyn glances to his left and loosening his left arm, from tucked under the
gap between right elbow and side of his pec, allows it to drop, swing
towards Dean, "Kind of romantic?"


Reading the signs, Dean says, "It could be, if that's what two people are
wanting?"


Turning to Dean, the ginger-haired 24-year old says, "Thanks for not
jumping all over me."


If he was reading the situation correctly, Kevyn holding back, Dean knew,
"Well, I have to admit, it's not always been my approach, but at the same
time, I can be civilized, more into..."


He didn't get a chance to finish, Kevyn swinging around, blocking his view,
sealing off any other thoughts coming to mind!


"Sorry," Kevyn breaks off his surprise smooch, yet still holds his spell
over Dean, hands to the shoulders, keeping the embrace still fresh.


"For what?"


"For trying to please me and not yourself?"


"Don't they say, `variety is the spice of life?'"


"So I've heard," Kevyn very well knows.


"In my own opinion, I think it's also true, not rushing and jumping into
things, might leave a longer-lasting effect?"


Because a half hour was enough to decide for himself, Kevyn pops the
question, "Tell me something, what is it you're looking for in a
relationship? That is, if you're looking?"


Going back to that summer of first meeting up with Michael, he was head
over heels in love. Patience and waiting it out, taught him about his mind
rushing in, ahead of rationality, which Dean has not come across before,
"Aren't we all?"


"You're not like other guys, though," Kevyn has figured out.


"Not true. I think I am like some other guys. I don't think I'm alone in
waiting it out, pacing myself, making sure if I'm looking for something
longterm, I want it to be quality and not quantity."


This could have been interpreted in a few ways, Kevyn choosing the comedic
approach, "Do you shoot a big load?"


Thinking this a way out of line thought for Kevyn's benefit, Dean says, "I
would, for you, if that's what you're looking for. Hmm, maybe I got you all
wrong!"


For the past few years, working for Stephen Braddock, Kevyn has come across
a wide array of guys in his vast empire. It seems, everywhere he went, he
was running into guys who knew Braddock, from wandering the fashion
district, to meeting up with clients at The Mozambique Hotel, to running
into men right where he was standing now. Out of all of those, none were
phasing him more, "I might be able to get a rise out of you."


He was talking about himself, but when Kevyn mentions his own hardening of
the main artery, "Really, and I haven't even hardly touched you!"


Looking down, it wasn't for the benefit of seeing if Dean was hard, but the
lifeless state of his hands, "I'm getting the feeling you're not really
interested in young guys?"


"What gay man isn't," Dean says, but then backing down, "but why would age
mean a difference?"


"I'm glad to hear you say that, because for me, it does make a difference."


Instead of belaboring the issue, plaguing it down with all kinds of catchy
phrases, Kevyn shows Dean what he means, leaning in, fully embracing the
issue and pressuring the man with his lips!


Same timeframe, duplicity, very much the same was happening downtown,
except Michael and Gary were feeling up each others' bare bod, working each
other over with hands and lips!


"Oh-h-h...Mm-mm, ah, ah..." Michael expressed being turned over like a
pancake on a sizzling grill.


Gary never missing a beat, kept lips connected, until he had Michael on his
back, which gave him free reign to slide his tongue south.


Now and then, Gary would pop up for air, "Are you okay with this?"


A little tired of being interrupted six times in almost a straight row of
minutes each, Michael replies, "I'll let you know when you're not!"


Michael had wondered if Dean could ever be like Gary, very, very, very,
very oral, licking him from the base of the neck, stopping to suckle on
each nip, which made him feel so crazy he thought he might shoot! Then the
sense of pulsing his hard shaft ceased, with Gary orally working over,
wetting down each of his hairy pecs.


When Michael went to feel up his chest, like a wet dish rag, Gary stops and
like accusing, "What are you doing?"


Well, no one has ever... "Like, a guy has never done that to me before!"


Allowing Michael's hand to graze freely, from being pinned to the sides of
his bod, Gary says with renewed excitement, "Well get ready... the best is
yet to come!"


Michael didn't doubt that for one bit! He unconsciously thought of running
his own hands over his thoroughly wet pecs, but Gary beat him to it. Not
only running slimy hands over his soft brown, wet chest fur, but stopping
to pinch...


"Oh, wow!"


"What?" Gary looks up, after plucking his tongue out of Michael's navel.


"Nothing." But it wasn't just nothing which was making Michael hot, "I
mean, your hands."


"What about them?" Gary's tongue was getting impatient.


"Pinching my nips. It's like electric lines right to my cock, that's what!"


"Oh, is that all," Gary stops talking and gets with the oral action once
again, sneaking a finger of spit away to lube up tweaking Michael's
nips... without peeking and keeping his fingers very busy, Gary's tongue
slides lower and lower!


Meanwhile, Dean is busy discovering, what seemed to be off-standish,
translated to making love to a guy much in Michael's league, before he went
to work on his friend's transition. With the sounding of a clock chime,
Dean stopped unbuttoning Kevyn's shirt, "Oh my god, I almost forgot about
Michael!"


"What about him?" Kevyn asks, feeling a draft on his chest.


"Cell, cell, where's my cell?"


Taking it in stride, knowing Dean was nervous over leaving Michael off, on
his first real male sex encounter, sings in canon, "Heigh ho the derry oh,
where is Dean's cell!"


"Not funny!" Dean says, even though he thought it a little cute, speed
dialing Michael. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."


"If Michael is as busy as you were being, it'll probably go to..."


As Kevyn predicts, Dean leaves the cliche, `call me when you get this.'


"I wouldn't worry a bit," Kevyn slides over the cushions of the sofa, said
like there's an inside story to his comment.


"I know you told me," Dean says, "that Uncle Stephen and Gary are business
partners, but..."


"Uh," Kevyn loudly butts in, "but they are more than that."


He knew he would get a reaction from Dean, partners or merely,
"Fuck-buddies?"


"No," Kevyn leans towards Dean, pinning his back to the bulky arm of the
contemporary sofa, "you see, Uncle Stephen, whom I call `Stephen', so
there's no favoritism to be seen, when not in public, I call Gary, `Uncle
Gary'!"


He waited for Dean to fit the pieces together.


"Uncle?! Like, how does that go?"


He knew he would get slapped with the question, "Easy. Uncle Stephen has a
sister and a brother. One of them is my mother and the other, Uncle Gary."


"Wait a minute. If I'm thinking straight, your Uncle Gary's last name is
Wynston?"


With each answer, Kevyn, whom thought, if he played his love life like a
card game, could come out of this, not only with a boyfriend, but an
unofficial `in-law', whom has been the focus of Dean's caring attention.


"Uncle Stephen is a Braddock. Aunt Sue and Uncle Gary are Wynston's. Same
mother, different fathers. Get it?"


"Oh," Dean replies, "sure I get it."


"Good," Kevyn lifts Dean's arm, placing it over the back of his shoulders,
nestling his own shoulder in the pit of Dean's arm, "because I was getting
a little worried that I would need to draw you a diagram!"


Realizing it, preoccupied with Michael, Dean sees how Kevyn has weasled his
way into his arms, "No diagram necessary, but you might have to give me a
short summary of where you think this is going?"


"Well," Kevyn abandons his protective nature, going for Dean's belt, "I
figure, since your ass is parked here and you haven't cast me off onto the
floor, you're as interested in me, as I am in you!"


"Apparently!" Dean looks down, not which he could feel the leather talon
slip through his belt buckle. "Tell me though, why the change?"


"Change? What change?" Kevyn finds it sexy to have it explained to him!


"Back-offish, standoffish, off-the-wall, whatever you want to call it and
then suddenly you're going at me like Jimmy Fanz in heat!"


"I hope you're as hairy!" Kevyn says.


Not waiting, he lifts Dean's sweater, only to be frustrated by a shirt
underneath. Good thing he undid the belt and button of Dean's pants, making
it easier to lift the shirt.


Nonetheless, feeling a sexy jolt of his own, Dean helps, pulling at the
tales of the shirt and sweater both, exposing his robusto, hairy front,
"Like it?"


In the scene, Kevyn replies, "Woof!"


Saying the opposite of what he means, Dean responds to the 24-year old's
facial attack, "Whoaaa! Slow down, will ya?"


Doing the separation himself, Dean pulls the sweater from the tee shirt,
pulling each arm out, "Oops! Sorry!" he says, having elbowed Kevyn in the
ear!


It's like, his words went unheeded, Kevyn wrapped up in what he was doing,
just wipes the spittle from his mouth.


So as not to repeat the same thing, Dean ops to leave the collar of the tee
shirt at the back of his neck. Then, noticing a draft in there, looks upon
Kevyn, shirt where he left off, half unbuttoned.


Without lips leaving Dean's bod, Kevyn peels his own shirt off.


"Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" Dean exclaims his pleasure of viewing what he can see of
Kevyn's ginger-dark brown fur.


Sitting up, Kevyn displays his completely furry front, placing hands behind
his neck, "You like?"


"Woof!" Dean says, which translates from the `hirsute' to English, `Yup!'


Downtown, things had heated up rather quickly and just as Dean and Kevyn
were getting down to busy, Michael and `Uncle' Gary were finishing up.


After giving Michael quite an oral workout, Gary had sunk into the bed,
lying on Michael's chest, applying some hot lip action.


At first, Michael tried bowling Gary over, but he was a little much to
handle, "Um, you're crushing my lungs, sort of?"


Taking the hint, Gary grabbed Michael by the shoulders and flipping over
like a flapjack on the griddle, turned the two of them together. Of course,
his lips were busy, so they couldn't say anything.


Like, Michael should have thanked Gary, but manners and courtesy weren't
part of the heated sexual protocol. In fact, when Michael felt time to
either shove his cock down Gary's throat, or up his ass, the only thing he
could think of saying, "I'm going to come. Should I do it on my your
chest?" he sat up on his hind legs.


"Depends," Gary smiles.


"Oh what?" Michael says, stroking himself, the back of his knuckles grazing
Gary's shaft.


"If you're going to be back... again... and again and again and again?"


"You mean," Michael gulped, sure his meaning was, "you want me to fuck
you?"


It's what he wanted, but not without condition, which Gary again vaguely
put it, "Not unless you're going to come back again and again and again?"


It's then Michael gets it, not which he doesn't think it himself, "You like
me, don't you?"


Big grin on his face, still stroking, Gary responds, "Woof!"


In slow, stuttering words, Michael says, "Then, do you want me... to... um,
like..."


"Woof! Do me again and again and again?"


"You're a sick pup," Michael said, but if he waited any longer to make up
his mind, talking would have made the moment go bust.


"Like, how should we do this?"


First fuck, Michael wasn't sure.


Quick as a bunny, Gary reaches in the side table, tossing Michael a condom
and tube of lube, then flips over onto all fours.


Fortunately, having been tutored by Dean, Michael knew a few positions for
fucking and was glad Gary picked one of the hassle-free, which left his ass
almost in Michael's face. Dean had mentioned he could do his own lube job,
but his tongue on Gary's ass crack, seeping down into the hole, then
finger-feeling, where his tongue had just been, `yech', it didn't
float. So, after forming the condom onto his cock, giving it a few shakes,
which Michael figured it hadn't shrunk at all, squeezed some lube out. All
the while, he sensed Gary keeping himself stiff, which he did have to
mention, "I hope I'm not keeping ya?"


"I'm sure the wait will be worth it, woof!"


Keeping himself in excellent, muscled, tip-top shape, it wasn't tough for
Gary, `at his age', to contort his shoulders, turn and give Michael an evil
grin!


Michael rolled his eyes at this `woof' stuff, yet thought it kinda cute,
putting on a show with those smiley lips. "Okay, here goes nothing
ya-ole-woofer!"


Gary smiled, one which Michael could not see. Michael was nervous, so he
judged. He figured, if it came to it, which it did, Gary had to abandon his
cock, reach back with both hands, once the tip of the condom touched his
ass, pulls back with brute strength, same time feeling something pierce his
portal...


"OH-H-H-H-H-WOW!"


After that, Gary didn't have to do much of anything, except `hold onto his
hat', with Michael riding him harder than a steed out of a rodeo gate!


%


©2014 T. Chase M©Phee


`Up oN THe WoOfToP...' and developing segments of this story, may not be
sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the
author, or Santa Bear and his little cubs don't visit you next year.