Date: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 09:02:42 -0500
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: Up oN THe WoOfToP... 04

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... 04
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


^o^


%


Next morning, Dean waking up next to Kevyn, his back was to the
lad. Turning over, it was like a sudden surprise slapping him the face, but
the tingling sensation goosing him all over, as if an aftershock from the
`big one!'


Differently, in a new day's light, tall glass panels allowing the morning
to stream in, the sheet wound up around Kevyn's loins, having him to think,
with a deep exhale, `this is how man pictures a Greek god!'


Coming up with a splendid plan, Dean thought it would be nice to surprise
Kevyn with breakfast. Slowly, he moved the one foot he had under the cover,
so as not to disturb the only part tucked under the lad, tangled around the
thigh, encompassing both nuggets and candy cane. Stopping for a moment,
Dean had to think, "Yeah," sums it up to himself, about Kevyn's cock,
feeling it up with his hand last night, it did sort of take on the shape!
Successful, having carefully outed himself from the bed without waking the
sleeping beauty, he heads out the door.


>From Kevyn's quick tour of his uncle's rather lux, upright
condo-apartment, Dean discovers the immensity and on his own, strikes out
to find the kitchen from memory.


Snagged, Kevyn appears at the door, calling down the hallway, "Trying to
sneak out on me?"


"Sure," Dean says sarcastically, clutching up his junk, "thought I'd give
the neighborhood a scare!"


Slowly walking down the hallway, minus the wrapped up family jewels, Kevyn
says, "Tell you the truth, last night when I was licking them balls, I was
a little scared myself!"


Dean chuckled, Kevyn thinking it kind of funny himself!


Thinking on how Kevyn was savoring each one of his balls, chowing down on
his cock, then finally experiencing it, up Kevyn's rear, "I didn't scare
you away?"


"You didn't give me a chance! Where was I to go, with my head up against
the wall and you coming at me from behind, like a drill sargeant?"


Playing with Kevyn, Dean says, "If you didn't want me to `give you the
drill', you should've said something!"


Smiling, Kevyn says, bumping his chest up against Dean, "Okay, I give
in. Yeah, it felt good and as far as scary? Um-m, after the initial,
`fulfilling' shock, it felt pretty damn good!"


"Well, just to let you know, I believe you."


"About what?" Kevyn's perplexed.


"Your first fuck?"


"Oh, that."


"I can always tell, when a guy is nice and tight!"


Another show of misunderstanding, Kevyn asks, "Oh, I won't be tight for you
the next time?"


Not sure if there was going to be a next time, which Dean had hoped for,
"Like, when?"


Casually, Kevyn bats it back, "Tonight... Tomorrow night, the next night
and the night after that?"


Which brought them up to, "And the night before Christmas?"


"Bring on the North pole!" Kevyn lets the invitation stand.


"With my big, scary candy cane?!"


They both laugh, hug, cuddle and kiss, Kevyn saying, "I know, from
experience, Uncle Stephen is a lousy cook. Therefore, if we want breakfast,
we'll have to get it elsewhere."


"That's good, because I thought I would give Michael a call and ask him if
he'd like to meet us... if that's all right with you?"


"From all you said about Michael, I'd like to meet him in person!"


It was settled, both showering, then Kevyn helping Dean to pick something
out from his uncle's wardrobe.


Turning into a regular try-on session, Dean stands before a mirror, dressed
in, assuming, $200 slacks and the accompanying jacket, no shirt, "Hm-m, I
think this looks kind of good on me. What do you think?"


Coming out of the closet, two hangers over a finger, two dress shirts,
Kevyn spots the space between the jacket buttons, "Mm-mm, I would
definitely say it looks yummy on you!"


"Well, if you try to eat me, we'll be late for Michael!"


"How about a taste?" Kevyn carelessly tosses the shirts to an armchair.


Approaching Dean, hands quickly relieve him of the jacket, so he can feel
up all hat hot man-hair, "Mm, love the taste of fur on my tongue."


Giggling, Dean says, "More tongue, less talk!"


>From the shower, Kevyn had put on only a pair of briefs.


Under Dean's dressy slacks was... Nothing!


"Hey, did you like what I did to you last night?" Kevyn asks, looking up
from his knees, unfastening the doohickey on Dean's pants, clasping the top
together.


Thinking of at least six things, Dean inquires, "Uh, which thing are you
talking about?"


"When I was tongue-massaging your navel?"


"Oh. That. Yeah, it was kind of unique, though," he turns to look in the
mirror, Dean commenting on it, "your nibbling around the edge... looks like
I got ring-around-the-collar, except a red ring around my navel?"


"What a baby!"


>From fingering his own navel, to looking down upon Kevyn's sweet, handsome
face, "Like, what's that about?"


"It's not like I tattooed your navel? I mean, give it a day and it'll go
away."


"Who's complaining," Dean smiles. "Matter of fact, I think it felt kind
of," searches for the word, "awesome!"


"That's cool," Kevyn shares, "because it feels really good licking a deep,
sexy, pungy, hairy navel!"


"Stop it... You're going to get me hard!"


It floated Kevyn's boat to hold off on the blowjob until later, thinking
there was no sense on cutting down on the volume of the orgasm which would
come later.


Not only did Kevyn pick out a suit, light blue dress shirt, tie and socks,
he picked out a few other threads which was like shopping at Braddock's,
which Dean thinks, "Isn't your uncle going to miss this stuff?"


"That's okay. Blame me. He doesn't care if I borrow and don't give
back. There's a whole store, where that came from!"


Strangely, Kevyn found Dean and Uncle Stephen to be about the same size,
right down to the shoes. Because he lived there, he often saw his uncle
walking around in the buff. Comparing his uncle to Dean, in other respects,
he knew the fuck last night would be much more spectacular, than Uncle
Stephen could shell out. Not from firsthand, but Uncle Stephen would often
have unexpected guests!


With both arms filled to the gills with clothing, Dean says, "Great, now
what am I supposed to do with all of this?"


"Right this way, sir," Kevyn treated Dean like a Braddock's customer!


Walking down the hallway, back into the room they slept in, Dean, a bit
disoriented by the size of the living space, says, "This is where we slept
last night."


"You catch on quick!" Kevyn laughs. "This is also `my' room."


"Really?" Dean says, not which he did not look around last night and think
of the room as a guest chambers, complete with a sitting room. Last night,
while stripping Kevyn down, he looked over the lad's shoulders, thinking it
was the biggest Tv he's ever seen, hanging on a wall.


"Right. When my mom shipped me down from Boston, she appointed Uncle
Garrett the person to find me a place to stay. Uncle Garrett approached
Uncle Stephen and said his place was the most logical."


Dean comes out with, "Don't get me wrong here. I'm sure you can take care
of yourself, but staying with your uncle, it's easier to keep tabs on you?"


"Like, oh-my-god! That's the same thing Uncle Garrett used as weight when
suggesting it to Uncle Stephen. I mean, if anything were to `ever' happen
to me... Well, you just don't know, `The Wrath of Mom!"


"Let's hope I never do," Dean acts scared shit!


"Oh, you have nothing to worry about, about her."


"Why's that?" Dean still stands there, weighted down with apparel.


"Because," Kevyn smiles, "I like you. If I like you, you'll be a shoo-in
with her!"


"She has that much confidence in you?"


Kevyn finally realizes nothing being done, walks over to a closet,
"Absolutely! She did caution, when I started to go to school in New York
City, not to outright fall in love with anyone. But..." Kevyn laughs as he
says this, "too late!"


"Oh, you've fallen in love with someone?" Dean plays dumb. "Do I know him
or her?"


"It's definitely not a `her'!"


Perhaps a little insecure about Kevyn divulging a name, his, he skirts the
subject, "So, where do I put these clothes?"


Kevyn knew Dean evaded the subject, but that was okay. At least he had one
thing in his favor, a tight ass!


Meanwhile, after receiving the call from Dean, Michael got himself
together.


In doing so, Gary had stirred awake just as Michael was zipping up his
pants, "Where are you going, my love?"


Michael couldn't help by smile, saying, "`Your love' is getting dressed to
meet Dean and his friend, Kevyn, at The Rainbow Room. Coming?"


Leaving room for a jab, Gary says, "Oh, I had enough of that last night!"


"I `meant', coming with me to meet Dean?"




First thing to cross Gary's mind was, after the extensive sex they had last
night, tearing the bed to shreds, "Did you shower?"


"Uh, no. Why?" Michael freezes at the button of his pants.


Walking over by Michael, Gary jokes, "Oh, never mind that question. I can
smell it for myself!"


With a straight face, something he picked up from Dean, regarding any
comment without a reaction, says, "Rude!"


"Oh! That! Well, if you're intending on going for brunch at The Rainbow
Room, they won't let you in, in `those' clothes, let alone the stench when
you walk in the door!"


Letting go of the pants, which causes them to fall open in a `v', Michael
says, "I smell that bad?"


"Some would call it `bad'. Me?" Gary leans over, takes a whiff of Michael's
pubes, "I'd call it sweet!"


Rolling his eyes, Michael says, "You're a sick pup!"


It then occurs to Gary, "By the way, what's the hurry in dressing? I'm
thinking something I don't really hope is true?"


Knowing what it looked like, Michael says with honesty, "Like, you think
what we did last night was a one-time thing and I'm trying to sneak out on
you?"


"No, not really," Gary says, lying through his teeth. Then, confessing,
because it's good for the soul, "Uh, yeah, that's sort of what I was
thinking."


"More rudeness! Honestly, Gary, I was letting you sleep, since you got all
perspired and worked up from me fucking you, I thought I'd let you
sleep. Besides, with you heckling me about, `the best fuck you ever got,'
you think I'm going to pass up compliments like that?"


Gary could see Michael wasn't really angry at him. Cuddling up, because
Michael hadn't showered yet, so they were both ripe, "Oh baby, forgive me
for even bringing something like that up?"


Last night in bed, sex was like, `sex,' but this morning, Gary hugging him,
Michael couldn't get over, it was like hugging his dad, which he doesn't
remember ever doing, but equated it to hugging Dean, "That's okay. I had my
assumptions too."


A different impression, Gary asks, "I hope our difference in age is still
comfortable with you?"


"Of course," Michael replies. To show it was, Michael grabs the only
`attached' article Gary had `on', his cock, saying, "C'mon pop, show me
where the shower is!"


Startled, yet sensual, Gary replies, "Mm, I could get used to this, son!"


Since it was a nice, pleasant, 39 degrees outdoors, Dean and Kevyn met
Michael outside.


Kevyn greets Gary, "Uncle, aren't you going to the office today?"


"The nice thing about being founder and CEO, there's dozens under me who
can take my place!"


Michael smiles, thinking he would only want Gary `under' him. He didn't get
to enjoy afterthoughts, with Dean introducing Kevyn, but then, `there' was
another dreamy thing to think about, "Hey, Kevyn!"


Pairing off, the `dads' walked ahead of their `sons'.


Conversing, staying on course, not to get lost, Michael learns Kevyn, since
he's graduated college, with a degree in design, working on a masters in
business, "I'm from Boston, but chose to get away from the drama of home
and attend NYU. My mom rented an apartment for me and I lived there until I
graduated. Lately I've been staying with Uncle Stephen, because he goes
away a lot and his apartment is way cooler than mine!"


"Good reason. Gary's place is like, really amazing too!"


Laughing, like he cut a joke, Kevyn says, "When you've got loot, you can
live in `amazing!'"


Out of the four of them, Michael learns he was the only middle class person
among them, who didn't have `green clout.'


Kevyn, from Boston, before he came to attend NYU, in New York City, lived
on Commonwealth Ave.


Comparing notes, Michael told of living in a moderate size home, in West
Windsor, New Jersey. When his dad passed away, the house was already paid
for, but the other expenses slowly drained their bank account.


When he hears Kevyn describe `the neighborhood' in Boston, growing up in a
$5,000,000.00 condo, Michael exclaims, "Shut the fuck up!"


All Kevyn could do was laugh, saying, "Yep, it is what it is!"


Dean had to lean in to Michael's ear, "Um, they don't take kindly to people
announcing themselves around here, like that?!"


"Sorry," Michael replies, but adds, "Do you know how much Kevyn's apartment
costs?"


Dean knew. Michael wasn't the only one finding out about Kevyn's history,
though he corrected, "It's a condo, not an apartment."


"Pardon me," Michael limps his wrist, sticks his pinky out.


"Get used to it," he catches up with Michael, Kevyn moving ahead with
Gary. "In case you don't know, Gary is one of the 10 wealthiest men in New
York!"


"I know," Michael says, but shrugs it off, like the money doesn't matter,
even though nice to have, "but I think he's a cool guy."


"You're getting along?" Dean probes.


Michael says, like he's proud, "Uh yeah. In bed, we're compatible!"


"Aha!" he keeps his tone in sync with their conversation, "All my tutoring
has paid off!"


"We, like didn't fuck around?"


"Like, oh-my-god, don't go `smart' all of a sudden on me. If it wasn't for
me, you wouldn't know your way into a package of condoms!"


"Oh yeah," Michael says sarcastically, "thanks for showing me how to rip it
open with my teeth, while my other hand is busy!"


Smiling, Dean says, "You're welcome. Anything else you want to thank me
for, while gratitude is on your mind?"


"Probably. I'll thank you when it comes up."


Elevator opening up to a circular room, Michael's eyes are wide open,
seeing the set up, "Have you ever been here?"


Dean says, "Once, before they remodeled, during some New Year's Eve party a
guy brought me to."


"What guy?"


"Don't remember," Dean is truthful, surveying the changes, "but they sure
did a good job. Elegant, huh?"


Michael thought so, but even more, the waiters, servers, even cleanup crew,
he could swear they were all hired on solely good looks, "I'll say!"


His head moving to and fro, Dean had an idea Michael's mind was in the
gutter, "I meant the Christmas decorations!"


"That's what I meant," Michael was thinking the same!


Instead of confronting each other with what was and what was not, the two
reported to their perspective dates, Kevyn saying to Dean, "How do you like
the place?"


Instead of us his own ideas, Dean borrows Michael's, "Hot place!" he pushes
Kevyn's chair in.


Michael mimicking Dean, does the same, Gary saying, "Thanks, babe!"


Dean's eyes were on Michael, regarding Gary's thankfulness, silently
speaking, `Oh really?'


Michael responds with shrugging both shoulders, then smiling!


Right away their waiter came over, which was the first smile Kevyn and
Michael share, watching Dean and Gary's eyes following him from the kitchen
access. It was even confirmed, Dean with wishful thinking, "I hope he's
ours!"


Gary, whom had been a regular patron, locks eyes with the head waiter,
calling him over with his hand.


"Excuse me a moment," Gary said, standing for a brief chat and smuggling an
undetermined amount of greenbacks into the waiter's hand.


When the man in tuxedo reported, the head honcho bends towards the waiter's
ear, "Remember our talk earlier, Griggs?"


Not crazy about working under a `dictator', Sander corrects his boss, who
could never get his name correct, or else didn't, on purpose, "It's
`Van'-Grignon," making sure he emphasized his dear mom and not homophobic
stepfather.


"Step back here a moment."


The guys at the table thought it kind of rude, why the waiter, in the
middle of pouring out glasses of water, still clutching Michael's glass in
his hand, wondered what that was about?


"Sorry for the delay," the waiter sets Michael's glass down, begins to fill
it.


"Not a problem," Michael replies. "I wasn't thirsty anyway!" Feeling
chummy, the waiter seeming about the same age as himself, Michael asks,
"So, what's with `Hitler'?"


He caught Sander's smile, but it quickly disappeared. If by chance Sander's
boss heard what he said, it might mean deeper trouble.


"Oh, nothing. Like I said," it was apparent Sander was under the gun, "I'm
sorry for the delay."


Then, it's Michael who notices, Gary looking up at Sander, "I know you from
some place."


"Where do you know him from?" Michael asks, because the waiter was just
doing his job.


He searched his mind for a minute, "It'll come to me."


By this time, Sander had rounded the table. Dean probably shared the same
feeling as the rest of them, the waiter very cute, but also on his side
where it came to the head waiter pulling him aside, also mocking Gary,
"Well, I don't know you, but I'd sure like to!"


Meant to criticize, but nicely, Kevyn put on his wickedest impression of
evil, "What was that, Dean?"


Opening up the circle around himself, Dean replies, "What I meant, Kevyn,
dearest, darling, is `we' want to get to know, Sander," Dean drinks from
the goblet, just placed in front of him.


After Sander passes, back to Michael, Kevyn says, "You're good at covering
up fast, you know?"


Dean knew it. It's something he credited himself with, like a strength of
the nature about him, but didn't gloat, "When I said, `I', I meant `we'."


"I'm not sure I'm into something like that."


"Like what?" Dean asks.


Kevyn says, "You know, three in a bed, rub-a-dub-dub?"


"That's a tub."


"Same difference, but without the water!"


Meanwhile, Gary had remembered where he saw Sander, at least his picture,
"I had an appointment downtown, with an old friend. He had his family
picture on his desk. I could have sworn the lad in the picture was you, but
it could have been an older shot?"


Half-serious, Sander says, "On the grounds it might incriminate, would it
be all right to evade an answer?"


In all seriousness, it might not have been Sander's father, but being he
was under the impression this group, or at least one in particular, the one
called, `Gary', in all likelihood, it might have been him in the picture,
sitting on a financial executive's desk.


"It's not important," Gary swept it under the rug. Though, there was a
sense of, if this were the same lad, what did the father do to cause
dislike? He's known Van-Grignon for years. Not too personal, he was a fine
financial advisor.


Michael, he was more interested in other things, than bloodlines, "What do
you do when you're not waitering?"


"I study art," Sander wasn't sure he wanted to share, information, having
too many details seeping back to his father, turns to Gary, "but you'll
keep this confidential?"


"Of course he will," Michael guarantees, a knocking knee under the table,
hinting of it!


"Of course," Gary reiterates, thinking something like, knee against knee
closed the seam of his own legs up, which made for stimulation of the
family jewels!


"I go to the Brooklyn campus of the Pratt Institute."


"And you study art?" Michael guessed.


"I've always been interested in art. I..."


Standing there, talking about himself, it caught the eye of the head
waiter, who again approaches.


Before he could even speak, Gary backs out from the table, which sandwiched
himself between both employees, saying, "Excuse me, a word with you,
please?"


Michael wondered what that was about, but happy, knowing Sander was about
to get a tongue-lashing, not, "You were saying?"


Dean and Kevyn were interested as well, however, under the table they were
playing right hand-left hand squeezies!


"I study art, but I have a few, almost a dozen works I am interested in
displaying at a gallery. Only problem, is finding a gallery."


Going out on a limb, a very long one, as Dean had clued Michael, one in
which, if you were wrong, you would have help snapping off a twig, falling
to the ground, uses himself as go between, "Gary's my boyfriend, but he's
not the jealous type." There. Michael had used the exact line Dean had told
him was a shoe-in, but left the thinking behind the response,
wishy-washy. Only the boyfriend's name was different.


Michael was expecting one of two responses, either `not gay', or, "Oh, I'm
sorry. I wasn't trying to flirt with you."


Still, he could be straight, Michael approaching the tip of the limb, "My
mistake. You probably already have a boyfriend, huh?"


With such entertainment, plus outcome, Dean and Kevyn thought it a kicker,
to see if Michael was going to wind up flat out on the floor!


"Not yet."


`Whew!' Dean breathed easier, let the worried steam out of his collar.


Not dwelling on himself, nor how Michael `knew', Sander goes forth, "I
wasn't sure about you."


"In what respect?" Michael sips.


"Don't get me wrong, but I thought perhaps your boyfriend was, your
father?"


Michael didn't have to say anything, Gary stopping back, "Well," he sits,
scoots himself in and almost excited, "we don't have to worry about
Michael's `Hitler' bothering us for the rest of the meal!"


"What did you say to him?" Michael asks.


Of course, Dean and Kevyn wanted to know. Sander, it would be kind of
intriguing.


"It's amazing what one can find out, if one only asks?" Gary giggles.


Sarcastically, Dean asks, "Are we going to hear it all at once, or before
each course?"


Turning to Dean, Gary says, "It's amazing how charming a man Michael turned
out, under your tutelage?"


"Are you going to get on with it? Today?"


Sander was under the impression the four had been friends and lovers for a
long, long time. Unlike his boss, the friends could mock each other out and
still laugh about it.


"Well," Gary cracks his knuckles, before getting started, "come to find
out, Sander's daddy `thinks' he's the head cheese around here, but really,
when Sander turns 21, it will be in his power to very well kick the head
waiter out the door!"


"Wow," Michael says, thinking of how high the elevator took them, but
without much concern, "that's a long drop!" he laughs.


Infectious, Sander catches himself giggling, but saying, "I don't know
about the Rainbow Room, but I know I can't touch my late mom's inheritance
for another 3 years, except for college tuition."


"Well," Gary places a reassuring hand on Sander's arm, "now we all know."
He was also a little fired up over the man he did financial dealings
with. Here was an 18-year old darling, not much different from Michael,
being treated unfairly, "In the mean time, if you need anything between now
and turning 21, come to me and we'll see what we can work out."


Inside info, Sander says, "Does that include hanging out with your
boyfriend?"


Joking, Gary says, "You can borrow Michael anytime you need him, except
when I do!"


"Get that in writing, Michael," Dean advises.


Settling down to business, Michael looked at the front and back of the
menu, one sheet, asking, "Where's the prices?"


Before Sander could answer, Gary was saying, "What the heck do you care?
Breakfast is on me!"


"Hmm," Michael smiles, "that might be something horny to wake up to?!"


"Um, Michael?" Dean is there to critique his ward's manners in public, even
thought tables were well-separated.


Kevyn, already on it, "Mm-mm, don't give me any ideas!"


Dean just rolled his eyes, kept entertained, hearing stuff like, Kevyn's
idea of eggs, sunnyside up, one over each pec. Michael, his big rush was a
bagel, horse-shoed over Gary's cock, which also gave one the impression
more than one would fit!


Another topic, Michael told of his birthday coming up, December 24, which
Dean had already formulated some plans, including breakfast, lunch and
dinner.


It was also discovered, Kevyn's birthday December 27, Sander chiming in,
"Oh wow."


"What?" Michael and Kevyn ask at the same time.


"Mine is December 28!"


"Why couldn't we be December babies?" Gary asks Dean, not which it really
mattered.


Dean mocks Gary, "You still celebrate?"


Getting even, Gary asks, "I was about to ask you the same!"


Michael gets an idea, "We should do it together, all three of us."


"Mm-m, can us old men get in on that?" Dean asks, screwing up Michael's
true intentions.


Being kind, Michael says of his dear mentor, "Get your mind out of the
fuckin' gutter for once, Dean?"


Acting adamant, Dean says, "I like my mind in the gutter, for your
information!"


"I kind of like the idea myself," Gary gloats!


The gang still getting to know Sander, he says, "I'm more the relationship
status guy."


Smartest remark so far, Michael says, "Then we need to get you into a
relationship! But who?"


"Don't look at me," Dean says, placing a palm to his chest, "you're the one
with all the hookups lately!"


"Me?" Michael differs in opinion. "It's `your' Kevyn's Uncle Stephen who
stood you up, remember?"


Snooty-like, Dean says, "Well, if it wasn't for me getting stood up, you
would never have gotten Cubby all tied up and at your mercy!"


After saying it, Dean, whom would never do or say anything which would hurt
Michael, realizes what he's said in front of Gary.


Too late, Gary shifts his ass around in his chair, almost facing Michael,
"Oh? Who's Cubby? What's this with the rope? I thought you weren't into..."


Something he's also learned from Dean, not which his mom hadn't beat his
mentor to it, facing the music, "It's not like how it seems. It was a
one-shot deal. I'm not into that S&M stuff, like you're thinking, okay?"


Smiling, Gary says, "Oh what a shame!"


The gang got back to talking with Sander, whom did more casual chat than
waitering. Gary even had the nerve, something `over' the head waiter, to
call him over to fetch a pitcher of water, when theirs went dry.


Michael turns to Gary, asking in a whisper, "So, you going to tell me what
you said, which turned the monster into a mouse?"


Not getting it at first, after the head waiter set about filling glasses,
Gary replies, "Oh, that. Let's just say, I got all the dirt on how Sander's
father is giving him the shaft..."


Jumping to conclusions, Michael questions, "Sander and his father are
getting it on?"


"No, moron, what I meant is, since Sander does not yet have the monetary
freedom, except to pay for art school. First off, he's not Sander's
biological father that has been yanking him around on a chain."


"Hm, that explains some of it, I suppose."


"If Sander had a bank account to draw from, he wouldn't have to wait tables
and concentrate on his work. That's why," Gary stutters, sits on his
thought for the moment, "with your permission, I'd like Sander to come stay
with us for a while, until he gets better situated with some income."


"Waitering?" Michael, right now, evaded the real question, giving himself
some time to think about the boarding arrangement.


"No and yes. Y'see, while I was chatting with the head honcho, I managed to
talk him into keeping up false pretense about Sander working here, when he
will not be working here at all, but managing an art gallery for me
downtown."


"You have an art gallery downtown?" Dean cuts in on the conversation.


Sander had run to the kitchen for the main course, one in which there was
no price on the menu for the eggs and fish, so Michael didn't know he would
be savoring an $800 breakfast!


"Not yet!" Gary laughs it off.


"But you promised him," Michael means Sander, "a job and there's no place
for a job?"


"All I need is a little loft space and like his job description goes,
Sander's job will be to fill it!" it's how Gary thought it would go.


Kevyn, having ran out of things to talk about with Dean, for the moment,
says, "Hm-m, might be something for future investment," he slips, "for us?"
he looks for comment from Dean.


Dean confesses, "I'm afraid I don't know much about art. I was a failure
myself, at paint-by-numbers, kept painting outside the lines."


Michael terms it, "Hopeless, Dean."


"I know," Dean smiles across the table.


Gary then sees more to it, than an art gallery, "Hm-m, might be side
business for people to come, view the art and then have a little latte,
while viewing the art?!"


Returning to the table, it was funny, not only to Gary, but seeing Sander
in a different light, instead of the waiter as a pee-on, held the reins,
instructing platters to be brought to the table.


It didn't go without saying, Sander realizing it for himself, having
someone to stand up for him, "Thanks for all you've done for me,
Mr. Wynston."


Michael smiled too. Whatever the reason, however sensed, while thanking
Gary, Michael felt something too, caressing Gary's arm, "You're a good
person. I can feel it."


Gary turns to Michael, "I hope you're feeling more than my arm!"


All Michael could think of right now, is last night, plugging Gary's ass,
an arm around Gary's thigh, stroking and fucking, both set off at once!


Finishing their meal, which Michael had to leave some on the plate, he was
astonished, "They don't have doggie bags?"


Manners again flashed in Dean's mind, a subject they didn't touch on much,
except where gay sex was concerned, "Michael, in an establishment such as
this, they don't have'em," which meant to leave it on the plate, eventually
for tossing in the trash.


Being he didn't come from a six-digit-income-household, "That's the dumbest
thing I've ever heard!"


Knowing, at these fancy joints, `takeout' on leftovers not the norm, Gary
didn't want to make Michael look like the fool, "I agree. It's so
delicious, why leave it, when it will make a perfectly good midnight
snack?"


It made Michael smile, thinking of how Gary was snacking last night!


Much to the head waiter's dismay, he was put in charge of packaging up the
leftovers at Michael's table. Also, Gary again dropped some word of advice,
to make sure they were delivered, instead of making it look like takeout.


He laughed, saying to Michael, for his benefit only, "I think I've got some
old neckties, when the food shows up!"


Michael didn't readily get it, "Neckties?"


Giggling with excitement, coupled with mischief, Gary says, "Yes. I've
arranged it for `the man himself' to deliver the leftovers," meaning
William, the head waiter, would be in charge of transporting the food to
Gary's fashion-district upright condo, entering, unpacking, setting his
dining room up for the `midnight snack' and then cleanup. Of course, Gary
made sure he would be paid for his time, hence, the neckties!


"Well, I hope you don't expect me to dress formally?" Michael asks.


"Why would you think that?" Gary is perplexed.


"You mentioned neckties?"


Listening into this part, as they put their coats on, Dean says, "I think
what Gary means, is the neckties are to be worn around the wrists and
ankles?"


Kevyn, in on it too, "Question, Uncle Gary?" he's too changed up the name,
from years of calling his uncle, `Garrett', all because of Michael!


"What's that?"


"Are the rest of us invited for the midnight snack? I mean, I wouldn't want
to spread any germs, with anyone else snacking on my food?"


"Such concern," Deans says of it, which translated, likes the way Kevyn has
snuck in the invitation, "like, what time do you want us there?"


Michael is quick to condemn his friend, "Uh, midnight snack give you an
idea, dodo-bird?"


"Hmm, might make a nice Christmas-Birthday gift for you, Michael?"


"What?" Michael asks his good friend.


"4 neckties?"


Now, knowing what that was about, Michael says, "Great present, Dean. I'd
love to tie you to the bed and have my way with you!"


"On second thought, you're getting money!"


Upon hearing that, Gary got an idea of setting up a birthday party for
Michael, but he didn't have much time, nor privacy to do so, "That's
great. We'll all meet up at my place later on tonight. Uh, Dean, I really
need to talk to you about setting up that cafe in the art gallery?"


As of this moment, Gary didn't even have the space planned out, but because
he had the hots for Michael, he intended on making his 20th birthday a
night to remember!


%


It was also established, that was Sander's last meal to be served at The
Rainbow Room. With half the day gone and Gary in demand of Dean's
attention, the three headed out to do some shopping of their own.


"One problem," Sander says, "there's a freeze on my bank account."


Michael could side with that, "Um, like, that makes us even, because I
don't like, have a bank account, except for school!"


Both knew their grieving wasn't falling on deaf ears, "I've got a little
stashed away," Kevyn says.


He was being modest.


Heir to not only his mother's estate, being the child, son and nephew, of
the Braddock lineage, Kevyn knew where he stood and what he would
eventually inherit. He knew ways to siphon some of that off. His Uncle Gary
having made a quick getaway, Kevyn got on his cell.


Michael and Sander hung close, looking at the shop windows they passed,
each saying what they liked and didn't like. Michael was amazed, Sander
saying he liked a pair of lacy, girl-panties!


"Okay. All is fixed," Kevyn touched his call off to Uncle Gary. Somehow, it
was easier talking to his uncle about monetary matters, than his mom. She
always was asking `what for?', whereas his uncle only wanted to know `how
much', to extend the credit limit.


"Like, how much can we spend?" Michael was figuring around 200 bucks.


Joking around, Kevyn says, "Should we start at the BMW dealer, on W.57th?"


"No-o-o-o, you're pulling our chains?" Michael exclaims.


He was, but then Kevyn thought, `might be fun', "Why not?"


Turning around to the street, to hail a cab, they see a stream of traffic,
"Then again," Kevyn says of his silent thoughts, of taking a taxi, "it's
only about 5 blocks. How about we walk it?"


They had plenty of time, except Michael had to inform, "Uh, nice, but I've
got a trombone exam in about an hour?"


"Where?" Kevyn was unfamiliar with the territory.


"I think," Michael turns to his left, then right, then back left, "maybe 4
blocks that way, then 20 up there?" he faces north, which was the snarled
traffic in front of them.


"Where's your trombone?"


"Oh shit!" Michael says. "I left it at Gary's place!"


"And what time do you have to play?" Kevyn asks.


"An hour and a half?"


Kevyn, a grid of Manhattan locked in his brain, says, "No way we're going
to make it."


"We've got to make it," Michael implies, "my term grade is riding on it!"


"Okay, okay, let me think," Kevyn started the wheels of his brain churning.


Silent on the subject, Sander comes up with an idea, "If they have a Sam
Ash in the neighborhood, you could rent a trombone, maybe?"


Still in panic mode, Michael didn't think a Yamaha trumpet could replace
the expensive one his mom bought him, since acquiring it in high school,
"No. Sorry, but it just won't do." Then, turning right around, from putting
Sander down over a cheap imitation, "However..."


>From dejected to hero status, Sander is transformed, Michael throwing an
arm around his shoulder, taking him in his confidence, "...There is a
musical instrument store up near 65th street. Betcha they could have
something."


Tearing off, heading west, Kevyn exclaims, "Hey, wait for me guys!"


It's not like Sander and Michael were in town long. They needed their
navigator, waiting up for Kevyn. Same time, Kevyn was punching data into
his cell, coming up with an address, saying, "Oh great, only 18 blocks up
Broadway!"


Yet, none of the trio were chubby, just out of running shape.


Kevyn, the most athletic of the three, had seen the inside of a gym
often. Even Dean had noticed, though a little tough picking out the six or
eight pack contour, camouflaged by the ginger red hair fanning out over
Kevyn's abs.


Sander didn't need a gym, naturally trim, having played Lacrosse in high
school, being a semester out, didn't keep up with the running, only doing
light jogging if he felt like it. Completely smooth, he could be mistaken
for a swim club applicant.


It was amazing though. Least athletic of the three, it was Michael, who
probably ran on a tank of adrenaline, kept telling the other two, "C'mon
guys, throw a little hustle into it!"


It was then, his hustle almost did him in, "Oh shit!"


Grabbing him by the clothing, in the nick of time, Michael almost ran down
some subway stairs!


"Looks like we saved your ass," Kevyn says, right in Michael's ear.


"That's nice," Michael runs around the railing, keeping on, like nothing
happened!


"That's gratitude," Kevyn says to Sander.


"Guys! You coming or what?" Michael was a yard ahead.


"I'll say," Sander mutters back, both picking up the pace.


Being the holidays, the music store, which had some quality instruments,
being close to Lincoln Center, was fresh out of most brass instruments, the
clerk saying, "I'm sorry, but the only trombone I have is my own personal
one."


"I'll take it!" Michael says.


Even after a hectic morning, the clerk was in good cheer, "No, you don't
understand. I said it's the trombone I own?"


Michael backs down, "Oh. Right. You did say that."


Sander, knowing more about paintbrushes and pallets, asks, "What about
renting it to Michael?"


Providence! The clerk was hoping to get a name, "Michael, is it? Where do
you go to school, Michael?"


Kevyn recognized the demeanor right off. Seeing an `in', he didn't claim to
know much about how music is put together, but knew the reputation behind
the illustrious music college, "Michael goes to Julliard!"


"Julliard? Impressive!"


Seeing an `in' himself, Michael helps build up his case, "Yeah and I've got
a trombone jury in less than hour, but my trombone is sitting in a condo
over in the fashion district. We'll never make it there and back in
time. I'm really in deep shit!"


"Yeah, that does stink," the clerk, who looked to be about mid-30's, says,
half-joking, because he was on the positive side of debating
himself. "Look, I could lend you mine, but I would need a deposit?"


Desperate, Michael confronts, "Where's your credit card, Kev?"


"I couldn't sell it?" Nick tells them.


"Oh," Michael says, tapping Kevyn's Chase Visa on the counter. Looking
around, Michael for the first time discovers he hadn't even introduced
himself, "I'm Michael."


"Nick," Nick says with a smile, already knowing he was `Michael', adding
`cute' to the visual resume. Fact of the matter, to Nick, they were all
cute!


"What in the store is equal to the retail of your trombone?"


`What a wheeler-dealer,' Kevyn thought, knowing Michael's plan.


Swallowing, because he hated to even part with his musical treasure, even
in lending it, Nick says, "It's a Conn."


Sander, misunderstanding, lack of musical knowledge, states, "No, we're
legit. I swear it."


Sweetly, Michael turns to Sander, "Thanks, but why don't I handle this?" he
runs a hand over Sander's cheek, sweet-like, like just beginning a torrid
love-making session.


"Old or new?" Michael turns about abruptly, hitting Nick with the trick
question.


"Old. My father was semi-pro, did a little stint with the NY Philharmonic
about 20 years ago."


Again, Sander, who knew how much a van Gogh could go for, but musical
instruments, not, "How about this flute?" he holds one up.


Michael watches, Nick smiling, which was indication, "Probably ten of those
flutes wouldn't pay for it, Sander, but good try."


Nick was getting to know them, grabbing every bit of detail about the hot
lads!


Grabbing the Visa out of Michael's hand, Kevyn did his own bargaining, "How
about we take 10 of every instrument on the wall? Would that be enough?"


"What tha?" Nick says, knowing there was close to a half million dollars of
inventory on the wall!


Michael, knowing what people thought of college students, "Trust me. Kev's
card can take it. He just offered to buy Sander and me a BMW for
Christmas... each!"


At first, Nick thought he was on the take, but then, thinking if Michael
was a bonafide music student at Julliard, the only `Conn' would be his
trombone, "Let me see your student card, Michael."


"My student card?"


Then, like Nick thought he was calling the hot looking student a crook,
"Um, we offer students from area schools a discount, for showing their
student ID."


Thinking it legit, Michael takes his wallet out of his back pocket and
presents his Julliard ID card, "Brand new," he smiles at Nick. While Nick
studies the card, Michael studies Nick!


"Looks okay, but..." Nick rubbed his full, black beard.


"I know how it is and I understand if you don't want to lend me your own,
personal instrument. It becomes personal, almost like a boyfriend," Michael
doesn't realize, "though I realize, somethings money just cannot buy."


Lamenting, even though Nick stood there a 6'1, he looked like he was filled
with grief over having to turn Michael down. When the three first entered
the store, it was bad enough, the beauty which walked in, had taken Nick's
breath away. Indecisive, "I don't know."


"That's okay," Michael put hands in his pocket, like his purpose had been
defeated, turns to walk out, "I'll go and do some haggling with the
jurors. Maybe they'll be sympathetic and cut me some slack."


Sander, who knew what it meant to have a completed art work, to show for
his worth at the end of a semester, places a hand on Michael's shoulder,
laments, "That's okay, Michael, we're here for you."


Kevyn joins in, on the other side of Michael, "Yeah. When you get your `F',
we'll all go out and get drunk."


Nick knew music schools, especially ones like Julliard, Mannes, or
Manhattan School of Music, how tough it was to get in, the standards they
set and would be highly unlikely to fall for an excuse, of forgetting an
instrument on the way to an exam, "Okay. Take it," Nick was nervous, "but
you've got leave the credit card with me and..." he looks around, right at
Sander, "him!"


"Me?" Sander is shocked.


Not at all appalled over the idea, Kevyn says, "You can have me, too?"


Looking at his watch, Michael didn't have any choice, "Okay, give me your
trombone and your can keep Kev, Sander and the Visa." Nervous as all hell,
"I've got like 15 minutes to run there and warm up."


So, the exchange was made, but it wasn't like walled up in a prison.


"Y'know," Sander asks, "I'd like to come back here sometime and paint this
wall?"


Nick didn't get it right away, "It sure could use a coat of paint. I don't
think the inside of this shop has been painted since..."


Even Kevyn knew what Sander meant, walking over to Nick, who's back was
towards him, places a hand on his shoulder, "No, no, no, what Sander means
is with his little paintbrushes, paint a picture of what the wall looks
like."


It took a few seconds for Nick to process it, "Oh yeah. That's what I
thought... he didn't mean," accepts the criticism with a smile.


Casually slapping Nick in the stomach with the back of his hand, Kevyn
says, "Of course! Why do you think I had to come over and explain it to
you?"


Unfortunately for Kevyn, all this flirting didn't pay off. More, Nick was
interested in why anyone would want to paint a replica of the instrument
wall.


"First," Sander explains, "because I don't think anyone has ever thought of
painting such fine instruments?"


Nick had another idea, "Do you paint nudes?"


Not the first time a guy has shot the question to him, "Are you
volunteering?"


Kevyn went and sat down on a piano bench, tinkling on the high notes of the
piano. Knowing he had to hang around for the duration and feeling a little
fatigued, from both sleep-famine, Dean's fault of course, and boredom, lack
of hearing anything but sudden tweets of a flute, he took to lying down on
the bench.


What he was missing, was Nick, hanging over both Sander's shoulders,
coaching and coaxing him along on how to blow into a flute.


Meanwhile, over at Julliard, Michael was wowwing himself, never having
played on such a fine instrument. Too late to warmup, his foot was in the
door of the room, having just enough time to shed the trombone's `coat of
armor'.


Recorded, he had to state his name and three pieces he intended to
play. First though, he had to perform proficiency scales dictated by
faculty members: D1, A2, E2, B2, b2, f-sharp2, c-sharp1, g-sharp2, B-flat
and Chromatic 2. He was unsure, being he never played on Nick's instrument
before, but sailed through each with flying colors.


Next, one of the male faculty members, whom Michael knew as the ,
musicology prof, Dr. Kestwick, brought sheet music up to the stand, placed
it there, smoothed out the pages, asking, "Place this for us, please?"


Wonder what was going on, Michael recognizes it as a piece he played for
his Julliard audition, to get into the prestigious college, sitting right
in front of him.


"But..." he was ready to come clean.


Dr. Kestwick, who's back was to the cam and the other jurors, winks,
questions, "Not too difficult for you?"


Short stare into Kestwick's eyes, Michael says what he doesn't mean, but
for the benefit of the other two prof's, "It'll be a challenge."


For a split second, before Prof. Kestwick sat down, he grazed over the
instrument, just saying, "Huh." Before he sat down, he looks up at Michael,
back down at the trombone, then Kestwick turns to the camera, "Michael will
play for us, McKay's `Concert Solo Sonatine'."


In Michael's opinion this would be a cinch. As predicted, he plays all the
way through without a hitch.


Unlike he's heard it could be, the 3 prof's talk among themselves, without
addressing Michael. Now he's sweating, thinking there must've been
something he's slipped up on, finally breaking silence, "Uh, was my playing
okay?"


Sitting with legs crossed, the manly way, Kestwick asks, "Michael, where
did you get your instrument?"


"My trombone?" Michael asks, like he heisted it. He was sure his face was
red!


"Reason I ask," he gets up, walks over to Michael, "may I?"


Knowing Kestwick wasn't asking for his hand in marriage, though he was hot
enough to say `yes', Michael hands him the trombone, confessing, "Careful,
please. It's borrowed."


"Aha!" Kestwick says, carrying the instrument back to the jurors.


Michael watches as they examine it, as if a zombie creature from Mars.


Then, about 3 minutes later, Professor Kestwick returns it, asking, "We're
under the impression this is the instrument of the late Ethan Brownley?"


Not sure, since he only got Nick's first name, he quickly thought, if
that's what Professor Kestwick thinks, it's probably true, telling what he
did know, "I borrowed it from Nick, down at the music store?"


"Oh. Well that explains it then. When Nick's father passed away, he
inherited his estate, which included one of the best sounding trombones in
the world. Nick's father played with the New York Philharmonic, you know?"


He didn't know, "Lucky guy."


"You're very privileged to play on such a finely crafted instrument," one
of the other jurors speaks up.


The third juror, she didn't know what to say, Michael supposes, still
taking the compliment, "Someday you may follow in his footsteps."


"That would be sweet," Michael replies.


All the while, trying to keep tabs on his breathing, he mentions to
Kestwick, standing right there in front of him, "I'm ready to play the
cadenza from Rimsky-Korsakov's `Concerto for Trombone and Orchestra."


Swatting it aside, Professor Kestwick says, "Save it for next time. You're
done for today."


Michael couldn't believe it. He was being judged on a high school piece he
used to audition for Julliard on, the McKay piece, asking, "Are you sure?"


"Sure we're sure," Kestwick says, "If you're worried about your grade, you
passed. Thank you for playing for us."


Thinking it was only his audition prof, Michael looked to the others, who
were smiling too, which he doubted to himself, `This can't be!'


But it was.


Stunned, he just sat there, until Professor Kestwick got up, and said,
"Fine job. You can go, Michael."


Excited he didn't have to play the cadenza, Michael did just that, packed
up, threw his coat over his arm and walked out. He couldn't believe it,
waiting there in the foyer, just breathing, he didn't need to play the
extensive trombone piece. Not meaning to, he lingered till the jurors
started filtering out.


Shocked was not shocking enough, hearing from behind, "How about some
coffee, to celebrate your performance?"


Right away Michael thought about `payback', for the professor getting him
out of playing the cadenza, which is why he was glad he had an excuse, "I
have to get the trombone back to Nick. He's waiting for me."


He didn't say his friends were waiting as collateral!


"I've got plenty of time on my hands. Let me walk with you."


Fair enough, Michael felt obligated. When they reach the music store, he
could conjure up another lame excuse!


Even though Professor Kestwick knew Michael's itinerary, he used it as
conversation, asking where the music student was from and other pertinent
details, which ended on a sour note, upon learning, "Oh, you've got a
boyfriend."


All along, it's been the case, Michael thinking Kestwick was trying to do
more than flirting, which didn't seem right, "I didn't think it was right
for professors to date their students?"


"Technically, you're right, but un-technically," Kestwick sums it up,
"you're not in any of my classes, so, if you didn't have that boyfriend, we
could um, you know?"


"We can still be friends?" Michael says, whole picture in front of him.


Brief conversation, with much information, brought them the short route to
the front of the music shop.


"I can't believe it's locked," Michael tries several times, before shading
his eyes and looking inside. "What the heck is Kevyn doing in there?"


Thinking he had the right angle, knew all the answers, Kestwick says, "Your
boyfriend making a little nookie with the owner?"


With one handful, Michael turns, says, "Kevyn's not my boyfriend!"


"Oh."


"And he's not `making a little nookie'. He's lying on a piano bench,
sleeping."


Making himself useful, also embarrassed he was in error, Kestwick says,
"Here, let me try to wake him up for you."


Knocking, yelling, "Hey, Kevyn, let us in!" it made Michael laugh, thinking
Kestwick, like him, being a musician, picked up on something, whether a
tune or a person's name, real quick!


Michael couldn't see, but so startled was Kevyn, out of sync of where he
was, turns over and rolls right off the bench, onto all fours!


"Oh-h-h, that's gotta hurt!"


"What does?" Michael nudges Kestwick, gaining access to the glass door.


"Your friend. He woke up and probably forgot where he was."


Looking around and because the professor was taller, "You see anyone else?"


"Who am I looking for?"


"My other friend, Sander and the shop owner, Nick."


"Nope."


By this time, Kevyn gained control of his senses. Walking to the door, they
could visibly see him move his head side to side, like trying to work the
kinks out.


"Kev, where's Sander and Nick?"


"Oh, they went out for coffee about an hour ago," Kevyn replies, though his
attention wasn't on Michael, "Who's this?"


"Hi, Kevyn, I'm Professor Kestwick, but you can call me Simon."


Michael giggles, saying, "You look like a Simon!"


"You do," Kevyn has to agree, but mainly he was lost for any other words,
other than what he truly was thinking about the tall, hot man.


"Oh, you're back?"


>From the rear, Nick and Sander ushered the two in.


"Tell me," Michael asks, not that he was mad, only curious, "what was the
purpose of leaving Kevyn's credit card, when he could have very well have
stolen everything in the store while you and Sander were out..." delayed,
"having fun?"


Turning to Sander, Nick asks, "Did you have fun?"


Sander shrugs a shoulder, "I thought I was having fun!"


"You guys are pathetic. Here's your `bone back," Michael almost hits Nick
in the balls!


"That... was a close one," Nick notices, from feeling his balls slightly
butted.


"You shouldn't have moved."


"I know. My fault. So, who's the hot man with you?"


"How do you even know he's like us?" Michael asks Nick.


Fortunately, Simon had talked Kevyn into giving him a tour, which put them
out of earshot!


"The lisp? Weak handshake? Limp wrist?" Nick replies.


"He didn't do any of those things," Michael condones.


"Oh, well I think he did crook his pinky a little, didn't he Sander?"


Playing it cool, and staying unbiased, Sander replies, "I wasn't paying
attention."


Michael, seeing the two acting chummy, asks, "So, what are you two now, a
couple?"


"How do you even know I'm gay?" Nick says, standing with one arm crossed,
the other in the elbow pocket.


Staring straight at Nick, Michael says, "Um, the limp wrist?"


Nick instantly throws his hand towards the opposite elbow, "What limp
wrist?"


Sander states, "Fess up to it, you had a limp wrist, Nick!"


"I can't believe you said that and after I footed the bill for coffee and
pastry?!"


"Get over it, Nick," Sander says, going to find Kevyn.


"By the way, do you think you can handle two men tonight, Nick?"


"Two?" Nick replies.


"If my suspicions are correct, Professor Kestwick has, for the past ten
minutes, tried his luck at picking up Kevyn and when he finds out Kevyn is
not up for grabs, he's going to be targeting you... or Sander."


"Sander?" Nick is flabbergasted, "Well, I just better go see about that!"


In a huff, Nick hands Michael back his trombone and heads off to find
Sander!


"Hmm," Michael thinks, "I could walk right out that door and..."


Instead, he holds on to the multi-thousand dollar instrument, closes the
door, turns the lock and goes searching out the others.


If not for the tight grip on the handle of the Conn trombone, it might've
leapt out of Michael's hand. Behind the grand piano, surely out of eyesight
from door or windows, the panting he heard became reality.


More shocking than erotic, Michael stands there, wide-eyed, gasping,
"Kevyn?"


"Oh, hi, get a look at this, will you?"


One thing, Michael had his `heart in his hand', the one not holding the
trombone case, approaching what he perceived as a hot, steamy, gay-sexy
scene, thinking Kevyn in the midst of the heat. However, he rested a little
easier, "Oh, I thought maybe... Never mind."


Standing there, pants split open, Kevyn held his cell, taking random shots,
"You thought maybe I was cheating on Dean?" he comes over to stand next to
Michael, forgetting the cock pix for now.


"Um," Michael, with guilt, looks away from Kevyn, "yeah, kinda. Sorry, but
isn't your cock out and stroking, still cheating?"


First laying eyes on Michael, Kevyn thought, since Dean and Michael were
very good friends, if he `had' to cheat, it would be with Michael, "Nah,"
Kevyn changes up the conversation, "By the way, how did your audition go?"


"My jury?" Michael corrected him. Then again, Michael thought, `Does Kevyn
really care?'


Faced with all the clothes-stripping, Professor Kestwick coming into the
fracas, Sander and the store owner going at it, weaseling his way in, for
himself, Michael, as Kevyn most likely thought also, looked upon Sander,
sandwiched in between Kestwick and Nick's bare chests and semi-briefed
loins, as the most interesting thing in the world right now!


%


©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.