Date: Thu, 22 May 2008 14:38:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: Plexadonn <plexadonn@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Manner of Mischief

All of the events portrayed here are based on real life experience, with
the exception of all the sexual explorations. This was a terribly annoying
night I had when I decided to drive a coworker home, this should give
people a look into what kind of atrocious luck I really have.

Soundtrack: I found that Creedence Clearwater Revival (CCR) works very well
with this. Other good choices are The Eagles, Jim Croce, James Taylor and
EARLY Jethro Tull (This Was/Stand up/Benefit). Any southern/country rock
will suffice.

Commentary is appreciated, and I greatly wish being informed of major
mistakes or inconsistencies.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"What Manner of Mischief", written by "Plexadonn"


~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~-\...Prologue.../-~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~

As of late, the times being of a now unstable financial situation between
two lovers and the harsh winter plaguing John's life more so now than
during any other time of the year, the gentleman's stressed mind was
nearing the point of needing a dire exempt from life's ridiculously placed
trials.

Simply stated, the gentleman needed a break from the everlasting
instability.

John, a young adult -- originally native to the North lands - had now
shared a decently-priced apartment with his lover, another gentleman a
decade older than he; and until now, after a mutual benefactor had departed
for his own life -- along with a female love interest -- their foolish,
casual dealings with their money had never seemed to be troublesome.

But with that third person gone, the two of them found themselves inundated
with such a tight budget, that John's failing transportation was now going
on months without the necessary `check-up' to fix whatever problems it was
having that John himself could not.

Yet these minor, non-lethal albeit tragically stressful inconveniences
would perpetually bother John's state of health. The amount of drama caused
by these, conjoined with the declining health and inevitable death of his
father and the effects it had on his eldest sibling -- a brother -- seemed
to bring preposterous guilt on his part. In his continued ineffective
attempts to visit or aid his miserable mother in any manner possible, the
additional pain he inflicted upon himself accumulated.

Not being completely masochistic, the sad boy of three and twenty quite
often inadvertently unleashed his weariness upon his lover in order to
displace some of the stress. This other man, the older of the two (as
stated previously), however gracefully taking the emotional draining, could
only withstand the beast of a depressed, stubborn youth (cursed with an
attitude of being certain in everything he viewed) for a given amount of
time, and this quickly ran its course.

Thus brewed friction between them. Each day, John was found to be less
agreeable and much more difficult to bargain with in terms of his true
situation: that he was loved quite dearly by his fellow human, and that he
should be quite satisfied with the tale of misery his lover had to offer.

John did little to listen to the story, however. He indeed heard it, and
understood that he really did have much more to be thankful for than he
gave himself credit. None of these items of consideration were sufficient,
though, to guarantee his immediate contentment. His love, by name of Shaun,
knew not of these facts. That John was living with a want of refreshed
romance, and was totally unsatisfied with his lifestyle.

-~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~-

The thought of his continued love and affection plagued him the most this
night. It was not due to his mild fascination with the new chef and an
accompanying fancy of absurd fidelity, nor was it that he was only now
feeling a slight mollification from his imposed misfortunes; he was in a
cheerful mood, actually.  Yet if it was neither of those, and not many of
the other maddening deliberations had yet entered his mind, it truly must
be one, the other, or both.

John stood upon a rubber mat that spread across the ceramic tiled floor of
the kitchen, his torso bent over a sink with his hands vigorously working a
steel brush applied to steel pans. This was his vocation of choice for the
time. Here was step one to his life of continued torment: being found
comfortable with a menial and unbecoming job of convenience at a
restaurant, being close to the apartment, and already having been there a
year and a half.

With this detestable work and the minimal payments he made from it stemmed
other problems, the brunt of the misery he so slanderously accused himself
of. But none of that now, obviously, for his spirits were much higher than
most other nights here. Not even a mere fraction of mirth could be
contributed by the chef assistant tonight, though.

This was Hobbie, a dark-skinned gentleman with black hair and a fair
musculature that John found deliciously appealing. Of the multitude of
chefs he had seen here come and go, Hobbie was certainly not the most
physically attractive, nor was he the favorite of the past lot. Before him
had been a fellow John, with whom he had more in common than this
Shaun. With this last John, our John had actually felt very close to
something of intimacy, but alas, the other John was soon after fired for
reasons no one other than the owner had known.

Next, previous to John had been three others, and only one of which he felt
any sort of attraction, or even a bit of friendliness. At this time, John
had left the restaurant to join his family in observing the death of his
father (a large contribution to his stress), and could only bring himself
to return to work after a month of rest. Further back in time, past the
departure, were two other dishwashers, Eran and Josh. Eran was the best
pick of the two gentleman, being of a larger build -- much like his lover
-- and the meekest and quietest of the entire lot.

Of all those other men, only Hobbie had requested the honor of taking John
to his house, or hospital as it was tonight.

As stated earlier, no mirth was displayed by Hobbie tonight, as unusual for
his character as it was. Not even a bit of friendly manner of speaking or
his silly, jovial sense of humor. Tonight he seemed to be in a great deal
of pain. The poor dear, John observed, had only recently convalesced from a
fever the previous week.

In the manner of groaning Hobbie was doing, and his disposition for this
night of work, John could not commiserate indefinitely.

"Where are you hurting?" Asked John, he had since now taken a brief stop
from his work to walk around the kitchen equipment -- oven, stove, grill,
fryers and various tables -- to face Hobbie as the man was leaning on the
oven, trying to distract himself from abdominal pain with the intense heat.

"All down here," he commented, waving a hand behind him, indicating "in my
kidneys." John could only imagine the agony, never having suffered from
kidney problems or urinary infections of any sort before. When suggesting
that this might be the sort of problem Hobbie was experiencing, he
professed that his urine had been colored pink the last few days.

John was certainly not surprised, knowing well the behaviors and hygienic
neglect of chem users, and Hobbie was an admitted addict to many narcotic
types of herbs.

"Hey, do you think you could take me by the hospital after work?" The chef,
also, did not have any sort of mobile transportation. He was simply in such
a wonderfully horrible spot.

Then, by habit, John had to hesitate in his response, taking a few moments
to ponder over the plans for the evening. Being that he entailed nothing
more than going home, showering then going to sleep soon afterwards, he
knew he could easily help his friend along.

"Yeah, sure, no problem." John affirmed.

"It shouldn't take too long; I've had to do this before. I got this once
before and had to go and get some medicine."

"How long does it usually take?"

"When I went there the first time I was only in there for about forty-five
minutes."

Even with the grimace on his face, John could admire the cook's handsome
features. Although Hobbie was about as young as he, the gentleman's face
seemed to be worn from age, as if extra years of work and experience had
given him that appearance of wisdom and importance that he found so
attractive. His skin was uniformly of a light tan, and all the hair of his
head black as coal, likewise his eyes.

John felt a strong urge approach that he wished to comfort his friend with
any form of physical attention he could. Of course, he understood this
would not aid in Hobbie's pain in the slightest and would likely do no more
than perturb him.

They both glanced to the clock upon the wall, noticing that their work
shift would end in less than an hour. During the remaining time of cleanup
and preparations for the next day, John thought of things that might help
with Hobbie's pain or help clean out his system of the infection, but at
the moment he could not recall any advice his eldest brother (a doctor) had
given him. Nor could he remember any mention of cleaning an infection other
than antibiotics.

"Maybe you should drink some water."

"Nah, man." Hobbie argued, "I think I'll have some beer later tonight."

"That will make your kidneys worse." John said, leaning through a doorway
in order to pour himself a glass of water from the drinks fountain.

"No! It'll flush `em out."

John rolled his eyes and did not bother to argue with him. He was fairly
sure that alcohol would only irritate his inflamed system even worse, but
was not certain that it was so terrible. It was of no consequence, John was
only hoping that the hospital visit would go well and Hobbie would receive
the proper medicine and the dishwasher would be done with it all soon and
in his bed asleep with his partner.

The restaurant closed its doors for the night and all the dishes and pans
were cleaned as quickly as possible, courtesy of John. In the process of
trying to hurry his job, John only managed to saturate the front of his
shirt and pants with splashed water and spray soap suds across his face,
speckling his glasses, which he could not find a way to clean off, his
hands being covered with it.  Looking behind him, he saw that the cooks and
manager were nowhere to be seen, all busy with their own tasks, and thus he
was helpless and groaned with displeasure.

After a few swipes with his shoulder, he rid his face of most of the suds
except for the very tip of his nose, his glasses and the top of his head.
When he was completely finished with a pan, John decided to dry his hands
and clean his face with a towel, but it was exactly then when Hobbie was
finished with his tasks and came to help with the cleaning.

Hobbie noticed the glob of soap on John's face and offered to clean it off,
"Please do." John replied with a laugh, Hobbie chuckling the same way and
wiping off John's soapy face.

"Thank you."

"It's also on your glasses." Hobbie noticed, how astute of him.

"Yeah, I know." Hobbie then aided again, grabbing a somewhat dry towel from
the counter and wiping away the bubbly soap from the lens. There remained a
smear, but it was less annoying than soap.

The two young men then quickly finished the washing, John cleaned his
glasses properly, placed all the utensils and dishes in their proper
places, then departed the restaurant, bidding farewell to the remaining
waitresses and manager and that they'd see them tomorrow.

Stepping outside into the cold, winter air, John's spirits dropped
significantly. With the temperature, he knew that his vehicle would have a
terribly rough time operating tonight, and with his destinations being much
out of his way, he knew that this night would be an adventure in stress
level. The dishwasher did not tell any of his to his acquaintance, seeing
no reason to express his unimportant complaints to a relative stranger.

Approaching the vehicle, John noticed that the windows were covered with
ice. Starting the engine to allow it to warm, he removed a cloth from the
backseat of the car and attempted to rub away the ice from the window,
which did not help.  Hobbie tried his best to assist, while sitting in the
passenger seat smoking a cigarette and trying to scrape off the ice from
the inside of the window with a another cloth found at the floorboards. The
interior window...

"The inside is covered with ice too?" John asked with evident irritation.

"Yep." Hobbie said; he did not seem too worried about it.

"Fuck." John then sat into his seat and removed his wallet, then removed
his driver's license. With the plastic card, he began to scrape away the
thin layer of ice from the window, stroking it along vertically and sending
fragmenting shards to scatter across the dashboard. After scraping away
enough to see through the ice, John noticed the main chef, Sam, striding
along the sidewalk towards the back of the restaurant (where he parked his
truck), and having a good chuckle at John's predicament, waving his hands.

"See ya later." Hobbie said to Sam as the latter male disappeared into the
shadows of a side street. The infected gentleman still did not seem
worried; fact is, he seemed indifferent to the disaster befalling John. But
John understood: Hobbie was still enduring a lot of pain in his abdomen.

John managed to remove most of the ice from the inside then decided to try
the outside again. Making sure he placed his wallet on the roof of the car,
not quite trusting his friend with it in his sight, he leaned across the
door and proceeded.

Eventually, John realized he could remove no more ice and although it still
terribly obscured his vision, he would have to deal with the "fucking
atrocity", as he put it. Sticking his license into his pocket, John closed
the door and began the trip to the hospital. Crossing a street immediately
past the restaurant, and traversing half of a roundabout, he merged onto
the highway and proceeded speedily. Several moments later, he began to
search for his wallet.

It was not in his pocket, he could not feel it with his backside and when
reaching into the pocket it was certainly not present. Searching the
dashboard, then the floor and the console between the seats, he began to
worry, as it was nowhere to be found. With the flip of switch, he quickly
turned on the ceiling lamp, all the while being careful to watch traffic.

"Hob, can you look back there and see if I threw my wallet back there?"

With the cook twisting his form and rummaging through the horrendous mess
on the backseat, John shook his head with utter humiliation at himself. The
wallet had his social security card inside, and keeping it there in an
easily displaceable object was quite an idiotic thing to do, along with
about 50 dollars, his bank card and various other slips of paper with
numbers, dates or addresses on them.

"I don't see it." Hobbie said finally. And it did not surprise John, for
the backseat was littered with piles of garbage. Behind him sat strewn
sheets of paper, bleached and soiled and ruined, long ago back in his
college days (which only lasted about a year); numerous plastic bottles
with remnants of juice, soda or water; hundreds of cigar butts along with
about half as many cigar packets, and even the corpse of a bird that had
somehow managed to get inside of his vehicle and die under the driver's
seat, (the last item of interest he had left in the car merely for the
morbid humor of it all).

"I'll check it out more when we get to the hospital." John said aloud,
mostly to himself.

The ice on the windows was not fading like he hoped. Of course his hopes
were misplaced, being that his defroster did not work, and neither did the
vehicle's heater. Of these two things, Hobbie did not seem to be
concerned. He gave the impression that as long as John drove him to the
hospital, there was no use in complaining. Either that, or he was
incredibly polite. The latter of which was much more probably.

From the short time that John had been acquainted with the young man,
Hobbie had exhibited a very pleasant attitude, and his personality seemed
to be compatible with everyone around him.  He rarely smiled: even when
laughing his face did not express joy, but he was very talkative and
friendly.  John, in particular, liked the man's sense of humor: the way
Hobbie pretended that the kitchen's utensils were medieval weapons, always
challenging John to battle, or making jokes that the food was made of
"buzzard" instead of "chicken" and the milk was from a squirrel instead of
the proper cattle.

It was John's main attraction to him, the secondary being Hobbie's facial
features. He felt very comfortable around Hobbie, in his company, and
although the circumstances of the drive and the pressing embarrassment of
losing his wallet, John was happy to spend the time with him. Though he was
mildly anxious with the oncoming traffic, being that his sight of them was
impeded with foggy and ice-tinted windows; each time he passed someone, he
felt as if the two vehicles would collide. The terrible rumbling from the
engine made it all worse, only promulgating a possible disaster; John hated
that sound.

John saw the hospital entrance and pulled around the curve, gliding through
the ER parking lot and stopping the machine crooked across two spaces and
getting out, kicking the tires of his car in anger. Hobbie walked towards
the large doors that made the entrance to the building, a small foyer
encased in glass as an antechamber to the main lobby.

He immediately went to the reception desk and asked to see the doctor while
John sat down in a chair, a row of ugly, plastic seats attached to a
railing. There was a small television screen set up in the corner of the
ceiling displaying news and politics, which distracted him from
concentrating on the problems in his head. John only now realized that his
bank card was out of his hands and possibly being found by some ridiculous
cretin who would see to spending every penny in the account.

Whatever Hobbie was told by the nurse there, the chef sighed with misery
and waddled over to sit next to the John who was his precious savior, "She
said the doctor would be here in about ten minutes." To this, John nodded
and smiled to him, patting his shoulder in commiseration.

Removing his mobile phone from his trousers pocket, he dialed for his
boyfriend. "Hey Shaun, how are you?" The ensuing conversation was
constructed of John telling him of the loss and Shaun stating he would
notify the bank to cancel the card immediately. The news certainly ruined
the spirits of his lover, and John truly felt terrible for doing it, but it
was inevitable.

"Where are you?" Shaun asked.

"The hospital." John replied nonchalantly.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" The joke worked and Shaun's voice came
through with emphasized surprise and fright.

"Yeah I'm fine. The cook help at work has some kidney problem I think, so I
volunteered to drive him to the ER."  At this time there was a pause, in
which John was unsure what Shaun was thinking about, "You know that could
take several hours right?"

"What? Hobbie said it would only be forty-five minutes." John frowned and
looked at Hobbie, whose face was blank, like that of someone suddenly
accused.

"Well, I guess `cos it's later in the evening, it might not take the
doctors that long to get to him."

The remainder of the conversation was typical chit-chat between the lovers,
describing how their day had gone (either in or not in favor), and other
uninteresting things. John had no desire to speak with his boyfriend for
right now though, still frustrated with himself for doing something so
idiotic, thus he ended the call, replying to Shaun's "I love you" with one
of his own. Before he put away the phone, he checked the time, finding it
to be 9:30 in the evening.

"Who was that?" Hobbie wondered, staring at the screen. The cook sat there
slouching with an arm fixed to the adjacent seat, propping his head and
frowning in pain.

"My uh... boyfriend." John replied.

Hobbie glanced to him with an extended frown, so to speak, but rather than
looking confused or angry, he appeared to be interested. He chuckled a bit,
nervously and said "I didn't know you was gay."

"Yep." John said with a shrug, stretching his limbs out, trying to push out
some of the tension. The work in the kitchen was truly not as bad as some
of his previous jobs. Yes, standing for prolonged periods of time was an
excruciating exercise for his legs and feet; but in the kitchen he was at
least able to sit down for a couple of minutes every hour or so. Looking to
Hobbie, he wondered how exhausting being on the other side of the kitchen
truly was.

"How long you been together?" Hobbie continued; John, pulled from his
reverie, thought for a few moments.

"Eh, about two years." Any more information would have to wait, for at that
moment the nurse spoke up, informing Hobbie that the doctor would see him
now. He stood and left the lobby, following the woman's instructions. John
stayed put, not sure if he should follow his acquaintance to keep him
company. But suddenly he remembered that there was an engagement he had
wanted to keep with his damnable car.

So, he spent about five minutes standing outside in the freezing weather,
rummaging through the disaster of his backseat, and with no flashlight. He
sufficed to use the soft glow of his phone, but it was fairly useless. With
all his efforts, he still found no trace of the wallet, and thus he
fiercely kicked the tires again, venting his rage. Returning into the
lobby, he was able to notice the dragon approaching from the hallway just
before John's glasses became foggy, causing him to bump his face into the
automatic doors before they had time to open for him.

"Goddammit!"

Hobbie snickered and shook his head, "Hey, would you mind hangin' out in
the room with me? I need some company in there."

"Sure, no problem. Did you just give them your urine sample?"

"Yeah, they said I'd have to wait a little while longer."

John and the dragon then proceeded to the office where they each became
agonizingly bored. Within the four walls was a chair and examining table
(cushioned of course), a counter and various examining machines which were
utterly foreign to them both. In addition, there was a screen in the corner
of the ceiling, not unlike the lobby, this one displaying some sort of
educational program.

The gentleman spent the next half hour switching between seating
arrangements and wandering the diminutive confines of the room in nervous
boredom. Not many words were exchanged between them: an occasional comment
about the program on the screen, or a joke that surfaced to memory. At one
point, John found himself weary enough to glance through the shades of the
window, a mini-blind, and stare at the nurses and doctors mingling about
and chatting near a desk in a different lobby.

Each time one of them would glance towards the window, John would shut it
and look away.

"What are you doing, man?" Hobbie asked.

"Just looking."  "Quit it," he laughed, "they're gonna think your creepy."
Thus, after each time John ventured his voyeuristic glances, Hobbie would
tell him to stop being creepy.  When the doctor arrived, coming through the
door at the moment John was taking a notion to be creepy again, John was
the one sitting on the examination table, and thus he was addressed by the
doctor.

"You have a urinary tract infection..." The woman began.

"Oh, it's not me, it's for him." John said sheepishly, stepping down from
the table and sitting in a chair besides Hobbie. She explained the function
of the medication she was prescribing and the process for consuming them
then gave him a painkiller to take immediately; John was only interested in
getting out of there for the boredom, he felt, was killing them both. They
left the office and returned to the main lobby to pay the bill. The nurse
gave the cook several documents to sign and berated him with questions such
as,

"Are you employed?" To which Hobbie replied in the negative.

"What?" John asked, curiously, and just as quickly learned the error of his
blabber. The dishwasher decided to trouble the two debaters no more and
turned to approach the door and wait for Hobbie to finish.

After what seemed like an eternity of formalities and protocol, the males
found themselves on the road again, cruising along the highway and in the
direction of Hobbie's small trailer outside of the city in a wild and
unkempt suburb. During the trip, John tried numerous times to get his
heater or defroster to work, but knew very well it would never happen.

"Just let it run for a bit, it just needs to get warmer than the air
outside, you know?" Hobbie's suggestion was very ideal, and after several
minutes the fog on his window slowly cleared.

"I'm such a moron, why didn't I ever realize that?"

"Eh, it happens." Hobbie chuckled again. The sound of his light mirth was
quite pleasant to John; he liked hearing the young man laugh, liked seeing
him so friendly. Such contact between John and other beings was so rare, as
of late, that John always engrossed himself in acquaintances he met, such
as Hobbie. Being sociably inept and awkward, John rarely chose to mingle in
crowds or visit any sort of gathering, settling with the affectionate
company of his boyfriend for social interaction.

Finding other folks with whom he could really feel comfortable was
difficult, which is what lead very strongly to his quietude. Now with
Hobbie riding in his passenger seat and reciprocating conversation and
generally enjoying John's company, he would try his best to make the night
enjoyable and memorable.

Before they ventured out of the city to Hobbie's home, John asked for them
to return to the restaurant property and look around for his wallet among
the street and parking lot. They did, but found nothing, not a trace of it
anywhere, which both of them had expected; thus, they moved on to other
things.

The trip was irritating, John nearly missing the proper road turns several
times and almost driving them both into a ditch or a street sign. However,
the pair arrived intact and with no injuries, John parking on a dirt road
next to the trailer, almost running over a hyperactive dog in the process.

"Oops, I almost ran over your dog." John said with a grimace.

"Nah, he knows not to run in front of cars. Redbone, quiet!" He shouted at
the dog, motioning his hand, telling the animal to get back. Redbone was
barking nervously at John, the strange and large being invading its home.

"He won't bite will he?" John wondered.

"No. He's just not used to strangers. Redbone, shut up, get inside!" He
threw his arm again, trying to shoo the dog away, and Redbone promptly
scuttled through the door Hobbie had just opened. The males entered and
John glanced about to take in the surrounding scenery.

It was pretty basic, unlike his own apartment which Shaun decorated
excessively with clutter and tacky bric-a-brac. The furniture and kitchen
equipment was standard, and the place was in a state of general mess. But
it did not matter to John, for his apartment was the same; it was apparent
that they were mutually lazy. Sitting next to a large television screen was
a disorganized collection of movies and video games, which Hobbie claimed
were the property of his roommate's.

The placed smelled mostly of electrical appliances (the sort of odor
produced from a stove or oven), and of the three residents, Hobbie, Redbone
and the absent roommate.

"Sorry it's cold in here." Hobbie stated, now rummaging around some pots
and pans on the kitchen counter. "But I don't have a heater, so I just use
the oven." John then understood why the smell of electric heat so permeated
his senses. Hobbie then turned on the oven, setting it for a temperature
unseen by John, opened the oven's door then proceeded to the
refrigerator. "Are you hungry?" He listed several frozen items that he
could prepare and that he was hungry himself.

"No thanks, man. I'd ask for some booze, but I gotta drive."

Hobbie glanced to him and for a moment he appeared to be either puzzled or
disappointed by the statement, "Oh, alright, that's cool." He shrugged and
continued with his preparations.

The curious dog, Redbone, then made his reappearance, approaching John and
sniffing at his knees. For a few moments, John simply stared at the animal
and watched him, "He won't bite, I promise." Hobbie repeated.

"I know, I know. I'm just letting him get to know me." John then strode
through the kitchen and dropped onto the couch. It was an enormous piece of
furniture that stretched across the span of the room, and was incredibly
comfortable. Redbone happily jumped up and sat beside him, John reaching
over to pet him a little.

He then noticed the abode's décor. It consisted of several decorative
swords and daggers hung upon the wall opposite to him, along with a framed
photograph. It portrayed a young girl, a blond... glamorous. When Hobbie
was done cooking, he sat down with a plate of corndogs, and Redbone
abandoned the stranger in favor of begging at the foot of Hobbie for some
food.

"Who's the girl in the picture over there?" John inquired.

"My girlfriend." Hobbie said. Obviously, it was a somewhat depressing
though to John, learning that Hobbie was taken and probably very hetero. It
was not surprising in the slightest though, and it changed nothing between
them.

"She live with you?" John continued.

"Nah, she's in Georgia right now with her family."

"Oh, that sucks. I'd hate having to be away from my boyfriend like that. I
can't stand sleeping alone."

"Eh, I really don't care. We're prolly gonna end up breaking up soon, we
aren't getting along anymore." He said this with a mouthful of food, "I
only keep her around for... you know." He motioned with his hand
nonchalantly, sure that John would understand.

"Ah yes, that. That's a good reason I suppose, but I don't like girls, so
I'll take your word for it."

"I hate women, man; I don't know why I keep trying." Hobbie stood and moved
back to the kitchen to pour a glass of water from the sink, "I keep
thinking I'll find the one I'll marry and have kids with. But..." He
shrugged again and kept eating, giving chucks of the meat to his dog who
gladly accepted it.

John grinned, "Well..." but he yawned and had to stop. Hobbie looked to
him. The bear continued, "Well, you could always try your luck with guys
instead." John tried to make himself sound like he was only playfully
joking. Strangely, Hobbie's countenance changed and showed that he
considered it, and nodded his head.

"To be quite honest... I never would have said it, but seeing how you're
okay with it, I've always been really curious what it would be like with a
guy. You know?" This practically excited John, and as a cruel coincidence,
his mobile phone abruptly sounded the music that indicated it has lost its
battery power and was shutting down.

"Ah, shit!" John sighed with sudden stab of frustration. "You don't have a
phone charger do you?"

Hobbie shook his head and mouthed "sorry" through his food. Leaning to
sideways John removed his pack of cigarillos, removed one, and lit it,
inhaling the thick smoke deeply and hoping the effects of being lightheaded
would make him feel less angry.

"Sorry, man." Hobbie stated, taking his plate to the kitchen to rinse it,
followed by his obedient pooch. John stared at him, dreaming about seeing
his form stripped of its clothing, wondering what his skin looked like on
the rest of his body. John did not particularly find younger men
attractive; but, like said before, there was something about Hobbie's
physicality that very much appealed to him.

Hobbie was standing in front of him, his eyes wandering the interior of the
trailer, his body twisted unusually, evidently still in a little bit of
discomfort. John silently wondered what he could do to make his friend feel
better. There were several methods he knew of that would distract him from
the pain, but as they were sexual in nature, he was not sure if he would
allow the John the honor. There was also the danger of getting the poor
cook's infection.

"So, what do you wanna do?" John asked.

Hobbie looked to him and shrugged, reaching forward, "Can I have a bit of
that." John released the cigar into Hobbie's fingers and watched him suck
down a good mouthful of smoke.

"Well, I thought of something that might distract you from the pain, unless
you're a bit too tender down there. But, seeing as you have a girlfriend,
I'm not sure if it's a good idea." John enjoyed seeing his friend's face
light up the way it did, both smiling now.

"You think I'd actually tell her if we did anything?" He puffed again,
sending ribbons of the pleasant-smelling smoke spiraling to the
ceiling. "But what about your boyfriend?"

"He won't care," John motioned with his fingers for Hobbie to come nearer,
then reaching to take back his smoke when Hobbie was inches from
him. Taking another toke then letting it go again, John - hoping he would
be allowed - raised the hem of the cook's shirt and lifted it in order to
glance up at his chest. Then using his other hand, he gently caressed the
Hobbie's stomach upwards.

His skin was fairly smooth save for a good patch of body hair that grew up
the center and felt very enticing. John noticed that Hobbie's coloring was
much lighter around his chest and belly. John bear arched his hand around
to feel the muscles along Hobbie's sides, his back and his waist. Not
protesting in the slightest, but smiling pleasantly, Hobbie removed his
shirt, and carefully took the cigar back from John's hand.

"You've never been with a guy, right?  Nothing at all?" John said, now
gazing deeply at Hobbie's exposed torso, sliding his hands along either
side of his body.

"Well, no.  Nothing at all."  "Alright," John responded, "I hope I can make
your first experience a good one."  John continued rubbing the male's body,
now leaning forward to nuzzle Hobbie's belly, softly nosing against the
area directly above his belt line, licking softly and sighing happily,
quite pleased to have the handsome gentleman in his clutches. His curiosity
consumed him, and John decided to try for something more erotic, next
moving his hands in order to unfasten Hobbie's trousers and gripping them
in conjunction with his underwear. There was still no protest or complaint
from the dragon, so John proceeded, pulling down his friend's clothing and
exposing his abdomen and surprisingly muscular legs.

Although the powerful features of his deep tan tones and masculine fuzz
appealed to John greatly, he could not avoid noticing and focusing the
genitalia slowly engorging with blood. John inhaled through his nose,
smelling the cook's sexuality, knowing there were traces of sickness within
him. He was fairly sure that he could not contract the infection through
his mouth as long as he cleaned the oral cavity soon afterwards. And even
with the risk, he was willing to take it simply to have his way with Hobbie
and to taste him.

John gave a soft lick to the growing appendage, invigorating the chef and
causing him to gasp in delight. John licked happily, hungrily, at Hobbie's
shaft, silently pleading for it to grow and extend out fully, tasting the
fluid seeping gently from his urethra. He saw that it was more than a good
mouthful, Hobbie's phallus, and John was able to consume it almost
completely, encasing his mouth around Hobbie's stiff shaft and nursing on
it eagerly.

Hobbie had shut his eyes, shut out the fading pain in his abdomen, and
focused on the attention being paid to his groin. The mere fact that he was
being swallowed down by a fellow male gave such a feeling of renewed
excitement that his member leaked its coital fluids immensely. John's mouth
felt much different than his girlfriend's, it felt very different than any
female's maw, and for this moment in time, it was the most sensual sexual
treatment he had ever received in his lifetime.

He attributed it simply to its novelty: that he had never been with a male
before. The chef help was not truly attracted to other males, they lacked
the charm and beauty of his girls, but the male sex was very, very
intriguing to him in some unspeakable way. The circumstances of their trip
that night had been a fairly disastrous one, and Hobbie felt that this
pleasurable experience was more than enough to make up for it.

John continued his suckling, gently nipping at the base with his teeth --
which he hoped would be received with pleasure and not irritation -- still
caressing his friend's sides. While he was munching, the dishwasher took an
interest in the thick, soft padding of Hobbie's buttocks.  He reached
forward and gripped the flesh there, finding it to be very different from
his own lover's (but much like his own).  Hobbie was smaller than Shaun -
less heavy -- and the plush rump of his new lover was so much more supple
and malleable, quite a different sort of pleasure to be had.

Whatever Hobbie wanted to do, or in whichever direction he wished to take,
John was unsure, but knew very well he did not want to merely suck on his
manhood all night long. Hobbie could not wait though, it seemed, for soon
after this thought, the excited male grunted and began to shoot his semen
into the John's mouth. John groaned with displeasure at how quickly the
Hobbie had climaxed, and pulled the convulsing member from his mouth, not
wanting the contaminated sperm inside his stomach.

But the alternative was to let the spurts of white liquid fall on his shirt
or face. The latter was the lesser annoying of the two nuisances, so thus
John allowed the remaining streams of reptile come to splash across his
face and forehead.  After the eruption, in which Hobbie had gotten dizzy
with the combined effects of tobacco and orgasm, John wiped away a glob of
come from an eye and stared up at the enraptured, grinning dragon with a
look of misplaced disappointment.

"Sorry, man." Hobbie gave the cigar to John and stumbled out of his
crumpled trousers, wobbling into the kitchen in order to produce from a
drawer a cloth, which he then ran under the faucet. John stared, smiling
and chuckling silently, enjoying the sight of the man's light-brown
backside.

"So, was I just that good or has it been a long while for you?" John asked
jokingly. Hobbie approached him with the cloth, now saturated with hot
water, and gave it to the bear to clean up with.

"Eh, well I guess kinda both. It felt kinda wild, you being a guy and
all. It was just real different than a girl doing it."

John, rubbing the cloth into his face in attempts to absorb the slime from
his skin, smiled and nodded with understanding. "Well, I hope it didn't
hurt or anything, with your infection. I normally would've swallowed it
down except I don't wanna risk it. I know going into the stomach will kill
the infection... or I'm sure it will. But you understand."

"Yeah sure. No, it doesn't hurt to have a hard-on; it is tender, but I feel
a whole lot better with that pain killer the doctor gave me."

"Can you go again?" John wondered; now back to his loving caresses, letting
his hands roam over the naked legs of his friend.

Hobbie considered the thought for a moment then replied, "Yeah, I'm pretty
sure I can." He smiled again. It was such an attractive smile: he used only
lips and eyes, no display of teeth. It made him look more approachable.

"Well," John continued, reclining backwards into the couch. "Maybe you
should show me your bedroom." Redbone then came around from the kitchen,
sniffing up along his owner's legs, wondering what he was doing.

"Alright, let's go." He jerked his head towards the back of the trailer,
indicating the direction of his bedroom. He moved first, striding past the
wall of decorative swords, followed by the dishwasher and his pooch,
padding along behind John.

The interior of the room was just as plain as the rest of the home. His
mattress was unmade, and around it on the floor were piles of clothes and
several boxes of assorted, useless clutter. It looked very similar to the
spare bedroom in John's own abode and also the backseat of John's car.

John then removed his shirt; Hobbie already, totally in the buff, watched
John expose his torso, seeing skin much lighter and with more body
hair. John was a slim male, unlike that of his mate who was quite
rotund. In truth, John loved the physique of his lover, and never really
did care other slim guys, believing they were boring and unattractive and
not cuddly enough. Of course, the current circumstances saw him with a
fellow skinny man, but it was not as boring or unattractive as he might
have thought.

The cook helper looked back to him, obviously at a loss for what to
do. Poor Hobbie was most assuredly comfortable around his females, but now
with someone very new, he simply did not know how to go about this. John
certainly noticed this, watching Hobbie grinning at him, waiting for him to
speak.

"So, is there anything you'd like to try, hmm?" John moved behind his
friend, wrapping both arms around him and letting his hands explore his
chest and neck. Hobbie was not long on his answer.

"Well uh, maybe you could let me suck your cock?"

John nuzzled him, prodding his nose up into his short hair. They both
needed to bathe, very badly, both reeking of grease and a wild combination
of various foods. Even through that stench, though, John could smell the
natural aroma of his friend(as weak it was), and enjoyed it.

"Alright, you want me to lie down then?"

"Yeah, sure."

John moved towards the bed, stepping past his friend, then lowering himself
onto his back and positioning himself in the center of the bed as if he
were about to take a nice, long nap. As he began to remove his belt, Hobbie
knelt down and crawled to him, stopping directly in front of the bear,
between his outspread legs.

In his anxiety for the proceedings to follow, the cook simply watched John
undress himself, keeping his hands on the mammal's legs and nosing around
his belly a little bit, giving soft and hesitant nuzzles. John did not care
if his friend was still nervous, for there was nothing to be nervous about,
thus he did not speak a word, doing his best to slide his pants and
underwear down his legs and remove them, tossing them to the floor with a
jerk of his arm.

Hobbie wasted no time in his efforts; John was ready for sex, being
completely erect now, Hobbie taking John's hefty phallus in hand and
applying his mouth to it.  At first, he only lapped at it, apparently
tasting it for his satisfaction, to see if he could tolerate it. He did,
apparently, for then he engulfed it completely, taking about half of its
length into his maw.

Unpracticed in such activities, he performed very poorly, grinding his
teeth all over the shaft and squeezing much too hard. But John did not
bother to help him out, simply letting Hobbie enjoy himself on his friend's
groin, with this new activity. But Hobbie asked after several moments, "Am
I doing alright?"

"Eh..." John laughed and frowned, "Well, you're trying too hard. I like
feeling fangs on my cock and all, but go easy on it, don't squeeze so hard,
too."

"Sorry, man." Hobbie sighed and idly stroked the John's member, feeling
utterly disappointing and wondering if he should even bother continuing.

"It's no big deal. I still like it... did --you- like doing it?"

"Yeah, I actually did. It just..." he frowned, "it tastes kinda weird."

"Well, yeah, I know what you mean. I guess to be gay you have to like the
taste of cock." John snickered.

"Well, it doesn't taste bad, it's just different. I kinda liked it." John
noticed that his friend's phallus was now erect and once again ready for
action. It looked very appealing to the dishwasher, who was still very
hungry for the appendage. But now that he was in the wrong position for
fellatio, John had to consider his options. Devouring the dragon's manhood
again simply made him salivate, and it looked like Hobbie could really
benefit from it too.

"How about you flip around and we can suck each other, sound good?" Hobbie
agreed with a grin, gripping his own limb and stroking it a bit.

"Sounds like fun."

John shuffled his body and scooted down along the bed a bit, watching the
chef carefully reposition himself above his friend's body, straddling the
head with both legs, letting his wet appendage to hang downward in front of
the bear's muzzle. Seizing both of Hobbie's muscular, furry legs with his
paws, John growled with delight and slipped his mouth around Hobbie's stiff
shaft completely, quickly going to work at it, wanting to please his
friend.

John sighed happily with it in his maw, growling again when Hobbie
descended his mouth down onto the erection in front of his face. This time
around, either because of John's advice or because of the angle, the chef's
technique had improved slightly, and his fervor had calmed to allow him
better treatment. It really did feel incredible to the dishwasher, even
though his true lover was magnanimously more skilled in this art, and was
absolutely delighted at being Hobbie's first foray into the male sex. Thus,
he performed as best he could; slurping slowly and nibbling at the
quivering, dripping shaft nestled in his mouth. He hoped that Hobbie would
not come so quickly this time, or that if he arrived close, the gentleman
would say something.

Hobbie could not tell what he enjoyed most about the situation of them
sucking at each other so. The taste of John's member became quite appealing
to him, as did his thick scent -- the thick musk ascending from his
backside and legs - and it fueled his efforts to the extreme. He mouthed
ferociously and growled quietly, swallowing the small amounts of fluid that
seemed to be pouring from his friend's phallus, his mind swimming with
pleasure all the while, the cortex of his brain being inundated with
dopamine.

Yet only after a minute of this, during the period when John was increasing
his efforts greatly and losing himself with the masculinity of his friend,
Hobbie felt himself getting ready to climax again, and to John's silent
desires he mentioned it, "Slow down, I'm about to come." With the
notification, John quit slurping completely and let the wet shaft slip out
from his hot mouth.

"Well, if you are --so- eager to come again, I have something I really want
to you do, if you're interested."

"What's that?" Hobbie said, now releasing his mouth from John's phallus.

"Put my feet up and fuck my ass nice and hard."

Hobbie gulped, trying to wash out the intense taste of heat and muskc, and
remained silent for a few moments, then said, "Alright." He turned about to
face the bear who was grinning again with amusement and anticipation. John
wiggled his body a bit, trying to settle into the mattress a bit more
comfortably, bending his knees and pulling up on his legs in order to
expose his backside, willing and eager, brimming with excitement.

The chef aide frowned with concentration, approaching the bear on his
knees, hunkered over, and began prodding at John's warm anus with his wet
phallus. Then it was at that point when John remembered something
devastating, and he had to quickly press his hand up against the dragon's
chest to stop him.

"Wait, do you have any condoms?" Hobbie screwed up his face with confusion.

And just as John had done, Hobbie realized the probable and horrifying
consequences of their actions, "Oh, yeah, the infection. Sorry, man." The
dragon glanced around for a brief moment, thinking to himself, attempting
to recall the place where he might have stored his protection. He leaned to
the left, reaching with an outstretched arm to the small and cluttered side
table, jamming his shaft into John's testicles in the process.

"Um, ow." John grunted. Hobbie quickly retracted with a handful of condoms
and apologized.  He somewhat fumbled with the handful, dropping them in the
process and letting them fall across John's belly and chest and scatter to
either sides of the bed.

"Shit." Hobbie blurted. They cleared off the mess and Hobbie proceeded to
don himself with the protective device, ripping its package away and
sliding the fragile sheath onto his shaft. "There we go, you ready? Wait,
we need some kinda lube."

"Nah, don't worry `bout it. I'm pretty loose, just spit on the condom to
help it." John suggested and Hobbie obeyed, doing his best. But he only
managed to drench his hand with saliva, putting out way more than he had
intended, and needing to wipe it off on the sheets.

Hobbie positioned himself again, pushing forward on the John's legs as his
friend arched them backwards, keeping them positioned upwards with both his
hands, his naked feet wiggling in the air. John felt the tip of his
friend's shaft push up against his entrance, causing him to softly sigh
with excitement. Hobbie pushed inwards, letting himself glide inside about
an inch, causing a moan of delight to emanate from John's throat.

The cook soon became enveloped in his own pleasure, and forcefully thrust
deep inside as much as he could, growling all the while and letting his
slick, pink tongue protrude from his mouth between his teeth. The sudden
intrusion only hurt slightly, John noticed, and he gripped his muscles
around the thick shaft penetrating him, only making the intensity
worse... or better, as it were. John purred, somewhat, and allowed himself
to relax, simply feeling Hobbie's awesome maleness sliding about within
him, stimulating the sensitive sphincter muscle and his prostate gland.

"Damn, that feel good." John sighed, causing Hobbie to chuckle and breaking
the poor man's concentration.

He did not need to ask if Hobbie was enjoying this new attention. From the
quick precipitation into the thrusting-- Hobbie being surprisingly
enthusiastic about it -- and the look of rapture on his face, John was
certain that his friend was in heaven. Hobbie awkwardly humped with great
force, shoving his thick and warm member deep inside his friend's body each
time, grinding his hips against his eager and hairy backside.

"Oh fuck, yeah!" John quipped, gripping his legs tightly with his fingers,
squeezing around the Hobbie's phallus as well, feeling the hard thrusts
against every muscle in his posterior, in his legs, on his prostate. Hobbie
held onto John's thigh's tightly, leaning forward and pulling himself off
of his own knees, taking the bear's rear-end from the bed, then proceeded
to hammer himself with incredible force into John's body.

The effect was astounding, and both males cried out in mutual
ecstasy. John's body was at a different angle now, and Hobbie's pulsing
appendage seemed to delve even deeper into him than it had before, like an
oil drill pushing deep into the Earth. With each move, the entire length of
Hobbie's cock was retracted only to be forced back into the tight orifice
with incredible vigor, the slamming bodies causing the mattress the creak
and bounce.

"Oh yeah! Pound me good, Hobbie!" John cried again, growling and cringing,
feeling that each thrust would utterly drive him to climax each time. But
it never did, so he would have to suffice to manually stimulating his
climax... only after the wonderful beating he was receiving, of course.
But John felt an incredible orgasm grip his mind and body quickly, and
amidst Hobbie's ferocious hammering, the dishwasher quivered helplessly
under the weight as his muscles spasmed and only made the friction of
Hobbie's cock all the more intense.

Like the sucking mouth of the bear, his tight and warm backside brought
Hobbie to climax very quickly, and he seethed through his teeth, trying not
to scream as his convulsing member shot his load into the latex sheath
surrounding it. To the fact that the dragon's come would not fill his
innards, and that Hobbie was fairly quick in the exercise, John did not
enjoy this as much as he believed he could have. But merely seeing the
drained fellow collapse upon his body with sleepy, happy delight was
pleasure in itself.

"Oh, man. That was nice." Hobbie whispered, grinning, his tongue touching
the skin of John's abdomen.

"Ah, sit up. Keep fucking me for a few seconds. I need to come so badly!"
John whimpered. Hobbie immediately stood back up to his knees and started
back to his humping, John grabbing hold of his own shaft and pumping it
with a clenched fist. He gripped as hard as he could with his anus, telling
Hobbie to go faster, and squeezing his member, jerking it quickly, growling
menacingly. Soon he came, and with a burst of air from his mouth and his
body relaxing into the bed, his shaft shot ropes of his white jism through
the air.

The fluid settled onto his stomach, soaking deeply into the fur along his
belly and making a humongous mess. John was not concerned though. Hobbie
pulled out, making a slick pop with the effort, and stood there on his
knees, peeling off the condom while watching his friend shiver with the
last bits of excitment. "Guess I'll get you that cloth again." He vanished
and appeared a minute later, John having not moved an inch in the time.

"That's one thing I don't think I wanna try." Hobbie said, watching his
friend clean himself, now sitting up and yawning, slightly exhausted from
the exertion.

"What's that?"

"Getting fucked in the ass."

John scoffed and shrugged, "Not every gay dude likes it. The --smart- ones
do. If you do it right, it's the most incredible feeling you will ever feel
in your life."

Hobbie lit a cigarette, the pack and lighter sitting on the floor beside
the bed amongst several dropped condoms. "Maybe one day."

"Shit, what time is it?" John asked. Hobbie squinted and glanced about the
room, looking for a clock -- supposedly -- amongst the disaster.

"I got a clock in here somewhere," he said with the cigarette in his mouth,
smoke billowing from his maw. He started to search then, crawling through
the piles of "shit" all over the place, tossing various items aside and
behind him, groping around an unseen table under a broken television
screen. He dropped his cigarette, which began to burn a shirt and send dark
smoke up into his face.

"Ah, dammit!" He retrieved the cigarette immediately.

Eventually, he found the clock - an archaic, digital model - that told them
it was approaching 11:00 PM. Quitting the chamber, the males returned to
the living room and sat on the couch. For another half hour or so, they
conversed about music or past relationships, movies, exchanged
jokes... typical and unfamiliar banter. Hobbie showed him a large, frayed
book of tattoo art and explained certain designs that he wished to get done
on him. Thus John looked for designs he liked himself, and wondered how he
would look with it painted on his flesh.

"You hungry yet?" Hobbie asked again.

"Uh, not really. I'm thirsty though; I'll just get some water." Hobbie
nodded and moved into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.

"Oh yeah, do you got any mouthwash I can use?" John asked.

"Yeah, it's in the cabinet in the bathroom." John then walked to the
lavatory and used the antiseptic, hoping that it would destroy any
lingering bacteria in his mouth and throat.

At this point in the visit, both became more taciturn and weary. It was bed
time very soon for both of them, so thus John said, "I better get going. My
boyfriend is gonna be worried sick."

"Alright man, it was fun, I'll see you tomorrow."

John nodded, gathered his things and left the trailer. He started his car,
which at first refused to submit to its normal functions, being so cold
outside and the beaten thing in dire need of maintenance. Lighting a cigar
that he kept in the central console, he wondered how he would proceed in
backing out properly, the lot being too narrow to turn around, and his
windows iced over so badly that not even his card could scrape it off.

However, he was done with worrying about it, he just wanted to get home and
stop fretting over his ridiculous car. He also did not want to think about
his missing wallet and the trouble it would cause. Looking outside of his
window, towards the highway, he decided to pull into the neighboring yard
and try to turn his car around to go forwards instead of backwards. But in
doing so, he only got the car stuck in a tiny, invisible hole in the ground
and could not back up. Hobbie came running from his trailer, waving his
hands and his eyes wide.

"No! Don't do that, that woman will call the police."

John groaned, and drove forward, closer to the trailer and straightened his
car, "Could you help me back out? I can't see shit and I'm really bad at
backing up anyway." Hobbie moved towards the driver's side door and
directed, John completely blind to what he was doing except for noting the
view of a shadowy tree that he had to be sure not to drive into.  Hobbie
quickly ran back inside when John's tires touched the road, apparently
being too cold outside.

As soon as he was perpendicular with the highway, situated directly on the
road, he shifted into drive again and the vehicle promptly stalled, the
engine dying and going quiet.

"Ah, fuck." John growled ferociously and tried to start up the car
again. It persisted in fighting him, though, refusing to idle while in
drive, but having no problem in park or while as dead like the frozen night
around him. Letting the car have its way for a while, he hoped that
allowing it to heat up in park would help it to actually drive
properly. Then after what seemed like ten hours, he was finally home, the
apartments in view and the light of his living room glowing softly.

The apartments were assorted into five different buildings -- aligned on a
hill - his and Shaun's being in the third to last set. There were about two
dozen spaces for cars along in a small lot between buildings three and
four, designated for residents of the chambers within, where he and Shaun
normally parked.

However, in par with his terrible luck this night, every single space was
occupied. John, then, had to park in a small spot at the side of building
four, besides a large and intimidating van of sorts. Shutting off the
vehicle and desiring never to see it or step foot within its rickety
confines again in his life, he strode through the lot and clambered up a
short flight of concrete steps, stopping in front of the door to unlock it
and enter.

Shaun stood up from the couch where he had been watching something on the
screen and embraced his lover with tremendous satisfaction. "Everything
okay? You're phone is off."

"It died at Hobbie's." He removed the small device from his pocket. "He's a
cook at work; I hung out at his place for a little while." He attached the
phone to its power adapter leading from an electrical outlet from the wall,
which they always kept in the main room next to their computers. Shaun
embraced him again, from behind, and gently kissed the back of John's
neck. Immediately he stopped and began to sniff around his neck, curiously.
John knew that he smelled like fried chicken from the deep fryer vats in
the kitchen.

"What did you guys do?" He asked quizzically.  John explained everything
that happened beginning at the time of departure from the restaurant to his
arrival at the apartments, omitting most of the conversation, but doing his
best to emphasize the outstanding misfortunes of the night. They sat poised
on the couch, cuddling slightly, John wanting to rest for a bit before he
went to shower himself.

"Well, at least you got some fun out of tonight. I wish I could have
watched." Shaun pouted, tehn confessed that soon after he had been informed
of John's misplaced wallet, he had ventured out to the restaurant with a
flashlight and searched for it, going through the excess trouble of
searching the back lot as well as the front, and looking through the small
alleyways.

After a minute or so of discussion, the couple left the apartment, armed
with two flashlights now, and proceeded to search the premises more
thoroughly. At a suggestion made by Shaun, they inquired within a small
tavern on the roundabout if anyone had either seen or turned it in. Seems
that no one did. Next stop was the police station, where they informed an
elderly woman behind a tall desk of the incident, with whom John made a
report and gave an explanation.

Returning home with even less hope than they had to begin with, the two
males went to bed. He kissed Shaun affectionately as they both lay in the
darkness, feeling an abundance of love radiating throughout them both, only
now realizing how much he truly did appreciate the fellow.

~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~-\...Epilogue.../-~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~

The return to work was just as unpleasant as ever. John hoped that he would
never have to drive Hobbie home again and fuss with the excursion that his
vehicle made it out to be. With no transport of his own, he truly felt very
sorry for the poor cook helper. Yet on the day after their ordeal, John
learned that a waitress friend of theirs -- a very pretty, young woman with
blond hair named Alana -- had taken John's role of transportation for
Hobbie.

When telling John of this, after learning of the horrible misfortunes the
dishwasher had suffered in his previous favor to Hobbie, she told him that
he was "paying" for her services. By this, she clarified saying that he was
giving her miscellaneous electronic gadgets in exchange for her
services. John did not bother to tell the girl how Hobbie had paid him for
his services.

Hobbie, like every other cook assistant, eventually stopped attending work,
either having quit or having been fired, and John had only learned of this
when asking of Alana, "Does Hobbie still work here?"

"Nope." She said, shaking her head.

"Huh, that sucks. I liked him."

"Yeah, I talked to him yesterday, he's in Cartersville; he said he got into
some trouble and has to stay there for a while." The news did not surprise
the dishwasher, but he was very curious if not a bit concerned.

"What kinda trouble?" He chuckled.

"I have no idea." She looked equally as puzzled as him. Regardless of what
manner of mischief Hobbie had gotten himself into, John never heard from
him again, and thus continued the chain of folks coming and going through
the restaurant, no one ever managing to stay for more than a couple of
weeks, as if the place were cursed.  It seemed he was doomed to be the only
dishwasher in the restaurant, and doomed to be stuck with the same faces
everyday.


~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~-\...The End.../-~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~

Dedicated to my short-lived friendship with Herbie, wherever the hell you
are today.  Thank you for the cell-phone headset, I still use it frequently
to this day.