Date: Sat, 17 Jun 2006 17:18:57 -0500
From: fireflywatcher ford <fireflywatcher@gmail.com>
Subject: Winning by the Numbers, Chapter 2 : Moving Right Along

	Warning:
	This story contains scenes of a sexual nature between two
males. If reading this or possessing such material violates the law
in your jurisdiction or you are under the age of 18, please leave this
site and read no further.
	The author retains all rights to this original story. Please do
not publish or reproduce it without explicit authorization from me.
	Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional and any
resemblances to real persons or events are purely coincidental.
References to Reverend James Robison in this chapter are a matter
of public record and as used in a fictional work, need not be
justified.
	Winning by the Numbers is a story about the natural human
desires to love the person of your choice and to find equality.
There is a desire in all of us to have children and this fictionally
addresses that.
	WINNING BY THE NUMBERS, Chapter 2 : Moving
Right Along
	I was spending only two days a week with candidates after
that first week. I have to admit I pushed James' recommended
friends right to the top of the list. It saved a lot of time because I
knew he would only recommend guys that met the requirements
and would likely be more fun to work with. Everything we were
doing was new and untested, but as we screened more people we
added to our knowledge base. Even genetic testing was new and
very expensive, but we had our own equipment in the lab, so it was
just our labor and a small cost for materials to do the testing. In
1977 there were a few genetic markers known, but most were
genetic diseases.
	James got in touch and we began getting together regularly.
Saturday night was the regular night for college football at SMU
and it fit perfectly into my schedule. He gave me tickets for seats
right behind the bench and I was a regular at all their home games.
My college roommate Dan was a sports fanatic and played football
on my college team. I had gotten used to being a big sports fan
being with him for three years. I broke his heart when I went to
Central America with John, who had been my freshman lover and
have regretted it to this day. Dan was a year younger and we were
assigned roommates in the dorm when we met.
	The first two weeks in the dorm were hell. He rarely said a
word and if he made a sound it was a ?hmmm? kind of grunt. I
knew the 'faggot' tag on my forehead was bright red and flashing
for sure. Hell, I was poor and doing work study in the labs, and
living on grants and student loans to get by. He came in one
evening when I was frying chicken and making gravy on a hot
plate, and I couldn't shut him up after that. Mom and dad were
footing his bill and that credit card did more than they ever figured
out. We went to every Rangers game even if they were a loosing
team. It was minor league hockey and the Cowboy's after that until
baseball started again, the Mav's hadn't come to Dallas yet.
	He would clip the two for one restaurant coupons out of the
Sunday paper to make sure I ate.   When he hadn't had a date in
three months and spent all his time with me, I knew something was
up. He came home from a tiddy bar one Saturday night (the
drinking age was 18 for a while back them) and I guess I got raped,
but the willing can't be raped, can they? I became a true sports fan
because of Dan. I was also convinced that red headed guys had the
biggest dicks; his was fourteen inches as big around as my wrist
and the length of my forearm from elbow to wrist. God, that took a
lot of lessons to adjust to.
	James, on the other hand had a rep to maintain. The pros
might be calling one day and his frat buddies had to be impressed.
Not all of his frat buddies needed to be impressed, though, because
quite a few were on my list. I'd see James during the week and
occasionally at other times when he'd rap on my bedroom window
late at night. Half of my closet was full of his shit.
	I didn't make a lot of money, just $650 a month before
taxes. My rent was $120 with bills paid and my truck payment and
insurance didn't leave a lot to live on. James didn't have much
either with an athletic scholarship and a single mom at home in
West Texas. The Friday paper listed all the bars with drink or beer
specials, and the TWIT listed the same thing for the few gay bars
in the area. I learned about these things from dear Dan, bless his
soul, and James and I found a way to have a good time on a limited
budget.
	I took two classes during work hours to get my master's
and hit every research project that paid any extra cash at the same
time. My shoulders looked like a pin cushion from doing tests for
cosmetic and drug companies. I was one of those rare individuals
allergic to everything, perfect for hypoallergenic tests. Becoming a
molecular geneticist seems like a fancy title, but if don't pay the
bills, it ain't shit. My bachelors was a double major in
microbiology/ viral genetics and biochemistry for which I now
received the pitiful salary that barely supported me.
	One night when James had other things to do, I went out by
myself the 'Old Plantation' for a few drinks. Two guys sitting at a
table beside me all evening asked me to go outside and smoke a
joint. I smoked it sometimes but usually couldn't afford the luxury
and went with them.
	"Hey man, we've got to cruise to smoke this" they
persuaded me, I hopped in their car on the passenger side of the
front seat. One guy sat behind me in the back as the other guy
drove. I think we smoked the joint, but mostly I remember getting
my throat cut from ear to ear, called a faggot, and dumped out of
the car without my wallet and the whole seven dollars inside it. I
bled like crazy, but he hadn't cut a vein. A Dallas cop who saw the
whole thing and was standing a few feet away when they dumped
me out, wouldn't even write the license plate number down and
just laughed at me. By the time I walked the ten blocks back to the
bar and my truck my white shirt was red. I survived but I didn't go
out alone or leave with strangers after that.
	I took three days off from work and wore turtlenecks for a
week after that because I was so embarrassed. James and Wanda
both had fits. I felt like a puppy chased back on the porch by the
big dogs. A week later, the same guys were on the TV news after
killing a lady and stealing her Mary Kay pink Cadillac and using
her credit cards at JC Penney.
	The research continued to open up more possibilities.
Wanda's work with egg donors and the family member interviews
we did was giving us a lot of genetic information. Sometimes all
the brothers and cousins from a maternal line were gay, where
we'd only expected to find about fifty percent gay men according
to older studies. Sometimes even with identical twins, just as you
find one left handed and the other right handed, you find one
straight and the other gay. They have identical genetics, so go
figure. A really odd finding was very masculine straight men who
were genetically female. The whole XXY and XYY extra
chromosomal anomaly was even more baffling.
	The triplet chromosomes were best recorded in prison
studies. They were more prone to be dropouts, exhibit violent
behavior, be manic depressive or bi-polar, sometimes brilliant, and
most often suicidal. The chemicals our bodies manufacture can
create circumstances beyond understanding. We rejected all
trisomal sex gene candidates from then on.
	Simple blood tests for genetics were given to any interested
candidates before we did any interviews. All the know genetic
defects were screened out, then schizophrenia and gradually other
problems were added. This was a project to produce babies after
all, but to what purpose Wanda and I weren't certain as yet.
	Dr. Smith was soon to retire and Dr. Reed was still in his
thirties. They were getting millions in grants and from the rumors
that their research involved gays and lesbians more money poured
in. The mystery was why Wanda and I both were paid such low
salaries. They set up a foundation and we were both put on the
board of directors, but we still had no idea what plans they had
made. The five thousand dollars a year for being board members
brightened our world. Add it up yourself and it nearly came to
doubling our pay. I took James out when I got the first check and
spent a hundred bucks on one meal. We fucked our brains out that
night and into the next day until he had football practice at three,
I'd bet he wasn?t worth a shit at practice, but the guy sure amazed
me sometimes.
	I had meetings with two candidates who were
recommended by James that week. One was a student at North
Texas and the other was a TCU Horned Frog, emphasize 'Horned'.
I don't understand how he kept sending me such hot guys when he
spends so much of his free time with me. Maybe he was trying to
make up for the fact he was dating girls on the weekends and felt
guilty. If he was fucking them I'd be surprised. If he was the
perfect gentleman it would fit his character. I'd even started
fucking him some of the time. My ten inches was smaller than his,
but not small by any means. Our favorite sex was to 69 on our
sides with our arms wrapped around each other's waist. God, I
loved it. We nearly always came at the same time that way.
	The friend from North Texas was a basketball player. You
might think that with bodies being proportional a seven foot guy
would have a huge dick. He had more than me but less than James
at eleven inches with James a fraction longer and a good bit
thicker. His name was Robert. What he lacked was rhythm.  You
dribble a ball in basketball, which requires some sense of rhythm
that isn't needed for football or hockey, much less for baseball, but
he just didn't have it. Maybe I wasn't his ideal partner. He needed
someone that moved with some unsyncopated beat heard only in
his head and theirs. We were done in five minutes and he was out
of there.
	Mr. Horned Frog was named Clayton. He was about ten
inches like me, but thick as a can of corn. I couldn't have gotten it
in my mouth or my ass if I tried. I didn't need to worry because the
guy was a total bottom who just wanted to be fucked and jacked
off at the same time. Some thought had gotten me horny before he
arrived and expecting to do some servicing myself, I jacked off to
a blissful climax before he arrived. I swear I never laid a hand on
him but after an hour of steady pounding he filled my specimen jar
(the larger size) and totally painted both of us with his jism. I
painted his insides about as well with that tight ass spasming
around my cock while he came.
	Clayton was a beautiful man. He was truly pretty with
chestnut hair and green eyes, a V-shaped chest leading to a tight
waist, and a great bubble butt below. Every muscle on his bod was
cut and well defined. I made a mental note to buy some TCU
purple bed linens and ask James to help me out with this guy at a
future date. I was sure James would agree. Where in the hell were
college athletes making all these contacts? It had to be through the
frats or just locker-room gaydar.
	In 1977 AIDS hadn't happened yet. Straight men and
women got the STD?s like the clap or syphilis, but gay guys didn't
get anything, in Dallas anyway. What we did get was a bunch of
crap from an evangelist named James Robison, who is still around
and claims to be repentant over his remarks. He was on television
and the minister of a large area church. He adamantly urged
followers to take a gun and go out and kill gays. He wasn't alone
in his sentiments and if living in the redneck south and being raised
a cowboy wasn't enough punishment for one lifetime, I had to
worry about those red flashing letters on my forehead saying
'faggot' and getting killed by some stranger asshole walking
around wasting air a good person could be breathing. I still get a
little nervous like this morning when a neighbor here in the
country decided to do some target practice.
	Thursday night Clayton and James popped up at my door
around ten in the evening. It was raining like a cow pissing on a
flat rock and they were soaked to the bone. I stripped them and
threw their clothes in my dryer. Before the late news was finished
they had found a few fun things to do until their clothes got dry. I
totally missed the weather forecast. The sound was turned down
and some hot music was playing on my stereo with these two hot
naked guys dancing in front of me and pulling me in with them. It
wasn't Dianna Ross and the Supremes, but when three guys are
trying to dance with the same moves, all with hard dicks swinging
to the beat of the music, Dianna didn't have shit on this. A friend, a
few years later told me stories from his time in the Navy on the
Enterprise with forty or fifty marines doing the same thing lined up
to get their morning showers, but I swear we had more fun than
you could on a ship.
	The coffee table got pushed aside and the chairs backed up
against the wall and we were rocking and swaying, and swinging
our dicks to Elton and Bob Seager, and Hall and Oats, and little
Steevie Wonder. I just love the rain. Granddaddy always sat with
me on the porch as the music of the rain flowed across the tin roof,
but with these two guys, the music was beating its way out of our
chests. We were sweating like naked pigs and it was a hot
November, over 100 at ten o'clock that night. The air-conditioner
couldn't get it below eighty in the old apartment so we chugged
beers as fast as we could to cool down. My apartment was on
Prescott off Lemon Avenue and the houses across the street were
houses, and that side was Highland Park, not Dallas. Mine looked
the same on the outside but held eight apartments and the old cars
parked in back stood in contrast to the Mercedes and Rolls parked
across the street. James' Camaro was on the street out front. My F-
100 was out back out of sight. The statue of Lee on his horse was a
block away.
	"God, I want to rock and roll with you all night long"
James yelled out at the top of his lungs. Clayton just nodded in
agreement and smiled real big. I pulled us together in a circle and
the sheen of our sweaty skin was magnificent. James had his arms
around mine and Clayton's waist, and with just a little tug our
three dick heads touched in the center of our circle. That slight
erratic contact was enough to keep us throbbing, dancing naked in
our circle. I'd suck face with James for a while and switch to
Clayton and then watch as he and James dove deep in each others
mouths with their tongues. I was the shorter thinner guy of the
three of us but we melded together as if we were one.
	I missed work the next day claiming a cold had me down,
but in fact we were still in bed when I called in and hadn't slept
yet. Clayton may have been a total bottom, but after that night he
rose to true versatile. I don't know how either James or I took in
that can of corn thick cock, but maybe it was easier after we had
taken each other in turn. Just where does love fall and where does
it have its limits? Can you equally love two people without
neglecting the needs of another? Is sex just sex and separate from
the emotion of love? I still don't have the answers, but for a
moment in time our love was three.
	Here I was working on reproductive medicine with some
unknown objective to benefit gays and lesbians, but I could not
fathom how a diverse sexual experience could mesh with family
life and children. My only consoling thought was that children are
extremely adaptable as long as their environment is loving and
nurturing.