Date: Wed, 19 Aug 2009 17:03:03 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: FoR SaLE By OwNEr  87

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any
resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely
coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons,
in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is
staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you,
then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18
years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this
story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.

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

FoR SaLE By OwNEr  87
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

Every day of the week Alex got the same old sob story from Kyle, yet Alex's
lover left his statement flavored with the positive as well as the
negative, "With or without me you're going to the Cayman Karlyle party
Alex!"

But everyday Alex stood his ground to contend with his lover's feelings,
"With you - okay. Without you - not!"

"I don't get it Alex. Two days ago you were accepting of the fact, this
being a good opportunity to get ahead. Then the next day you come in here
and give me grief. Yesterday you we were all set with this and now... what
keeps making you change your mind?"

Alex thought on it, thinking the secret thing he was keeping from Kyle
which made him feel guilty. Two days before the biggest weekend of his
life, other than the weekend he met Kyle, was a good time to fess up. "I've
been seeing Peter Monteith."  Then he left moments of silence for Kyle to
debate.

Things sort of fell into place. Kyle mulled it over for all of a few
seconds before saying, "So you've let a ten-year old shrink help sway your
opinion?"

"Just seeing Peter so cheerful... don't get me wrong... I'm totally okay
with it, but without the `knowing' if he's ever going to get out of
there... before... well cancer is a strange thing... you never know, you
know?"

Throughout their whole ordeal over Kyle's beating, then recovery, he's
discovered Alex not the stalwart pillar, the `Rock-Of-Gibraltor' his
character has dictated. Sure, he became involved with Alex because he's
sweet and sensitive, not to mention fantastic in bed, but through the week
in the hospital, there's been much closeness without having their bods
lying side by side. He wanted to present the fact at least, "Alex, I don't
have any life-threatening illness. I'm not going to go away anytime quick?"

"I know. And I know this too, that I can't and won't be able to spend every
living, breathing minute with you Kyle, but while you're... `grounded' I
want to be around you, unless something `urgent'," Alex stressed, "comes
along which prohibits me from doing so."

He didn't want to get Alex's feelings riding high and then have them
crumble, but Kyle needed something to give Alex a boost and put all this to
rest, so reports, "Dr. Azayzeh is going to be at the Karlyle party."

"Good for him," Alex replies sarcastically.

"Don't you get it you dummy?"

"Get what?"

Since the incident, Kyle has seen the shopping bags accumulate under his
lover's eyes, shadows forming like he was all prepped to perform with the
KISS rock band on stage. Rather carrying on this cat and mouse game, he
puts on a brilliant smile and informs, "Well, if there's somebody with a
`vast' medical background, say for instance a `doctor', well then I would
be perfectly safe being at the Cayman Karlyle party!"

"What?" Alex looked at Kyle, at eye level, with a strange stare.

"Sure. Would be cool sitting pool-side and watching all the boys go
by. Maybe one or two of them would take pity on me and..."

"They better not!" Alex replies dramatically.

Kyle silenced his opinions, lying there with a smile on his lips.

Tired, Alex wasn't getting it. "Wait. What you saying?"

"What I found out, which must've slipped my mind, the reason for not
mentioning it, is Dr. Azayzeh and Cayman Karlyle became friends two years
ago when a large sum of necessary money was donated to the hospital when
the city was going through a credit crunch."

"Thanks for filling me in with the fiscal status of New York, but what has
this got to do with you?"

Kyle, even though he tried to remain patient, was getting disturbed by
Alex's total abandon towards the irrational behavior he exibited. "Come
here!"

"Where?"

"Here," Kyle motioned his index finger. "I want to tell you something."

Too tired from the irregular hours he was putting in for the past week,
Alex gave in readily, bending over the short fence which kept Kyle corraled
in the bed. "What?"

Using stored up energy Kyle reaches up and grabs Alex's shirt, balling it
up in his hand. His bod is pulled up from the bed and inch or two. While
pulling Alex towards him, he gives him the biggest smooch. Using the shirt
as leverage, like a pulley system, Kyle kisses Alex, stops, then kisses him
again.

Delayed reaction, Alex says, "Hey, didn't that hurt?" He placed both hands
at Kyle's sides, a slight hug to the biceps.

"Yeah, but some things are more important than pain?" Kyle debated.

Some of what Kyle was telling him seeped in and Alex was reacting, but the
fact of Kyle being able to upright himself at all without screaming his
lungs out, gave Alex indication a week in the hospital had done it's
rehabilitative magic. "You have improved a lot, you know?

"I know. So does Dr. Azayzeh and," Kyle reverted to the main focus of their
ensuing conversation, "it should tell you something Alex!"

A small crinkle lined Alex's lips.

Kyle spotted what he thought `Alex in recovery'. As he and Dr. Azayzeh had
already planned, Kyle began rolling out `the plan', "Friday morning a
private ambulance is going to show up at the hospital. An EMT and nurse
will be with me the whole time, from when we leave the hospital, throughout
the whole time we are at the Karlyle estate. Of course Dr. Azayzeh will be
there the whole time. If need be, the South Hampton hospital is only twelve
miles away. So-o-o... what do you think?"

He knew it was a good, solid plan, but skeptical of Kyle being moved. "What
about the thing in your dick?" was all he could think for complaining.

Ripping the sheet off from his privates he puts on smile after saying,
"Voila!"

"It's gone! You can pee?"

The laughter. It's what got Alex into a more accepting frame of mind,
coupled with the fact Kyle only hurt a little bit when he forced his bod
upright for a sweet kiss.

On the side, Kyle tells him, "Worst fuckin' pain... worse than them working
on my fractured rib... when they pulled the damn catheter out!"

Seeing and sensing Kyle being humorous did all the world of good for Alex
It was a mischevious approach, Alex's hand gently massaging Kyle's deflated
shaft.  "How does it feel?"

"Mmmm.... real nice... but my lips are kind of `dry'!"

Alex saw right through his lover's comment, his lips not being `thirsty
dry'! "Patience," Alex says, still rubbing.

However things took a turn for the worse, Kyle suffering the most when a
sound at the door caused Alex's hand to retreat like lightning and Kyle
flinging the sheet back over his crotch. "Oh shit!" he called out, seeing
the sheet tented.

Picking up a book Kyle was reading on and off, a book Alex himself found in
the lobby, Josh Kilmer Purcell's "I Am Not Myself These Days", he casually
tosses it onto Kyle's lap.

"Owwwch!" Kyle said, but wasn't really feeling any pain. He readjusted the
book, amending his complaint, "Good move Alex!"

All was in perfect order for the hospital crew to enter and tidy up Kyle
and other things about the room.

"Would you excuse us please?"

"Sure. No problem," Alex replied to the spokesperson for the crew,
returning the cute smile outlined by a dark-haired goatee.. And as if
meeting people socially, he tells, "I'm Alex and this is Kyle."

At least Kyle was very happy to see Alex's spirits lifted. He was also glad
he didn't need the book anymore. An important development, because his bed
sheets were being changed!

%

"How do I look in this? Pretty cool, huh?"

"You look cool alright," Scotty saying it to his boyfriend, same time
edging his bod up to Michael, plastering it against the Aussiebum briefs.

Whereas Michael went for the `cool' look, Scotty more reserved his tastes
for casual, wearing a conservative pair of briefs, the pair that's been
passed around the close circle of friends for the past several months.

After their passionate kiss, Michael going for the erotic tonguing, Scotty
the relaxed pressing of lips, Michael says, "Y'know you would prolly look
cool too in a pair of `my' briefs?"

"Especially right now?" Scotty replies, smiling as he feels up the extra
front pocket of Michael's briefs.

Returning, Michael says, with hand and worded, "Good thing Alex's briefs
are made for kingsize!"

Falling victim to a sexy mood, Scotty takes Michael's hand in his,
prompting Michael, putting his eighteen year old lover's fingers near the
edge of his briefs, where elastic meets his treasure trail.

"I love this part," Michael says. At first he stares Scotty down. With eyes
still making contact, Michael's quads cave in. On his knees he's still
looking up. He keeps his vision straight upwards as his hands get busy with
the elastic waistband.

Already feeling the pangs of what's to come, Scotty makes note, "Um,
whenever?"

It causes Michael to smile, knowing he's being a big tease! "How about
now?" He says, his head hinged downwards at the same time he's pulling
Scotty's briefs down below his knees.

"Oooooooh you didn't fail me!" Scotty uttered as his head dropped back.

He giggled, at the response, something Scotty has lately been saing, but
when asked, doesn't know where he got it from. Michael swears it was from a
movie they were watching, where the dad tells the son upon leaving to seek
out some help, "Son, don't fail me!" At the time, they were in the `movie
room' of the new `upright condo' they were living, doubling up with Dante
and Chad on the leather sofa. First Michael got sexually-crazed, then it
began rubbing off on Dante. Scotty and Chad, the more conservatives of the
other halves, wound up tearing Dante and Michael apart before they became
too crazily involved!

Turning to all seriousness, Michael thinks on his primary purpose for being
on his knees. Half enjoying the excitement of finding his lover's cock,
solid as a monolith, Michael purses his lips and bobs down, then up,
painting Soctty's shaft with his saliva.

"Ooooh I'm not gonna last long!"

Another phrase, one Michael like the most, Michael jumps up on his feet,
makes the bed rock on the floor as he jumps on it, on all fours, then peels
the Aussiebums from his ass. "All ready and willing!"

From their shopping spree clothes, Scotty picks up a belt and thrashes it
across Michael's ass.

"Oh fuck that hurt!" Michael says, falling over to a sitting position, both
hands under his ass.

"I know something that's gonna hurt more!" Scotty says, keeping his wet
cock hard with some hardy right-hand-stroking!

Like nothing happened, except seeing Scotty standing there, his prime cut
in his hand, firming all nine inches up, he cheerfully replies to sight and
the sound of his lover's comment, "Okay... So I'm a masochist!"

%

For better or worse, Vince Maselli had outweighed the odds of finding a
normal relationship. One night they had it out, not in a heated discussion,
but rather a calm, articulate debate, Jorgen pursuing his fetish, while
testing the waters of their new relationship.

One of Vince's qualms was having a loving time in bed, experience some hot
foreplay, then some heavy cock action.

Where Jorgen was concerned, he wanted the same, but at times he would get
into an obscure mood, craving something more dramatic. If Vince hadn't
discovered this kinky kind of sexual stuff while in captivity.....

"It might have scared you away."

"I know," Vince acknowledged, as they lay there in each other's arms.

"I don't suppose you're in the mood for...." Jorgen tested the waters,
seeing if Vince was up for some early morning fun.

Knowing Jorgen held out last night, forgoing the kinky play for some down
to earth hot sex Vince's reply comes him bowling Jorgen over, his arms
makeing Jorgen his prisoner, his hands grabbing up his blond lover's wrists
behind his back, clutching them together in the bindings of his tight
fists. "You're my prisoner now," and he spelled out Jorgen's position for
dramatic effect, "Special Agent Ordman..." and with evil intent, as best as
Vince could act it out, "get comfortable `cause I'm gonna get ready to
drill the hell outta that ass of yours!"

Ordman, Jorgen, was feeling such excitement in the way Vince forced himself
upon him. Sure, a lot of improvement was needed whereas Vince's acting
skills were concerned and in time he was sure this would work out -
practice makes perfect - he replies, "Do what you want with me... you'll
never get anything out of me!"

`Oh how wrong you are!' Vince thought to himself, his wide grin on his face
reflecting how, when both became totally sexually charged up, regarding how
Vince was going to get `plenty' out of Jorgen!

%

It happened the other night when the gang headed out to Lincoln Center. It
was one of the big breaks of Carlos' career, the nineteen year old
accepting a shoo-in for Giulio Leonetti, principal trumpeter with the New
York City Opera, having been rushed to the hospital prior to curtain time.

"Break a leg!" Carlos heard about him, as he exited the limo, standing
right in front of Lincoln Center.

To conserve the A-C, windows zip up shortly thereafter.

"I hope he does good?" Drew asks, with a mixture of confidence and
question.

Always the one to jump in on the spot, Michael exclaims, "Are you kidding,
Drewie?"

Also with firsthand knowledge of Carlos' proficiency as a trumpeter,
"Carlos is like, the best trumpet-man in New York City!"

"If not the world!" Ellis yells from the front seat, supporting Scotty's
reinforcement.

"Trust me. We were there," Vince says of the recital at Manhattan School of
Music a few weeks ago, "Carlos blows... like he's the best!"

Of course Vince got it, rib-ticklers galore, questioning Carlos' position
in bed, their laughter and humorous banter sidetracked to Drew. New among
the bunch, Drew didn't know what to say, so they passed the heckling back
on Vince.

When all subsided, Ellis informed them, "Get out!" when a police car pulled
up behind them. While Ellis confered with the cop, "I know officer. I was
only letting my friends out..."

As the cop looked over the top of the limo, he bends his head down and
asks, "A lot of `nice' friends you have there?"

Reading the lingo, Ellis replies, "They're all taken except me!"

"Is that so?" The cop replies. Incognito he was writing Ellis a `summons'
for standing in a no-standing zone. "Call me tonight after nine!"

The cop disappeared, but on the `summons' was written, `Gregg Lemmon', his
phone number and `you interest me', written in three lines. Weeks later,
Ellis was glad he turned down the guys' invitation for the after
performance dinner at Trattoria Sambuco and instead opted out to call
Gregg. For now their time was sparse, meeting wherever they could purposely
converge, Gregg leaving his patrol car parked while they either talked in
the front seat or stripped themselves of their uniforms in the
smoky-glassed back seat of the limo.. It was an enlightening for both, each
discovering how much pleasure they could get out of sucking each other, but
giving up their asses to a nice hot fuck.

"Me first!" Ellis called out.

Giving in without a fight of words, something which sometimes occured,
Gregg replies, "Yeah and do me hard!"

Good thing the limo had good shocks, because hard is what Ellis was and so
tight was Gregg's ass, it took a lot of drilling to hit pay dirt!

"You're turn!" Ellis said after the ten minute `ordeal'.

Switching off, Ellis now butted his chest up against the back seat, Gregg
in the driver's seat, holding his loaded pistol up to Ellis' ass.

"Make it hurt!"

"Oh don't you worry.... I'm gonna!" Gregg assured Ellis.

But it didn't happen anything like the play on words the two had for each
other. Sure, Gregg had a tough time forcing himself into Ellis' tight hole,
but once in getting there seemed secondhand. "Oh man are you tight today!"

Ellis smiled to himself. 'Same old, same old!'  Yet, as he felt Gregg's
snuggily shaft scraping against his enclosure, words couldn't speak louder
than action!

%

"We have a bit of a problem Stephen?"

Sitting at the very long diningroom table, a room which he shared with no
one at the moment, Stephen Braddock lowered his New York Times and replied,
"What is it Alfredo?" he quizzed his butler.

"Could be bad news or good news, depending on how you look at it?"

Being Alfredo has been in Stephen Braddock's employ for decades, it wasn't
rude of him to respond, "Cut the bullshit Alfredo?"

Putting on a smile, means by which he often found Stephen's nice way of
putting things, he followed up immediately, "Norman."

"What about Norman?" He threw down his paper, instantly reply, "Oh shit!"
Stephen held up his New York Times, the stock martket section with a big,
eggy splotch soiling it.

"You bumbling idiot!" Alfredo comically said, whipping the paper out of
Stephen's hands. "I'll have another one brought up. In the meantime, I
suggest you not leave Dustin waiting?"

"Dustin? What about Norman?"

"Norman was rushed to the hospital with pains in his chest. Instead, his
son is here to try to assemble your luggage for the Karlyle party."

"But what about..." Before Stephen could get his dibs in, knowing how
efficient Norman could be, knowing Norman has always known to pack for him,
whether it was a business trip, a vacation or a convention, how many
clothes to pack for leisure, as oppose for business, well now he sat there
panicking....

"Sir, Dustin Bailey, Norman's son?"

Manner in which Alfredo said it, drew Stephen Braddock's attention to the
opening between the hallway and diningroom of his Westchester estate. Next
reaction, after the initial checking out, Stephen got to his feet and
slowly made his way around the table. Dropping all subject matter and worry
from his brain, he stuck out his hand as he approached, saying, "So you are
Norman Wright's son?"

"Step-son," Dustin replies. "My step-father apologizes for the
inconvenience and hopes I can manage in his place."

"Apology not necessary," Stephen was in instant forgiveness.

Smiling, Dustin asks, "Uh, would you mind...."

"Oh surely," Stephen replied, relaxing his grip on Dustin's hand. And
before anything else transpired, he asks, "Have you had your breakfast?"

Dustin had, but after the hardy handshake, suddenly sensed a hunger. "I
could use `something'."

"Alfredo, prepare another place setting for Mr. Bailey."

"Oh, you can call me Dustin, Mr. Braddock."

Of course, tit for tat, Braddock became known as `Stephen' to Dustin. "Your
father...."

"Step-father," Dustin was quick to point out.

Sensing something right off, Stephen makes an assumption, "You and your
step-father don't get along very well, do you?"

"Thank you," Dustin was polite, giving his gratefulness to Alfredo for
placing a mat, plate, forks, spoon and knife in front of him.

"You're quite welcome. Juice? Coffee?"

"Both, please."

Before Stephen could get a word in edgewise, he waited for Alfredo to
service Dustin, adding eggs and bacon to his plate, a separate, smaller
plate with a roll and serving him up liquid refreshments. The whole time
his attention was geared on Dustin. He wondered first the age, thinking
maybe twenty-seven... or -eight, -nine, but not over thirty. Then it didn't
matter . Whatever the age, he thought how handsome Dustin, the sharp
cheekbones, his dark-rimmed glasses sitting atop them, the bristly goatee,
slightly lighter brown than his hair.

His gazing upon met with adjusting his train of thought when Dustin turns
to him and bluntly puts it, "My father was opposed to me coming here today,
but I'm out of work, layed off from my job and I'd appreciate it if you
could give me a try."

Having a good feeling about Dustin, Stephen wanted to hire him on the
spot. But as he knew in his business transactions, hiring was easier than
firing. Out of habit too, he always investigated people before adding them
to his employ. "Exactly what was your business before your untimely
layoff?"

Stephen wasn't interested in eating and he sensed the same in Dustin as he
took off, starting from his teen years, telling him he had a desire to
study art, but his interest was quickly shot down by his real father,
instead to become heir to the family business, which was sneakers. "Boy
were we all surprised when he kicked the bucket!"

Like the current father, Norman, Stephen had a feeling there was no love
lost between Dustin and his bio-father.

"He left us with so much debt, we were lucky to get out of this with our
clothes on our backs. Poor mother," Dustin said, showing more remorse for
her, than him, then taking a piece of bacon and devouring it, chased down
with a swig of OJ.

"And I suppose this is where your step-father's business `stepped in'?"

"Sure. He was in the position to pay off the debt and then some. Um, I'm
not trying to be malicious here Mr. Braddock..."

"Stephen."

"Stephen, but I'm just wondering why my step-father came here to work for
you when he's the head of a successful business, with millions in the
bank?"

"Honor and perhaps he felt obligated." Stephen went on to tell his story,
bending it towards the path which led down the dirt road to the Norman
Wright empire, which eventually became paved with gold.

"So, if it wasn't for you my step-father wouldn't have been successful?"

"Maybe not as quickly. Your step-father is quite a good businessman. Let's
just say he's catered all these years to my needs as something being
`personal'."

With the personal stuff out of the way, Dustin asks, "Other than being
responsible for packing your clothes, would you mind informing me of my
other duties?"

Stephen wanted to tack on some other `duties' Norman was not responsible
for, but thought of them as beyond the call of duty, especially when he had
mixed readings about Dustin. Before he concerned himself with Dustin,
saying, "I suppose I will have to clue you in on what I'll need for my
trip, so..." and then he summoned Alfredo, who reported rapidly to
table-side from the other room, "Alfredo, there's a telephone number in my
datebook, on a scrap of paper, a Morgan Johnson. Would you give him a call
and reschedule him for an interview here, instead of my office downtown?"

"I'll get on it right away Mr. Braddock," as opposed to `Stephen', being
it's how Alfredo referred to his employer when among others.

"I never thought," Dustin interjects, "do I need an interview?"

The looks were enough to suffice, where Stephen was concerned and he sensed
good feelings towards Dustin filling his step-father's shoes, even though
the approximate age difference. "I just need a few particulars. Nothing on
paper."

"Sure. What would you like to know?"

"The usual. Age-height-weight...." he wanted to go further with the stats,
below the belt for instance.

"I thought I mentioned I was twenty-five?"

Stephen hadn't recalled and had it in mind older, returning, "I thought
maybe a couple of years older."

"I'm too young for the position?"

"Oh no. Don't get me wrong Dustin. You're perfect!"

"What else do you need to know?"

"I think that about covers it."

"There's one thing I would like to say?"

He was looking sheepishly at Stephen and it made him wonder, "My
background?"

"No, I already know. I mean, when my step-father took ill and they were
looking for a replacement, I already kind of knew about you, Stephen."

"From your step-father?"

"No," Dustin put it cooly, "from the internet. I did a search on you
and... well, I'm not against anybody or what someone believes, but I know
you are gay and...."

"Does it say it on the net?" Stephen was a bit surprised, but not because
once the internet became available, a lot of privacy was already gone in
people's lives.

"No, not exactly. I wasn't sure, but read where Braddock's has its own
float in the New York City Gay Pride parade and is a heavy endowment for
the arts and AIDs research. I know everybody isn't this way, but...."

Helping to save Dustin from racking his brain for words of explanation,
Stephen cuts to the chase, "Yes, I'm gay." And then straight out, "Are
you?"

Dustin smiles. "I didn't think it showed. Guys are surprised normally
because I carry myself as a straight guy."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but even though I didn't have a clue, I
was in `hope'!"

Alfredo butts in, "Mr. Johnston informs me he can be here by ten o'clock."

"Ten?" Stephen looks at his wrist. He hadn't put his watch on yet. "What
time is it now?"

Quick on the draw, Dustin replies, "It's a few minutes past eight."

"We better get moving!"

Right away, derived from good habits of fending for himself, Dustin picks
up his plate and empty cup.

"Leave it Dustin. That's what Alfredo is `for'!"

Alfredo responds, "Being there is a guest present, I shall keep myself from
over-reacting and remain calm, silencing my replies!"

He and Stephen exchange glances, Dustin replying, "Don't hold back on my
account!"

With a nasty outlook, a joking one, but for the sake of his response,
Alfredo says to Stephen, "Fuck you bitch!"

%


Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee

This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior
consent from the author.

The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
TCMcP......