Date: Tue, 30 Apr 2002 20:53:31 -0700
From: gymhunk <gymhunk@msn.com>
Subject: Black and White, Chapter 76.

			      All Disclaimers


			      BLACK AND WHITE

			 Chapter 76--Preparations

	"Damn!" I murmured.  "What next?" I wondered as Jeremy paused,
then, went on.

	"But, he was staying with me, so no problem there, thank God!"
Jeremy continued.

	"No shit," I agreed under my breath.

	"His neighbors called the 'fuzz' instantly.  The cops were right
around the corner, so they nailed his ass as he was squeezing off another
round.  Caught him red-handed.  Told him to drop the gun or his ass would
be splattered all over the side of the apartment.  He had the good sense to
toss it aside (an assault rifle, of course), and raise his hands.  What an
idiot!" Jeremy sighed.

	"Amen, Brother," Dave agreed.  "And there's more."

	"So, they checked him for more weapons (none), asked him if he'd
been drinking or on drugs (none), and then 'what the fuck' he thought he
was doing," Jeremy managed to laugh.  "He said that he was gonna teach
'that cocksucker Jack a lesson'.  The police, of course, told him that this
is not the way to have a conversation with someone, and took him away.
Right after that, the neighbor called me, knowing that Jack was at this
number.  We called the cops and they told us to come on down and swear out
a complaint, which we did.  We didn't see Sam, but after we told the cops
about the altercation at the gym, they said they'd follow up and get
statements from other witnesses about that scene.  I hope he's in a cell
with a real friendly guy that makes him his BITCH!" Jeremy laughed.  "So,
call us when you get back, if you feel like it."

	"He won't get anything more than time served, with maybe a
court-imposed requirement to get some anger-management counseling," Dave
spat.

	"Yeah, life's a bitch," I agreed.  "Maybe, Jack can get a
restraining order that keeps Sam away from him as well as the gym?"

	"I wouldn't count on it.  Most judges aren't gay friendly and think
that the victims deserve whatever happens to them.  After all, we're just
perverts," Dave added heatedly.

	"Not all judges are that way.  Maybe Jack'll get lucky," I
cautioned.

	"Maybe Hell will freeze over, too!" Dave quarreled.

	I knew better than to continue this argument.  "Who else called?"

	"I haven't gotten that far," Dave sighed.  "Jeremy's message was
from Friday night."  The machine beeped again when he pressed the resume
button and several other messages spilled out.  One was from the film crew
that had been here last week taping for the cable show.  They thanked us
for our hospitality and honesty.  They'd call us when the show was ready
for preview.

	A second call came from the Oprah Winfrey production company,
asking if the first week in September, preferably Wednesday, the 5th, would
work for us.  The third call was from one of the staff of "Talk of the
Nation," setting a time for the follow-up program.  They were trying to hit
the 30th of August.  The next call was Jeremy.  He asked us to call him to
report on how everything went in Sacramento, and how the transaction at the
dealership went, as well as how the new car behaved driving home.  There
were other calls from Duane, Donnie, and Dave's parents about the car as
well.

	Of course, Brad and Steve called to thank us for a delightful
evening with the "double fuck" from the gym.  "He was incredible!" Brad
exclaimed.  "Steve and I double fucked him twice!"  We could only smile.

	"You call your family back," I suggested, "and talk to them about
the car.  I'll call Jeremy and talk to him about that as well as how Jack's
doing."

	Dave nodded and smiled.  "Let me talk to Jack, too, when you get
him.  I'd like to do it between my phone calls, unless you decide to chat
for a while."  I agreed to let him know when my call was winding down.

	Jeremy and Jack chattered like magpies.  They jumped from the new
Lexus, to Sam, to fucking, and back to the new car, again.  As Jeremy had
only one phone in his apartment, they were constantly grabbing the
instrument away from each other to tell their version of events.  There
wasn't more to add about Sam's incarceration, as it was assault with a
deadly weapon.  Sam didn't know Jack wasn't at his old apartment, so the
charges may be reduced to property damage.  He might post bail later in the
week after a hearing had been set, but considering the number of friends
that Sam DIDN'T have, no one locally was going to step forward.  Perhaps,
his family in Oklahoma would bail him out.  They were sure that his bimbo
girlfriends wouldn't.

	Dave had finished his calls and had picked up the extension in the
sunroom (I was in the breakfast nook).  "Do not, under any circumstances,
stay in your apartment, Jack, if they do let him out on bail," Dave warned.
"Guy's that unhinged won't listen even to a restraining order."

	"How about getting clothes or picking up mail?" Jack asked.

	"Not even for that," Dave answered.  "Send someone else or have
your neighbors do it.  And don't officially change your address or phone
number, either.  That too easily becomes public knowledge and he could get
hold of it.  Hate is a powerful motivator."

	"Isn't that a little paranoid, Dave?" Jeremy asked.

	"No!  Considering Sam's behavior with an assault rifle, nothing is
too extreme.  There isn't much difference between him and that wacko Connor
in Vancouver."

	"I have to agree with Dave," I interjected.  "Sam's nuts.  I
wouldn't rely on the courts or the police to protect you from him.  They
can't be everywhere and watch him all the time when he's out on bail.  You
have to take positive steps for your own safety."

	"Well, I certainly don't mind if he stays here," Jeremy allowed.
"But, this place really is too small for two of us to really live here
long-term."

	"Then, find a new place together," Dave admonished.  "Get to it
tomorrow, Jeremy.  It's your day off."

	"If we find one tomorrow, we could give 30 days notice at both
places, and be moved by the 1st of September," Jack said thoughtfully.
"But, we have only been together for a long weekend.  That's hardly the
basis for a relationship or roommates, especially with a new gay man like
me."

	"Let's just take it a few days at a time.  Right now, we're friends
who're living together and happen to fuck constantly," Jeremy laughed.
"After we move into the bigger place, we'll see what we ought to do, then.
I've been thinking about a bigger place, anyway.  A one-bedroom apartment
isn't enough space for me anymore."

	"Good," Dave agreed.  "Now, start looking in today's paper and
decide which part of town you want to live in and what kind of place you
want.  You may even want to look at a duplex, rather than an apartment."

	"Good advice," Jeremy said.  "Thanks, Dave."

	"Just keep your heads low, if he posts bond," Dave reiterated.
"Did you get any word out of the cops about letting you know if he does
post bail?"

	"Yes, they promised that I could be at the bail hearing or send a
representative to make sure my side is represented," Jack related.  "As
soon as we find out who the prosecuting attorney is, I'll be having a chat
with him to remind him of the facts of the case."

	"If you need a legal presence, let me know," Dave offered.  "I may
not know criminal law as well as I should, but I know how to lean on these
guys.  I know this will just be one of many cases he'll have to deal with
in the overworked District Attorney's Office, but, hopefully, they'll see
it our way."

	"Thanks, Dave," Jack sighed.  "That'd be a huge help."

	"Yeah, thanks," Jeremy chimed in.  "So, Mike says the Sacramento
trip was good and the car was well behaved?"

	"Oh, yes," Dave smiled, warming to a change in subjects.  "The
first time I've ever traveled that far in a car and not felt beat up upon
arrival.  Quiet, comfortable ride and well behaved.  I didn't feel like I
had to be constantly correcting for drift or wind.  It's a good, solid car.
We're gonna like this."

	"We?" I laughed.  "MINE!" I insisted.

	"OUR names are on the registration.  WE, white man!" Dave rejoined.

	"But, I'm the principal driver," I pressed.

	"Well, technically, and according to the insurance company, yes.
But, reality, well, that's another thing," Dave grinned.

	"I'll have to get Dave into one of those, too, I see" Jeremy
refereed.

	"We couldn't afford it," Dave protested.

	"Bullshit!" Jeremy countered.  "You've got the dough.  You just
choose not to part with it."

	"Gotcha there, Dave," I laughed.

	"We'll share for a while," Dave persisted.  "Besides, I've still
got the Beemer."

	"But, after driving the 430, you can't stand it, can ya?" Jeremy
laughed loudly.

	"Different kind of car," Dave said digging in his heels.

	"Whatever!" Jack snickered.  "You know you loved it.  I've ridden
around in Jeremy's demo enough to know that your Beemer doesn't come
close."

	"We're not getting anywhere with this line," Jeremy allowed.  "What
else did you do while you were there?"  We told him about the salesman,
Colin, meeting us at the plane and boning him later.  Then, we went on (in
excruciating detail) about the doorman and bartender at the gay bar.
Jeremy and Jack listened closely, but from the labored breathing, we
concluded that Jack's fat dick was deep in Jeremy's ass, copying every
detail from our alleyway fuck.  I went on to describe the fuck-scene back
at Curtis and Reggie's apartment the next evening.  Jeremy and Jack were
panting like long-distance runners.

	When their phone hit and bounced on the carpeted floor, Dave was
already behind me, pulling my cutoffs down.  His big hands worked over my
round butt melons, then, parted them, licking up and down the furry trench.
"You keep that up and you'll have to fuck me," I moaned, hanging up the
useless phone.

	His tongue dug deeply into my ass as one hand pushed hard on my
back, forcing me to bend over.  My hands pulled my butt cheeks apart.  I
sighed when I felt his wet tongue drilling at my pucker.  He tugged on my
hard dick through my legs, squeezing out several drops of precum.  Using
them to coat my winker, he plunged his long, thick fingers in slowly.  The
pressure and stretching felt wonderful!  Between my legs, I could see that
his monster dick was hard and throbbing, eager to marry up with my
butthole.

	"I think we'll need some lube, Dave," I suggested huskily.  "I want
this to be a very long, very DEEP ride."

	"In that case," he smiled pushing me down the hallway with his
fingers in my ass, "come with me."  Having no choice (not that I cared), I
allowed him to guide me to the bedroom, falling face first on to the bed.
He fell atop me, nuzzling my neck and telling me how much he was going to
enjoy fucking me.  Pulling his fingers from my butt, he rolled me over.  "I
don't want your load squirting into the sheets, so I'm blowin' you, then,
fuckin' you to death," he told me.  "And I've got a monster load for you,
too."

	I could only grin at this nefarious plan.  His idea appealed to my
leaking, hard dick and churning nuts.  But, my vacated butt was especially
happy about the latter part of his promise.  I needed a deep, prolonged
plowing, ending in a very wet, very creamy spray of his hot, spermy cum.

	His face descended to my throbbing phallus and engulfed it.  My
randy dick jerked in his warm mouth, as his talented tongue lashed and
whipped at the swollen head.  He sat back on my face, pinning my arms, so I
couldn't move.  I love being trapped and serviced like that!  The
combination of his deep ass trench and his sucking skills had me on the
edge of squirting my load in under a minute.  Of course, adding a couple of
fingers up my hungry ass and rubbing them against my prostate did have a
way of speeding up the process.

	"OH, SHIT!" I gargled into his butt cheeks as I hungrily munched
his butthole.  Wave after wave of climax wracked my body like a jolt of 220
volts.  My spraying dick throbbed and flooded Dave's sucking mouth with
more cum.  He swallowed and sucked harder.  More unintelligible words
rolled from my lips, but with my tongue drilling Dave's pucker, I couldn't
understand them, either.

	"You were ready!" Dave exclaimed when my climax thrashes waned and
he pulled off my wilting dick He turned and kissed me, sharing my ball
honey.  After a few minutes, he rolled me back on to my stomach.  "You
about ready for that deep fuck you wanted earlier?  I sure am!"

	I nodded and smiled.  "Just take it kinda slow to begin with.  You
know how tight my ass is after I cum."  Dave winked at me.  He knew very
well, and that's why he wanted to get in sooner, rather than later.  He
loved my tight, milking ass!

	The phone rang as Dave pulled my melon buns apart and licked at my
wrinkled pucker.  "Ignore it," I moaned.  He didn't miss a beat, almost
like he'd not heard it.  I relaxed a little more and felt his fingers
prying my back door open.  Cool lube added to the litany of steps Dave took
to get me prepared.  I glanced over my shoulder several times, marveling at
the thick, long member jutting from between his legs.  It's been in my ass
many times before, but how?  He pressed down on the small of my back and
pushed his fat dickhead against my butthole.  I raised my hips a couple of
inches and swallowed his fat phallus head.  "Damn!" I moaned.  "Big
fucker!"

	Dave chuckled softly, then, lay atop me, fully stretched out, but
his round, hard butt was high in the air.  He fed me more inches of his
thick dick, kissing the nape of my neck, breathing hotly into my ear, and
telling me how much he enjoyed making love to me.  I reached behind me and
pulled my ass open and raised my hips more.  The telltale feel of wiry
pubes brushed against my tender hole.  "Yeah, FUCK, YEAH!" he moaned.

	I pulled him down to the bed with me, my hips finally resting on
the mattress and his monster buried deep inside me.  He made it jerk, so I
could feel how deeply he was in me.  I loved being possessed like that.  My
hands moved to his butt and pulled harder, urging him to do more than rest
on my back and ass.  He heeded my cue and ground in the last thick inch of
fat, black fuck-post.  "DAMN!  That's SO fuckin' GOOD!" I breathed.  "Ride
me all night if you want to, Dave.  This is great!"  My eyes were shut,
drinking in the magic of my lover making love to me.  My body relaxed under
his tender, murmured words and delicate touches.

	The phone rang, again.  "I have better things to do right now,"
Dave growled in the direction of the phone.  The answering machine clicked
on and took the message.  Dave's slow lovemaking pace hadn't changed.  He
pulled me into each of his easy thrusts, ending with his fat dick throbbing
deep inside me.  It felt so good to have him weighing me down, pulling me
into him, and breathing hotly on my neck.  I brought my legs together,
flexing tightly my butt cheeks, and milking him languidly with my internal
muscles.  His big, bull nuts chafed against the bottom of my hard buns each
time he ground purposefully into me.

	Dave slowed his pace, pulling out to just the head, then, rocketing
back into me.  I could feel the difference between him making his dick jerk
and his dick jerking by itself.  He was clearly in the latter phase.  The
stimulation was getting to him.  I smiled and milked him, more determined
than ever to get his creamy load.

	"Are you trying to get me to cum?" Dave whispered, after one
particularly strong plunge into my hungry ass.

	"Moi?" I asked in my best Miss Piggy voice.

	He laughed.  "You can always tell when I'm getting close, can't
you," he winced.

	"I can always tell when you're ready and hungry to make babies."

	"You know how to read all the signs," he sighed, picking up the
pace and gripping me harder.  "No one else, especially women, ever knew
when I was close."

	"It's a guy thing," I assured him.

	"Well, this guy wants to cum deep in your guy thing," Dave growled,
biting my ear lightly.  His hot, ragged breath and the manner in which he
ground his dick into my butt told me that he was within a few seconds of
hitting his climax.

	"Use that big hose to quench my fire.  Spray me deep and hard!" I
begged.

	Dave pulled harder on my shoulders, pushing me into his thrusting
hips, and impaling me on his battering ram.  I felt his dick swell.  He
held his breath, like that might delay the inevitable.  It didn't.

	"FUCK!" he bellowed in one loud exhale as he slammed his monstrous
breeding post into me.  He withdrew about half way and hammered me again.
"Fuckin' TAKE my cum!" he roared.  His cum jetted into me repeatedly,
spraying a thick coat of creamy dick sauce against my ass channel walls.
His powerfucking, pistoning action rode me for another minute before he
calmed and lay on my back, breathing hard.

	"Geez, what a fuck!" I finally said.  He grinned and kissed me.
The phone rang, again.  "Stay where you are, Mister!" I commanded.  "You
aren't done yet."

	"What more can I do?" Dave wondered.

	"Drain!"

	He giggled, but only moved to get more comfortable.  He left his
bloated python deep in my ass, draining the last drops of sperm.  As much
as I wanted to, I didn't milk his dick to get out more cum.  That would
have been too much stimulation for his sensitive, just-fired cock.  "You
are so good to me," Dave crooned.  "I've never had sex as good as you give
it up."

	"Takes two to tango," I replied.

	A few minutes later, he rolled off me, dragging me along.  We
spooned against each other until his dick fell out.  I moved away and took
a shower.  Dave joined me after listening to the phone messages that had
tried to interrupt our hot sex.

	"Everyone wants to go for a ride in OUR new car," he said, soaping
up my back.  I sighed in resignation.  He liked the new car as much as I
did, and we'd both signed the lease agreement.  It was OUR car.

	Gary and Robert got the first ride (they called it the "stretch
Toyota"), then, Kurt and Gene (they called it the Luxo-Barge), then, Dave's
parents and Donnie and Trevor (who had the good taste not to put a label on
it while we were in the room).  We had a light supper at Dave's parents,
and took Donnie and Trevor home.  But, they didn't stay long.  Kurt and
Gene came over for another look at the car and convinced them (easily done)
to spend the rest of the evening with them.  It was just as well.  Gary and
Robert brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our new car, leaving at
midnight without the champagne being opened, but their butts filled and
dicks drained.

	Tuesday, we took my old car (and the title) back to the Lexus
dealership for a final farewell.  Jeremy wasn't working that day, but the
business manager there took care of the final piece of the transaction in
less than five minutes.  "I'll miss the old girl," I sighed.  "But, this is
a fine replacement," I added, patting the dashboard of the new Lexus.

	Dave smiled.  "You have a name picked out for the new one, yet?"

	"Lana Lexus, Leticia Lexus, Lorraine Lexus?" I suggested, cruising
down the freeway, then, taking our off ramp.

	"Such a white boy!  You got NO imagination," Dave laughed.

	"You got a better name?"

	Dave thought a moment.  "LaToya Lexus?"

	"Been taken by Miss Jackson.  Besides, it needs to be regal name,"
I insisted.

	"Lana and Lorraine and Leticia are regal?"

	"Well, not exactly, but better than LaToya!"

	"Louise Lexus?"

	"Gag!"

	"Luscious Lexus?"

	"That makes it sound like my New England relatives calling their
kids Remember, Desire, Experience, Mercy, and Patience, not to mention
Major, Freelove, and Doctor," I giggled.  "What's wrong with Leticia?"

	"You've got to be kidding!  Major, Freelove, and Doctor?"

	"Yeah, all in the same family.  I think they had like 14 kids or
something like that.  Freelove makes them sound like a bunch of hippies,
doesn't it."

	"They must have run out of names," Dave laughed.

	"Major and Doctor were twins as I recall."

	"You gotta be jerkin' my chain."

	"Look, I'll prove it."  I pulled into the driveway, then, headed
upstairs, powered up the computer, and fired up the genealogy program.  I
didn't remember the exact family, but I did remember the surname.  "See?" I
said triumphantly pointing to the screen.  The twins were the last of 14
children, so Dave may have been right.  They ran out of names.

	"Okay, Leticia is just as goofy as anything I can come up with.
So, until we find one more suitable, Leticia it is," Dave said, admitting
defeat.

	"Which reminds me," I wondered, "where's my new computer?"

	"Oh, damn!" Dave smacked his head with his open palm.  "I
completely forgot.  There was a note in the mailbox from Nick when we got
home last night.  The computer's ready for delivery at our convenience."

	"Including the networking we want done?"

	"Yep."

	"Any mention of when he wants to do it?"

	"None, but I assume he'd want to do it after hours, as we're not
real customers."

	"I'll send him an e-mail and ask, then," I decided.  "Would you
mind if he did it on our day, tomorrow?" reminding him that Wednesdays were
supposed to be reserved for us.

	"Works for me," he agreed.

	I sent off the e-mail suggesting that we were flexible on delivery
and installation of the new computer and network.  A little notice would be
good, though, I appended.

	Nick must have been reading his e-mail at the time.  He called
within five minutes, asking for a good time to set up the network and move
my programs over to the new computer.  As we had nothing better to do this
afternoon, we suggested that.  "I'll be there a little after three.  It
shouldn't take more than a couple of hours to do the entire job.  Then,
I'll head for home and a tall drink."

	"We can supply that," Dave laughed.  "What time is Mark gonna be
home?"

	"He's usually home about five.  He hits the gym right after work at
about 3:45," Nick said.

	"Call him and have him join us for dinner and a couple of drinks,
Nick," I added to Dave's invitation.  "We'll have dinner on the back deck;
maybe, even invite Kurt and Gene, too."

	"What can we bring?" Nick asked.

	"My new computer!" I grinned.  Nick laughed and assured me that
he'd be there by three, with Mark joining us by five.  As we had the rest
of the morning open (although it was crowding noon), we decided to go to
the gym.

	Trevor was at the front desk, immediately pumping us for more
information about Sam.  We told him what we knew, admitting it was our idea
that the police contact the gym for further dirt about Sam's behavior.
"That released a floodgate.  As soon as word got out about what happened,
the stories started to fly.  It seems that Sam's been a bad boy before,"
Trevor smiled conspiratorially.  I did my best imitation of shock
(clutching my imaginary pearls) and leaned in for more gossip.  Dave was
just as bad, a wicked grin on his face.  "He's been in the slammer before.
That's how he got the big muscles.  And he's currently on probation for a
weapons offense of some kind.  PLUS," Trevor added dramatically, "he's been
hauled in for cruisin' the tea rooms along I-5!"

	I laughed out loud.  Dave stood there with his mouth hanging open.
"No!" he laughed.  "That's just too perfect!  Methinks, he doth protest too
much," he added.  Trevor's smile looked like the cat that had recently
dined on canary.

	"I wonder what he thought he was doing by blasting away at Jack's
apartment?" I wondered aloud.

	"Maybe, he thought he'd been found out, when Jack told him about
his own self- discovery," Trevor postulated after some thought.

	"That's really reaching," Dave said.  "But, he's so fucked up, it
could be true."

	"Does Jack know this?" I asked.

	"Beats me," Trevor replied.  "He's not been in here since the
shooting at his apartment.  But, I've been off a couple of days, too.
And," he added in a whisper, leaning in to us, "I hear Sam's got a little
dick."  We smiled and nodded.  Napoleonic complex, I wondered.

	"He never showed a basket, even in the tightest of shorts," Dave
remembered.  "Who knows the goods on that point?"

	"Jim Brock," Trevor said.  "He said he's seen him in the shower a
couple of times (although, I always thought he showered at home)."

	"Even the one's who always seem to shower at home, occasionally
will shower here, because they have to be somewhere else in a hurry and
don't have time to go home first," Dave allowed.

	"Well," I concluded, "it doesn't make any difference the size of
his dick.  It sounds like Jack doesn't have to worry about Sam getting out
any time soon."

	"Still," Dave cautioned, "I think I'll contact the DA and attend
the bail hearing."

	"Better safe than sorry," Trevor opined.

	After our workout (legs), we showered, hit the sauna (the brash
breeders were there, so we didn't stay long), and went home.  We had a late
lunch and waited for Nick to arrive.  He called at 2:30, saying he was
ready for us early (if we were up for it).  We told him we were.

	Nick was true to his word.  Everything was set up with my programs
transferred before five.  Mark came over (with a bottle of wine) just as
his boyfriend had finished with the computers.  He'd decided to help Dave
in the kitchen, as his knowledge of computers was even worse than mine.  I
tested the last programs Nick had transferred to the new computer, to be
sure all the pieces had been picked up.  Nick reconfigured my old computer,
so it could act as our tape backup system.  Everything seemed to work.  I
wrote him a check on the spot for the amount we'd agreed upon.

	The new Pentium 4 (at a speedy 1.4 Gig) was a marvel.  My SETI
program raced through its background computations in less than five hours
per packet, unlike my old computer, which wallowed for three days chewing
on the same data.  It made me feel like I was finally contributing
something to the "Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence," instead of
just slogging through the trenches like my old Pentium III had.

	We joined Dave and Mark in the kitchen.  Gene and Kurt arrived,
bearing more wine and dessert (a sorbet).  Mark poured each of us a glass
of wine.  On the back deck, Dave lit the grill, while Mark and Nick set the
table.  I picked a few blueberries and raspberries (with assistance from
Gene and Kurt) to add to the fruit salad Dave had prepared.  We decided to
eat it undressed (the salad, you dirty-minded reader!)

	"And how did you and the boys get along?" Dave asked innocently of
Kurt and Gene.  Both blushed crimson.

	"I don't kiss and tell," Kurt answered almost as innocently.  That
brought a big laugh from everyone, including Gene.  "Okay, so I didn't
kiss, but Gene'll tell!"

	"Yeah, we went right for the bottom line.  And what a bottom!
DAMN!" Gene smiled.  "I'm always surprised when a big-dicked stud loves to
bottom."

	"Not that we didn't use Donnie's big dick for our own pleasure,"
Kurt blurted out.

	"A good time was had by all who came?" I asked with as straight a
face as I could muster.

	"Several times!" Gene laughed.

	Mark and Nick were perplexed, but loved the direction of the
conversation.  "I must have missed a staff meeting," Nick announced.
"Donnie and who?"

	"Donnie's Dave's baby brother," I revealed.

	"Oh!  You cradle robbers!"

	"He's over the age of consent," Kurt defended.

	"Is he as hot as Dave?" Mark asked.

	"Oh, yeah, just younger and a little lighter," Gene broke in.  "Not
as many muscles, more of a swimmer's build."

	"I'm sure you met him at one of our soirees," Dave said.

	"And Trevor?" asked Mark.

	"You must know him," I laughed.  "He's one of the trainers at the
gym, works at the front desk some days."

	"And works the sauna and steam room nearly every day!" added Dave.

	"Oh, THAT Trevor," Mark smiled.  "I thought he played on our team."

	"He and Donnie are sorta partners or boyfriends.  I'm not exactly
sure what their relationship is," I said.

	"It's a maturing one," Dave cut in.  "They aren't as committed as
we are, but they're making progress.  Donnie's kinda new at it and Trevor's
kinda 'experienced.'  So, both of them are a little wary."

	By now, dinner was ready.  We sat, ate, drank, and exchanged data
(men don't gossip, you see).  Of course, Jack (and his run in with Sam) was
the main topic.  Jeremy's name didn't even come up.  We asked how they were
getting along with the coaches, but they said that they don't see much of
them recently as this is their heavy training season, so they aren't
available or just plain bushed at the end of the day.

	After dessert, Mark and Nick went home.  Nick had some paperwork
that he had to finish and Mark needed to get to bed early for a buyer's
meeting early tomorrow morning.  Gene and Kurt offered to spend the night
with us, but we declined.  We needed rest more than we needed more sex with
them, although it had been tempting.  We slept like stones.

	The rest of the week flashed by.  We confirmed dates with NPR and
the Oprah Winfrey Show, Dave talked to the DA's office about Sam and
attended the bail hearing (no bail), I checked our investment portfolios,
but decided to leave them where they were.

	The weather for the rest of the week stunk.  So, we did damn little
around the house, but did visit friends and hit the gym regularly.  I
played on my new computer and checked the tape-drive to be sure it was
operating correctly, backing up the right files.  Kurt and Gene were our
bed partners on Friday night, leaving all of us breathless, but immensely
satisfied.

	Sunday night, we had the pleasure of adding Jeremy and Jack.  Jack
held back a little, wondering if he really wanted to participate in a
four-way after having Jeremy exclusively for most of last week.  But, after
sampling us, he decided he should have added us to his list of sexual
partners much earlier.  Jeremy's characterization of Jack as a tireless top
was sorely tested.  But, the only thing that slowed him down was when he
was trying to be an accommodating bottom.  He did well when I topped him,
but he just couldn't get all of Dave up his ass, no matter how hard he
tried.  Dave had too much dick for him.  But, he kept trying, being
especially vexed when Jeremy and I demonstrated how easily we accomplished
it.  But, we did confide to Jack that Dave's big piece did take some
getting used to.  It wasn't for the beginner.

	Jeremy and Jack were moving to their new duplex on the first of
September, having given notice at their current residences.  "It's at least
double my current space," Jeremy crowed, "and isn't much more money.  It's
in the southeast part of town, not too far out and close to restaurants and
shopping.  The only drawback is that it's on a street that's kinda busy.
But, as we have two spaces off the street to park, it shouldn't be an
issue."

	"I'm still looking, though" Jack revealed.  "I think the noise is
gonna drive us nuts.  But, as long as I'm still in school, we can't afford
much more than what we're moving to."  He paused and smiled at Jeremy.
"But, as long as we're both saving money on rent, we'll plow that into
other, more meaningful things to do."

	"Such as?" Dave wondered.

	"A down payment on a house," Jeremy said.  "And Jack'll be out of
school just after the end of the year, so he'll have a great job lined up
by then, and we can move again."  We looked askance at that comment.  "I
think we can save quite a bit in six months."  We still looked unsure of
the soundness of their plans.  They did seem overly ambitious.  And they
were moving awfully fast in setting up house together.

	"Yeah, I know what you're thinking," Jack smiled.  "Perhaps, we are
rushing it.  But, it feels good to plan, nonetheless."

	"You have anything lined up yet, Jack?  For work, I mean," I asked.

	"I had a couple of interviews last spring.  They weren't willing to
make commitments, unless I was graduating in June.  But, they were
interested enough to tell me that they'd be back on campus this fall and
would check in with me again."

	"Either one look good to you?" Dave pressed.

	"Both do.  They mentioned a salary that was VERY good, but both
were also WAY out of state.  One in California and the other in Boston,"
Jack added.

	"And that's a problem?" I wondered.

	"Didn't used to be one, but it sure is now," he smiled, giving
Jeremy a peck on the cheek.  "I couldn't leave this big muscleman!"

	"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.  I can get a job
selling Lexus anywhere, I'm sure," Jeremy grinned.  "You can't get rid of
me that easily."

	The new week brought us a renewed commitment to volunteer more at
PFLAG, but our minds wandered frequently as Brad had supplied us with
endless brochures on guided and unguided tours ranging from one to four
weeks in Europe.  The longer tours saw more countries, but seemed to have
schedules nearly as frantic as the one week ones.  We toyed with doing a
guided bicycle tour that lasted ten days through the wine regions of
France, but decided that this wasn't the time to be doing that.  Dave had
never been to Europe and wanted to hit at least some of the tourist spots.
He couldn't do that from the seat of a bicycle, given the time we had
decided to spend there.

	At least, we'd decided to leave from Chicago immediately after the
taping of the Oprah Winfrey Show and spend four weeks in Europe.  Now, the
tough part still lay ahead of us.  We had to decide where we wanted to go
and how long to spend at each place.  We were close to deciding to rent a
car and do the driving ourselves (except in England, where they drive on
the wrong side of the road!).  But, we needed a real tour guide to get into
the really good places and understand the significance of them.  We were no
closer to decisions on August 15th, when Brad decided to pay us a visit and
force some decisions on us.

	"If you're going on September 6th, I have to have decisions, now,"
he pressed.  "That's only three weeks away.  I have tickets for you to
London and a place to stay there, but nothing after that (other than the
return flight on the 4th of October, four weeks later).  I think you should
spend a couple of days in London to get over jet lag, see a few sights, and
move on.  Take the 'Chunnel' to Belgium, where you'd get a car.  Spend your
first night on the Continent at a small bed and breakfast outside of
Amsterdam.  Take a guided tour of the city.  Move on to other sites that
look interesting in The Netherlands and Belgium, then, on to Paris.
Traffic there is ugly, so I'd stay at a good hotel and take guided tours
all over the city as well as places close by, like Versailles."  We nodded.
This made some sense, but we needed to see more of what he thought we
should do in our four weeks before we committed.  "Now, you can't see it
all, so we'll have to eliminate some countries," he continued.

	Dave groaned, but I punched him with my elbow.  "We can't do all of
Europe in four weeks and not be total basket cases, unless we fly
everywhere and do only guided tours."  I knew that didn't appeal to him.

	"Okay, so what do we leave out?" he asked.

	"What do you have a burning desire to see and won't be able to live
another day without seeing it?" Brad asked.

	"Wine regions of France and Germany," Dave said.

	"And Italy?" I prompted.

	"I'm a white wine drinker, not red," he responded definitely.  "I
know they do a lot of reds and I've not found a white or even a blush from
there I've liked, yet."

	"We could do Italy on our next trip?" I offered.

	"Suits me."

	"How about the Scandinavian countries, and Spain, Africa, Turkey,
Eastern Europe?" Brad pressed.  "Switzerland, Austria, the little countries
like Liechtenstein, Andorra, Monaco?"

	Dave gave me a frustrated look.  "I want to do all of them!" he
wailed, then, sighed.  "But, I know I can't.  How many of them have you
been to, Brad?"

	"All of them."

	"Which would you recommend then, that we try to hit in four weeks."

	"Assuming you have a car, you can hit most of northern Europe.
Germany and France are the big wine producers, so I'm gonna suggest that
you give them a week apiece."  We nodded thoughtfully.  "That gives you two
weeks to get over jet lag and see Denmark, perhaps Austria, Hungary,
Slovakia, and the Czech Republic (where you'll find more wines).  However,
I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you to spend at least a week in England,
simply because Mike has so many distant cousins from there."

	"I really think we need more like two weeks to do the German wine
regions, if we want to hit a bunch of wineries and not be totally wasted
before noon," I offered.  "So, that'll probably mean no Eastern European
countries."

	"I think you could do it," Brad countered, "if you only spend a day
in each of the former Eastern Bloc countries.  But, that could cut into
your French or English tours."

	"We don't wanna be rushed," Dave interjected.  "How about a Plan A,
with a Plan B, if we have time?"  I concurred.

	Over the next week, Brad drew up a couple of itineraries for us,
putting in suggested timelines to accomplish each one.  Plan B looked very
ambitious.  I wasn't sure how much of it we could do under the best of
circumstances.  But, we could add parts from Plan B as we found time.  As
the time approached to depart, we read up on more sights to see and tours
to take while there.  This was going to be FUN!

	On Thursday, August 30th, we were on the NPR call-in show, again.
But this time, we got them so wound up on responsible journalism that we
had little to add to the discussion that hadn't already been covered.  The
host had a tough time keeping order with one group of guests trying to take
the slow approach, while the more radical (including us) pushed hard to
eliminate hateful speech from the media.  "It isn't news.  It's hate!" Dave
proclaimed.  The hour segment was over before we knew it.

	The NPR staff thanked us for participating, but added that they
should have invited fewer guests.  The people on the panel discussion were
talking (sometimes shouting) all over each other's points.  No one seemed
to be able to finish a point or thought without being pounced on by someone
from the opposition.  The host earned his salary that day.

	After packing and unpacking twice for Europe (we were taking far
too many clothes), we flew business class to Chicago to tape the Oprah
Winfrey Show.  We arrived in the early afternoon on Tuesday, September 4th.
We checked into the hotel, showered, and changed into our suits.  One of
the staff had insisted that we arrive on Tuesday afternoon to check us out
and approve what we were going to wear on the show.  They greeted us
cordially, but told us that our ties had to go.  They wanted something
brighter.  "You're gay, right?  What's with the boring ties?" a staffer
asked.

	"We didn't want to overdo it," I offered.

	"We have lots of other ones to choose from," he smiled and led us
into the wardrobe department for the show.  "Take your pick and I'll give
it my blessing," he giggled.  Dave rolled his eyes, but checked out three
racks of ties.

	"This one?" Dave asked, holding up a bold, red tie.  The dresser
nodded.

I selected a bright green one.  "Goes with your hazel eyes," he smiled.
"You guys are too fuckin' gorgeous.  I gotta get Oprah in here.  Suits are
not gonna show off those fabulous bodies," he gushed.  He was back in two
minutes, telling us that she needed to talk to us anyway about the show
tomorrow.  We followed him to her dressing room.

	After introductions, the dresser said, "We gotta lose the suits,
Honey," he said to our hostess.  "We can't hide these hunks in these," he
smirked disdainfully.  "Lose the jackets, Boys," he commanded.

	We looked to our hostess for some guidance.  "He's the best," she
smiled at the dresser fondly.  "You're both very good looking men, so let's
check out the rest of the package."  We shucked our jackets.  She smiled.
"He's right.  Lose the suits.  What else did you bring with you?"

	"We're on our way to Europe for a vacation, so it's all casual
stuff," Dave said.  I nodded meekly.  I was still in awe of her celebrity
status.

	"Slacks and polo shirts?" the dresser asked.

	"Yeah, I think we have," Dave laughed.  "But, mostly levis,
t-shirts, shorts, and casual shirts."

	"How much time do you have, Honey?" the dresser asked Oprah.

	"Another hour before I have to leave for dinner," she remarked,
glancing at a clock.

	"Can you get to your hotel and back in that amount of time,
dragging your luggage with you?" he asked.

	"Yeah, it's just around the corner," I said, finally finding my
tongue.

	"Okay, bring it all and let's do what we can.  If nothing suits us,
we can get one of the local men's wear stores to provide something," she
said.

	"And they love seeing their store mentioned in the credits," the
dresser laughed.

	We raced to the hotel and were back in 15 minutes.  We opened the
two suitcases in one of the dressing rooms.  The dresser pushed us aside
and rummaged through our clothing.  "I'll bet you look HOT in this," he
said, holding up a tank top and Levi's that were faded nearly to white.
"Oh, matching set!" he exclaimed, pulling similar garb from my suitcase
(only the tank top was a different color).  "But, we'd never get that on
the show."  He smiled mischievously.  "Put this on for Oprah.  Then, come
with me."  Dave shrugged and I acquiesced.

	Moments later, we stood before the star in worn Levi's (no holes in
the worn fabric, but you could tell we were both cut) and tight tanks.
"You look good enough to eat!  The best ones are always gay," she exclaimed
in an exaggerated sigh.  "But, we can't put them on the show like his," he
protested to her dresser.  "Certainly not with the subject matter!"

	"We're doing a fashion show in the afternoon tomorrow.  We'll make
them models!" the dresser added with glee.  "You can stay, right?  Your
plane leaves Thursday morning, right?"  We nodded warily.

Oprah loved the idea, but we weren't so sure.  "We don't know how to stand
or walk like models!" I wailed.  "We'd be laughed out of the studio!"

	"Come with me.  I can fix that in less than five minutes," the
dresser insisted.

	And he was right.  After adding the production crew and Oprah to
the audience, and a little coaxing on not walking so rigidly, and adding a
little more grace to our step, knowing when to turn, how to look over the
shoulder and smile, but not grin, we'd be a BIG hit, he assured us.  Oprah
watched and nodded agreement.  We were naturals, she said.  And some
genuine smiles were always better than that sourpuss look that too many
models adopted.  "Besides, if you screw up, the show is taped.  We'll just
edit any bad parts out."

	With that decided, she told one of her assistants to cancel out the
male models and get someone over here right away to take our measurements
for the clothes we'd be wearing, including something appropriate for the
first show.  While she was doing that, the dresser told us to wear
underwear tomorrow.  "You'll be changing fast, and I don't think you want
any of the ladies around here checkin' out your dangling equipment," he
cackled.  We smiled and nodded agreement.  A word to the wise is
sufficient, I said to myself.  We didn't always wear underwear, but brought
some jockey shorts along, anyway.

	"Okay," Oprah said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention.
"Show starts taping at 9:30, so we'll need all our guests here no later
than 8:30 for clothes and make- up and some last minute chats about
content."  We agreed.  "Where's that men's wear guy?" she added to her
dresser.

	"He'll be here in a couple of minutes," he said, getting a nod from
one of her many assistants.  "I'll make sure he does it right," he added
with a smile to his boss.

	"You've never let me down, yet," she grinned.  "Listen to his good
sense on this, Boys," she said to us.  "You won't regret it."  She checked
the clock, again.  "And I'll be late for dinner, if I don't get outta
here."  She rushed from the stage, trailing several assistants.

	We stood around for several more minutes, stuffing our clothes back
into the suitcases we'd brought.  "Ah, there he is," the dresser finally
exclaimed over our shoulder.  We turned to greet the men's clothing store
representative.  Stunning!

	"DAMN!" he blurted out.  "Oh, sorry!  I'm Monte," he smiled
broadly, offering his big hand.  We greeted him with smiles, too.  He was
very attractive.  "You're the models that I need to fit?"

	"Well," Dave laughed, "drafted into it by Oprah, I'm afraid."

	"You've never modeled before?"  We shook our heads.  "You gotta be
kiddin' me!  You're both gorgeous!"

	"Uh, thanks," I managed to murmur.  Dave only smiled and stared at
the gorgeous hunk standing before us.  He was about 5'8" tall, weighed
close to 180.  His suit jacket didn't disguise the fact that he worked out.
His tawny complexion, sparkling eyes, and infectious grin made me wonder if
he was a part-time model himself.  "Do you model?"

	He shook his head.  "I've thought of it, but never took the steps
necessary to do it professionally.  But, you guys are naturals.  You have
all the characteristics they're looking for."

	"Oh?" Dave asked.  "What are they?"

	"Tall (I don't qualify there), built for days (without being a
bodybuilder), easy on the eyes, and an engaging smile," he related.  "There
is the other type that's skinny, but he's also tall.  So, I'm sorta left
out of the running."

	"I think you'd be great.  Not every man is over 6' tall!" Dave
pointed out.  "I'd think they need guys in all sizes to show off what the
clothes look like on all sized men."

	"Doesn't work that way, I'm afraid," he sighed.  "Whose the
designer for tomorrow's show?" he asked the dresser.  A name was mentioned
that didn't mean a thing to me.  "Bitch!  She's impossible!  Will she be
doing the voice-overs?"  The dresser nodded.  "Fuck!  Well, you guys are in
for it.  She's always nasty to 'the help' as she calls the models.  That's
one of the reasons they have that scowl on their faces instead of smiles."
We didn't like the sound of that.  "But, I do have her entire line at the
store.  You know what she's gonna be pushing tomorrow?"  The dresser handed
Monte a short list.  "Accessories at my discretion?"  The dresser nodded.
Monte sighed, again.  "I'll skip the measurements and just fit you there.
Come with me, gentlemen," he beckoned, turning to leave.  We looked at each
other, but checked out his ass, despite ourselves.  NICE ass, I decided.
Dave's smile confirmed my assessment.

	"Go!" the dresser almost shouted to us.  "I'll try to declaw and
defang Miss Bitch before the taping tomorrow afternoon.  I'll just remind
her that this was Oprah's idea to have you 'amateurs' doing the modeling.
She'll get over herself."

	We followed Monte back to his store.  It was only two blocks away.
When we entered, one of his staff looked us over and conferred with Monte.
"Extra large shirts, medium shorts, both about a 34" inseam and 32" waist?"
Monte said, getting a nod of agreement from his assistant.  "And
accessories!" Monte shouted after him as he'd turned to start collecting
items for us to wear.  He smiled and nodded, already thinking ahead to what
he needed to assemble.  With the dresser's list in hand, they assembled the
items to be shown tomorrow: a winter-weight suit, a casual sport coat and
slacks ensemble, and two sets of beachwear.  One of the outfits for the
beach was done in army fatigue "salad suit" shorts with a terrycloth
muscle-shirt finishing "the look."  The other was more of a "beachcomber"
look with pants that reached just below the knee and an open Hawaiian- type
shirt.

	"Let's start with the suits first," Monte suggested.  "Dress shirt
sizes?"  We gave them our measurements for dress shirts.  They found the
right sizes (my neck is bigger) in the designer's line of shirts and handed
them to us, along with the suits.  Dress shoes were provided as well as
socks.  We changed in the two closest changing rooms.  I thought we looked
pretty damned good.  Monte and his assistant whistled softly.  "DAMN!" was
repeated frequently, along with "HOT!"  They checked the jacket for proper
fit, but found that we were broad shouldered and narrow waisted, so we
needed a different jacket.  This particular line of clothes had us in mind.
The next bigger size fit perfectly.  However, the pants were too big, so we
went down a size.  After cramming our big muscle butts into the new ones,
they decided there was too much danger of us splitting them open.  So, we
went back to the first pants.  The assistant chalked them up for altering,
then, took them into the back and started ripping them out to take them in
at the waist.  Our big butts fit just right, he's said.  The suits were cut
differently, so we wouldn't be wearing exactly the same thing.

	Monte selected a sport shirt to go with the slacks and jacket.  We
tried on different shoes and socks to accompany the new casual/dressy look.
That ensemble fit fine.  No alterations required.  Again, the cut of the
slacks and coat were different, so we wouldn't look alike.

	But, the beachwear was another matter.  "You both have to wear
jocks.  Underwear is never gonna hold, when you're packin' that much meat,"
Monte smiled as he leered at our big baskets in the camouflage shorts.  We
blushed.  I was wearing the jungle pattern; Dave got the dessert one.  My
sleeveless, muscle shirt had a myriad of pockets to make it look more
military.  Dave's khaki muscle shirt was more like a t-shirt without
sleeves.  I thought he looked hot!  Of course, that only made my dick
harder, proving Monte's point.  Dave seemed to have the same "problem."
Monte rummaged around in one of the sales drawers.  "Here, put these on and
see if it makes enough difference," he grinned at our fattening dicks, as
he handed both of us jocks.

	We dutifully went back to the changing rooms and put on the jocks.
It did make a difference.  You couldn't tell that we were uncut anymore,
but it was still very obvious we were both hung big.  Monte sighed.  "Just
try not to get a hard-on."

	"I can't help it," I laughed.  "I take one look at that hot man and
I'm instantly aroused."

	"Same to you," Dave smirked.

	"Yeah, well, neither of you have gone unnoticed by me, either," he
grinned, grasping his own big basket.  We smiled, checking out his
substantial maleness.

	"Perhaps, we need to drain them, to get them to behave," Dave
offered.

	"It takes several times to get this one to behave," Monte leered.
"Hopefully, you have something in mind to solve that problem."

	I nodded to Dave.  He shamelessly propositioned Monte to join us at
our hotel for the evening.  He accepted just as his assistant brought back
the altered suit pants.

	After trying them on again, I asked, "You'll be bringing these by
the studio or do we take them with us?"

	"I'll bring them by the studio before eight tomorrow morning.  If
there are any last minute changes in what you'll be wearing tomorrow, I
should have your hotel name and suite number.  I may have to pull you back
here for additional fittings," Monte said.  His assistant didn't even smile
at the obvious pickup line.



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