Date: Wed, 30 Nov 2005 02:30:11 -0500
From: Lawrence Prichard <OhioBear330@webtv.net>
Subject: Tuesday Evening-Wednesday Morning

Disclaimer and all that.

If you are under age to read male - male romance and sex, Begone.
(Until you're of age.)

Locales and names are fictitious, or used fictitiously.

Reposting on any site other than Nifty.org is strictly forbidden.

Yes, there will be sex.  Maybe even some mild-to-moderate kink.
However, this is intended to be a  friendly romance.

Now for the nice stuff:  Thanks to RimPig,("Subic Surrender" in
Military) George Gardner("The Gas Man Cometh" in Urination) and  other
Nifty authors, including, but not limited to, Tim Mead ("Sunrise" in
Beginnings,) MickeyS ("Second Wind" in Beginnings).

 RimPig and George for their friendship, and Tim and MickeyS for some
good reading.


Tuesday Evening- early winter

Denys's turn:

"Yo, Furball!"

"In the laundry room, guy."

It's evening, and my man just came home, after a very long day at his
shop, "Something Beautiful--Flowers and Gifts."
I'm glad to see him.  Very glad to see him.  If your partner owns or
works in retail, you don't see him or her much between Thanksgiving and
January 15th.  It's just the way it is.

Jerome Mayson is his name.  To me, it's more than a name, it's perhaps
the two best words in the English language.

He's 6'3', and a red bear.  I like his red goatee.

I'm Denys Morys.  I'm 5' 8'" and a grey/brown bear.  He likes my eyes.
Sometimes they're blue, sometimes they're grey.

Neither of us have "ideal" bodies..which is fine with us.  His 6 pack is
one of Mountain Dew, and once in a while St. Pauli.  My 6 pack is diet
caffeine free Coke, and sometimes diet 7 Up.

We're both on the other side of 40, and not ashamed to admit it.  (All
right.  He's 45, and I'm 47.)

He's removed his work shoes, and pads into the laundry room in his sock
feet.   He grabs me, and wraps me in a fiercely tender hug from behind.
It's one of my favourite ways to be hugged.  He smells intoxicatingly of
the flowers, the "end of day" perspiration, and the sandalwood soap he
used to try to wash up before coming home.

Jerome's hands are on my nipple rings right now.

"Mmmm..I'll give you a few hours to stop that," I say, with a little
growl.

"Heh." he says.

I turn around, and reach up to kiss him.  I love the fact that he's
taller than I am.  I love it a lot.

The kiss is just medium-passionate.  Lovely and sincere, but we've been
together a few years, so it's not always moonlight and sparkling
non-alcoholic cider from California.

"Did you eat?" I ask.

"No, not since lunch."

"Grilled chicken and stuff?"

"Sounds good to me--how long?"

"Half hour, tops."

I have everything ready, just need to heat the broiler, and  cook the
vegetables.  Broccoli in garlic butter, roasted red skin potatoes, and a
Caesar salad from the bag.

He comes into the kitchen with me, just to keep me company.  I am a good
cook who likes to cook, but I just want COMPANY, not help.

"Want me to set the table?"

"Sure, use the big dishes."

The big dishes are Franciscan "Starburst."  We both enjoy the best of
1950s design.

Soon we're eating, and laughing, and he's telling me about his day in
the shop.

"Maria faced down a potential shoplifter.  Man, I have never seen her so
fierce.  I am glad she's on my side."

"What was the scumbucket, er, dear  trying to grab?"

"Oh, you told me it would be tempting...that crystal whatsit from
iittala."

"So, did you call the police?"

"No, Maria just calmly asked to see his credit card.   It was a platinum
one."

"Why am I not overly surprised,  Jerome?"

We're done, and we take the plates to the dishwasher.  I scrape, but do
not rinse.  That's what the hot water and detergent in the machine is
for.

Jerome leads me to the living room, and he puts on one of our favourite
Kate Bush CD's.  It's Tuesday evening in Ohio.  I read, he watches
something on the idiot box.  Mr. Smith, my three-legged orange tabby
cat, joins us.  It's his turn to be out, and  Wolf, Jerome's dog, is in
the spare bedroom.  Mr. Smith hates and fears dogs, even friendly
beagle/pomeranian mixes like Wolf.

He leans against my left shoulder, (the good one), and says "I wish
you'd come into the store with me.  I could use you  there more than
just on the weekends."

This is a big issue.  I love the store, but I hate being there a lot.
I'm a little shy, and I don't always like many other people.

Jerome, however, is a natural.  People seem to love him.  I don't mind
if other people love him, as long as he comes home.

He takes Wolf out for a walk, and whatever dogs do outside.  I like Wolf
well enough, but Mr. Smith and I have been together longer than Jerome
and I have.

I helped him with the business plan, and I do some buying for the store.
He likes to have a range of gifts.  Finding wonderful things at the
lower price levels is a challenge I like.

Now, it's time for one pint of ice cream and a  spoon.   No, we don't
partake of "Chubby Hubby."   Just a bit too close to home.  He grabbed
my second favourite, "Uncanny Cashew."

"What's up the rest of the week, Denys?"

"I thought we'd have Gayle and Don over for dinner and a dvd Saturday,
if they're free, and other than that,  the week's open."

"Sounds ok to me.  Let's take these calories to bed."

He flips off the tv, I check the doors, and double check the thermostat.
I can't get used to this new programmable thermostat.

 He challenges me with "Last one naked is a Republican!"

We're two bare bears in seconds.


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