Date: Fri, 9 Nov 2001 23:27:04 EST
From: LoveTV2@aol.com
Subject: Lingerie Lust- Chap 2

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is
purely coincidental. This work deals with mature themes. (homosexuality,
cross-dressing, etc.)  If you are under legal age in the state in which you
reside, you peruse this story at your own risk-you hereby waive all rights to
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which you are not legally entitled to do so. To those who ARE of legal age,
comments, criticisms, congratulations can be sent to LoveTV2@aol.com.
Thanks, Mike.

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CHAPTER 2

`The final meeting for the company is done, thank God,' Mike thought.
Looking at his Dime store, inexpensive watch, Mike saw it was 11 a.m. on a
Friday, with the Memorial Day weekend ahead of him, and no need to be back
at work in Cleveland until Tuesday. With the week behind him, and no need
to fly back to the Midwest until -at the latest- Monday evening, Mike had
decided to have some fun. Mike Carson was back in his old haunts, and it felt
good -damn good- to be back here.  The beach towns of Southern California.
This was where Mike had gone to college, almost 20 years ago, during  the last
days of the disco era- the beginning of the 1980's. That was when Angel Flight
slacks made any man look hot. This male variant of a woman's `hip huggers,
along with the platform heels - `cum fuck me' pumps for guys - had made any
man that wore them, look like they were ready to have their ass fucked - and
enjoy it! It was the last golden days of an era when sex was plentiful, free, and
not something that made you wonder if you were going to be alive next year
or not.
Now, standing on the corner, feeling the sun on his face, and the smell of the
sea just barely in the air, Mike's memories of the first sexual encounters he
had at Chipley College (where he had been a Business major minoring in
Music) flooded into his mind. The thrill of that first night of gay sex gave his
cock a mild jerk. "Hell, why not ejoy myself for once?' Mike asked himself.
After such a grueling week, every day spent in the boardrooms of buildings,
the California sun and perfect 75 degree temperatures  had acted like a
seductress, softly but insistently crooning, ` Here I am baby, come out and
play!' It had practically driven Mike mad.
The mysterious voice of `Calafia's Island' kept distracting Mike every single
day of his conference, which was not hard to do. As a minor manager for a
software/programming & peripherals firm, Mike Carson had been passed
over time and again-  with each promotion for which his firm had considered
him. Mike seemed destined to be denied each advance on the ladder of
success. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. He just didn't find the things
interesting that seemed to mesmerize his fellow workers: terms like profit
and loss, market share, and whether DOS, Unix, or Linux was the better
operating system, or if this month's corporate mergers were really the stuff to
sell one's soul for. Mike found his work challenging, and the small
achievements he had been proudest of - his own programs, his articles in the
trade journals, were ok - but it was when he had  gone to bat for bettering
work conditions in the workplace, as liason to Management for the Regional
Office, that he had felt he had really shone.
Mike had accomplished things for which he was justly proud of; but work as a
whole was not that interesting. He wanted a life other than the sterile
environment of the office. He once had had a dream of a life lived to the full,
but that was soon after he had graduated from college. Now, 7 years later,
with three moves further and further East each time, there was little that
interested him about his job. He hated Cleveland, it was wet, overcast, and so
damn cold!  And he had a hard time fitting in with the twenty-something
boymen who were his co-workers. They were young, foolish, and oversexed
to the max. And damn it if all of them weren't straight! These were the
`corporate jocks,' as Mike called them, who either talked about nothing but
fast cars, stacked babes, or the millions they were going to make once they
broke free from this hell hole called middle management, and became their
own bosses. To Mike, it was a bore. A colossal bore.
Mike had known he was gay since about six months after his first homosex
experience in college, but he was not an in-your-face-gay-activist sort of guy.
He was a normal, quiet man, who didn't bother about  being gay. Unlike the
people one read about in the news, Mike happened to be a man with a
profession first, who then happened to like to suck cock, and fuck ass, second.
He did not come across as a sex hound, except when he wanted man to man
sex. He lusted after a few movie stars, had his collection of porno, and went
out to the bars once a week or so, just to say hi to the bar flies who always
seemed to be there, guzzling and smoking  their wages and their youth away
with alcohol and cigarettes every night. That had not been Mike's thing. He
was `tall, dark and handsome,' as his mother had always told him, and he
wanted to stay that way as long as he could. He had figured the odds were
with him.
Yet now, seven years after coming out, Mike was still alone. He had not
become  someone's `lover,' and he seemed uninterested in the attentions of
men who had desired him.  Mike had not even had what used to be called a
`serious long term one night fling' for quite some time.  He was definitely not
asexual. Mike was just oblivious to the attraction some gay men felt for him,
and was just a bit too naive, or shy to go after those men who turned him on.
As a matter of fact, few men in the office knew his `secret' - that Mike had
more interest in lusting for a man's ass, than for his co-worker's tits, a
beautiful girl named Alice Greaves.
In his whole gay love life, things were about the same; Mike had seemed to
always miss out - he was a walking ad for `the man that got away.' There had
been a stud who made Mike's head and dick turn somersaults some years ago.
It had been over seven years since he had met Erik. The man that gave Mike
goosebumps, (and other bumps!) had been a blond accompanist Mike had met
during a summer school Music Program, named Erik Thorquist.
Mike was a music minor in college, when he had first come to  Southern
California.  Mike had a nice voice. Singing in the choir (his first sexual
experience had been with an organist as a freshman at the local Episcopal
church!) Mike's baritone voice, which was mellow and sounded real sexy
when he talked, lacked the `edge' (what the singing teachers called `baritone
buzz') for an operatic career.

But Mike's voice was good enough to have gotten him jobs singing with the
community Musical Theater group, a Church Choir position that paid, and
some chorus work in the New Opera Company located near his college,
which had started the last year Mike was an Undergrad.  Mike knew he had
some talent, but did not know how much talent he would need if he were to
pursue a career in the Arts. So Mike Carson, BA Business, had decided  -as a
lark- to audition for this Music program in the Midwest, the summer after his
graduation, just to see what `Show Biz' was all about; and whether he `had
what it took to be a star.' While at the Ionic Opera Theater Program, `it' had
happened. There, one sweltering July afternoon about halfway through the
summer program, Mike ran smack dab into Erik. It was pure sexual attraction:
sudden, electric, and mutual.


Who was Erik Thorquist? He was a pianist who had been eductated on the
East Coast, but had returned to Iowa after Graduate School.  Erik was lounging
around in the home town where he had grown up, with nothing much to do.
Unlike Michael, (as Erik called him) Erik Thorquist was a very worldly boy-
man- he had known he was gay when he was 12, caught one day by the
Principal of the School sucking off his best friend's cock in the boy's room
during recess at Ingalls Elementary School, in Strom Lake, Iowa!
Well, for Erik, all hell broke loose at that one, because the best friend Erik was
making feel so good, was Lars Nelson, the 17 year old son of a retired Marine!
(a man with three other sons at home) Well, sir, to top it all off,  Lars
happened to be the oldest son as well of the Pastor of the local Lutheran
Church! So when a redneck Marine fundamentalist Pastor found out his son
was being `cocksucked by a faggot,' Erik's dad blew his stack. Real "American
Beauty" like, you know?  - And, strangely enough, it had been Lars  who was
the one who had taught Erik how to suck dick! How did Lars know this? It
had happened when he learned how from his 21-year old brother, a jarhead
recruit at Quantico!
Erik's parents were members were members of Pastor Larson's church, so life
got real crappy for young Erik, real fast.  Erik got the beating of his life by his
father, a rural farm boy who had moved to the `big city' (population 3,000) to
marry his `sweetheart'- Erik's mom. And his mother, meanwhile, was
heartbroken at the disruption her son had caused to the family's prestige and
status in the community. No one ever thought of how Erik, ostracized by his
friends, his church, and beaten on the playground for the remainder of the
year by the high school buddies of Lars, because he was a `fag' - no one in his
family ever thought to ask how he  felt. He had trusted Lars, and admired
him as a big brother. He just wanted Lars to like him- he had not know it was
wrong, for it felt good when Lars had done it to him...
The Thorquist family eventually  had to move 200 miles east, where Erik
grew up (from 5'6" to 6'2") went to High School, graduated summa cum
laude, and decided to enter college. Erik continued to fantasize about men:
Local hunks on the sports teams;  on TV, he lusted after Donny Osmond,
then Freddie Mercury, George Michael, and finally, (after coming out) Erik
had fun with the usual slutting around gay men engage in while at college -
trysts with some of the football team- every gay theater and music major at
the little Lutheran college where he went for his bachelor's degree- and one of
the professors... Well, sir,  Erik decided to make music his life, after it was
discovered he had real talent at the keyboard. And, of course, New York was
the place for him to get his Master's. Erik did get his Master's degree in NYC:
both in piano as well as in his sexual education!
But Erik Thorquist,  the farm boy from Iowa, couldn't handle the free and
plentiful gay life in the Big Apple, and he came home to re-think out his
likes, dislikes, and sexual needs, as an `out & proud' gay man. Gay sex was
great, it was fun, and, surprisingly, it was  a hell of a great way to make
contacts in the Music world (you fuck me, I give you a job- the old casting
couch routine, gay style) but he had needed a break from all the temptations.
Erik recalled the time (this after he had come home to Iowa) that there was
one orchestra conductor, quite some years Erik's senior, who came on to Erik
at the first job Erik got in New York- a rehearsal Erik was asked to `sub for,'
when the regular accompanist  couldn't make it. This man, this conductor,
who liked being called "Maestro," used to wear leather pants and a black
leather jacket to rehearsals, but at home in bed, he loved to wear lingerie,
hose and garters when having sex with his partners. Erik had enjoyed his
trysts with the Maestro, but the man and he did not strike  up a relationship.
Erik didn't mind the fetish clothing, it was actually kind of kinky and fun, but
the man was an egotist, and a jerk. Erik was fired from the job, when it
became obvious that the Maestro was not getting a `live-in lover' as part of
the package deal. It was not the final thing that soured Erik on trying to make
a career in the Big Apple. Rather it was the first of many such `chances' that
had gone sour, which finally turned Erik's mind to coming home for a while.
If Erik had  had a lover, he and his `other half' should have been
living/working in San Francisco or New York... but not Strom Lake, Iowa!
Erik Thorquist was, you see, a knockout. At 6'2", 180,  with a full head of thick
blond hair and soft cornflower-blue eyes, Erik possessed a firm, strong jaw, a
great physique,  and a dick that made the term `Thor's hammer' a potent
reality- at least when it was applied to Erik Thorquist! With a sexy sandy-
colored hairy chest, and full, Scandinavian lips that looked like they could
vacuum out every drop of cum from your dick  (but with no hint of
femininity) Erik had it easy when it came to sex. Too easy - especially in New
York.
It had seemed, in a city where everyone wore shades of black, and had skin
that never looked healthy- always a sort of dirty, swarthy, greasy, brown- like
some Sicilian or Arab in the movies- Erik's fresh face and fair skin shone like
a beacon in New York. And Erik got tired of it. He wanted to be known for his
talent, not just his `pretty face.'
So he had returned to the town where he used to live. Erik gave piano
lessons, coached the `three singers' who lived in the town, and was the
organist of the local Episcopal church, whose rector `understood' about Erik's
tastes in sexual matters. It was a safe haven after an orgy of gay life and too
much unwanted sex. But all that jadedness changed the day when Erik met
Mike.

Erik came to the Lutheran college campus in Iowa that day, (where he had
gone to school six years previously) to play for a young high school tenor who
was to go to this college in the fall. The boy, Shawn, had been coached by Mr.
Thorquist to prepare for his audition; Erik had wanted to `coach' the boy in
other things, but the farmer's son was too dense, and too religious to handle
that - so Erik just worked on the musical talent of the kid, which was
mediocre at best. Erik was a professional, and he kept his dick and his hands
to himself, if he was working with a `student,' especially a minor!
Shane had just finished the audition, and Erik was going outside the building
for a smoke, leaving the panic-stricken kid with the Faculty - who all were
most cordial to Erik, because Erik was one of the few alumni who had `made
it in the big time.'  Erik had quickly escaped all that `darling of the Conser-
vatory' bullshit, and was going down the hall to get out of the Music
Building, which had always suffocated him when he was a student, with its
mix of attitude, hypocrisy, and especially, mediocre talent taught by  crappy
teachers... when he looked up, and saw Mike.
	Mike had been talking with his gay roomate for the summer program,
a real `queen' from Minneapolis named Phil Frauer. (Phil had a tenor voice
that sounded like a goat caught in a blender, and, to top it all off, he
was a real jerk too!) Phil had just asked Mike, in between rehearsals of
the show they were working on, the most personal question yet, of the many
personal questions Phillip seemed to ask everyone, gay or straight, male or
female. Phillip was a gossip monger as well as a faggot.

"So, `Michelle,' Phil quipped, `what kind of man would you fall for, if you
could have any sort of hunk in the world?' " Mike pointed to a cast picture
of "Student Prince," one of the previous shows this summer program had done
in years past, which lined a kiosk in the building. Gazing at the picture,
Mike pointed to Erik's face, and he said, "He is the sort of man I would
fall for, if I had to choose a type. Yeah, he is a hot looker."

In that instant, Mike looked away from the kiosk, and right at Erik, as Erik
turned the corner, appearing like magic in front of Mike and Phil. Mike felt
like he was in a dream. Time seemed to stop, until Mike heard Phil (the
bitch!) starting to hum the "Wedding March" from Lohengrin by Wagner.
Mike hissed, "Quiet, you ass!",  and Erik, hearing conversation at the end of
the hall, looked up and saw Mike for the first time.  In one second, Erik had
fallen for Mike as much as Mike had fallen for Erik....
Mike's reverie of the past was abruptly broken, as a car honked, sumoning a
bellhop. Mike stepped to the side of the massive entryway of the `Towers,' in
order to let the bellhop take a rack of luggage for some visiting dignitary into
the hotel, where he had just finished his meeting.  `And to think, that was
already almost eight years ago,' Mike mused.  He was brought back to reality
this fine day in Southern California, and to his own need for love and
affection by a man, when a car whose occupants drove by, honking  at Mike as
it cruised by- the three very obviously gay youngmen in the car were out for a
day of sun, fun, and sex. Mike didn't even realize that they might have been
cruising him. Thinking about Erik, their first meeting that July day in Iowa
seven years ago, and all the emotions Mike felt for Erik Thorquist- that
sexually draining, extremely loving, and very hot hunk of a man- well,
thiking about Erik had caused Mike's dick get hard. And the boys in the car
liked what they saw....
But those reminiscences also made Mike fucking mad. Mad at himself, and
his own insecurities, both then, and now. Instead of trying to build a long-
distance relationship after the  mind-blowing three-hour conversation which
had followed their initial `Hellos' (and after telling Philip Frauer to `get lost!')
their feeble attempts at each man trying to find out if the other of them was
gay now seemed comedic! And then, when Mike and Erik came together in
what was unarguably the best night of sex in Mike's life, later that evening- a
night of sex which lasted till dawn- Mike stupidly, foolishly, and, he realized
now, cowardly,  (because he had been way too attracted to Erik...) had
returned to the West coast, promising to `keep in touch.'  And now, here he
was, seven years later, realizing fully  the first of many mistakes in his life,
that he,  Mike Carson, had made since graduation from College.
And Erik? Well, Erik stayed in Iowa, and, as happens in all long-distance
relationships, Mike and he eventually drifted apart. Erik knew this would
happen though, even after that first night. When Erik figured out what was
going on in Mike's mind as they engaged in foreplay, and from what he
learned of Mike well enough from that one night, as Erik pleasured him over
and over, sucking, fucking, kissing, rimming, loving Mike as only a
committed gay man can love the object of his fantasies- Erik knew that Mike
couldn't handle him! Erik's life in New York, his sexual prowess, and the
abandon with which he engaged in gay sex, conflicted with the gay lust that
lay hidden, yet bubbled beneath Mike's cool, sophisticated exterior. Erik knew
an artist when he saw one. The very detachment needed to be analytical about
one's self in performance (or in business) was the very thing that Erik had
faced time and again, in and out of the bedroom. Because he chose a career in
the arts, Erik knew that what made true love with such a person as Mike
possible, was, frankly, almost impossible when a person like Mike was not
ready for it!  It was a case of `the passion one sang about being too dangerous
to indulge in first hand.'
And that night with Mike was confirmation to Erik, that here, in this man
who turned him on so much, there was this fear of passion. As a pianist, Erik
could pound the hell out of the piano, and yet have sex anytime. Mike was
different. Even if he were not a professional singer, his body was `his
instrument,' and that was where the problem lay. As a classically trained
musician,  you don't fuck a Strad. Instead you revere it, only  caress it, and
lovingly, gently put it back in its' case after you are done making music with
it.  Erik knew, in that one night, while Mike loved the passion Erik unleashed
in him, he was not yet willing to `let go,' even though Mike subconsciously
wanted to with every fiber of his being.  `In that,' Erik thought, `Mike was
more in touch with himself any of the hypocritical students I teach here in
Iowa ever could be!'
But, because Mike could not `be himself,' Erik could only long for the touch of
Mike's hands on his body, and the brush of those full, red lips Mike possessed,
to kiss and suck him in return. But it had never happened, at least not after
that first night. Mike never knew this about himself, of course. And Erik
wasn't about to psychoanalyze him.  Mike convinced himself at the time that
Erik was not the `right man' for him. His best friend back in California- Mack,
who had been with a lover for over 15 years- had told Mike he was
completely nuts! But Mike could be stubborn if he wanted to be. And he was.
 Erik and he had lost contact with one another after that first year. Now,
seven years later, as Mike thought back on all he had missed out on, standing
on that corner in Southern California, the sunshine seemed to clear his
mind.  And Erik, the love of his life, was `lost somewhere in the Midwest,'
Mike mumbled an obscenity to himself.
Then, almost with a jerk of his head, Mike awoke from his thinking. "Here I
am, wasting my life on reports, airplane schedules, and hosting meetings for a
business that cared little if I was back there in the office on Monday or not.'
Mike started walking,leaving the entryway of the hotel, at first merely to clear
his mind, but he realized that because the two hour meter was expired, he
better get to his rented car, `cause he didn't want to have to pay a traffic ticket,
in addition to feeling down in the dumps this fine day! Looking at the ground
in front of him, Mike  was brought out of his reverie and  back to the present
as a very cute high school age student bumped into him. "Oh, shit, sorry
man!' the baggyshirted, jeans-wearing, pierced ear and ponytailed youth said,
as he scooted by Mike. Mike looked after the boy, who stopped, turned, and
looked back at him- and then smiled, with obvious sexual interest! It flipped
Mike out!
"Damn, this kid is barely 18,  and he knows what he likes and wants, " Mike
thought. It made him realize just how lucky he was to be where he was: here,
now, Southern California, May, sunshine, and gay sex all around, if the bars
and haunts of his younger days were still there, or he could visit an adult
book store and get a gay guide of SoCal...
Mike's mind raced. He thought quickly. He realized that, if he could check out
of his corporate rooms by 12 noon, he could go down the coast to Laguna
Beach, and check in to a hotel or apartment suite near the ocean, for the rest
of the weekend, all paid for by the job, which allowed some minor luxuries of
this type to its middle management types. "At least I should enjoy the rest of
the weekend at the company's expense,' Mike thought. He looked up again,
and the boy was waiting, wanting to know what kind of signal Mike was
sending him. Mike smiled back at the boy, and then turned, and hurried to
the rental car. "No ticket- great!" Mike exclaimed. He practically jumped into
the late model Red sports coupe which the Car Company had mistakenly
given him, when the reservations agent had gotten two cars mixed up,
between him and a Marine on weekend leave from Pendleton. `What a hoot,'
Mike laughed to himself, `Here I am with a virtual `fuckmobile,'  while the
poor jarhead, whose reservation was later than mine, has been stuck with a
Toyota Corolla, in `virgin white,' no less, for the whole weekend!' Mike got in
his car, revved the V-8 engine and peeled out of the parking space, made an
illegal u-turn, and headed toward the hotel, to check out as fast as he could, to
get to Laguna and the Beach by at least 2:00 p.m., to `catch some rays,' and do
some shopping for clothes, the first extravagant purchase he would have
allowed himself in months.
As the radio station started to play a "disco weekend," Mike once more felt
young, virile, and alive again.  The boy he had bumped into looked
longingly at Mike as he cruised by, and Mike honked his horn at him, which
made the boy grab his crotch in a shameless gesture of `take me, Daddy.'
Mike laughed out loud as he sped by the kid, thinking how easily this
boyman was with his gayness. And how foolish Mike had been all these years.
"I'm gonna have fun this weekend, or else I'm gonna try really hard to! `
Mike said as loud as he could, more to himself than to others, as he sped
up, entering the southbound lanes of I-5. "It's time to start to really
`party.' " Mike did not know how true those words were to be.