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John Tucker JETjt@aol.com
The next morning, Saturday, Ron and Matt’s home
Ron and Matt were the only ones at the breakfast table. None of the four boys had yet appeared, nor had Tyler and Dan.
“Must be a lazy morning,” Matt commented as he munched on a piece of toast. “We seem to be the only early birds around here.”
“I suspect that we’re the only ones who got to sleep half-way early,” Ron answered with a grin.
“Yeah, us old guys need our rest,” Matt said laughing. “ By the way, your birthday is coming up in two weeks. Is there anything you’d like as a gift?”
“Not a thing Love,” Ron answered. “I have everything I want sitting here with me.”
“That’s sweet, Booby, but I’m serious,”
“So am I,” Ron replied. “One of the problems with having money is that there is very little to ‘want’. If you do want something, you buy it and if it’s in the way of personal items, a mere mention of anything and Parker is off to the store. Many wealthy people simply drip in extravagance, presumably to impress others, most of whom the wealthy consider unworthy of their attention. What a bunch of rubbish! I can have more fun with Mabel and her brood than the rich-bitches can have at the fanciest soirée. All that elegance and indulgence is so phony it makes me sick. Speaking of wealth, I’ve been thinking. You know, we have talked so much about helping the needy and helpless that we’ve somewhat neglected what I consider other obligations of the rich.”
“What might those be, Ron?”
“Art; and I mean ‘Art’ in the bigger sense, including architecture, literature, music, paintings, sculpture and even including historic preservation. Throughout history only nobility, and the very wealthy could support the creation of great works of art, music and architecture.”
“What about government? Look at the great buildings that government has sponsored. Versailles in France, the pyramids in Egypt, Greek temples, and all that.”
“I didn’t intend to exclude government; however, even in government projects, the greatest patrons have been the despots, not the democratic governments. Look at the great Russian collections. They began with Ivan the terrible and reached their zenith with Catherine the Great but continued with the Romanoffs right up until the Bolshevik revolution. Most of the time when democratic governments have sponsored great work, mostly in architecture, it was to impress either their own populations, or other governments of the power and majesty of the State. Of course those reasons are not exclusive of governments either. Many of the wealthy or nobles sponsored art or artists not because they liked the art, but they thought that it might impress others.”
“What are you suggesting?” Matt asked, getting to the quick.
“Our charitable trusts are doing well and growing rapidly. There is not much present need to continue to ‘feed’ them with new money. It’s not that there isn’t still much to do, or that we couldn’t outspend the earnings, but I’d rather concentrate on making sure that our giving is wise and effective. I think that you’re already doing a marvelous job with it, but I’m afraid to let it grow so fast that we can’t maintain the effectiveness we now have. What I have in mind is to start a separate trust to address art, both its creation and it’s preservation.”
“I agree about our present charities.” Matt replied. “The funds are growing so fast that I have to continually shift gears to effectively place the money. I have to admit though that art is way out of my league,” Matt said with regret.
“Mine too,” Ron admitted. “I think we have a capability to generate the money to finance such efforts, but I’m the first to say that many things regarding the arts are outside my experience, and certainly my expertise. I know what I like, but my tastes are my own and very limited. I got help when we selected the art for the office and here. I also know that my tastes change with time, and I see the results of my earlier limited prejudices.”
“For example, I used to hate opera. I thought it was a complete waste of time, money and, quite frankly, was rather silly. Then I found I like some things, like Gilbert and Sullivan. I’ve always enjoyed history, and if you know a bit about the social climate of the Victorian Era, you can really enjoy their spoofs on that society in England. I’ve liked classical music too, but limited to mostly baroque types of music such as Bach, Vivaldi, etc. It’s great to work with that stuff as background music. Then I found that I loved Mozart. He was perhaps the premier musical genius of all time. Not only was he good, he was prolific, so it took a lot of listening to even begin to exhaust only his orchestral works. Then I started expanding my horizons by listening to his vocal works, which takes us into his operas. Of course, the easiest to begin with is the ‘Die Sauberflota,’ ‘The Magic Flute’. It’s humorous if you know the story, and quite beautiful. From there you go to ‘the Marriage of Figaro’, another great piece that I took Bryan to see at the Metropolitan Opera when we first met.”
“Once I decided that opera was not the ‘bad’ art form I had earlier thought, the transition to listening to other composers fell in line. It leaves me open to wondering if all my prejudices to certain types of music, and even other art forms might be faulty. I’ve concluded that that’s the case, mostly because of ignorance and lack of exposure. I live with that realization and some regret that my only excuse is that I’ve never taken the time to ‘smell the roses’, but I also realize that life is far too short to experience all the wonders that are now available to each of us as never before in history.”
“It does create quite a dilemma,” Matt agreed.
“Yes it does,” Ron asserted. “It somewhat ties into my philosophies about prejudices against people who are ‘different.’ Just because people are different, they are not ‘bad’, any more than music or art is ‘bad’ just because it’s not what we normally enjoy. I guess what I’m saying is that if we provide the money and some direction, we need to hire someone or even more than one who have taken the time to have a much broader view of the arts than either of us have. At this stage of my thinking, it’s just that, thinking. I just know that inside me, there’s an ‘art itch’ that needs scratching. Maybe it’s just a sense of social responsibility, but it’s there, regardless.”
“I must admit, you’ve got me thinking now too,” Matt responded. “I guess we’d better discuss this with Tyler and Dan to see if they’re interested as well. Maybe we could start ‘salting away’ some money to fund such an effort and start looking for someone to work on the ‘art’ end of the equation.”
“Great minds think alike, Babe,” Ron said with a smile.
Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Ronnie and Jerry.
“Hi guys,” Matt said as the two boys, dressed in tees and shorts entered the room.
“Did you stay over here with Ronnie last night?” Ron asked Jerry.
“Yeah,” the young man replied. “Tyler and Dan said it was okay.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” responded Ron. “I’m sure that Tyler and Dan enjoy their private time now and then. What are your plans for the day?”
“Right now we’re hungry,” Ronnie replied. “We’re not sure what we’re going to do later. Maybe we’ll go horseback riding or something. Now that school has started, there’s not as much time for fun as during the summer.”
“Keep in mind that Douglas is here with company too. You might want to do something with them.”
“Maybe,” Jerry said almost with reluctance, “they’ll probably want to sit around talking about authors or writing or something. We were hoping to get out and do something more energetic.”
“We know that Douglas’ handicaps make it difficult to do all the things you like to do,” Matt said with understanding, “and we do appreciate your taking the time with him to make him feel part of the family. Please don’t think that we’re dictating what you should do or trying limiting your fun. We only ask that you continue to be the great guys we’ve come to love.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said as he filled his plate from the sideboard. “We’ll talk about it after we eat, then talk to them to see if there’s something they’d like to do with us. I kinda suspect that Doug will want to spend his time alone with Eddie though. Those guys seem to have the same interests.”
“You may be right,” agreed Matt. “I’m glad you’re going to ask though. At least it will make him feel that you want him around.”
“Thanks Matt.” Ronnie said. “Don’t worry though, both Jerry and I know what it’s like to feel alone. We’re not going to let Douglas feel that way.”
“We love you boys,” Ron said. “You make us very proud.”
“Awwwww.” Ronnie responded at the compliment as he and Jerry both blushed.
“What are we loving these clowns for now?” Tyler asked as he and Dan entered the room.
“They offered to spend the day working around your new house, cleaning up all the construction debris,” Ron told him.
“Uh…Uh… Uh…” Ronnie stammered.
Ron and Matt fell over each other laughing at the surprised look on the boys’ faces.
“He’s just kidding,” Matt said between laughs.
The boys looked relieved, then blushed again with embarrassment that they had been taken in.
Tyler and Dan helped themselves to the breakfast buffet, then sat down at the table with the others.
“I forgot to tell you,” Tyler said addressing Ron and Matt, “I’ll be running up to Salt Lake City on Sunday evening, then on Tuesday morning I’m off to Albuquerque, then Wednesday to Phoenix and Tucson. I’ll be returning Wednesday night if all goes as planned.”
“What’s the occasion?” Ron asked.
“I’ve had a team looking at those markets for Aztec-Turner’s western expansion. I’ll be taking the team with me, and try to determine which if any or all of those markets are targets. They’re our closest surrounding states. I’ve got another team from our L.A. office looking at Oregon and Washington State. I’ll probably go there in a few weeks.”
“How many States is Aztec-Turner in now?” Matt asked.
“With our entry into the south we’re now in 27 states,” Tyler answered. “We’d like to be in at least 40 states by year end.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” Ron asked.
“Yes,” Tyler replied. “We’re now strong in the south and we’ll expand in the Midwest and New England out of our St. Louis and New York City offices, in the west coast from L.A. and the other western states from here. In addition, there are several states that have more than one large city. We’ll establish offices in one or more of the other metropolitan cities where we presently have no offices.”
“Are these all going to be ‘start-up’ operations?” asked Ron.
“No, not in every case,” answered Tyler. “We’ll buy up local operations when we can. It saves time, reduces competition, and makes staffing easier.”
“It sounds like a good plan,” Ron complimented his brother.
“I’ve been working a lot with the boys in Turner Consulting,” Tyler said modestly. “They sure know their stuff.”
“Yes, they are good,” agreed Ron. “I do miss Jeff and Phil though. They carried the Las Vegas ‘whiz kid’ banner passed on by Ted Thornton and Jack Smith with honors.”
“How do they like Chicago?” Dan asked.
“I think the climate is a bit of a shock,” Ron laughed, “but they’re making some real inroads into that market for Turner Consulting. “Of course it’s only early fall, so they really haven’t seen much real weather. Wait until winter and that cold wind comes off of Lake Michigan.”
“May we be excused?” Ronnie asked.
“Sure, run along guys,” Matt answered.
“Let us know what you’re up to before you go charging off into places unknown,” Ron added as the boys left their seats.
“Yes sir,” came the twin replies as they disappeared from the room.
* * *
In Douglas’ room the newest member of Ron and Matt’s youth brigade was leaving the bath after both boys had taken care of their morning hygienic needs.
“I’m sorry you had to see my pitiful body,” Douglas was saying to his guest, Eddie, who was seated on the bed pulling on his shorts.
“Don’t be sorry, and don’t apologize for anything,” Eddie answered as he looked at his friend with sympathy showing in his eyes. “It’s not your fault. It’s just good that the doctors are able to help you get better.”
“Thanks Eddie, I just hate looking like a freak.”
“Don’t ever say that about yourself to me again,” Eddie said sternly. “You are NOT a freak. You’re my friend. I think you’re very attractive. You have a cute face and your upper body is very well developed for a guy of our age. Sure you have some problems with your lower spine and legs, but you’re getting better. I probably shouldn’t say this but your dick and balls are awesome!”
“Besides,” he continued, “It’s the guy inside that’s important. Our body is just a vessel to carry around our brains and to do what it’s told.”
“I never looked at it that way before,” Douglas responded. “But you can’t say that you don’t admire a good looking body.”
“No, I look.” Eddie admitted, “but honestly I feel intimidated by guys who are big and have a lot of muscles.”
“How do you think I’ve always felt?” Douglas agreed. “When I was little, before my first operations, I couldn’t even walk. I was 5 years old before I took my first step. Of course, I would have fallen on my ass if they hadn’t caught me,” he said with a snicker.
Eddie giggled. “I’m sure it must have been embarrassing.”
“I wasn’t really embarrassed,” Douglas said. “I was happy that I had a chance to walk and also it was with a really nice physical therapist and my doctor. It hurt like hell and I had very scrawny, weak legs. It took me months to learn to walk with a walker. Over the years I got better, but never as good as I am now that I had some other surgeries this summer. I’ve only got a couple more to go, and I’ll be as good as they can make me. I have to do physical therapy every week, but I’m getting better. In fact I only use a wheelchair to rest my legs when they’re very tired. My doctor said that by Christmas, I won’t need it at all any more.”
“That’s great!” Eddie said with enthusiasm. “I hope you will still want to read and write.”
“You can count on it. Books have always been my best friend,” Douglas replied.
“Until now I hope,” said Eddie, with crimson appearing on the surface of his face.
“Yeah, until now,” Douglas replied with a wink at his new best friend.
* * *
Saturday evening. Salt Lake City, Utah.
Nathan Mankowitz stood on the sidewalk under a streetlight six blocks east and two south of Temple Square. It was a dimly lit street, too close to downtown to be good residential property, but a few houses still remained as residences, even though many businesses had moved into the other homes and converted them to commercial space. He looked for the white Lincoln Towncar that would soon be along to pick him up for his evening tryst with the older man who was his best customer.
Nathan was 17, 5’ 11” in height and 160 pounds. His slim but defined torso supported a slender neck that carried a head of classical beauty. His thick black hair, perfectly styled, outlined the strong bone structure of the face that drew immediate attention whenever he entered a room. The mystery of his sparkling blue eyes bespoke a northern European link in his ancestry, yet the pair of dark eyebrows creating a contrasting frame for the orbs, displayed a southern one. His one extravagance was taking care of his body and the cladding of it with the best clothing, even if it was ‘casual’, that his limited budget could afford.
He was well aware of his extremely good looks and the effect that his presence had on others. It was his calling card, one that provided the daily sustenance that kept him going. He had only been in Salt Lake City for three months, but had established himself with a number of regular customers, men who were willing to pay well for an hour or an evening with the handsome youth. The money he earned selling his body, time and talents had provided a small apartment in this run-down area near downtown. It had also provided him with the basic necessities for living plus a small bank account that contained nearly $500 he had managed to ‘squirrel’ away. He was feeling modestly successful, if not a bit cocky. He had met others on the streets who were not so fortunate. Salt Lake City, like other larger cities had its share of the bottom of society. Winos, the mentally ill, drug addicts, and runaways, as well as a few who simply were down on their luck, scraped by for the barest of necessities that most Americans took for granted. Nathan wanted no part of that. He might be gay, but he wouldn’t let that be an obstacle. He intended to live most of his life in comfort after dragging himself out of the gutter. He felt he was well on his way, a notch above those less fortunate.
The evenings were getting cooler, so he was glad he’d brought a jacket as the wind began to pick up in preparation for a storm blowing in from the Northwest. ‘I guess summer is officially over,’ he thought with regret, knowing that layers of clothing for winter warmth would make the “selling job” more difficult. He saw a pair of headlights approaching, and put a smile on his face as he recognized the vehicle. It belonged to his ‘date.’ He knew that in a couple of hours he would be $400 richer.
* * *
Same time, Same city.
The Greyhound bus swayed as it swung off the street and into the terminal’s parking stalls. The bus had just completed it’s run from Las Vegas, with stops in Mesquite, Nevada, as well as Saint George, Cedar City, Nephi, and Provo Utah. The passengers were, without exception, glad to have the journey complete, and happy to give up their narrow, yet fairly comfortable seats for a good stretch of their limbs. About half had completed their travels with the others continuing on, either as their bus headed for it’s next destination, or by transferring to another bus going elsewhere.
One of the passengers was a young man of 16 with sandy-colored hair, slightly less than 6 feet in height, and of medium build. He was distinguishable by a look of sadness and apprehension on his face. As he entered the huge lobby of the station, he was impressed with the cavernous space. Looking around he first found the sign for which he searched. He inserted one arm through the strap of the small backpack that contained all his earthly belongings and headed for the door marked ‘Men.’ Stepping inside he walked to a urinal, unbuttoned his Levis and extracting his more than adequate penis, began to relieve the pressure that had been slowly building inside his body for the past three hours; he hated using the restroom on the bus. Once finished, he shook the appendage and tucked it back inside his jeans. Stepping to the sink, he washed his hands, then splashed water on his face to remove the dirt of travel. Grabbing a paper towel sticking out from a dispenser, he wiped the remaining moisture from his face, looked at himself in the mirror, ran his hands through his hair, and turned to head back into the lobby.
On reaching the lobby, he extracted a piece of paper from his pocket on which was written two items, a name and a phone number. Seeing a bank of phones mounted on the wall, he walked to one not in use and read the instructions. Reaching into his pocket he extracted three coins, dialed the number and when instructed inserted the coins.
“I’d like to speak to Shawn Fisher please,” he replied to the greeting from the other end. After a short delay he responded to the man he was seeking who had come to the phone.
“My name is Carl Gilbert. I was told to call you. I’m from Colorado City.”
After answering a couple of questions from the man, then receiving instructions, he said good-bye and hung up the phone. He took a seat in the waiting area of the station, looked at the clock and settled back waiting for the man who promised to pick him up. Ten minutes later after having checked the clock three times during that period, he stood, grabbed his knapsack, exited the front doors of the terminal and stood waiting on the sidewalk three feet back of the curb. Four minutes later a silver mini-van pulled to the curb. The passenger side window slid down, and the man inside asked, “Carl?”
“I’m Carl,” the youth answered.
“Get in,” he was commanded.
Carl reached for the door handle, pressed the thumb button and pulled the door open sufficiently to slide into the passenger seat, placing his backpack on the floor between his legs. The man smiled at Carl and said, “Welcome to Salt Lake City.”
“Thank you sir,” Carl answered as the van began to move.
“The name’s Shawn,” the 33 year-old man responded. “How hard was the trip?”
“It took quite a while to get to Cedar City,” Carl responded, “I had to walk nearly half-way.”
“Wow! That must be 40 miles from Colorado City,” Shawn guessed. “How long did it take you?”
“I had to walk in the beginning. It was afternoon already so I walked until it got dark, then when I couldn’t get a ride, I slept beside the road until morning. When I got up I started walking again and finally got picked up about 10 o’clock. The old man that gave me the lift took me all the way to the bus station. It took the rest of the second day to get here.”
“Let me tell you a bit about me and about what we’re doing here,” Shawn offered. “But first I think we’d better stop to get you something to eat. I presume you’re hungry.”
“Yes sir, that would be great,” Carl said. “I haven’t eaten since I left home. I only had three dollars, just a dollar bill and two dollars in change. I was afraid that if I spent any I wouldn’t have money for the pay phone.”
“There’s an IHOP ahead. We’ll go there.”
“What’s an IHOP?” Carl asked.
“It’s a restaurant that specializes in breakfast, but they have a full menu for lunch and dinner too.”
“Anywhere you say, sir. I’ve never eaten in a restaurant before. It wasn’t allowed.”
“I know,” Shawn responded, his face reflecting memories of a past life.
The van pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, parked, then the man and youth exited the vehicle. Shawn led the way to the door and held it open for the young man. On entering they were escorted to a booth where they were handed menus and asked for their drink preference.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Shawn responded. “What would you like Carl?”
Carl’s eyes widened as he heard Shawn order the forbidden beverage. “I guess I’ll have water. I don’t know what the other drinks are.”
“Bring him a 7-up and water,” Shawn said to the waitress.
“Yes sir,” the waitress answered. “I’ll be back in a moment to get your order.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen, returning moments later with the drinks.
“Have you decided yet?” She asked as she distributed the drinks.
“I’ll just have a Danish, but I’m sure my friend would like a meal,” Shawn answered. “What would you like Carl….. I’m buying.”
“A hamburger would be nice,” Carl answered, seeing that the item was one of the lesser-priced items.
“A hamburger with all the fixin’s,” Shawn said to the lady.
“How would you like that done?” she asked.
“Just regular,” Carl guessed.
“Medium,” Shawn corrected, “and French fries.”
“Coming right up,” the waitress assured the twosome as she moved again toward the kitchen.
When she was out of earshot, Shawn began.
“I was raised in Colorado City. I grew up there and was a member of the Fundamental Latter Day Saints Church, like you. When I became an adult I took a wife and began my work for my family and the community. I traveled a lot, selling our produce and farm products to the world outside. Ultimately I had two more wives. My first wife Melda gave birth to a son, and shortly after, I began to doubt the wisdom of the church’s teachings. I saw on the outside good people, people who practiced without shame or reluctance many of the things that we were forbidden by our prophet. For example, I was surprised, then convinced, that man had actually landed on the moon. The church taught that it wasn’t true. At first I was confused, but after I’d been traveling for a while, I could see that there was no harm in those forbidden practices of others, like watching TV, and that many of the things the church taught simply were not true. At last I decided to talk with the prophet and ask for advice. He went into a rage, accusing me of bringing the devil into the community. I was angry because I’d not spoken about any of my doubts with anyone. I told him as much but he didn’t want to listen; he raved and shouted, until at last I began to angrily challenge some of his teachings. He told me to leave and to come back in the evening at 6 o’clock. I left full of disappointment and anger.”
“I went home and talked to my wife Melda about what had happened. I told her that I was not sure we’d be allowed to stay. I’d seen many boys excommunicated and ordered out of the community, and I suspected that it could happen to us. She asked about Terri and Myrna. I said that I could only take her, and that since there were no children by them that the church would see that they got new husbands. She said that she loved me and would go with me, if that’s what we had to do.”
“That evening I went to the meeting house as directed. The Council of Elders was there with the prophet. He accused me of all sorts of things that he made up, in addition to my alleged threat to his authority. I could see at once that their minds were made up, even before the meeting started. I was excommunicated, divorced from my wives, and ordered to leave the community. Fortunately I had a pick-up, so I went home where Melda had already started with packing. We were gone before 10 that night. Thank God we had some money saved and I was fairly well educated. My mother had been a teacher who had gone to college and had taught school before she married my father. We came to Salt Lake City, and I got a job. It was not long before a boy I had known in Colorado City was excommunicated, and found us. We took him in. Then my brother was excommunicated, and he found me too. I helped him find a good job. It wasn’t long before other boys began to come, and we decided that we couldn’t take them all into our regular families, but instead needed to provide for them a place to live, and help them get jobs and an education. It’s been all we could do, but we normally have around 10 youths at a time that we help.”
“That’s wonderful,” Carl remarked.
“Maybe wonderful, but not enough. We found out there have been over 400 boys excommunicated and thrown out in the last 10 years by the FLDS church.”
“Wow! I didn’t know it was that bad,” Carl said, the surprise showing on his face.
“How did you find out about us?” Shawn asked.
“The young guys all know about you,” Carl told him. “Every year many guys get excommunicated, sometimes for watching television, or going to a movie or some other crazy thing. Everyone thinks they know the real reason. Since we believe it’s all right to have many wives there aren’t enough women to go around. The elders have to ‘thin out’ the young men. It’s too much competition, I guess. Anyway, I’m not sure how word got back there about you and your brother, but it did. I for one am glad.”
“We do what we can,” Shawn responded. “We’re not rich, so there’s only so much we can do. There are a few guys who have come that we’ve had to let go. They were troublemakers, didn’t want to get jobs, created chaos for the group, or whatever. We don’t have the time to deal with those who need special attention. It’s sad, but it’s true. We had no choice but to send them on their way. We can only take care of those who fit in.”
“Oh,” was Carl’s only response. There was something on his mind.
At Shawn’s house for youths "the Sanctuary"
“Let’s get you settled for the night,” Shawn declared. “We need to talk more, but we can do that tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds good to me,” Carl replied. “And Shawn, thanks for taking me in. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“No problem, my young friend,” Shawn answered with a smile.
* * *
Sunday afternoon, Ron and Matt’s home.
“Can I go with you to take Eddie home?” Douglas asked Matt.
“Sure Doug, we’d both enjoy the company.”
The day had been wonderful for both of the youths. They’d spent the morning talking about writing and looking at stories on the Internet, discussing writing styles, plots and, of course, the steamy sex scenes. Both boys had spent that part of the discussion with erections that were accepted in each other without it going any further. Douglas felt that his physical condition made him unattractive and was reluctant to make any moves on his new friend, and Eddie believed that any moves on his part toward Douglas would be looked upon as sympathy. Without discussing their feelings both boys decided independently just to enjoy the friendship without the emotional complications that crossing the sexual threshold might bring. In the afternoon after a light lunch, the boys took a swim. It was part of Douglas’ physical therapy that both boys enjoyed. A soak in the hot tub following the swim capped off the early afternoon. A long walk on the jogging path running around the estate grounds followed. It was difficult as always for Douglas, but he knew that the exercise was essential for his physical improvement. Eddie enjoyed the walk too, though exercise was not one of his favorite things. He recognized that it was important to Douglas, so he decided that if physical exertion was the price of being with his new friend, it was a price he’d gladly pay.
After showers, during which both boys sprouted woodies but ignored, the boys dressed in Douglas’ room. Placing his dirty clothes that he had worn earlier in a small backpack, Eddie placed the bag on the bed, and turned to Douglas. Grasping Douglas’ shoulders, Eddie pulled the handicapped youth to him, and said, “I really hate to leave Doug, but I still have a little homework to do and I promised my house parents that I’d be back by four o’clock. I’ve really enjoyed my time with you. Thanks for inviting me.”
He pulled his new friend even closer and placed a light kiss on his lips.
Douglas was stunned by the sudden move, and his crotch immediately pulsed in response.
“I’ve really liked it too,” Doug said with a blush. “Uhh…when can you come again?”
“Whenever I’m asked,” Eddie replied with a grin. “In the meantime, we can talk on the phone and IM on the internet. I’ll send you a chapter of the story I’m now writing, and you can try your hand at editing, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I’d like it a lot,” Douglas responded. “Let’s exchange phone numbers and E-mail addresses, then we’d better go downstairs and arrange for someone to take you home.”
A piece of paper was quickly found in Douglas’s desk, and the numbers exchanged, then Eddie returned to the bed, picked up his bag and followed Doug through the door leading to the hall and the elevator that would take them down.
20 minutes later, Ron’s study
Since Matt was occupied taking Eddie back to Thornton, Ron decided to look at some papers he’d brought home from his office that so far over the weekend he’d neglected. He was deeply engrossed with a proposal he was studying when the phone at his desk rang.
“Yes?” he answered with a bit of annoyance at being disturbed.
“I’m sorry Mr. Turner,” Parker replied, “I wouldn’t bother you sir, but there is a man holding on the line that I think you might want to talk to.”
“It’s okay Parker. Who is it?”
“He said his name is Adam Jenkins. He told me that he is the Deputy Director of the FBI.”
Ron’s eyebrows lifted, reflecting his surprise.
* * * * *