Date: Fri, 6 Apr 2001 02:07:54 EDT
From: Yip3@aol.com
Subject: Sterling Ducat Chapter 5

Sterling Ducat

Chapter 5


	Sterling, after closing the door behind him, crosses the room to
the window to see if he can see Mike leaving.  A glance tells him that his
window faces the wrong side to see where the truck was parked.  It does
face the skyscrapers of downtown Houston which he studies with interest.
Welcome to my new home, he thinks and wonders if he should be excited about
that.  He stands there for some time watching traffic, human and
mechanical.  After a while he notes the Metro buses and realizes that here
in a big city is a public means of transportation so he is not stuck with
walking everywhere.

	That thought brings him back to his present situation and the need
to develop a plan to establish his life here.  Reaching a decision, he
turns back from the dusty window and goes to the night stand that has some
kind of literature, mostly hotel stuff.  There is a small pad of paper and
an abused pen which he carries over to the table.  He moves the chair so
that it faces the window and sits down.  After checking the pen and finding
it does not write, he rises from the chair to get the gym bag where he
believes he had left a pen.

	After unzipping the bag, he is reminded of the foodstuff that was
still in it or at least what's left.  There are 3 cans of cat food, 2
bottles of water and about one-fourth of the bag of potato chips.  Damn, he
thinks, Forest is better off than I am.

	Thinking of Forest, he looks around for the cat, fairly sure that
he didn't dart through the open door when Mike was leaving.  Of course not,
since he spies Forest snoozing on a pillow in the patch of sunlight that is
being reflected from the glass exterior of one the Houston's buildings.
Damn, he muses silently with a smile, way better off.

	He turns back to the gym bag and pulls out his clothes.  He decides
to hang them up now instead of later because he realizes that he doesn't
have an iron or anything to take the wrinkles out.  He inventories his
wardrobe as he does so.  There's 3 pairs of jeans, 4 briefs, 4 T-shirts, a
pair of slacks, 4 polo style shirts, 3 pairs of socks plus an unmatched
navy blue one, and his shaving kit.  He realizes he got lucky with the
shaving kit.  He had left it still packed from the last time he used it.
He has a razor, shaving creme, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo
and a not quite cheap cologne; all but the razor are travel size.  They
will last a few days at least before he will have to get more.

	While pondering the toiletries situation, it dawns on him that a
nice, hot shower would feel good right about now.  He takes the stuff to
the bathroom and, much to his surprise at a cheap joint like this hotel,
discovers a little demure package of hotel soap and bottle of shampoo.  He
sets out his stuff on the vanity's countertop before reaching over to the
faucets of the bathtub.  Not knowing what to expect, he turns both handles
just a little.  Water, with a slightly rusty, brownish tint, starts, spits
and sputters before it settles down to a reasonable stream of water.  The
colored water is not what he really wanted to see.  He turns the handles a
little more and the amount of water increases and so does the pressure.
The water also cleared up, at least it looks like it did.  Sterling reaches
for one the plastic cups that the hotel provides and fills it with water.
Even though the plastic is opaque, the water appears clear when he hold it
up into better light from above the vanity sink. He make a mental note to
let the water run some when he first turns it on so it will clear up before
stepping into the tub.

	While the water is running, Sterling unsnaps his jeans as he sheds
his tennis shoes.  After unzipping them, he peels both the jeans and his
briefs off.  He separates them noticing that the pants are dusty and dirty
from being on the ground last night.  His briefs have dirt and some bits of
leaves still on them.  He pulls his shirt off which has some of the same
dirt as the other clothes.  All of the clothes are dropped into a pile.

	Checking the water temperature, Sterling adjusts the valves until
he gets the temperature he wants.  It's hot but a comfortable hot.  After
unwrapping the cheap bar of soap and grabbing the wisp of a thread bare,
terry washcloth, he steps into the tub.  He has to fiddle with the shower
lever some before it catches and the shower head come to life.  He is happy
with the water pressure; it can blast the dirt off.  He adjusts the shower
head so he can stand under it for a few minutes.  Finally he soaps up the
washcloth and starts scrubbing, starting with his face.  He works his way
to his neck and then starts on his upper chest moving on down to his waist.

	He then switches to the hands and scrubs his way on the arms, first
the left and then the right.  Finishing the arms and arm pits, he begins on
his back making the usual contortions to reach it.  Next the buttocks and
between them, before he starts on his groin area, penis and testicles.  As
usual, he closes his eyes and enjoys the hot, slippery feeling on his dick
and balls from the soap as well as the coarseness of the washcloth.  Also,
as usual, he starts to stiffen.

	Even so, as usual, his mind drifts into his latest fantasy object,
Sasha, a basketball player who was in his senior class in high school.  His
mind's eye brings forth an image of that well developed athlete standing in
the gymnasium shower, sudsing himself up.  Sasha is about 6'2" and black
hair.  High cheekbones, aquiline nose, almost heart shaped lips and a
confident jaw and chin line with a hint of a five o'clock shadow compose
his face.  There is a light dusting of hair on Sasha's chest, heavier
around the nipples, which flows downward to the pelvis.  Within his soft
body carpet, extra hair darkens the treasure trail down into the pubic
hair.  Nestled with the black forest of pubic, is a circumcised, thick
looking penis and hanging lower are a pair of ping pong size balls.

	Sterling's dick reaches a solid hard as he replays Sasha washing
his groin area.  He remembers seeing Sasha's dick moving around, flopping
left then right, by the act of washing.  Sterling's mind switches from the
actual reality to his imagined intimacy if he and Sasha would have gotten
together.  In the imagined physical contact, Sasha would be laying on top,
his pointed tongue teasing and tickling the inside of Sterling's cheeks,
the hairy chest leaving butterfly kisses as they ground their respective
hardons between their abdomens.

	Sterling is stroking his dick with firm strokes back and forth by
his right hand as his left hand is massaging a nipple.  His balls start
pulling up as he mentally pictures Sasha's tongue trailing its way down,
stopping long enough to tongue fuck his innie belly button a few times.
Just as Sasha's starts to engulf the head of Sterling's dick, Sterling has
reached the point of no return in the shower.

	Trying to hold back at that point is futile but holding back while
still stroking only prolongs the nut tightening urgency.  Finally,
unavoidably, Sterling is pushed over the top.  Breath explodes out and
spasms begin as cum fires across the length of the tub to hit the ceramic
tiles on the other side.  Audible moans accompany each spasm and his left
hand is combing his pubic hair.  After squeezing the last drops of sperm
out to drip into the tub drain, he tries to get his panting under control.
Sasha, he wishes, I was hoping you were gay instead of straight.

	Gaining control of himself and feeling the typical post-ejaculation
drop in horniness, he sticks his head under the shower head to wash his
hair.  Finishing up, he sees rivulets of cum making it down the wall tile.
He readjusts the shower head so that it is spraying water onto the tiles to
wash the cum down from the walls and into the drain.

	He does his best to dry himself with the thin towel and then
realizes he does not have a hair dryer.  He combs his hair and hopes it
does not air dry into a bad hair day.  He puts his toiletries up and walks
back into the bedroom nude.  When he starts reaching for something to put
on, it dawns on him that this room is home so he proceeds to put his
clothing up to settle in.  Setting down on the bed to rest for just a
moment before beginning writing his plan.  Forest stirs a little and looks
at him so Sterling leans back and lays his head on the pillow next to the
cat so he can scratch him.

	"Welcome home, Forest," he tells the cat who pushes his head harder
into Sterling's hand.  Without realizing it or meaning to, Sterling drifts
off into a comfortable sleep as the cheap plastic clock flips to 1:03 p.m.


**********

	Steph reluctantly allows his eyes to open and is dazzled by the
sunlight streaming into the bedroom.  His eyelids slam shut in an instant
but sleep does not come.  Typical.  Once Steph has awoken he does not go
back to sleep, shut eyelids or not.  Not that it usually bothers him, he
actually likes to lay there with his eyes shut and just think undisturbed.
He ponders many things, usually, from planning his day to events from the
past, recent or further back, to upcoming things to do.

	This morning is one of the special days when he is only thinking
about one subject, his other half, Richie.  Early this morning after being
reduced to a quivering mass of sensitive nerve endings by Richie's tender,
slow loving, they had somehow made it from the living room to the bedroom,
actually making it into their king size bed.  Steph is still not quite
clear how they were able to make it that far, so weak with pleasure.

	In his mind's eye, he pictures what he would see if their bedroom
ceiling was actually mirrors.  He is laying on his back with Richie laying
on top of him like a human blanket.  They don't normally sleep in that
position but usually after making love that intense Richie does sleep on
top of him, full body length.  Richie's head is resting on his right
shoulder with his face turned so that Steph feels his warm breath brush
across the top of his chest.  Steph's head is resting on the crown of
Richie's head.  His arms are wrapped around his back while Richie's go
under his arms and his hands are draped back onto Steph's shoulders.  Their
torsos are almost nipple to nipple to nipple and, if he concentrates, he
can feel Richie's chest hair touching his smooth chest.  Steph's legs are
spread slightly so that Richie's legs are laying between them.  His own
lower legs are bent at the knees back onto Richie's calves.

	Steph nuzzles his cheek just a smidgen against his lover's hair,
not wanting to wake him.  With a feeling of connection, contentment and
completeness, he wonders how he could be so lucky to have found Richie.
Most amazing is that Richie loves him.  This man, sleeping on his chest,
actually loves him.  Steph, laying very still, can feel Richie's heart beat
as he sleeps.  He says to himself, `I live because your heart beats; I
breathe because you draw breath; I exist because you live.  What would life
be without you in mine?  I would just be waiting, without purpose, for
death to turn me back into dust.'

	Steph breathes slightly into Richie's hair, "I love you, `ma vie'."

	He tries not to twitch any muscle and he does a mental sensory
detection of where their two bodies touch each other in repose.  He tries
to feel, just by his skin, the texture and heat of Richie's skin.  He could
lay there for a long time just doing that.

	Some while later he imagines he hears something.  Before he has a
chance to give it due consideration, he hears it again.  It is Richie
making the noise.  He catches what is being murmured.

	"Stephan, I love you."

	Steph, feeling his chest constrict in emotion, tightens his arms
around Richie who sighs languidly in his sleep.  As a smile reveals itself
on his lips, he thinks back to the first time Richie said he loved him.  It
seems like it was just yesterday when in reality it was five years ago this
coming week.  He remembers being captured in Richie's hazel eyes when he
uttered those three simple words.  Such complexity of emotion conveyed by
those three simple, short words.  Such longing, such intensity, such
astonishment, it was as if everything in the world, nay, the whole universe
took on new meaning, new textures, new brilliance.  Recalling Richie then
slowly lowering his head to place his lips gently, ever so gently, on his
lips, Steph relives that first contact of slightly parted lips.  Forever
etched in his memory is the tentativeness of Richie's tongue touching the
lower part of his upper lip as if saying, `I have crossed the line from
whence I cannot retreat.  Here is my offering.  What is your will?'

	Steph feels his own heart rate increase as he remembers how his
tongue, seemingly on it own, reached out to touch its tip to the tip of
Richie's and the tender exploration, tongue to tongue, the prelude to.....

	"I hear your heart getting faster, Steph.  Whatcha thinking?",
gently asks Richie with his eyes still closed.

	Startled, Steph winces slightly when Richie spoke.  He had not
realized that Richie has woken up.  He looks down at Richie's face and
especially notices how lovely and elegant Richie's eyelashes lay on his
upper cheeks when his eyes are closed.

	"You, my joy.  I was thinking of you.  You always make my heart
race."

	"Steph, do you know why I call you `angel' alot?"

	"Because you love me?"

	"Kinda.  Actually, it goes back to when we first met.  It felt as
if you gave my heart angel wings.  You're not the wind beneath my wings;
you are the wings.  The wings of an angel.  Tall, broad, white feathered,
majestic, soft yet strong wings.  You send me soaring."

	"Richie, how can I not love you when you say things like that.  I
love you more than a racing heart can show.  I can't wait till Wednesday."

	"Wednesday?  What?", queries Richie as he opens his eyes and turns
his heard upward to look at Steph's face.

	Steph moves his head backwards to look at Richie full face.  "Don't
tell me you forgot about Wednesday."

	In less than flash, Richie realizes what is meant by Wednesday.
Chuckling slightly, he says, "Damn, it always seemed so far away.  I was
starting to wonder if `it' would ever get here.  Finally it is within
sight.  It has been a long time coming."

	"No shit.  Five years is a long time."

	"Remember the first time we made love?", murmurs Richie as he pulls
himself up Steph's body.  He touches the hollow of Steph's neck with the
tip of his tongue and it traces its way up the Adam's apple to the base of
his chin proceeding over the chin to tease the underside of Steph's bottom
lip.

	"Ohhh, yeahhh...", groans Steph but is cut off when Richie's tongue
enters smoothly into his mouth to begin an ear numbing kiss.  He is aware
of Richie's erection rubbing his genitalia causing his dick to inflate.
Spurred by the kiss, his legs, still draped over his lover's, start to
journey upward, caressing Richie's thighs before climbing the buttocks
after which his ankles cross to hold Richie's waist in a scissors grip.

	Holding the kiss as their tongues stroking each others', moving
back and forth between their mouth, Richie glides his hands from Steph's
upper arms, across his elbows, over his forearms and wrists to intertwine
his fingers with his angel's.  When their arms are fully extended, they
cross at the wrists above their connected heads.  The arms hold Steph's
head stationary as the kiss continues.  Richie brings his knees upward to
either side of Steph's hips and begin to rock slightly back and forth
making both cocks and testicles rub together gently.

	Finally breaking the kiss, Richie pulls his head back to look at
his other half below him.  Steph's blue eyes slowly open to look back into
his lover's hazel ones.  It is said that eyes are the windows to the soul.
Be that as it may, but for Steph and Richie, the eyes are wide open doors.
Each would swear that he is lost in the eyes of the other and live for that
loss within the other.  They study each other's eyes as if seeing them for
the first time, "like a virgin", to quote songstress Madonna.

	Richie's eyebrows raise slightly, questioning.  Steph nods just as
slightly.  Loosing fingers, Richie reaches into the opening of the bed's
headboard to retrieve a condom are stashed there and carefully tears open
the package.  Freeing the condom, he brings it to Steph's hands who takes
it as Richie's raises his waist enough to bring his cock up in the air,
hovering between the two of them.  Steph reaches between and deftly unrolls
it onto Richie's 7 turgid inches, remembering to pinch the reservoir tip.
Once it is on, Richie's waist, being prompted by the locked legs around his
waist, comes back to rest on Steph.  Thoughout this preparation process,
their eyes stay locked on each other's eyes.

	Richie's head gently lowers toward Steph's.  The tips of both their
tongues meet each other in the space just before their lips reach their
destination.  The kiss starts with both sets of eyes still open and staring
into each other.  As the serenity of the touch and the delicateness of the
kiss take over, their eyelids slowly slide down.  Each is surrendering to
the moment as they intertwine their fingers again and then crossing their
arms above Steph's head.  Their pelvis are moving back and forth, rubbing
each other.  Using his knees as a brace, Richie slides his body a little
further down without breaking the kiss.  Steph bring his locked legs a
little more up Richie's body until he feels that condom encased cock
rubbing lower.

	The rubbing relaxes Steph's muscles.  Neither one is giving much
thought about what to do next, knowing from experience.  Almost without
realizing it and because of the lube left over earlier and the condom being
lubricated, Richie enters slowly and steadily until he is pubic hair deep
in Steph.  It is so smooth and practiced that the only indication of
penetration is both moan in a pleasure filled harmony.

	Richie only moves his pelvis back and forth occasionally and not
much distance.  Both lovers want the feeling of connectiveness, of oneness,
of the moment.  This is not orgasm driven sex.  Instead it is the physical
expression of love celebrating the merging of two into one, the fulfilling
of each other's being.

	Feeling Steph pulling his head back into the pillow, Richie
releases the kiss, opens his eyes and pulls his head back.  Steph, without
opening his eyes and the corners of his mouth turning up a little, murmurs,
"Just wait `till Wednesday, `mon coeur', just wait...".

	"You'll have to wait, too", whispers Richie as he sees Steph's head
rise back to him, lips parted and the tongue emerging.  "I love you,
Steph."  Richie teases Steph's tongue with his before settling back into
the kiss.  Toes curl.

The mantel clock chimes 1:00pm.  It is 3 minutes slow.


*********

	Marshall glances at the clock on the microwave.  `Damn', he thinks,
`it's 1:03.  I've got so much to do before tonight.'  Spurred by the time,
Marshall gets off of the bar stool to clean up the kitchen.

	Once the kitchen is clean enough, he starts in on the living room.
Marshall is a fairly good housekeeper but not the maniacal neat freak some
people are.  Even though it will only be Richie and Steph over for dinner
and probably wouldn't mind the mess, he does like to have a neat place.
Once he is finished with the living room, he turns his attention to the
hall bathroom.

	Lastly, he goes to the bedroom.  He does not do much there since he
knows it will be the least used room tonight.  He has no one to bring into
it; Steph and Richie can go home next door to get it on.  That thought
amuses him.

	His attention is caught by the 5 o'clock chiming of the mantel
clock that his next door friends gave him a couple of Christmases back.  It
is identical to the one they have.  He was surprised they had remembered
how he admired theirs.  Marshall felt very lucky and thankful he had such a
good pair of friends.

	Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he strips down and heads to
shower.

	Thirty minutes later, clean, shaven and dressed in white jeans, a
kelly green polo style shirt and sandals, Marshall heads to the grocery
store a few blocks away to get the stuff for dinner.

	"Damn, it must be my lucky day," Marshall says to no one as he is
able to snag a parking spot close to the grocery store's front door.  "I
gotta remember to get a lottery ticket, just in case my luck holds."

	He gets out of his car and enters the store after snagging shopping
cart that had not been returned to the inside of the store.


********

	Sterling awakes with a start and, in alarm, looks around at the
unfamiliar place he finds himself in, and naked to boot.  It only takes a
moment for him to realize where he is and calms back down.  He promises
himself that he will not be so jumpy waking up in this lower quality hotel
room.  Yet he is startled when Forest gives a little `mew' that sounds like
an agreement.  As he reaches to pet Forest, it dawns on him that the cat
was probably asking for food.

	Picking up a can of cat food, he opens it which he places on the
floor near the bathroom door.  He fills up a plastic glass, that he found
in the bathroom, and puts the water near the cat food.  Forest had not
wasted a moment attacking the food and was gobbling cattily away at it when
Sterling sets down the water.

	Feeling hunger pangs himself, he realizes he needs to find a store
nearby to buy food for both of them.  The list will have to keep for now,
he thinks and then realizes that getting food would have been at or near
the top of it anyway.

	After pulling on a pair of jeans, a red T shirt and his sneakers,
Sterling checks his hair in the bathroom mirror.  It's not a good hair
moment since it dries while he slept on it.  He wets the back a little so
he can comb it back down into some degree of neatness.  Returning to the
bedroom, he puts his wallet in his back pocket and grabs the key to the
room.

	"Hold the fort down, Forest.  I'll be back soon," adding, "I hope."

	Closing the door behind him, Sterling double checks that the door
locked.  He hears, more than sees, someone further down the hall open a
door, enter a room, shut the door and double lock it.  He couldn't help but
glance down that way but does not see anyone.  Shrugging his shoulders a
mite, he turns back toward and goes to the stairs.

	After entering the lobby, Sterling walks over to the front desk.
"Is there a grocery store near hear," he asks the clerk who does not look
up from the magazine he's reading.

	"Uh, yeah.  When you go out da front door, go around to t'other
side da buildin'.  It's about three blocks dat away.  Ya cain't miss it."

	"Thanks, dude."

	"It's no thang."

	Sterling follows the directions he's been given.  Even though it is
only three blocks away, he cranes his head left and right to check out the
city of Houston, just like any new tourist.  Seeing the huge buildings,
hearing and smelling the traffic and checking out the store fronts, he is
getting excited about living in a big city that offers so many different
things and opportunities that the smaller town he's from wouldn't have.  A
smile seizes his face and he thinks, `I'm free.  I'm really free.  I'm free
and gay and don't have to answer to anyone.  I'm free, gay and can do
anything I want to do, become anything or anybody I want to.'  The
excitement that is generated almost makes him start skipping down the
sidewalk.  Only almost start but the grocery store looming in front of him
prevents it.

	Picking up an arm basket as he enters the store, Sterling stops for
a moment to figure out what stuff he needs to get.  He realizes that he
will have to get just basic stuff, most likely the store brand since the
cheaper prices will be in line with his limited funds.  He decides he needs
bread, peanut butter, tuna which he'll probably have to share with Forest,
bottled water since he doesn't want to have to drink the tap water, some
cans of pork and beans which he can eat cold, chips and some bananas or
apples or both.

	With the mental list, Sterling starts wandering down the aisles
searching.  He finds what he is shopping for.  As he starts toward the
checkout stands, he passes an aisle where a big, tall display of dog food
catches his eye.  He smacks his forehead with his palm as he remembers
Forest so he veers left to check out the cat food.  Just behind the dog
food display is the cat food.  Since he has only been a cat owner for less
than a day, he ponders the age old question: dry or wet?  Well, he
compromises and gets one box of dry food and four cans of wet, or rather
moist, food.  Luckily for him both are on sale just like the tuna and pork
and beans.

	As he is about to turn back to the end of the aisle to leave,
something else at the very bottom of the shelf catches the corner of his
eye.  `Oh, hell,' he realizes, `Kitty litter.  I almost forget the fuckin'
kitty litter.'  He sees a price sign, somewhat obscured by the dog food
display, proclaiming the kitty litter that is on sale.  Since there are
none showing on the shelf, Sterling sets the arm basket on the floor and
squats down to search further back on the shelf.  He put his left hand on
the next higher shelf so he can reach way under to grab one of the two bags
that are left.  Feeling like he had found the gold egg on a Easter egg
hunt, he backs away from the shelf while reaching for his arm basket.

	"WHOA!  Watch out!"

	Sterling looks back over his right shoulder to see a shopping cart
headed in his crouched position.  He falls forward toward the shelves to
get out of the way.  The guy with the shopping cart tries to pull it back
but the right rear wheel catches on a piece of debris on the floor and does
not roll.  The stationary wheel acts as a pivot causing the front of the
metal cart to arc to the right bumping into the dog food display.  Some of
the dog food cans at the top of the display come tumbling down.

	Sterling, hoping to avoid being pelted with falling cans, lurches
sideways to his left, hitting his arm basket which now goes sliding down
the aisle.  He looks back to see the dog food cans landing in the shopping
cart, mostly, and few hit the floor.  Fortune smiled because none of the
cans hits him or the guy with the cart.  Though no one was hit, the volume
of the shout and the racket made by the falling cans draw spectators.
Naturally with spectators come the laughter prompted by one guy sprawled on
the floor and another backed up with a shocked look on his face and neither
apparently injured.

	Sterling looks up from the sprawled position at the guy who was
pushing the shopping cart.

	"Are you alright?  Are you hurt," he asks Sterling.  "Did you get
hit?"

	"Naw, nothing landed on me.  Nothing hurt but my butt and dignity.
The floor is hard.  Are you ok?"

	"Are ya sure?  I'm fine, didn't get hit either," replies the guy as
he reaches out a hand to help Sterling up off the floor.  Sterling grasps
the hand and levers himself from the floor.

	"What happened here?  Anybody hurt?" Both guys turn toward the man
doing the asking as he weaves his way through the dispersing spectators.
He is obviously the store manager as proclaimed by his nametag.

	They release hands since Sterling is now standing and, talking over
each other, reply, in different words, that they are fine.  No one was
hurt.  Realizing that they both spoke at the same time, they look toward
each other and grin sheepishly.

	"Go ahead," invites Sterling, "You first."

	"Uh, ok."  The guy turns back to the store manager, who is wringing
his hands, and answers, "We're both ok.  Right?"  The guy looks back at
Sterling for confirmation.

	"I'm fine," Sterling confirms.

	"Well, if you're both sure.  What happened here?"

	"I was taking a short cut down the aisle and not paying much
attention ..."

	"I was squatting down to reach kitty litter from the bottom shelf
and ..."

	Realizing they were speaking on top of each other's words, they
both stop speaking at the same time while glancing at each other again.

	"Now it's your turn to go first."  The guy, making a gesture toward
the store manager, instructs Sterling.

	"Uh, ok.  Well, I was having to squat down to get kitty litter from
way under the bottom shelf.  The dog food display would be blocking the
view of anyone coming from that direction.  Without looking up, I backed up
into the aisle.  I didn't see him coming," Sterling explains.

	The other guy takes over.  "I was taking a short cut down the
aisle, not paying attention and was probably going too fast.  When I
realized, he was coming from behind the display, I tried to pull the cart
back.  It felt like the back wheel hit something `cause the cart whirled to
the right and smacked the display.  The cans started falling."

	"We both got outta the way real quick," adds Sterling, picking up
the story when the guy paused.

	"Just a sec, guys."  The manager looked about and spying one of the
employees, "Hey Bill, com' `ere, willya?"

	When Bill arrives, the manager tells him to redo the display but
smaller than what it was.  In the meantime, Sterling retrieves his arm
basket and the guy starts to remove the dog food cans from his shopping
cart.  The manager assists takes them from the guy and hands them to the
store clerk.

	"Did the cans break anything?" the manager asks the guy.

	"Uh, no.  They missed the eggs fortunately."

	"Everything ok in your basket?"

	"Yessir.  Nothing got in it," replies Sterling.

	"Anything I can do for you guys?"

	"No, we're fine.  No harm, no foul," Sterling assures him.

	"Yeah, we're good," agrees the guy.

	"Ok, then.  In the future, we'll make sure aisle displays are not
as risky," he says.  "Y'all have a good one."  The manager nods to them as
he leaves.

	Sterling laughs turning to the guy.  "Well that was something,
wasn't it?"

	The guy joins him laughing.  "Oh, yeah, it was.  Just like the
movies, ya know."

	"You think is was caught by the store cameras?"

	"Oh, god, I hope not.  It's a helluva way to meet, don'tcha think?
I'm Marshall, by the way."  He extends his hand.

	"Sterling," he replies reaching out to shake hands, "Nice to
meetcha."

	"And you too.  Sterling, huh?  That's not a common name.  Is it a
family name?"

	"Yes and no."

	"You gotta explain that."

	"Well, my last name is spelled D-u-c-a-t and is pronounced
`DUCK-it' like that old European continental coin.  Italy, I think. Some
people see the spelling and say `due-Cot' like a Klingon from Star Trek on
TV.  Sterling is part of a British coin name, ya know, like pound sterling.
I guess they wanted me to focus on money."

	"That's imaginative.  Any luck?"

	"Any luck?  What?"

	"Ya know.  Any luck with money?"

	"Oh, puh-leese.  I could wish."

	"Couldn't we all, eh?"

	"No shit!"

	"That reminds me, I need to get a lottery ticket so I can at least
hope."

	"Yeah, well, good luck with it.  I'd be happy if I could just get
the three out of six numbers so I could at least collect the five dollars,"
wishes Sterling.

	"I can understand that," Marshall agrees as he happens to glance at
Sterling's wrist and sees his watch. "Shit!  What time is it?"

	"It's almost 6:15."

	"Oh, shit, shit!  I gotta get going.  I got company coming for
dinner at 7:30.  I haven't even started cooking.  Shit!", cries Marshall.

	"Well, you better step on it, Marshall.  It's Marshall, right?"

	"Yeah and yeah.  I gotta run.  Maybe I'll see ya around, Sterling.
Have a good one,"

	"You too."

	As Marshall smiles at Sterling, he is turning his buggy around to
head to the checkout stands.  While walking to them, something nags at him
but he can't quite put his finger on it.  There was a shadow or something
that seemed to have crossed Sterling's face ever so briefly as he was
leaving him.  It was almost as if he had lost something, like a puppy or
kitten, something.  It tugs at him while he is standing in line to check
out.  He doesn't even read the headlines of the gossip rags.

	He glances back toward the end of the store where he left him.  He
doesn't have to look far because Sterling is in the express checkout lane
three lanes over.  His attention is diverted when the checkout clerk
reaches for his buggy and begins to ring up his purchases.  While waiting
on her to finish, he glances toward Sterling a couple of times.  His
attention is brought back to the task at hand when the clerk gives him his
total which he pays.

	He looks back toward the express lane but Sterling isn't there.  He
does spy him heading to the exit so he pushes the buggy with his sacked
groceries in pursuit of Sterling.

	"Hey, Sterling.  Just a sec," Marshall trying to get his attention.

	He's successful because Sterling pauses and turns back.  He smiles
while he waits for Marshall to catch up.

	"Hey, I wanna ask ya something," Marshall explains.

	"Ok, sure, shoot."

	"Why don'tcha join us for dinner?"

	"What?"

	"Yeah, why not come to dinner at my place.  It's just me and my
next door neighbors.  Nothing fancy.  You'll have a good time and good
food, even if I say so myself."

	"Well, I don't know."

	"Oh, come on.  Here, lemme give you my address and phone number.
You can call and let me know if I need to set another place at the table.
It's at 7:30 thereabouts."

	Marshall now knows something's wrong when he sees Sterling look
down at his own shoes, his face kinda darkening.

	"Uh, well, thanks for the invite, Marshall.  I, uh, hmm, I don't
have a car," Sterling quietly says in the direction of his shoes.  "Thanks
anyway."

	Marshall, studying Sterling's reaction, feels it is his task to
find out what is wrong and see what can be done about it.

	"Well, I guess that means only one thing," he informs Sterling.
"You'll have to ride with me and I can take you home afterwards.  Of
course, that also means you will have to help me cook as payback, ya know."
As he is saying this, he puts a friendly hand on his shoulder.  He sees the
cloud or whatever leave Sterling's face when he glances back at him.

	"You don't mind?  I couldn't ask you that."

	"Sterling, you didn't ask me anything.  No, I don't mind.  I live
near here and you must live nearby, too, if you are walking to the store,
so it's no big deal."

	"Alrighty then, I accept," smiles Sterling.

	"Good, it's settled.  Do you need to call home to tell them where
you are?"

	"Uh, no.  No, there's, uh, no one to call so it's ok."

	"Good deal.  Let's go and slave over a hot stove."

	"Ok, I'm with ya."

	They go over to Marshall's car and load the grocery bags in it.
Sterling tries to pay attention to the route to the condo, but not being
familiar with any landmarks or streets, he is kinda lost.  Not that he
feels unsafe with Marshall, but it would be nice to know where his newfound
friend or whatever lives.  He is impressed when they arrive at the condo
complex.

	"Nice," compliments Sterling.

	"Thanks.  They're pretty good.  I like living here especially when
there is a parking space right in front of the door," responds Marshall as
he smoothly pulls into the parallel parking space.

	They get out of the car and gather up the shopping bags.

	"Ya wanna put your bags in the truck so ya won't have to lug them
back out?" asks Marshall.  "Got anything that needs to be refrigerated?"

	"No refrigeration needed and thanks."

	"Sure."  The truck pops open from the remote control.  "Let me move
some of this stuff over so ya got some room."

	"Thanks.  Lemme grab your extra bags since you've got to use the
door key."

	"Okey-dokey."

	The two fellows make their way into the condo and Marshall only has
to juggle the door key and his load of grocery bags a little.  Sterling
shuts the door behind him once they are in the condo.

	"Let's take this to the kitchen.  It's this way," says Marshall
leading the way into his white and chrome kitchen.  "Just set those on the
counter."

	Sterling puts the bags he is carrying on the counter next to the
ones Marshall had set down.  "Whatcha need me to do?" he asks.

	"Uh, ok, unload the bags.  I'll put the stuff away I won't need for
dinner and then we can get started."  Marshall starts putting some of the
groceries in the pantry.

	"What do I do with these plastic bags?  Do you recycle?"

	"Yeah, I do.  Hand `em to me.  I got a bag to put `em in right
here," answers Marshall.

	"Ok, now whatcha need?"

	"Alright.  In the cabinet just above your head are the dishes.  You
can set the table.  We'll need four dinner plates and salad bowls set out.
In the buffet table on the wall at the end of the table, you'll find
silverware and napkins.  Use the paper ones.  Put out a fork, knife and
spoon.  Oh, and put out the teaspoons too.  You like tea, right?"

	"Tea's fine."  Sterling opens the cabinet door and starts to reach
for the dishes.  "Which ones to use?  The white ones or the other ones?"

	"Use the white ones."

	"Ok."  Sterling takes out four sets of plates and salad bowls.
After placing them on the table in the appropriate places, he finds the
silverware and napkins which is places correctly and, using the first joint
of his index finger, he makes sure the ends of the silverware is one inch
from the edge of the table, just like his grandmother taught him.  While he
is setting the table, he hears the clatter of pots and pans from the
kitchen.  As he is returning, the sound of something being added to a
frying pan starts to pop and sizzle.

	"Now what can I do?" he asks upon turning the corner coming into
the kitchen.

	"Ok, you can wash the lettuce and start the salad," Marshall
replies over his shoulder as he stirs something in the wok shaped frying
pan.  Glancing back into the pan and giving it one more stir he asks, "You
know how to take out the stem easily?"

	"Just cut it out with a knife?"

	"No, there's an easier way.  I'll show ya."

	Sterling hands him the head of iceberg lettuce after unwrapping it.
Marshal turns the lettuce until the stem is on the bottom and suddenly jams
it sharply down on the built in cutting board in the countertop.  Naturally
Sterling jumps since he was not expecting it.

	"Sorry.  Didn't mean to scare ya," chuckles Marshall as he turns
the head of lettuce over so the stem is at the top.  "Watch this."  He
grasps the bottom of the stem and pulls the entire stem from the head of
lettuce cleanly.  "Simple, huh?"

	"No kidding!  That's cool."

	"I think so, too.  Ok, here ya go.  Cut it in half, peel off the
old, tough outer leaves and then rinse it off.  In the cabinet under the
counter, directly below where ya got the dishes, is a big bowl to use.
Once it's rinse and drained, just break one of the halves into to bite size
pieces.  I think one half will be enough for the four of us.  If not, we
can work on the other half.  Oh, and please, please, don't put any of those
thick spines in the bowl.  I hate `em.  They don't taste as good as the
leafy part of the leaf.  You oughtta see me pick those spines out and
putting back in the salad bowl at a restaurant."

	"Ok, no prob.  I know what you mean."  Sterling follows the
directions he's given.  "Whatcha cookin' for dinner?"

	"Oh, just one of my own creations.  It's lemon pepper chicken
strips with vegetables served over angel hair pasta.  You like chicken, I
hope.  I didn't think to ask."

	"Yeah, I do.  I'll be glad to check out your recipe."

	"I think you'll like it.  Steph and Richie do."

	"Steph and Richie?  That's your neighbors, right," Sterling asks.

	"Yeah.  Oh, sorry, I don't think I ever mentioned their names.
We've been neighbors for years.  They're two of my best friends.  You'll
like `em.  They're fun and funny, ya know what I mean?"

	"Yep, they sound cool."

	"They are, but don't tell them.  They might get the big head.  I
couldn't deal with that," chortles Marshall.

	Smiling hugely, Sterling agrees, "Ok, I won't."

	"Good.  Steph is blond and teaches college French so don't be
surprised if a French phrase or two gets thrown into a conversation.  They
just come out naturally and not meant to impress or convey attitude.
Richie works at a hospital in the insurance department, some type of
manager.  He's smart enough not to toss out medical insurance phrases.
Who'd understand them anyway, huh?"

	"Cool.  I took French in high school so I might can understand
Steph.  At least I hope so, it's been a couple of years."

	"Well, if you don't catch it, ask or just nod like you did
understand.  That's no problem; I should know.  I've nodded sagely more
times than I can remember.  Usually ya get the gist of what is meant,"
Marshall says while putting a dollop of cooking oil in a pot of boiling
water.  He stirs it a few times and then breaks up the uncooked angel hair
pasta before sliding the pasta into the water.  "What time is it?"

	"What else do I need to put in the salad?" answers Sterling,
looking at his watch.  "It's about 7:10."

	"Damn, where does the time go?  Oh well, we're almost done.  Look
in the crisper in the `fridge and get those cherry tomatoes.  Just rinse
them off and plop them in.  Also ya should see a pack of little cubes of
carrots.  Put those in too.  Then just set it on the table."  Marshall adds
some cut green beans, sliced rings of onion, green peas and some carrot
cubes in the wok pan, stirring as he adds.  "There.  That should finish
that."

	Sterling completes his tasks with the salad and puts the bowl on
the table.  He returns to the kitchen and is about to ask Marshall what
else he can do.  Before he says anything, Marshall says, "Reach back into
the cabinet where ya got the big bowl and get the colander.  Put it in the
free side of the sink, please."

	He locates the colander and is going to the sink when the door bell
rings.  Marshall sets down the lemon pepper seasoning he was doctoring the
chicken and veggies with and heads out the kitchen.

	"Will you drain the pasta while I get the door, please?"

	"Be glad to."

	As Sterling is pouring the pasta in the colander, he hears the door
opening and Marshall saying happily, "Hey, y'all!"

	In reply, Sterling hears a guy, assuming it's Richie, jest, "We had
a bet you'd forget bread, as usual.  So, we brought garlic bread."

	"Fuck!  Y'all know me too well.  Too damn well!  I did forget it.
Go to the kitchen and get the cutting board, you know where it is.  We'll
cut it at the table.  You can meet the fourth for dinner.  His name's
Sterling."

	"Who?"

	"Sterling.  It's a story we'll tell over dinner.  You won't believe
it."

	Sterling has just set the pot on the stove when a blond haired guy
comes around the corner.

	"Hi, I'm Steph and you must be Sterling," he says.

	Before he can stop himself, Sterling blurts out, "But you're a
guy!"

	"Uh, yeah?" Steph replies in a quizzing tone.

	Sterling, blushing, stammers out, "I-I-I'm so sorry.  So s-s-sorry.
Marshall said that `Steph' was blond.  I-I-I thought Steph was short for
Stephanie.  Shit, sorry."

	Steph looks at him soberly for an instant and then breaks up in
roar of laughter.  Marshall and Richie come around the corner with that
wondering look on their faces.

	Marshall speaks first, "What is so funny?  Care to share?"

	"Yeah, do share," adds Richie.

	Since Steph has not controlled himself enough to explain so
Sterling, turned redder, says, "I thought `Steph' was short for `Stephanie'
and that they, er, y'all, were a couple.  You know?  Like a guy and a girl.
The first thing I said to him was, `you're a guy', when he came in the
kitchen."

	Marshall and Richie speak at the same time in a serious tone,
"They/we are a couple."  Steph has suddenly sobered up from laughing and
looks serious too.  They are aligned like a fence blocking the only way out
of the kitchen, staring at him.

	Sterling, shrinking back slightly from the aggressive stance that
confronts him, remarks, "Y'all are?"

	In a quiet voice, yet with an air of defiance, Steph responds,
"Yes, Sterling, Richie and I are a couple, a gay couple, a totally
committed gay couple.  Is that a problem for you?"

	Sterling, spreading his hands in pardon-me gesture, replies, "Oh,
no.  No problem whatsoever.  Forgive me, y'all.  Sorry, I was caught off
guard.  It's cool `cause, I'm, uh, hmm, I'm gay too which is why.....  Er,
I, uh...  You're the first, uh, the first gay couple I ever met."

	As Sterling is speaking, the other three visibly relax their
attitude.  When they hear about him being gay, too, they start to smile.

	Sterling continues, "It was a major `faux pas, n'est-ce pas'?"

	When they hear him use a French idiom, Steph smiles larger.  Richie
and Marshal echo either other, "Oh shit!  Another one!"

	Steph speaks for them all, "There's nothing to forgive, `mon cher',
it'll give us another fun story to tell.  And believe me, we'll tell it."

	"Alright, people, get out of my kitchen so I can dish up dinner.
Steph get the cutting board and bread knife to the table.  Richie get the
glasses and put ice in `em.  Sterling, grab the pitcher of tea from the
`fridge.  My main dish is starting to burn," directs Marshall.

	All perform their appointed tasks.  Within a few minutes they are
seated at the table, Steph and Richie on one long side with Marshall and
Sterling on the opposite side.  After slicing the bread, dishing up the
salad and the main course, the eating and story telling starts.