Date: Sun, 11 Jun 2017 07:37:28 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 20

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

And THAT'S when the fucking lesson *started*. The exercising and everything
was one third of what Tala did for clients. He took Beaux (and me) on a
thirty-minute whirlwind tour of how the male body works, from nerves and
muscles to chemically-stored power (fat and carbs) and how each get
used. He did a quick tour through hygiene (including startlingly- specific
instructions for Beaux with his intact foreskin) and another about
diet. Oddly, he didn't tell us to cut *anything*, only to change the
balance. The shower was a massive rain-head with a pull-string, nothing
else. The towels appeared to be hand-me-downs from the local animal
shelter.

As we finally left in the growing heat of midday, I spotted that fucking
Hoplite helmet outline on the door. "Fuck Sparta." Beaux had just enough
energy to grunt. That was about it.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 20: Hot, Hot, Hot!

Thursday

By Bear Pup

*****

We got home just as Barry was getting out of his truck. We pulled into the
garage and Barry followed us in. We got out, slowly.

"Dear Lord, honeys! What the hell happened to you two? I've seen people
look more-spry at Liberace Night over at Crystal's and not one of them
under sixty!"

Beaux sent him a murderous look and mine was not much better. "We had our
first session with the trainer," I grumped in his direction as I shuffled
into the house. The drive from West Bottoms had left me stiff. Beaux had
sat a bit cross-ways as kids often do and now looked something like a house
in a Dr Seuss book, all crooked angles and awkward lines.

"What is he training you to *be*, child, an advertisement for a
Chiropractor?" I winced as I flipped him off and he just chuckled. Beaux
made little whimpering noises as he stripped but I saved mine for one long,
pained groan of agony.

Beaux looked at me miserably, "Um, Oncle..."

"Steam shower. Yes. Now." We hobbled off to the amused chuckles of Barry. I
am certain from the look he shot that direction that Beaux, like me, was
plotting very specific torments that we would inflict upon our friend... as
soon as we learned to walk again.

We trekked across the endless moonscape called the Family Room toward the
distant vista of my bedroom and made it to the bath just as exhaustion
struck. I hit the steam, then the shower and then the steam again in quick
succession, triggering the showerheads to run hot as the steam flowed as
well. Slowly, I came somewhat back to life and lowered the shower temp
marginally, letting the hot water flow over me. Beaux, however, was still
in real pain. I told him to relax, pointing out how to get more steam when
he needed it.

I kinda-sorta dried myself... well, the parts of me I could reach without
bending, twisting or turning. I stumbled in and face-planted on the bed,
resolving to get up sometime around the 32nd of Octember. Perhaps ten
minutes later I heard a low-pitched by terribly affected voice sigh, "Well,
if you insissssst!"

In a moment, I felt the mattress sag and Barry's huge, strong hands on my
back and shoulders. I moaned in appreciation. Well, I'm sure there was a
moan of appreciation underneath the desperate scream of agony. I guess he
understood all that since he didn't stop.

Barry's delicate nature, hard body with immense upper-body and hand
strength made him a brilliant and powerful masseur. I'd asked him once why
it wasn't his professions. "Oh, child! Who would look after you and the
rest of my kidssssss? Anyway, if it was my job I'd have to do this to
wrinkly old ladies, too! Thanks, hon, but I'll stick to Clorox and Comet,
dear. And the occasional... Mister Clean?"

I had reached the weeping-moan stage when he finally finished my legs and
stood up. I had never felt so relaxed. Yeah, I was aroused as well; massage
is a pretty good way to light a sexy fire, but I was a lot more
just... comfortable. I was adrift in a world where sleep was anathema as it
would preclude basking in the glow of a painless world.

I vaguely heard mumbling, then a scream-moan. I smiled luxuriantly as I
realized Beaux was now enjoying Barry's amazing talents. Thinking of those
huge, strong hands on that lithe, beautiful body got me chubbed up, but the
delicious languor was still too wonderful. I heard Beaux finally reach that
same, 'oh thank you god' moan and then heard low voices; Beaux seemed
wheedling and insistent and Barry's deep voice seemed reluctant but willing
to be persuaded.

Another moan. Long and sustained. Ah. Beaux had conned Barry into
continuing the massage. My brow furrowed after a minute as the 'texture' of
the moans seemed to change, taking on a rhythm that
seemed... familiar. Familiar and... really, really hot. The murmuring voice
grew stronger until I could make out word-sounds over the shower.

"Oui! Comme ça!"

Um, let's see. High school French adjusted for the strange accent of the
Bayou. 'Yes.' Right. Then, 'Like it'? no, 'Like THAT' right, right. Okay

"Oui! Plus!" Um, 'yes, more.'

"Oui! Plus! Plus! Oui! Oui! OUI! AARRGGHH! UHN! UHN! UHN!"

My head popped up with an attendant cry of pain. That was damned sure NOT a
massage! Not unless it was the kind of 'massage' offered in the storefronts
on Broadway! I hobbled into the bathroom, dick flying like a flag, and saw
Barry standing up, smiling at my condition and, apparently, as Beaux's --
something he'd very much had a 'hand' in!

Beaux saw me before I could say a word and hollered, "One word, Oncle, one
word and I swear devant Mere de Dieu that I will never talk to you again,
me! Go on! Git! Reintegrer-Vous! Allez-Voue En! Not one *foutu* word,
Oncle. Partez!" Barry refused to meet my eye, but Beaux's bilingual stream
of invective followed me out into the bedroom where I made a command
decision: 'Fuck it. I need a nap.'

A gentle knocking brought me slowly to consciousness. "A table, Oncle."
'It's on the table, uncle.' "Late lunch, early dinner, Kevin."

I sat up and found I was remarkably fresh and even mobile. The nap and the
massage had worked wonders. I was smiling broadly when I got to the top of
the stairs, a look that was frozen to death by Beaux's slit-eyes glare.  I
meekly slid into the stool he indicated with a sharp chin-point and looked
down on the plate he set in front of me.

Technically, it was a fried fish sandwich, basically a poor-boy. I knew I
had trout fillets in the freezer for guest who ate fish, so it was probably
that. But on top was salad of lemon and celery and unidentifiable green
stuff. I had never told Beaux I hated the taste of fish and, seeing that
look, wasn't going to start now. I took a bite and was shocked. Yeah, that
nasty underlying fish taste was there, but I could almost ignore it in
favor of the amazing, bright acidic flavors on top!

I looked up at Beaux and said, "Wow. Beaux this is really..." and froze
again. If this was a 50s movie, the Wife would have been sitting in Beaux's
place, pearls flashing over a pressed-silk gown, high heels tapping a
staccato cantata in the key of 'you are so screwed, buster.' The look was
identical, and utterly terrifying.

"Eat your po-bo," he grunted and I turned back to the sandwich. By halfway
through, I could no longer ignore the fish taste and it was starting to
make my stomach queasy. I finally looked up.

"Um, Beaux, I, uh, I don't eat fish. It gives me an upset, well, and upset
stomach."

"Well why didn't you say so, you!? You seem pretty happy to say everything
else!"

"Beaux, listen--"

"No, Kevin, you listen. Barry is really nice and made me feel really
good. You *said* that was a good thing, you! You *said* that is what sex is
about, you! And then you come in like an eagle in the ducks, all puffed up
cuz I tried it, you!"

I did something then that I don't think I'd done before. I cut him off, and
cut him off hard. "Yes, I did. And you were having sex, Beaux, in MY
BATHROOM! That was NOT the rules, Beaux, and you know it. I apologized
about getting upset over the touching thing with Barry. I overreacted. But
I do NOT need to wake up to listen to you getting jacked off by a personal
friend of mine, Beaux!"

"Um, it wasn't, um, it was, uh... You were mad about the place, not that
he, you know, went down on me?"

"Went d--? Oh, FUCK! I soooooo did NOT need to know that! You talked him
into a *blowjob*? In *my* bathroom? While I was, what, twenty feet away?
And that isn't supposed to *bother* me? Beaux, I wouldn't put up with that
from, from, from -- fuck! -- anyone! For god's sake, Beaux, was it REALLY
that far to your bedroom?"

"Um, shh, there. Hold it, Oncle, hold on. That's what made you mad? That it
wasn't in private?"

"Of course!" I smoothly lied, "What did you think I was upset about."

"Well that he, that we, that I, um, tried out the carrot thing?"

I found that the brick-to-the-forehead of that statement made it so much
harder to fake outrage over the privacy when he was right, it was the Barry
Thing that got me again.

"Honestly, Beaux, I probably would have freaked out anyway. But see it from
my point of view. I was about to die from pleasure from that amazing
massage and then I'm lying there, trying to remember enough high school
French to figure out what you're shouting, then BAM, I figure it out and
get THAT visual? Of you and Barry, both incredibly attractive men, getting
it on in *my bathroom*? While I'm lying there with a hardon? Beaux, how
strong do you think I *am*? How much do you think I can *take*, son?"

I was huffing by the point I wound down and Beaux was watching me.

His voice was calm, speculative, almost contemplative. "You got worked up
when you heard me? Thinking about, well, all that?"

"Jesus God Beaux! Of *course* I did! You are gorgeous, Beaux. Of *course*
it gets me worked up! Guys are *easy* to get worked up, Beaux; it's how
we're *made*!" I chuffed for a minute and saw his calm, worried face and it
was like ice-water in my face.

"Beaux, I'm sorry. I'm human. I get worked up. You will, too. It's hard
Beaux -- No, Beaux, not like THAT -- well, yeah, a little like that." I
chuckled. "Beaux, yes, I promised not to lie. It really got to me. And the
idea that it was Barry making you, um, well, make those noises? It nearly
drove me nuts, Beaux. I guess that's part of why privacy is important, now
that I think about it. If incredibly hot guys were, you know, going at it
24/7 all around, how would anyone else stay sane? Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. Yes, it does, Oncle. I, um, well, honesty and all? I, er, well, your
soundproofing has limits, Kevin, and," he chuckled evilly, "you and Andy
really put it to the test and I was right outside the door. And what I
heard made for some really interesting, um, homework and no mistake!"

"You were *listening*? Ohhhh maggod." I thought back to all I'd shouted and
screamed and begged for when Andy was giving me everything I needed and
more. "Oh, God, Beaux, please, please, please: NEVER tell me what you
heard!" I dropped my head to my palms.

"Beaux, never mind. Tell me this. What would you have thought if you were
in the chair in *your* bedroom and Andy and I had, well, you know, done
*that* a few feet away. Would it have made you happy? Comfortable? Made it
easy to take a nap? Read a book?"

A note of true contrition came into his voice. He almost whispered, "I am
so, so sorry, Oncle. It was wrong. I'm still mad you get upset about Barry
and me, you know, playing, but what I did was not fair either, and not in
the rules."

"Beaux, let's just forgive each other and use this as a learning
exercise. I will try really hard not to butt into your sex life, and you
keep your sex life in your room. Agreed?"

Beaux's voice was small, "Yessir, Oncle. And I'm really, really sorry,
me. And, um, you mad about me listening?"

"Listening? Oh. Well, no, not really." I knew I needed to lighten this up a
little, for both our sakes. I put a good smiling blush in my voice. "Just
don't *tell* me and I don't care. It only embarrasses me if I know."

He chuckled, which was good, then gasped. "Oh, Oncle! The fish! I made you
eat the fish!"

I laughed gently. "Yeah, you did. Don't worry, I'm not allergic or
anything. I just don't like the taste and it gives me an upset
stomach. Nothing to worry about. That said, you'll need to warn me --
actually Barry -- if you have a hankering for fish so he can get some in
the freezer. There's bass and crappie in the pond, but I don't know if
they're big enough to eat, and there are some of the little bluegill things
we call shiners, but they're more useful as bait since they're so small."

Beaux looked genuinely puzzled. "Why would I cook something you don't eat,
Oncle?"

"It would be pretty selfish of me to tell you that you can't eat what you
want just because I don't like it. This is *your home* Beaux, and that vent
fan will take care of any smell I don't want. It had better for what it
cost!" Beaux was still unconvinced, but I decided to drop it for a while.

He looked thoughtful. "You got catfish in that pond?"

I made a face, "Sure, but nobody eats catfish! That's gross, even for
fish!"

He laughed at that. "Cajuns eat anything with feet or fins, Oncle. I can't
rightly think of an exception."

"Yeah, including mudbugs."

The smile changed quickly, more of a 'point to you' type with a side of
payback. "Now that there's just mean, Oncle. For that I might have to
introduce you to Nutria if we're ever back in the bayou."

"That another disgusting fish, is it?"

"Why no, Oncle, you already said you don't eat them. You'll right love it!
Nutria's a land critter like what you want to eat. I think the city folks
call 'em, hmm, let's see... giant swamp rats?" The look on my face was
apparently the desired result as Beaux doubled over laughing. Note to self:
Do not spar about food with Beaux.... Ev. Er.

I held up my hands in surrender and we retired to the office, me to work
and Beaux to study for the rest of the fading afternoon. When I got to a
stopping point, I slipped one notebook out from under Beaux and had him
take up in the next. I pulled up my copy of the binder which had answers to
lesson questions and found Beaux was probably batting around a B-minus. He
was getting around three out of five perfectly and another of the five in
the 'close enough' range. For someone who'd never seen a textbook or a quiz
before, that was pretty impressive.

I used a green pen (I loved those) to circle errors and trace them back
through his notes. It was a fascinating task and I was completely absorbed
until Beaux coughed. "I'm making dinner tonight, okay, Oncle?"

"Oh! Um. Yeah. If you want to, that is."

"Oh sure. We still got dome veggies from the Fume people." It took me a
moment, but I realized fume meant smoke, so he meant stoners, and that mean
the hippies at Sage & Spirit.

He vanished and I went back to it, finding it utterly engrossing to follow
Beaux's thoughts and understanding. I finished just as he knocked, "A
table, Oncle." I came in and nearly swooned. I thought the pork chops were
heaven a couple nights before. The closest I could call what I saw would be
Chicken Paella. Golden chicken braised with rice, peppers and onions tinged
almost-orange from some delicate but powerful spices. Beside it were long
planks of zucchini he'd brushed with some special magic and grilled over
the stove's flames.

I took a huge bite of the chicken with a forkful of rice. The flavor was
amazing, thick, rich... HOT! Hot-hot-hot-hot. The spice level was off the
charts. I quickly took a bite of the nice, smooth, cooling zucchini. Error!
Error! It was spicier than the rice. I grabbed my beer and took a deep
gulp. That was extremely helpful as it nicely spread and magnified the burn
throughout my mouth and halfway down my throat.

Mouth open as wide as it could go and me fanning my tongue, I managed to
croak, "Milk!" I was halfway through the glass and swirling it across my
tongue before I saw Beaux's face and nearly exploded in laughter (and
milk). He was utterly appalled. Ashen and shaking, eyes as wide as saucers,
he looked like he just poisoned me on accident.

When the burning subsided somewhat, I did actually start laughing. Beaux
gradually relaxed at the sound. "Beaux, I have to say that I'd forgotten
just how hot the Bayou is, and how much Cajuns love their spice. That about
lit my face on fire, son!"

"Oh, oh dear Lord. I am so, so sorry, Oncle! I never meant it to hurt! I
thought I done killed you, me! I had no idea what to do! Oh, Lord." He was
almost in tears.

"Beaux, son, you did fine. I took too big a bite too quick and you had no
way to know how much spice I like." I chuckled. "And actually, before the
spice hit, I was over the moon at the flavor! It really is good." I thought
about the flavor mix for a minute. "Okay, go into the cupboard and get me,
um, red wine vinegar and grab me some lemons." He did in a flash. A little
experimentation brought the apparent heat down out of the stratosphere. It
was still damned spicy, but tolerable.

"And that points out another problem. I never told you what to do if
something bad happens. In fact, Judge Banks made the same mistake. You've
never used a telephone, so how could you dial him, or call for help in an
emergency? We'll fix that after dinner.

"And Beaux? This really is good. And you were doing what you thought was
right, which is all that matters," I made sure he was looking at me and
added a smirk, "and we'll just call it even. My mudbug mistake against your
'poluet de l'enfer'." I joked, hoping I got the French right from 'Chicken
from Hell'. It must have been close enough because he snorted with
laughter.

When dinner was over, we retreated to my office. I had two phones in there,
one at the table and the other at my desk. I sat Beaux at the table and
explained the dial tone and dialing. It was one of the new 'Princess' phone
styles that had come to the market recently with a hideous blue body and
bulky push-button keys.

I pushed the switch on the side to Line 1, the home phone and jotted down
the office line number for him to dial. I went to the desk and sat and told
him to push the buttons in the sequence shown. His face showed a little
surprise when the tone changed and he heard the ring sound on the line and
the actual ringing in the room.

Like anyone working their way through college and into a profession, I
spent plenty of time in various jobs. Fresh out of college, I had three
jobs at once and found that remembering where I was at a given time could
be... problematic. The normal formula was, "Thank you for calling <<Sears /
Baker & Baker / Waldenbooks>>. This is Kevin. May I help you?" To avoid
accidentally telling someone that was calling the architect's office that
they'd reached Sears, I answered all phones, including the one at home with
a safer version. If an employer made a fuss, I'd make an effort, but
eventually lapsed into my default and no one ever really noticed after a
while.

"This is Kevin. May I help you?"

Beaux beamed. "Ah! I like this!" I explained hanging up and went over to
the phone to show him the hook switch and made sure he understood that the
switch was what cut the line, not setting down the receiver. I showed him
on the desk-style phone as well since the mechanisms were different.

I told him of the time in Waldenbooks with a friend, Maria, and Mrs
Stinson, a delightfully-batty old crone. The lady called a couple times per
day, obviously bored out of her mind. She came in perhaps twice a week to
buy some of the dozen books we'd pulled from her calls, but it was pretty
clear she called because she was lonely. Maria finished talking to the
woman and hung up, turning to me. "I feel so sorry for that poor old
lady. I mean, she's obviously nearly a shut-in and we're the only people
she can talk to."

Suddenly a tiny and tinny little voice could be heard. "Hello! Hello! I am
not a shut in! I talk to lots and lots of people. Hello! Can you hear
me?!?" Our horrified eyes moved slowly to the handset which hadn't *quite*
got hung up correctly.

I suggested that he answer the phone much as I did. He decided on
"Hello. Salut! This is Beaux." We practiced back and forth and I showed him
how to tell if the call was coming on the home or business line and that he
should just let the machine pick up for the office one. I also showed him
how to make a note of a call and that he should always get a return number
even if he thought I'd know it.

I then sat down and typed out the most-common numbers starting with 9-1-1
which had been rolled out in Kansas City just a handful of years earlier
and explained it would get police, ambulance or fire from any phone in the
city and most around the country. I added Rob and Louise and a variety of
others that might be useful.

We settled into a discussion of the schoolwork. Most of the error were in
the social side of things and we spent the rest of the evening talking
about how a society as a whole protected and supported each other, why
specialism was really only possible in a society (using Rob as an example)
and how rules of behavior slowly accreted. Why people self-policed, and why
it was also necessary to police each other. How those rules could grow
tragically out of control or break down entirely.

I smiled suddenly and Beaux asked why. "Because I just realized that I'm
getting a better understanding of all this by explaining it to you than I
ever really did when I was supposed to be learning it in school." I saw a
slow, sly smile form "And before you say it, yeah, that applies to the sex
stuff too. You... you're really good for me Beaux."

"Maybe it's just we're good for each other, Oncle."

<eof>

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