Date: Mon, 24 Jul 2006 20:17:14 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: NYC PARKING GARAGE

After two years in LA, I was sure glad to come home to New
York.  It was also perfect timing with the expiration of the
lease on my parents home, which I have owned for over ten
years, but have never been able to afford to live in until
recently.

When I first leased it, a long time neighbor told me she
hoped I wouldn't be sorry leasing it furnished.  I asked why
and she said my mom had nice furnishings and she hoped I
didn't find it trashed when the lease was up.  I met the
lessees at the end of each year to negotiate renewal of the
lease and everything was always as neat and clean as I'd
left it, so I'd renew the lease for another year.

In case you have neither lived in nor visited New York,
maybe I better give you a quick tour, so you'll be able to
visualize the locations that pop up in the story.

New York is composed of five boroughs.  Manhattan is the
best known.  Brooklyn is probably the second best.  I work in
Manhattan in what is called "mid town" which means in the
area where the streets are numbered in the thirties through
the forties.  For example, I'm sure you've heard of 42nd.
Street.  The bottom end of the island goes by numerous
names denoting specific locations.  The extreme end is
called "Battery Park" -- that's where you catch ferries to
Staten Island, another borough. Then there is "The Financial
District" where Wall Street is located and "The Village" which
is a mixture of straight and gay residents as well as straight
and gay bars, restaurants and other businesses.

And now for Brooklyn!  Each borough has a multitude of
named neighborhoods within the borough. I live in Brooklyn
in a neighborhood just across from Manhattan where the
Brooklyn Bridge crosses the East River from Manhattan to
Brooklyn. The area is called "Brooklyn Heights" and it is the
oldest neighborhood in Brooklyn, first settled shortly after
Robert Fulton invented the steam ship.  The houses are an
architectural treasure and I wanted to live here in my parents
house on Middagh Street -- it's a two-story frame house,
small in comparison to the neighboring dwellings and cozier
looking.  Too, my mother, in her latter years, became
handicapped, so my dad had the carriage house converted
to a garage.  I can truthfully say I have never seen another
residential garage in Brooklyn Heights or on Manhattan
Island.  It is a real asset -- saves me from renting garage
space at home and at the office too, as I occasionally have
need for my car at the office. Most of all, I was born and
raised in the house.

One day, six weeks ago, I took the car to the office because
I was leaving from the office to go on a weekend retreat in
upstate New York that was owned by another member of the
firm.  He was married and had three children, so I
volunteered to take my own car.  Then his wife became ill
and he had to back out at the last minute and, to top things
off, the boss asked me to work late.  I was disappointed and
decided drop by the Village on my way home.  I had a
couple of highballs before dinner in a restaurant owned by a
gay friend from my high school days, named Gary, and then
walked back to the parking garage where I'd parked.  The
car was parked on the fourth floor, in the end space to the
left of and across the aisle from the elevator.

I about jumped out of my skin when I reached my, car,
walked around the back, door opener in hand to open the
door, and startled a teenager, dick out, pissing on the wall in
the corner.

I said, "Damn, you scared me!"

And that's where this story begins.

"Same here.  Sorry.  I had to piss real bad and didn't know
where else to do it."  Then, he picked up his skateboard and
added, "Do you have ten bucks you could give me?"

He was neither as tall nor as heavy as I was, not that I was
heavy but he was downright skinny, so I wasn't afraid of him.

"Maybe, you're a street kid, aren't you?  For how long, and
where are you from? And, how old are you?"

"I'm from Missouri, I've been living on the streets in the
Village for almost six weeks and hope to get off of them
before it turns cold. And I'm seventeen."

"Get in the car and we'll round you up something to eat and
talk about it."  We went back to Gary's restaurant.  I had the
kid stay in the car because he only had on a pair of dirty
jeans and some worn shoes -- the biggest one's I'd ever
seen on a boy his age.  Whether they fit his feet or not was
another matter. Gary told a waiter to round him up a roast
beef dinner, skip the salad and a cup of coffee in a hurry for
a take out. "I mean faster than ASAP."  When I asked him
what I owed him, he waved me off, saying I'd just been in
here. (Too he knew me too well and knew I had my
reasons.)  While he was eating, I noted he had black hair
that loosely curled, green eyes and a very wide mouth with
perfect looking teeth. After the kid had eaten, I offered him a
cigarette and it was then I noticed that he was nervous as
hell.  He talked incessantly jiggled one leg or kept opening
and closing them both

Finally I just interrupted him and said, "I'm Lance, what's
your name?"

"Clay" and held out his hand.

The next thing he asked was if I would stand for some pot.
That surprised me but didn't particularly shock me.

"Why?"

I'm nervous as hell and it calms me down."  I sure couldn't
argue with the nervous part.

"I have no idea how much it costs nor where to buy it."

"I know where to get it if you have a hundred bucks."

I happened to have more money on me than I usually carry
because of planning on the weekend out of town.  I gave him
a $l00 dollar bill and thought to myself that I'd suck his cock
in return.  He directed me to a side street in a rather dark,
rundown neighbor and said first to go real slow and then to
pull over to the curb and stop. He gave a signal with his
fingers, a guy came out of a door to a building, Clay gave
him the hundred dollars and the guy handed him a small,
plastic bag.

I told Clay I didn't want him smoking in the car in case a cop
stopped us, so he'd just have to wait.  When we approached
the Brooklyn Bridge, he asked where I was taking him. I told
him home as he'd said he wanted to get off the streets.

At home, I clicked on the fan above the kitchen range and he
rolled two joints, one for himself and one for me.  I'd smoked
a few but never learned to roll them.  He said there was
enough for two more left.  I told him never to ask me to do
that again, I was an Attorney and if I'd been caught I could
lose my right to practice.  Next he wanted a beer.  I took two
out of the fridge.  We talked and had two more.  I asked him
where in Missouri he was from.   He replied from a small
town in the southern part of the state.

"Springfield?"

"No, that's a city."

"Joplin?"

"That's a city, too."

"Cape Girardeau?"

He'd never heard of it.  I told him it was on the Mississippi
River and said, "Why don't you just tell me the name of the
town?"

He answered "West Plains."  That was one I'd never heard
of it, but would look it up in an atlas sometime.

We went upstairs; I folded up the bedspread, turned down
the sheets, switched on the table lamp beside the bed and
the bathroom light, handed him a stack of towels, said
goodnight, went to my room and turned in.  I was a long time
getting to sleep but finally made it.  The digital clock said it
was 3:30 when Clay woke me getting into bed with me.  He
said he couldn't sleep, he wasn't used to sleeping alone in a
big bed in a big room and he was lonesome.  I was nearly
asleep again when he asked me to lift my top leg.

"Why?"

"I want to put my hand between them"

"Why?"

"That's what I did when I slept with my big brother."

I did as he asked, not knowing just how high up on my leg
he'd place his hand.  It was right up in my crotch.  He was
asleep within minutes.  I developed an erection and was so
worked up I didn't realize I'd even gone back to sleep until I
woke as usual, weekends included -- ten minutes before the
alarm went off and two hours before I had to be at work.  I
could smell, bacon, coffee and some another food smell
rising from the kitchen, I pissed, put on a robe and went
downstairs. Clay was sitting at the table eating -- the smell I
couldn't identify was pancakes.  He jumped up, put three
more pancakes on the griddle for me and poured me a mug
of coffee.

"Thank for everything you did for me last night, Lance, I
really appreciate it."

"Do you think you want to stay with me?"

"If you'll have me I would love to."

"Well I think the next thing I better do for you is get you some
decent clothes.  What size pants and shirt do you wear?"  He
didn't have even a vague idea, saying all of his clothes were
hand- me-downs, so I got a tape measure out of my mom's
sewing basket in a first floor closet and measured him.  I
asked if his shoes fit.  He said "Almost." We looked in them
but they were so old and worn there was no readable size.

After breakfast I told him I was going to Abraham and
Strauss to get him a few things, then we could both go
tomorrow and get more, returning those that didn't fit and I
wouldn't be long.

The clerk that waited on me, said, "Mr. Winslow, I'd like to
suggest you take a variety of shoe sizes home and return
those that don't fit -- you said the boy had big feet, so why
don't you take a size 11 through 14, which is as big as they
come unless you special order."

"That's a good suggestion, and may I ask how you knew my
name?"

"I knew your parents and watched you growing up, but I
haven't seen you for a long time."

"Two years, Mr. Walker. (He was wearing a nametag).  I've
been in California but am back for good, living in my parents
old home."

"In Brooklyn Heights, as I remember."

"You remember correctly.  You have a fantastic memory."

Arriving home there was no Clay.  I thought to myself -
Lance you've just been fucked without sex, you're a damn
fool, you should have known better.

I tossed my shopping bags on the couch and was headed for
the kitchen when the door to the basement opened, Clay
bombed out and said, "I was in the basement playing pool,
what did you get me."  I can't tell you how I felt at seeing
him, except to say that at that instant I knew I loved him --
gay or not. It didn't matter. He was the first boy, man, girl,
woman I'd ever fallen for.

He stepped out of his jeans, started opening the Abraham
Strauss shopping bags and said, "I'm so excited!"  He was
but not nearly as excited as I was.  Mine was six inches
erect -- his was six inches flaccid and hanging down in front
of him while mine was crawling all around in my pants, trying
to escape even though I'd sat down on the opposite end of
the couch from the shopping bags. To prolong the pleasure I
stopped him and told him to put on the Jockey shorts first in
case we'd have to return the jeans.  He tried but couldn't
open the plastic bag of three they were packed in so he
came over and asked me to open it -- all the while standing
right in front of me with his smooth boy cock and marble
sized nuts, almost hairless, within eighteen inches of my
face.  When I handed the opened package back to him, I
noticed he was tanned down to his belt line and pale skinned
below. I guessed that he had hung out in Washington Park in
the Village.

He pulled on the Jockeys, stepped into a pair of jeans and
began to clown around.  He bent over in front of me with his
ass right in my face and asked, "Does my ass look good in
them?"

"Where did you learn that expression?"

"My older brother was always talking about girl's asses."

"But you're a boy."

"You noticed. I saw you looking at it."

"I have a bad habit of looking at everything that's jammed
eighteen inches in front of my face."

"So, I'm a boy, nobody wants an ugly ass.

"Some have them though."

"I know, like the super fat ones."

The size twelve shoes fit so he wore them Sunday when we
went to buy more things and return the shoes that didn't fit.

Whether the bit about the tight ass started things rolling, or
not, I don't know, but from then on Clay seemed to have no
modesty around me.  Too, after that first night he just
crawled into bed with me from the beginning.  That became
our nightly routine and that soon became sleeping together
totally naked.  He didn't ask me, nothing was said, it just
happened.  Maybe he was that accustomed to sleeping with
his older brother. We always started out with his hand
between my legs.  If we shifted positions during the night I'd
put my hand between his.  He'd even spread his legs in his
sleep. I guess he was conscious of what I was doing. He
liked it.  Maybe his older brother had done it too.

I added one more thing to our routine.  In the morning, I
always held back and let him go to the bathroom first.  I
loved to see his piss hard-on.  I'd guessed right that first time
on the couch -- it was nearly eight inches when erect.

And, I still wasn't certain about his sexual orientation and
didn't want to push him in case I lost him.  Having him with
me every day and every night became more important than
sex.

As weeks passed, a lot of things happened -- except our
having sex together.

I bought him his very first billfold -- an item neither of us had
thought about until I started giving him a weekly allowance.

We went to a supermarket and stocked the cupboards,
fridge and freezer with food.  He really liked to cook and he
was accomplished at it.  Unless I had to work late and called
him, he always had dinner ready for me or in progress when
I arrived home.

I gave him a key to the front door and told him I didn't want
him meeting other boys and bringing them home.

On weekends, I acquainted him with the subway system and
showed him where malls were that had theaters, where the
library was and procured a library card for him. (He still didn't
have an ID card -- something I was going to have to
remedy.)

We went to Coney Island one Saturday and on another
weekend to JFK International for lunch.

I made him write his mother and explain his running away,
his current whereabouts and assure her he was OK.

I started teaching him how to use my desktop.

On his own, skateboarding around the neighborhood, he
discovered the wide, pedestrian way overlooking the harbor,
built above and over an expressway. The day he discovered
it he wanted me to go down there with him right away so he
could ask me questions.  He recognized the Statue of Liberty
but wanted to know what that shore behind it was, what
some of the buildings on Manhattan were, on and on.

I told him the shore he'd asked about was New Jersey and
pointed out some of the taller buildings on Manhattan and
tried to point out where the World Trade Center had been.

I promised to take him on a tour of Manhattan on the
weekend and take a ferry out to the Statue of Liberty.  To my
surprise, he held my hand on the way home.  That was the
first time he'd done that.

To summarize, Clay became many things to me - best friend
-- son -- my nemesis (I don't think he'd ever stop conning me
and I even began to enjoy it after I was able to see through
it.)

In early November, while having a beer before dinner, I
asked him if he'd like to go to school.  He asked, "Why, I
graduated from high school.  I don't think I've got the smarts
for college."

"How about a culinary school?"

"A fancy cooking school?"

"A real fancy cooking school, where you would learn to be a
French Chef."

"Naw, I don't want to leave you!  But thanks, anyway."

"It's on Broadway."

"Like in Manhattan?"

"Like in Manhattan near one of the subway stations -- only a
short walk involved.  As my dad always joked, if it exists on
earth, there are at least two of them in New York."

It was the first time he ever kissed me, even if it was a kiss
on the cheek.

After his first day, I thought he'd never stop talking.  It was
the same thereafter.  He was totally into it, totally excited.
After a couple of weeks, he asked if he could invite some
friends from school over some Saturday evening.  All they
did was drink beer and talk about school, so I didn't have to
put out much effort.

Later on in November it was Gary's birthday, and it fell on a
Friday, so he invited me to have dinner with him and his live-
in at a seafood restaurant in the Village. By now Gary knew
Clay was my live-in and my dilemma -- not knowing, not
wanting to make the first move, in case it was a mistake,
how I was susceptible to being conned, the whole story.
Even before we had eaten, it became a topic of conversation
and his live-in, Jerry, came up with, "I have both a question
and an idea."

Question:  "If he wont give you any, why don't you send him
back to Missouri and pick up with someone that will?  You
don't need to answer, I already know what you'd say."

Idea: "From what you've mentioned so far you've worked 48
hours this week, including four hours overtime yesterday.
You could be tired. Being tired you could possibly get a little
inebriated with less alcohol that you usually tolerate.  So, if
we left now it wouldn't seem odd that you were already
inebriated, which might require a little acting on your part --
slurred speech, talking nonsense, that kind of stuff.  You
came by subway, but due to your condition we take you
home.  Gary and I explain to this Clay person about why and
what happened, take you upstairs, strip your clothes off
except your underpants, fumble around with the fly and
expose your dick, forget to pull up the sheet and say "Sleep
tight, Vance."  You fake being asleep but your sober and
wide awake, it's a chance for Clay to make the first move
without the danger of being caught.  If he doesn't he's
straight.  If he does he's gay.  From there on it's your move,
but however it turns out I'm sure a talented Attorney like
yourself will rise to the challenge.

All the way back to Brooklyn I worried about what we were
going to do -- Clay was young, had grown up in a rural area,
maybe he didn't even know about gay and straight. Anyway
the moment of truth was approaching.
Gary rang the doorbell; Clay opened the door and asked,
"What's happened, is Lance OK?"   Gary told him who he
was and responded to his question, "Yes he's a just a little
tipsy.  He was tired tonight and his drinks just got to him.
We better take him upstairs and put him to bed for you."
Gary and Jerry undressed me and put me to bed with my
dick out of my fly as discussed.

Clay followed them downstairs and locked the door.  Back
upstairs he went to the room across the hall that I used for a
home office and I could hear him opening and shutting the
drawers in my desk.  He came back into the room, naked
and carrying a pair of scissors.  I couldn't figure out why the
scissors, until he lifted the waist band on my shorts, and cut
the front of the cloth down to the fly.  He then cut a line from
the bottom of the fly to the leg opening on first one leg then
the other and opened the two front pieces and laid them
back. The procedure gave me an erection.  He gently tugged
the Jockeys from underneath me. I was now totally naked.
He kissed my cheek, my nipples and my navel, then my cock
and last, my balls.  Finally he got into bed beside me, his
face even with my crotch and took my manhood into his
mouth.

I opened my eyes and watched in disbelief.  He was gay!
He began to suck me off and in the worst way I wanted to
open my eyes and watch, or run my finger through his hair
but decided it was best to do nothing. I might scare him or
make him angry.

Suddenly he stopped and made sounds like Oh! Oh! Oh! I
ventured a look and opened my eyes a fraction.  He was
standing, his cockhead was touching mine and he milked a
big load out of it and his teen juice oozed out of his piss slit
onto my cockhead.

He left the room but I knew he'd be back.  I could hear him
downstairs turning off lights and heard him come back up the
stairs.

When he came back, he moved me onto my side, snuggled
up to my back and pushed his hand between my legs and
went to sleep. Not one word said!  So, I knew he was gay or
at least could get off with a man.  But other than that nothing
much had been resolved.

The next night, Saturday, on going to bed, he put his hand
between my legs; I turned around and went down on him.
His teen cock was already erect and any visions I might
have had of a long cocksuck were not to be -- he climaxed
within seconds and, as I had done the night before,
pretended to be asleep.

I now knew that no matter how much I loved Clay and how
much I feared losing him, things had to change, so Sunday
morning, when Clay always got out of bed before I did and
showered, went down to pick up the New York Times at the
front door and came back to bed, I waited for him.

But this morning, I asked him to make coffee and I'd be
down right after I showered.

Once showered and downstairs, I sat on the sofa and told
him to bring our coffee into the living room.

"Clay, I don't know how to say it, so give me some room.  In
fact the only way I can think of to even begin is to say I love
you.  I brought you into my home when you needed one; I've
clothed and feed you and have never felt one moment of
regret.  But every since our first night in bed I have lived in a
state of sexual frustration. The last two nights did nothing to
relieve me -- they weren't sex as much as they were a
charade."

He began to cry and I pulled his head over onto my chest
and hugged him.  Even though I'd expected it I wasn't sure
of how to deal with it.

"I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"The reason I ran away to New York was because I was
caught letting an older guy suck me off.  I had to go to court
and was put on probation.  The older guy was fined and had
to register as a sex offender."

"And you were a juvenile?"

"Yes."

"Those bastards!"

"Missouri is in the Bible Belt."

"Which, in my opinion means it's filled with over zealous
religious fanatics that don't know half of what they think they
know about the bible. So, why are you afraid?"

"I don't know.  It was a frightening experience and I can't
seem to put it in my past."

"What do you personally think about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think it's wrong for two men to have sex together?"

"I don't know?"

"What if they are in love?"

"That would seem to make it right. "

"It does -- both right and necessary.  It's an expression of
love and if it's done in private it's nobody else's damned
business."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, I do -- very much.  Do you love me?"

"Yes -- very much!"

He flipped over onto the couch and told me to pull his
underpants down.  I did and found an eighteen-year-old,
smooth, uncut, boy cock so hard it had pushed his dickhead
out of his foreskin.  I threw my robe on the floor and lifted his
legs.  He grabbed a pillow, jammed it under his head and
watched as I licked and kissed his treasure and slowly
sucked him to climax and swallowed the sweetness that shot
out his piss slit.

We changed positions and he did exactly what I had done to
him, crawled atop me and we must have kissed a hundred
times.

The issue of sex was gone, as were our frustrations.  We
both found new freedoms -- the freedom to fondle and
caress each other's genitals to initiated sex.  We entered into
a whole new life.  A life filled with love and sex.

It was late May when Clay asked me if I'd do him a favor.  I
told him anything.

"Would you use your credit card to make a plane reservation
on the Internet from St. Louis to New York for my kid
brother?"

I'll admit that took me by complete surprise.

"I'm not saying I won't but I think you should give me a little
background on this one."

"He's fourteen, ready to enter high school next September.
His name is Clint, Clinton really, mine is Clayton, really.  My
older brother is Crawford and my dad's name was Charles.
He wrote me a letter and he wants to come live with us."

"What does your mother think of that?"
Crawford supports the family and as far as he and my
mother are concerned his moving away would be one less
mouth to feed.  We aren't a prosperous family.  Too, she
thinks you have been good to and good for me.

"I see.  And do you think it would work out?"

"He'd fit right in.  He could suck both of us while we kissed."

"He's gay then."

"Yes."

"Is Crawford?"

"No."

"Is Clint hung like you are?"

"All three of us are.  My daddy was from across the state line
in Arkansas in the Ozarks.  Crawford says we got our dicks
from our daddy."

"I would be leery of a 14-year-old coming to New York alone.
Could we fly to Missouri and get him?  I could check into a
motel while you went home."

"We could both stay in a motel nights and spend days at the
house."

"I'd be welcome?"

"Of course, or I wouldn't have suggested it."

Not only did Clay and I spend our two night in West Plains in
a motel but Clint did too.  That is where I got to know him
best.  He was a little shorter than Clay, his hair was longer
and dark blonde and, as Clay had said, his dick was already
impressive for his age.  He had the same green eyes as
Clay plus feminine looking lips. The three of us slept
crosswise in the bed with pillows from the second bed. As
Clay said, he sucked first one of us and then the other as
Clay and I sucked mouth.  I wondered what I'd gotten myself
into; he just had to be the horniest teenager in the world.

Arriving back at the Newark Airport, where I'd parked in a
parking garage, he was all eyes and questions as we went
under the Holland Tunnel to Manhattan and across the
Brooklyn Bridge to Brooklyn.

He wanted his own room because he said he'd never had a
room before he could call his.  Despite having it he slept with
Clay and me with me always ending up in the middle.

I enrolled him in a private high school and never had one
worry about his school grades, behavior or anything else.  At
all Teacher Parent Conferences I heard nothing but praise
from his teachers.

It was a Friday in early November, he'd been in school for
six or seven weeks and I arrived home early, before Clay, as
I'd left for home from the courthouse instead of the office
because the judge dismissed court early.  I opened the front
door and saw four bare assed boys hurrying up the stairs
and boy's clothes all over the living room floor.

Shit, I'd forgotten to tell Clint not to bring boys home.  I
knocked on the door to "his room" and, suppressing a smile,
said, "Clint, open the door."

He was stark naked and the only one in the room. I said,
"Tell your friends to come out from the bathroom" and three
other stark naked boys appeared with their hands cupped
over their genitals.

Clint said, "This is my dad, Lance, don't be afraid, he'll
understand, he's gay, too."  From left to right he introduced
them, "This is Justin, this is Michael and this is Alex."  I'd
never seen three boys with redder faces.

"It's OK, boys, you're not in trouble. You can take your hands
off your private parts, now.  And, Clint I'd like you to tell me
what this is all about."

"Well, we were just having a little fun, talking about this and
that.  We were telling each other about boys at school we'd
checked out at the urinals and what kind of cocks they had,
and I told them about yours and me sucking you and Clay.
You know, that kind of stuff - you were a boy once."

Now it was my turn to blush.

"I do understand, now go downstairs and get you clothes
on."

"Lance, before we do the guys would like to see your cock."

"And, I'd end up in jail."

Michael, I believe, piped up, "We won't tell.  We know what
you've done for Clint and his brother and Clint told us you
have a lot of hair down there on your balls and your pubes."

The other two, chirped in, "Please!"

Clint came over, kissed me and said, "Please Dad!"  I
couldn't refuse, could you?  Three teenage, naked boys,
now erect and with boy cocks of different sizes, staring at me
and saying "Please."

I dropped my pants.  I was totally erect, and realized I'd
made a mistake -- they all wanted to suck it. Alex went first, I
told him that was enough and Michael got a load.  Justin was
left out.

I told Clay what had happened when he got home.  He said,
"Tell him the rules about bringing boys home right now."  I
replied, "Let's let it go.  I guess I've mellowed.  Boys have to
have friends."

Next Friday the same thing happened -- the judge dismissed
court early and when I arrived home Justin and another boy
were loitering in front of the old carriage house.

I clicked the door opener and drove in; the two boys
followed.

Justin said, "Surprise."  I replied, "And them some." "This is
my friend, Jason."

"Are you waiting for Clint to get home from school?"

"No, he's at Alex's house."

"I didn't get to suck you and I'd sure like to."

"So why is Jason here?"

"He'd like to suck you too."

"And this was supposed to be a secret."

"It still is.  Clint told him.  Jason is a friend of Clint's,
Michael's, Alex's and mine."

"And how many other friends do you guys have."

"None, honestly!"

"And honestly, Justin and Jason, I don't think so."

"I've got a dollar and Jason didn't eat lunch today, so he has
four dollars."

"I'm not a whore, but you'd think I had the most famous cock
in Brooklyn the way you talk.  You're the boy who didn't get
to suck it because I shot off in Michael's mouth, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well the same thing will happen again. Boys are so fucking
hot, I can't take more than one at a time."

They looked at eachother and must have reached some
unspoken agreement because Justin replied, " If Jason were
to suck yours and, at the same time, you sucked me while I
jacked Jason off, that would be OK with us."

I clicked the garage door controller and the door rolled down.
That Justin was just too smart for his age. I was going to
bring him to the negotiating table the next time I had to
negotiate something.

We fondled eachother; Jason was shy and didn't get with it
until he had all of me in his mouth. I went down on Justin.
Jason went down on me while Justin jacked him off.  We all
climaxed one after another, as if the first one sat off a chain
reaction.

Four years later and Clay was made chef in an exclusive
restaurant. He'd been there since graduation and the then
head chef quit. He was living his dream and making a good
five-figure salary.  He sent money home each time he
received a paycheck. I was so proud of him.

Clint took the entrance exam and was accepted at Columbia
University, like Clay's cooking school, accessible by subway
from the Clark Street Station in Brooklyn.

Clay and Clint's brother and mother visit us occasionally.

Justin, Michael and Alex, along with Jason still get together
with Clint, Clay and me about once a month.  Yes Clay
eventually found out and forgave both Clint and me.

Me, I couldn't be happier.  Clay and Clint had turned
Brooklyn into a busy, little corner of heaven.

And that's where my story end.

Thanks for reading this story.