This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.



Chapter 66

By: Tim Keppler

 Edited by: Bob Leahy

Several years ago I paid off the mortgage on my house. Why? Because I had the money to do it, and because I am my father's son. My father was born in 1924, five short years before the first great depression. I was the youngest of two children. Actually, I was a mistake. I never questioned that I was loved by both my parents, but it was clear that they'd never intended to have me and that if they'd had their druthers, I wouldn't be here today. They'd run out of condoms, my father told me with a snort when I was in my twenties. So, my father had planned to withdraw prior to ejaculation - coitous interruptus. I guess he got a little too excited, though. "Your mother was a beautiful woman," he said, giggling. Thus was I conceived. Too much information, hunh? There's something a little too graphic about thinking of your father's dick in your mother's cunt...especially if you're gay and that kind of thing is distasteful anyway.

Jesus, how did I get on this subject? Oh, yeah, my mortgage...

I paid off my mortgage several years ago. I did it because I find owing money to anyone, especially a behemoth like WAMU (Washington Mutual Savings and Loan) disconcerting. I did it because I had the money. Was it a wise thing to do given what I knew at the time? Probably not. I'd gotten one of those variable-rate loans years and years ago, and I may be the only one on earth for whom one of these worked. The terms of the loan were that it could adjust every six months, moving no more than 1.5% higher or lower. It had a 12.5% cap. I got the loan at 8.25%, and it just kept going down. By the time I decided to pay it off, it was at around 5%. Savvy financial guys would probably tell you that I could have made a lot more on the $60K I paid the finance company to pay off my loan. I should have invested the money, they would have said. But I am my father's son. I bought a whole lot of peace of mind for that $60K. And, hindsight being 20/20, I'm sure as hell glad that that loan is gone. All I pay on my house now are taxes – which are a mere three times what my mother was paying in taxes before she died, thanks to the wisdom of Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Gann. Their Proposition 13 back in the `80s, passed overwhelmingly by old farts, shifted the tax burden from the oldsters to their children. Jarvis/Gann stripped funding from education, among other things, putting California on a par with third-world countries in terms of the amount of money spent to educate each child. Our kids might as well be Iranian or Sri Lankan. I'm not necessarily opposed to such reductions, mind you. Most of that tax money goes to the unions anyway, and they don't need it. California public education is pretty pathetic, so nothing we do to it, including eliminating it entirely, can be truly deleterious.

So, I have no mortgage, but Ben and Jeffrey, my neighbors, do, and it's eating them alive. They have a really-beautiful Mission-Style bungalow. Like ours, it's about 3000 square feet, which is big for this neighborhood. It was heavily upgraded by the last owners. It was built in 1924 when houses cost maybe $2000. They bought it for $900 thousand two years ago with a tiny down payment. The Rose Garden area of San Jose is the most-expensive neighborhood in the city by virtue of a single street. University Avenue is where all the beautiful people live – the former mayor, county supervisors, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs. Well, maybe not Indian chiefs. It's also the gayest neighborhood in town, something I didn't know when I bought my house. I suspect the realtor I used didn't tell me that because he didn't want to scare me off. I didn't tell him I was gay. It just didn't come up. So, he just didn't mention it, much like Ian when he convinced me to get my ear pierced, the right ear, the gay ear. Now when he sees the garnet earring glittering from my right earlobe he giggles. Never trust your friends. J

Ben and Jeffrey are having quite a hard time right now, and I think it's going to get a lot worse for them before it gets better. If anyone was a victim of the sub-prime mortgage debacle, it was them. Ben is a brand-new third-grade teacher at one of the local public schools, and Jeffrey is a hair stylist. I'd be surprised if they're bringing in $90,000 a year between them. What made them think they could afford a $900 thousand house? Actually, I asked them just that question. "We were looking at smaller homes," Ben said, "and we weren't looking in this neighborhood. It was our realtor who convinced us that we could go higher." Never trust your realtor, either. He was thinking of his commission, not of what Ben and Jeffrey were actually capable of sustaining.

So, Ben and Jeffrey's $900 thousand home is now worth maybe $700 thousand, and their payments are going up. It's even worse, because of budget cuts, Ben's contract as a teacher hasn't been renewed. It's not that he's been laid off, as so many teachers have been. No. The district, looking to make their layoff numbers appear as small as possible to avoid retaliation from the unions, has been firing new teachers. Ben has been "non-elected." His principal has checked the little box on his personnel form that says "Do not rehire." Once that box is checked, you won't get rehired in the district in which you've been working. But, you won't get hired anywhere else either, because other districts will assume you're a fuck-up because an administrator who last taught 30 years ago says so.. So, his principal and the district have effectively ended his career as a teacher and probably forced him into bankruptcy. Without his income, the couple won't be able to afford the impossible mortgage they signed up for. If you ever have the opportunity to go into education as a career, don't! If your principal and the school district don't fuck you, your union will. Never, never become a teacher! There is no deader end than this one, as careers go.

So, how did we get to this place, financially, I mean? Ben and Jeffrey aren't our only friends in dire straights. Elizabeth, a friend from my last stint at a big technology company, is also out of work, as is Randy, a software engineer, James, an electrical engineer, and rafts of my friends in marketing positions. Many of them are also in danger of foreclosure, though none as close as Ben and Jeffrey. How the fuck did we come to this? I'm no economist. I don't pretend to know. The only thing that's saved me from this fiasco is being my father's son. I'm risk averse. I'm a conservative investor. Only about 30% of our investments were tied up in the market. 50% were in cash instruments (CDs, T-Bills, savings accounts), and maybe 20% were in bonds. And, of course, all of us – Kenny, Jason, Dinh and I – have remained gainfully and lucratively employed. Kenny has been the star of this show for the past several years, publishing games and books while continuing to teach full-time at San Jose State. Jason has continued as the San Francisco Symphony's first violinist, while churning out tunes for the likes of Celine Dion, Kelly Clarkson, and Madonna, to name but a few. Dinh and I have been the laggards, frankly. Dinh is still pulling teaching-assistant wages from San Jose State – although he should technically be earning a very lucrative salary from Kenny for all the time he spends on game development. And me? I earn nothing. I work for Youth Renewed for free. The bottom like is that we have more than we need. Much more. We're comfortable and self-contained.

Even though I do most of the investing, the guy who understands the roots of this recession best, the guy best able to give me a blow-by-blow of how we got to where we are, is Professor Hsia. Kenny has made quite a study of this mess, and can lays it out for me one evening when I remarked that the second great depression would be George W. Bush's legacy. Kenny hates Bush as much as I do, but his response was measured. "Believe me," he said, "there's enough guilt to go around."

"Start with the Clinton-era repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act, the 1933 response to the Great Depression. Compound that with former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan's attempt to blunt the technology implosion. He did that by blowing the largest real estate bubble in U.S. history by keeping interest rates artificially low. The Bush Administration certainly had a hand in the mess, squandering our surpluses on two pointless and costly wars that served only to enrich oil companies and defense contractors. And former Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson, a Bush crony, helped us along by removing leverage limits for investment banks.

"Realtors were also complicit, god knows, endlessly harping on how home prices would rise forever, and ignoring the obvious fact that housing costs can never outstrip income for very long. Mortgage brokers were right behind them, pushing idiotic loan options to consumers who clearly couldn't afford them – Ben and Jeffrey's situation – likely inflating their income to get underwriting approval. We have Democrats to thank for supporting the Community Reinvestment Act, an absurd attempt to boost home ownership among subprime borrowers who should be renting, not buying. And we have Republicans to thank for gutting financial regulatory agencies like the SEC, effectively giving Bernie Madoff and his ilk free reign to create Ponzi schemes to steal our money. And now we have President Obama appointing the same Wall Street bankers who got us into this mess in the first place to try to clean it up. Geithner, our current treasury secretary, is funneling billions of our money into bailouts for insolvent bankers who made stupid banking decisions. If you made a stupid decision that lost your company millions or billions, what would happen to you? Well...yes, you probably could go into government.

"Ultimately, though, we – the acquisitive U.S. consumer – have only ourselves to blame. It's our desire to live beyond our means, and to treat our homes as personal ATMs, borrowing hundreds of thousands of dollars and blowing it on flat screen TV's, designer clothes, and fancy vacations that has caused this."

When Kenny said all this to me, I was stunned. I had no idea that he gave a damn. Like Jason, Kenny is rather passive when it comes to money. They both spend what they need to, but are never exorbitant. They assume that the money they need is available, but aside from food and gasoline, we don't, as a family, spend very much. The cars are mostly 10+ years old; the TV and stereo are probably 15 years old, relics from my college days. We don't buy a lot of gizmos, although Jason does have an IPod now. It's first-generation IPod. He got it on eBay for $35. That's the only luxury I can recall any of us having bought in years, (well, aside from Kenny's computer, which he replaces regularly to the tune of about $1500 a year). We buy toys for the boys, but here again, what they seem to want is rather modest – balls, blocks, Legos, and Tinkertoys. (Yes, they still make Tinkertoys, and the boys love them.) Everyone has a cell phone, even the boys, but we collectively survive on less than 400 minutes a month, and we do it with a local service. Kenny and Jason are the only ones traveling much these days, and when they go out of town, the University or the Symphony loans them a phone with an international plan. Even our vacations are rather...subdued. We're more likely to go camping than to go to Paris. When we do go to Paris, one of us spends a lot of time on the net looking for a really-good deal on accommodations. I am my father's son. We're frugal. Consequently, most of what we collectively earn goes into savings and investments, so we have a fairly-substantial nest egg.

So, when the question of what to do about Ben and Jeffrey comes up, I'm not initially sure how to respond. Like us, they're interracial. Ben is Caucasian, Italian I think. Jeffrey is Filipino. They're thirty-something and have been together since college. They started out as Jason's friends, but after a while, we all became close to them. My initial response to the question of what we do about Ben and Jeffrey is to wonder why this is our problem. After a while, though, I realize that it's our problem because it can't be theirs. They don't have the wherewithal to solve it. They have no savings, and soon will have little income. And, as they proved by buying this house in the first place, they have no financial acumen. That's no excuse, though. The bank won't care whether they're financially savvy or not – they still have a mortgage, and that mortgage (and the bank) will eat them alive.

So Kenny and I caucus and come up with a plan, a rather bizarre plan, based on so many contingencies, so many wild assumptions, that it seems t improbable to me. But, what the hell? We're going to need to do some serious research to see if this thing is even feasible. Dinh volunteers to be our researcher. I have faith that if anyone can find a way thought the maze of statutes that are likely to topple us, it'll be Dinh.

The problem is zoning. Isn't it always?

We live in the burbs, and the zoning of San Jose's burbs is often bizarre. The thing you need to know is that, at any given time, the Silicon Valley has about a 1% vacancy rate in its hotels and guest houses. This hasn't changed, despite the economic downturn. Why? Because that vacancy rate isn't primarily the result of tourism. Think about it. Why would you come here as a tourist? Wouldn't you rather stay in San Francisco, or Santa Cruz? Hotels fill up from business travel and the visiting families of students at our eight major colleges and universities. So, what if Ben and Jeffrey were running a bed and breakfast? They have five bedrooms in a really-beautiful house. And, what if Ben was using their in-law quarters behind their home as a private tutorial center? God knows, with 32 students, Ben hasn't been able to devote enough time to his "problem children". What if "problem children" was his business – tutoring the students that San Jose Unified leaves behind, which is damned near all of them?

So, the plan is this. We buy Ben and Jeffrey's house for the $900 thousand they paid for it, essentially becoming their lender. Then we work out payment terms that they can meet based on reduced interest and a longer loan period – say forty years or so. The main house becomes a bed and breakfast, and the in-law quarters become a tutorial center for kids who are having trouble getting what they need from the lousy San Jose Unified schools. Worst case, we're out maybe $200 thousand, depending on what you think the market is going to do over time. We can live with that. Best case, we ultimately see some growth in the housing market and make up a little of our loss. In either case, Ben and Jeffrey get to stay as our neighbors, which is what we all want anyway. Is this a good investment? It depends on what you're trying to achieve. If capital accumulation is your goal, this deal is a walking fucking disaster. If, on the other hand, you have some spare change and are looking to bail out friends, it could work – sorta. It requires some serious time with Bob Titus, my attorney, and some serious effort on Dinh's part, as he researches the ins and outs of suburban zoning. Working in our favor is the fact that this establishment would be in a residential area of town that has any number of day-care centers, restaurants, hair salons, and coffee shops, all integrated into the residential neighborhood. But, it has few bed-and-breakfasts. Finally, the stars do align, though, and we're ready to pitch the idea to Ben and Jeffrey. That means dinner, always the best part of any deal-making.

I have to confess to a distaste for Filipino cuisine (if it can be so characterized). It's bland and tasteless. (Sorry to all you Filipinos out there – this is just my opinion.) Lots of taro, and lots of potato. Lots of starch. Not much spice. If I'm eating Asian food, I want something fiery. So, we decide to go with Italian, catering to Ben's heritage rather than to Jeffrey's. That means it's a Kenny meal, and Kenny pulls out all the stops. We're going to have a nice Minestrone soup as a starter with a Bruschetta. We're going to have Gnocchi in Tomato and Vodka Sauce, and Veal Scaloppini. We're going to have Broccoli sautéed in Garlic. And...and...we're going to have Spumoni for dessert – home-fucking-made Spumoni. When he tells me the menu, I honest-to-god start to salivate. This is going to be spectacular!

And spectacular is not the word. I don't have words for this meal. It is forceful, but subtle. It is nuanced. Kenny has slipped a few Thai chilis into the scaloppini, so it has a little kick. Kenny's meal is a masterpiece that, frankly, makes me want to fuck him. But we don't have time for that, so instead, I caress his neck, and start talking, pitching our idea. And mostly it's a hit. Well, it's a hit if you ignore the fact that halfway though my spiel, Ben starts to crywith his mouth full of broccoli. Jeffrey reaches over and encourages him to swallow before he chokes to death, and then hugs him. "Why would you do this for us?" he finally croaks.

"Because we love you guys," Kenny responds, instantly.

"And we don't want you to move away," Jason adds.

"They're not moving are they?" Kai asks, abruptly, really concerned.

"No, baby," I respond. "I don't think they're going to move."

Ben, still teary, shakes his head. "No," he breathes.

"You can't know how happy I'll be when this school year is over. I've enjoyed my kids so much, even the really-naughty ones. I've enjoyed the other teachers, and I've even enjoyed working with the parents. But the principal, Mrs. Sunseri, is a cast-iron bitch. She's been after me the entire year, ever since I sent her a discipline problem that meant she had to contact a parent. She can't handle confrontations with parents! She'd rather fire me than contact a parent. Initially, I was seriously bummed about getting fired from this job. Now I'm happy about it. I just want to be done with it, and with her. And becoming an inn keeper sounds like fun, not to mention the idea of tutoring kids who aren't making it in school."

It's at this moment that Kenny dives in with another idea. "Your garage is finished, isn't it?"

"Finished?" asks Ben, looking confused.

"Finished. It has plaster walls, not just bare studs."

"Umm...yeah. The previous owner used it as an office. It even has hardwood floors."

"How many walk-in customers do you get in a month, Jeffrey? How many come into the salon that you end up working on?"

"Almost none," he answers. "The walk-ins end up with one of the newer stylists who doesn't have a clientele. I most don't have time for walk-ins. My schedule is pretty-much full."

"And how much rent do you end up paying the salon for your chair?"

"About $1500 a month."

"I've been getting my hair cut by the same woman for years and years," Kenny continues. "Lily. I found her because she was recommended to me by a friend. She was in a salon at the time, but she had young children and didn't feel comfortable being away from them. So she left the salon, and started cutting hair in her garage. She bought one of those fancy swivel chairs from somewhere, got a couple of hair dryers, and that was it. It was all she needed. That would save you $1500 a month in rental fees, assuming you think you can sustain your client base without the salon."

"Oh my god!" Jeffrey squeals. "This is too perfect. And, being at home, I could help Ben run the B&B."

"Yeah," Kenny giggles, "in your copious spare time."

"But, we could almost bill it as a spa," Jeffrey adds. "It wouldn't be just your run of the mill B&B. It could be a place you come to get a...make over. For gay men. The Valley's full of them. Of us. And, if we allied ourselves with someplace like The Watergarden, we'd have an endless stream of customers." The Watergarden is a local gay bathhouse that draws from all over the Valley because San Jose is one of the few communities that hasn't banned bathhouses. It's constantly packed with men. It's never been a sex venue, as so many of the San Francisco bathhouses were. I'm sure some number of guys get off there, but it isn't set up for that – there are no private rooms, and no dark nooks and crannies. It's mainly a social gathering place where you can swim, and soak and make out, and where you can meet people. An alliance with them would be a coup, a perfect way of advertising spa services geared specifically to gay men. And, the owner is a friend of mine. He lives literally around the corner. This is genius!

"But what will the neighbors think?" Ben asks, half in jest and half seriously.

"Well, if you can do this anywhere in this city, it'll be here," I say. "There are more gay people in this neighborhood than anywhere else. We've got the DeFrank Center less than a quarter mile away (a gay community center), and we've got Ken Blackman." He's our city councilman, and is openly gay. "This is the West-fucking-Hollywood of San Jose. If you can't do it here, you can't do it anywhere."

"I've been talking with Ken," Dinh chimes in. "He's convinced he can get us a zoning variance for a business in the neighborhood. We've got several day-care centers already, as well as beauty shops, coffee shops, restaurants, and a gym. Why not a spa? Why not a gay spa?"

"Get back to him tomorrow and tell him what we've got in mind," I say. "This is a very cool idea. I love it."

I'm not entirely sure how to characterize San Jose for you. I'm not entirely sure how to characterize it for myself. There are more gay people living in San Jose, especially in our neighborhood, than probably anywhere on earth with the exceptions of San Francisco and New York. But, you'll never know that. It's not that gay people in San Jose are closeted. We're not. But, we're so well assimilated within the larger population that we don't show up. I have very mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, our community, our city, has no need of a gay ghetto. No one seems to care who's what. Well, there are some christian mega-churches that care, but they're few and far between. The local Borders bookstore carries Playboy and Hustler among its magazines. But it also carries Freshmen and Bel Ami. This is good. This is progress. On the other hand, I frankly miss the gay culture. Sometimes I like to go to a gay dance club where I know the clientele is mostly, if not entirely, gay. Sometimes I like to go to a gay bookstore where I can find more than a shelf or two of gay titles. Sometimes I like to go to a gay coffee shop and just sit and bask in the reflected aura of my faggotry. Most of these things I can't do in the Valley, because the venues don't exist. We're so well assimilated that we end up sharing the airspace with heteros who, while they accept us conceptually, stare at me if I happen to lean over and kiss Dinh in a moment of weakness or of joy. We're assimilated but not assimilated. We're accepted but are still profoundly foreign. We're tolerated but not embraced. If I walk down a San Francisco street holding Kenny's hand, no one looks twice. If I do this in San Jose, a mother is likely to move her son away from us and give me a dirty look. She won't strike me. She won't kill me. But, she won't greet me either. Still, this is significant progress from when I was growing up, when fags were entirely invisible. This is even progress from when Ian was growing up, when Kenny and I had the opportunity to rough up some of his assailants. Two step forward, one steps back.

So, the idea of having a gay-owned and gay-oriented spa right next door appeals to me greatly. It appeals to my sense of community. And, it appeals to my paternal instincts. I want Kevin and Kai to know that we are not the only fag family on earth. I want them to know how many of us are out there. What better way to do that than by luring all those gay guys in with the promise of a facial and a really-good haircut?

And it works. Dinh is able to get a variance from the city for zoning – with a lot of lobbying from Ken Blackman, whom we subsequently wine and dine at what I know is his favorite restaurant. Within three months, Jeffrey is drawing so many clients that he has to hire an assistant, a Korean guy he met in beauty college who's been struggling for almost two years to put together a base of loyal customers. And Ben, now free of his debilitating job as baby sitter to third-grade delinquents, has many of the same kids he had before attending his tutorial sessions, much to the chagrin of his former principal, who is facing parental discontent for having fired him. In their spare time, Ben and Jeffrey serve meals and give tourist advice to the couples who stay at their B&B. I'm not sure how, exactly, they pull all that off, but they manage it, and seem quite content. Quite content! So content, in fact, that I find them in our living room one night giggling with Jason and Kenny about...what?

"Jason has been telling us about something he calls a "Santa Cruz," says Ben.

I give Jason a dirty look, and he giggles furiously. "Has he?" I respond.

"Yeah. He mentioned something about...five of you – you, Jase, Kenny, and your best friend and his husband."

At this point Dinh comes into the living room.

"Jason, my little cherry blossom, have you been giving away our secrets?"

Jason and Kenny are by now awash in laughter.

"When it was just the three of us – Jason, Kenny and me – we would occasionally succumb to the wiles of my best friend Gary and his husband. The first time we did this was in Santa Cruz. Five way...umm..."

"Sex?" Jeffrey asks.

"Yeah. It was five-way sex."

"We were...umm...wondering..."

"Actually, this is all Jeffrey's fault," Ben avers. "He was fishing. He was probing Jason, trying to find out if he'd consider...joining us." Jeffrey cuffs Ben playfully, awash in giggles. "It took Jason a while to figure out what Jeffrey was actually asking him, but when he did, he said he'd never have sex without you. Well that made it all the more interesting. But then he added that he didn't think you'd have sex with anyone outside the immediate family unless Kenny and Dinh were included. So..." Kenny is by now laughing so hard that he's crying. "...so, I sort of asked Kenny, and he said the same thing. He'd do it if you and Jason and Dinh would."

"And Dinh? What did Dinh say?" I ask.

"Well...umm...we haven't gotten to him yet," he says, with a snort.

In a single fluid movement, we all turn and stare at Dinh. This move might as well have been choreographed, something out of a Busby Berkeley movie, one of those stunningly-kaleidoscopic effects he was so good at. We turn and we stare.

Dinh is three shade of red, absolutely crimson. "Whhaaatttt?" he whines.

We all just wait. We say nothing. Even Thumper the cat is frozen in time, staring at Dinh, who is himself staring at the carpet just in front of his feet. Finally, he looks up, still flushed. "Okay," he says, "if you guys want to."

"When?" Jeffrey asks, softly.

"Now?" I ask, looking around the room. The boys are in bed. Peter and Erich are out for the evening. Evan is staying with a new friend, a friend I hope will help him out of his doldrums as he recovers from the loss of Cliff.

"Where?" Ben asks.

"You haven't seen our bedroom, have you?"

He shakes his head.

I lead the way, and when he sees the bed, he starts to laugh. One of the advantages to having some extra money is that, occasionally, you can splurge. We splurged on a really-big bed. Really big. Our bed is the equivalent of a king-sized pushed up against a queen-sized. We had the mattress custom made. It may be the biggest bed on the planet.

"How `bout here?" I say.

Both Ben and Jeffrey giggle and nod as they begin to take off their clothes. We all do the same. I'm not sure how much they know about us...sexually. God know I don't know much about them. Ben is probably 6'2" tall and seriously built. His pecs and abs are stunning, and his thighs and are calves muscular. This guy is gym-toned. Jeffrey, on the other hand, is soft. He's not flabby by any means, but he's soft in the way Jason and Kenny are soft – defined, but not rock-hard. That's the way I like them. He's maybe 5'6", around Jason's height. You make all kinds of assumptions tacitly about gay couples, and the assumptions you make have way more to do with you than with reality. I had one guy tell me not long ago that all gay men like the hyper-masculine images of the 1970s, yet I find those images ridiculous, and embarrassing. I have lots of effeminate friends. Hell, Dinh and Jason, both of whom I adore, would set off the gaydar of any self-respecting faggot. But, I fall into the same stereotypes as everyone else, I guess. I assumed that Ben, because he's bigger and built, was mostly a top, and Jeffrey, because he's more...slight, was mostly a bottom. Not true, idiot! It turns out that they're in a relationship of dominance, and Jeffrey is the dominant partner. Ben is disciplined regularly, I later learn, and when they fuck, it's Ben who's on the receiving end. Jeffrey is versatile, thankfully, but Ben is not. This will be interesting!

In the past we've tried to pre-orchestrate these things. We've tried to figure out who's going to do what to whom. That works when you know everyone well. It doesn't work when you don't. It doesn't work when you're still exploring. So, this is not going to be a six-way, exactly. This is going to be an orgy, and that's what it turns out to be.

I want to get fucked today, but to enjoy that, it's going to have to be Kenny. The truth is, I haven't let anyone else fuck me in the last fifteen years, not since my first boyfriend. It's not that I don't enjoy it, I just really, really have to be in love with you to let you do it. The other admission I guess I should make is that I don't like anyone else fucking my guys. They can do pretty much anything else, I guess, but fucking and getting fucked is something we reserve for each other. I don't know that we've ever codified these rules, but we all understand them, so when Jeffrey offers to fuck Jason, Jason pushes him off. "Let me blow you instead," Jason says. Jeffrey looks a little sad, and a little surprised, but doesn't complain, mainly, I think, because Jason is really good at what he does. He's an artist. So, while Kenny fucks me, I fuck Dinh. Jeffrey sucks Dinh, and Jason sucks Jeffrey and is sucked by Ben.

Did you get all that?

After our collective orgasms, and twenty or so minutes to recuperate, we go at it again. This time I fuck Jason while he sucks Ben who is himself sucking Dinh, who is... Jesus, I don't know what the hell we did. It was a free-for-all. We were literally all over each other. We were biting, sucking, fucking, kissing, and rimming each other. I am seriously into ass, as you've probably surmised, but it has to...umm...smell good. What does that mean? It means it has to pass my sniff test and smell good down there, but not like Ivory soap. It has to mesmerize me. It has to intoxicate me. And, it has to not gross me out. Jason and Kenny are always prepared, but they seriously love to be rimmed. Dinh was initially a little dubious, but is now an addict. The first time I did it to him, he asked me nervously what I was doing, and then he screamed...shrieked. I don't think Jeffrey has ever had a man's tongue in contact with his asshole, because when I do it to him, when I actually touch the pucker with my moist tongue, he nearly jumps out of his skin. "Oh, fuck!" he screams, and cums instantly. I don't think he knew you could do that. I don't think he knew that it was even legal.

We go at this for probably three hours, three hours of bliss, until we hear a knock on the door, which one of us had the good sense to lock. "Daddy?"

It's Kai.

"Can I come in?"

Jason smiles, and hops out of bed. "Party's over, boys." Moving to the door, he opens it, and Kai attaches himself to Jason's naked leg. Kai, too, is naked, which is par for the course for this time of night.

"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you guys?"

"It's pretty crowded in here, tonight, sweetie, but, if you can find a space..."

Kai giggles, and hops into bed behind me, and Jason crawls in behind him. This is truly a full house, but I think we're all asleep in seconds. Nightie-night!

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/