Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2006 04:11:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: T. Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: ROAD TRIP retrofit

The story below is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblances to real people,
alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in
nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon
persons, in towns, cities, nor governmental areas,
which the story is stages. If a sexual scene involving
male-to-male relationships offences you, then you
should not read this story. Additionally, if you are
under 18 years of age, in most state and countries,
you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check
with your local laws regarding such. Sexual safety
matters. This is fiction. Use protection, in real
life.

ROAD TRIP   retrofit
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Why are we stopping here? Somebody gotta make a pit
stop?" Ethan asks.

I knew they all thought what they thought.

"I know I haven't run the tires off of it yet, but I
think I'm due for an upgrade."

"You... you're going to by a new car?"

"Yeah. I was figuring that... well, you're going to
need something to schlep yourself around in, Roberto,
so..."

"No."

"What?"

"Anthony, I can't afford a new car!"

"I didn't say anything about a new car for you. Nope.
You're gonna have to take this `old' Lexus, whether
you want it or not, with the 75,000 miles on it."

"Me? Driving your Lexus? But, Anthony..."

Then, from the back seat, comes, "Hey, can we get a
piece of the action, too?"

"Yeah," Randy states, "I know I can get my mom to
`upgrade her wardrobe'!"

We all laughed, knowing everytime Randy's mom sent him
a check, on the books it looked like something
designed by Xerxes Bhathena, Alberta Ferretti,
Moschino or Etro. $1200 for a one-of-a-kind piece of
apparel, worn a coupla times, would help Randy's
interest dwindle down, in his share of the Lexus. Of
course, offering the sale of the Lexus, for $1, gave
them a head start on the insurance, gas and as Randy
stated, replacing the single CD player with an I-pod.
I grinned, as my three passengers became all eyes,
when I turned into the Volvo dealership. Each right
away, voiced their opinion.

Randy states, "Cool! You've gotta get the navy blue."
"Nah, silver is cooler!"

Ethan gloated over the shiny one, in the lot, to the
right, as we pulled in.

"Nice red, wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"It's not for me, Anthony. If you want chili pepper
red, it's fine with me."

I could tell, by the smile on his face. As we piled
out, spread out, the backseat pair walked among the
SUV's, my love and I heading to a few nearest the
showroom. I had to crack up, Roberto warning of the
encroaching salesman.

"Speaking of hot tamale's Anthony?"

His eyes pointed the direction from which our salesman
headed.

"Geesh! Ashton Kutcher doesn't make enough dough? He
has to sell cars?"

Roberto giggled at my joke, but agreed he could be his
twin. I hoped our eyes didn't feast too much on him,
that it gave away our eye candy interests.
"May I help you gentlemen?"

I wondered what he thought of my shirt, the polo I had
stripped, way back in Bob's world, the one that had a
sneaker imprint on my `stomach'.

"Yes, we're looking for a car."

Did I just make the dorkiest comment?

"Regis Peterson, at your service."

Oh, how I wished!

"Tony Toricelli and this is my... friend, Roberto
Delgado."

"Nice to meet you."

Could be my imagination, but I think he held Roberto's
hand longer than mine!

"New or used?"

"Huh?" I questioned.

Dork mistake number two!

"New or used car?" he then swayed in my love's
direction.

"It's for him, so don't look at me."

Number three, wasn't exactly a mistake, yet I didn't
want it to be known throughout the universe.

"Now, my love, you'll be driving it too, sometimes."
"Oh, so you're...."

I'm not sure if Roberto detected it, by I did.
Disappointment, if I ever sensed it. I didn't think us
two looked enough alike, to be brothers. Friends, yeah
that could've been pulled off.

"So, this is for the two of you. I mean, same
household?"

That's putting it blunt, if I ever thought of
explaining it mildly. I thought it clever. My top side
also kicked in. I felt a little devilous fun coming
on.

"Are you insinuating we're a couple of faggots?"

My look frightenened the shit out of him, I'm sure of
it.

"Oh no. Please don't get me wrong, sir."

"Anthony, what the fuck you doing?"

Like being caught in Times Square, with my pants down,
I didn't believe Roberto wasn't going along for the
ride. Then again, maybe we all had had enough for one
day. I came down off of my dominant throne.

"Look, I want to apologize."

I figured there was only one way of making this right.
I could tell my love wasn't too thrilled with me
either, at this point.

"I don't understand," Regis stated, a troubled look of
perplexity on his face.

"What Anthony is trying to tell you, is we are in fact
a gay couple."

His index finger, as if counting 1 plus 1, singled
each of us out, but I was under the impression...

"Anthony's little game."

"Like I said, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

Regis holding up the five digits, of his hand,
responded, "No, no, no.. it's okay. If anyone is to
apologize, it's me. I shouldn't have used my choice of
words."

"No, no, no..." I insisted, "It's entirely my fault."

"He's right. It was Anthony's fault. Now, can we stop
passing the buck back and forth and get on with buying
a car. What've ya got?"

There it is again, Miguel's influence on his `little'
brother! With hundreds, if not a coupla thousand
shine, new Volvo's on the lot, did we really need a
salesman? In this case, we definitely did!

"Are you looking for new or used?" he sorta started
over.

"New," I answered, no strings attached.

I smiled, to myself, knowing with Roberto, I'd have to
be on my guard. I watched, as Regis walked in front of
us. My eye took in the back of his black suit, the
shapely lower half. I couldn't help but wonder more
about what was inside the suit, than the Volvo the two
looked into. As I too approached, I noticed it wasn't
red. It didn't matter if we got some metallic green
color. In a way, I thought, I have my life to share
now. I had to give in, in some instances.

"What does it have in it?"

Regis rattled off figures, by heart, that would've
taken me years to consume, memorize and spit back out.
Still, I would forget half the stuff. Now, if it had
been the wrestling manual, I'd be able to name all the
rules, most likely from top to bottom, or bottom to
top. `Hmm', my loins stirred, as I stood inches from
Regis' side.

"How much does this baby go for?" Roberto asked.

I smiled, thinking it funny, as if he wheeled and
dealed for himself.

"Base price is $35,007."

Roberto whistled, asking him how much the same color
would be in a used model. At least I sensed he liked
the metallic green.

"And how much with everything in it?"

"Everything, sir?"

"Yeah," I motioned with my hands, as if Atlas, holding
up the world, "everything. You know, the works?"

"Would you be needing the baby seat?"

I thought it funny, asking Roberto, "Are we planning
on getting pregnant?"

"Not me!"

The three of us laughed hardily.

"Skip the baby seat."

He partially lifted the suit jacket, to retreive a
little booklet, allowing me to view the ass-seam of
his pants. `Stunning', I thought.

"Let's see," he flipped through charts, to the back of
his book. "A 2007 XC-90, with everything in it,
without tax, will come tooooooo....$57,018."

The stringbean, as if blown away by a summer wind,
fell against the car behind us.

"Not bad."

"Um, Anthony, your ears clogged?"

"Nope. With tax, we're talking roughly here, $60,000,
right?"

I think Regis was breathing hard, himself. I could
imagine the comission on such a sale. After my next
offer, I hope I wouldn't have whip out my cell and
dial 911.

"Alright, I'll take this one and the red one over
there, with everything in it."

His back came even with Roberto's. I had a feeling it
would blow both of them away. It was kind of fun
watching, but I also detected, as Regis lay against,
the black Volvo, next to the metallic green, he wasn't
too careful hiding the bulge in his crotch. True,
there's a possibility that when he headed out to help
us, to snag our business, ahead of another
salesperson, he had been enroute to the jon.
Anything's possible these days. Perhaps my sudden
offer, made him forget the cover up, by his suit
jacket. I had a feeling he was leaning forwards, kind
of close to the metallic green. But, his back
plastered against the black auto, brought out
something massive, in Regis' personality.

"D-d-d-did you s-s-say red and green?"

"Not a mixture," I signified, crisscrossing my fingers
of both hands.

"Yeah, I think I got it. You want two cars, this one,"
the one his crotch-bulge had been forced up against,
"and that red one," he turned sideways, covering the
bulge, with his suit jacket, "over there?"

"Yes, the cherry looking one."

"Ruby red metallic?"

"That's it. And what's the official name of `Roberto's
new car'?"

I knew he was numb, so no sense making him snap out of
it.

"Willow Metallic Green."

"Hmm, nice name."

"Wow, I wish I... I... never mind."

I knew what was on the tip of Regis' tongue. I had
already `read' him. He was one of us!

"Anthony, what are you doing?"

Leading my love back to the showroom, following Regis'
cute...ahem, we found ourselves, in our sweaty, dusty
clothes, looking like a coupla hobos shopping at
Tiffany's. When we walked into the showroom, even
though a mess, Regis had excused himself, apparently
to alert the manager. My, didn't the host of hosts
come out to see us!

"Hello, I'm Richard Morehouse, executive manager."

I introduced myself, followed by my partner. I liked
the sound of the thought. From now on, I wasn't hiding
anything. He was kind of fem and I wondered about his
sexual orientation. However, as we had been guided
over to a desk, someone sat there, in Regis' stead.

"Pardon me, Mr. Morehouse?"

"Yes, Mr. Toricelli?"

"What happened to `Mr..." `oh shit! I almost said,
`Kutcher'! "Peterson?"

"Oh well, he's new here. Mr. Thompson will be handling
your sale."

I was kind of pissed. `Yeah and he's going to get
what's due Regis? No way!'

"Well then I'm sorry. We'll come back when Regis is in
better standing."

Regis wasn't the only one who would benefit,
apparently! In seconds, this Thompson dude had been
dethroned and Regis on his way to being crowned. It
felt good, to humiliate the lot of them, Morehouse
whom I'm sure pride got stepped on, promising the top
saleman on the totem pole a big sale, plus Thompson
himself, who threw me a dirty look. Even more, the
four or five in the distance, probably drooling over
Regis' commission that could've been theirs. Why?
Because a young guy gave up his trip to the jon, if
that was the case? Before we got down to business,
Regis, whom had Mr. Morehouse over his shoulder, like
a hawk, started in with a little chitchat.

"Have you been out jogging?"

Any other guy and I might have taken the thought as a
coupla of stinking bums, off the street. I could read
Morehouse, rolling his eyes.

"Peterson, can I have a word with you, in private,
please?"

"Matter of fact. Yes, we've just come from our usual
Saturday morning 5k. I hope we're not smelling up your
chairs or anything?"

"Yeah," Roberto states, lifting his shirt, smelling
his own shirt.

Sitting up straight, his stringbean physique showed
off the swirl of black hair around his rather
high-in-his-stomach bellyhole, his low hugging pants,
making the outline of his pubes, visible. I know Regis
paid attention, but Morehouse definitely had the wind
knocked out him, as if socked in the gut.

"You know gentlemen, we don't offer this to every
customer, but I do believe we have some promotional
polo shirts. Would you care to have one, each?"

I felt a joke coming on, yearning to humiliate
Morehouse..

"Um, I'm buying two cars. Do we get two a piece?"

Laughing, as he talked, he stated, "Take five! Regis,
why don't you go down to the basement and get them for
the gentlemen. What size?"

I loved it!

Regis, not even looking up from his paperwork, rips
off, "How about you, Mr. Morehouse. I'm already
starting on this paperwork?"

I loved it!

The look on the bumbling idiot's face. How on earth
did he ever get to first base with this outfit?
Kissing ass? However, looking at the thirty-something
year old executive manager, I wondered if those lips
ever touched a male body? My loins wanted to find out!

"Um, alright," he conceded, most likely not wanting to
make a scene. "I'll um, volunteer for that," he
spelled out most reluctant, but swallowed his pride.
It would be terrible if he lost the $120,000 sale.
"Um, what size would you be needing?"
I found my in!

"Small or extra-small," Roberto blurted out.

Regis wrote the sizes down on a yellow post-it note.

"For me?" I put my finger to my chin. "Now that I'm
not sure of. Sometimes a large is too small."

"Fine," Morehouse says, "I'll bring a large."
Regis wrote `L' on the post it.

"Then again, sometimes a large is a bit too small
around the gut."

I pulled my shirt tight at the sides. Morehouse
definitely had an interest in my nips, the points
showing against the tight fabric. I had him pegged
alright. Regis crossed out `L' and wrote `XL'.

"Fine," Morehouse commented.

"Then again, if the polos are made for the younger
crowd, teens, they could be really a little too, too
small. Have you got any `XXL's'?"

"That I'm not sure of."

Regis finally says to Morehouse, "Why don't you bring
up a box?"

"Oh no," I jump in, "I can't have you doing that.
What, with Mr. Morehouse dressed to a `T', the box
would get him all dirty!"

I know I acted like a pompous ass, but Morehouse was
eating it up. Do you think the executive manager of
the dealership wished to belittle himself, traisping
down to the basement, having to search through boxes,
for ten shirts of particular sizes, then have to haul
them up again? I was betting, `not'.

I got up, saying, "Why don't I accompany you, Mr.
Morehouse?"

He tried to flub himself out of it, but I insisted.

"But Anthony, what do I do?"

I looked at Regis, back to Roberto, then suggested,
"Take Regis out to lunch?"

Regis liked the idea, but offered to foot the bill.

As we headed towards a stairway, my pomposity gave way
to my more dominant side. I was starting to feel
downright devious. We descended the stairway, Mr.
Morehouse apologizing for the mess that awaited us.
Apparently downstairs had been the `bowels' of the
dealership, not kept as nice, bright spanking new as
upstairs.

"Right this way, Mr. Toricelli."

"I'm right behind you `Dick'."

I wondered if he got my meaning, abbreviating his
first name?

"Yes, well here we are. Again, I apologize for..."

"No problem, Dick. Looks like my garage at home."

Then he started in on the chitchat.

"Are you from this town?"

Before long, he learned I was one of the wrestling
coaches, at the college, lived in an upper crust part
of town, the home inherited from my dad, God rest his
soul, a relatively famous architect, whom had his name
on the cornerstones of buildings, from New York City,
to Hong Kong and the biggie, that I was bringing my
`lovely bride' home, to live with me!
"You... you're gay?"

I thought it could be nice, to strip my shirt off
first, then look for the appropriate size, but decided
to pace it a little..

"Get off it Dick and you're not?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I'm a married man!"

I wasn't buying the marriage act. The gaydar was too
strong, to forego this one. Plus, in a way, the stache
kind of turned me on. I hoped more fur lay to the
south, under the layer of clothing. I aimed to find
out.

"Cut the bullshit, eh Dick?"

He melted, when I stepped forward, feeling up his
bulge, right through his pants.

"Like I said, Dick. What does marriage have to do with
it?"

"You... you're so right, sir."

Surrender can be so sweet. It's then I decided it time
to try on shirts.

"Help me off with my shirt, why don't you?"

"You're shirt, sir?"

"Don't play dumb, Dick. How many men have you stripped
in this room?"

He swallowed, his hands going for my shirttail,
hanging out of my pants. I raised my arms up, over my
head. He lifted it up and over, turning it inside out.
"How about we have a peak of what you have to offer?"
"Um, down here?"

I turned, towards the door that connected the
windowless room to the outter hallway. I threw the
simple bolt.As I walked back, I took notice of the
upper bulb, reflecting off the floor. Sure, like
Morehouse had stated, the doorstairs had been the
storage area, not intended for customer's eyes,
however, I knew what dried cum, on the floor, looked
like.

"Tell me, Dick," I inquired, as I kicked my sneakers
off, "how many times has Thompson fucked your ass?"

"None, I assure you!"

"Y'know what?"

"What?" He returned my quest for info.

"I believe you. So, which of the other's?"

He sensed I was on to something.

"Would it really matter knowing?"

Smiling, I began to unlatch my belt buckle.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Dick? I'm getting comfortable
and look at you. Here I am, almost down to my briefs
and you're still on that shirt!"

His hands didn't know what to do, as I advanced, took
his buttons in my hands, undid them. I pulled the
shirt from his trousers, tearing at the last two, that
fell below the beltline.

"Oops! Sorry about that!"

I placed my fingers to my mouth, as if I really goofed
and tore the buttons off.

"My wife is going to..."

"What Dick? How many excuses have you made up, telling
her you would be working late, when in reality, for
two to three hours, in the evening, when the
dealership's been closed, you had sex down here? Huh?"

"Well I..."

I think he started to see things as I saw them. He
unreluctantly let me peel the shirt off his shoulders,
brush it behind, his hands catching it behind his
back.

"How old are you Dick?"

"Why?"

"Just answer the question?"

I felt like some detective, interrogating a prisoner.

"Thirty-two. How old did you think I was?"

His tongue could get him into trouble, if he didn't
watch out. Now wouldn't that be fun!

"Thirty-something. I'm not good at guessing ages."

"And you?"

He wasn't fighting me, as I unbuckled his belt,
suggesting, "Kick off the shoes, huh? I'm
twenty-seven. Why? How old do you think I am?"

"Thirty maybe."

"See that, Dick?"

"What?"

"Something in common. We both would not make good
sideshowmen at the carnival, guessing ages? We'd end
up broke!"

He liked my joke! He cracked a smile. I was getting
somewhere.

"How long have you been married?"

"Nine years."

"Kids?"

"No. I keep getting this feeling she doesn't want
them. She has her career and all."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Real Estate."

"How's the sex?"

"So-so."

By now, as his facade caved in, so did his clothes,
stepping out of his ironed pants, folding them and
putting them over a hand cart.

"Ever think of making a change?"

"Change?"

We both stood there in the basement of the car
dealership, in our briefs. Dark hair covered his white
pecs, not overly hairy, as Ron. A thin trail divided
pecs, obviously a gym jock. I could see to the bottom
of his navel, not a deep innie. Yet, I liked the hair
that swirled around it, before diving under the
elastic of his briefs. For now, as we talked, my hands
began to explore the sides of his bod, under his arms,
up to his pits and down to his torso. He ventured into
the same territory, on my body, peering more below my
neck, than at my face.

"From marriage, to the gay lifestyle?"

"It would mean giving up a lot."

"But how does being gay and being married, affect you
psychologically?"

His hands stopped their roaming up and down, focusing
on my torso.

"I don't know Anthony."

Good, we were on first name basis. Also, he knew I was
talking truthfully.

Picking up his chin, as if glued to his chest, I moved
my lips closer. His arms went right through me, to my
back. I felt a little pain, winced.

"Are you okay?" the tough, dramatic Richard, mellowed
out to softly.

"Yeah. Gardening. I scratched my back."

"You've gotta be careful, Anthony."

As he spoke my name, it came across very sexy. To
either of us, my back didn't matter. Our lips touching
is all we needed, for the moment. I made the first
move, put my thumbs in the elastic of his waist. He
followed suit. Soon, our briefs met at our ankles, a
quick dance, to kick them aside.

"I need a blow job real bad, Richard."

He smiled, falling to his knees. Yes, Richard must've
visited this room quite often, according to how he
handled my shaft, with his tongue. My head dropped
back, my back arching, causing a little stinging
sensation, from Bob's strapping. However, Richard's
gliding tongue, pushed thoughts of it all aside.
Proof, Richard used this room for more than storage,
became obvious, as he led me to the rear of the room.
Several boxes of shirts lay on the floor, broken open.

"Another reason I don't offer shirts to the
customers!"

His little gag, made me giggle.

"I hope Roberto and I won't be disturbing your bed too
much?"

As I lay down on the dozens of spilled out shirts, he
fit his knees inside my legs.

"What about your partner? He doesn't care if you
um..."

"It's not that he doesn't care. Let's keep it to the
word, `mind'?"

"Fair enough."

"In fact, I don't doubt that possibly he and your
number one salesman might be having some little get
together on their own."

"You're that open?"

"For now. Maybe when we get settled, things might
change."

His cock touched the floor, totally erect. Ages didn't
come easy, but cock sizes, I could be right on the
money. All I had to do is compare a man's hard shaft
to my 9.5 inches of cut meat and I'd be able to come
up with a good estimate. I guestimated Richard at
being about a nine. He wasn't much shorter than mine.

"Want to `69'?"

"You're versatile, are you?"

I reported back, "Versatile orally, except rimming,
but total top when it comes to filling a chute."

He smiled, "Sounds hot."

So, he shifted around, us laying head to pubes, pubes
to head, taking in each other's hard shaft. I don't
know how long we hung there, licking each other's
cock, Richard feeling my body up, as I did his.

He pulled off, to say, "I'm coming near."

It was my cue. Getting on his knees, doggie style,
Richard then bent his shoulders down, to the ground.
His ass stood, propped up in the air.

"Got any lube?"

"Yeah."

>From one of the shirts, he pulled a clear tube.

"How can you keep track of that one?"

"Defective. Only shirt that doesn't have the white
stripes, plus the logo is missing."

Richard didn't turn out to be a bad guy, taken out of
the straight world above. In fact, I think we started
to develop a mutual liking for each other. For sure,
Richard loved the feel of my cock deep inside his ass.
Sweating like a hog, he kept on pressing back, wanting
me to fill him up, past my balls. As I came, I pulled
out, shooting my load on his back. He masturbated
himself, shooting his load on a shirt, he had
preselected, isolating it as the `semen-collector'! I
collapsed on his back, as his stomach hit the pile of
strewn shirts.

"That was totally fucking good, Anthony. Thanks."

I really enjoyed it myself, the whole thing, from
kissing, feeling up of each other's bods, the `69' and
his ass was nice and tight.

"Glad you feel that way, Richard."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I think maybe you need a new location to meet,
instead of this dark, dreary dungeon!"

He laughed.

Neither of us realized we had been sequestered, alone,
in the basement for two hours. As we entered the car
showroom, I spotted my love walking in the door with
Regis. Our eyes connected, swapping silent stories of
the possibilities of how we each spent the past two
hours.

"You can handle this, right Regis?" Richard Morehouse
patted him on the shoulder.

"I believe so, Mr. Morehouse."

"Um, Richard."

I can't believe the difference in temperment. On the
way up, I did mention that Regis wasn't his enemy, in
fact a very nice `single', `gay' man. He walked away,
leaving Regis to work out the purchase of the two
cars. After an hour and a few minutes, we had
everything squared away. In five days, two brand new
2007 Volvo XC-90's fully loaded, would be sitting in
`our' driveway.

"Thanks very much," I relayed to Regis, shaking his
hand.

"The shirt looks good," He told me.

"Yeah. Amazing that the large did fit nicely."

I thought about my cock fitting nicely into Richard's
ass. As he looked at Roberto, I sensed he might have
had a similar experience.

"You have our number. Why don't you come over
sometime, Regis?"

"I'd like that, thanks."

"Bring your boss."

If Regis didn't have the gift to `gaydar', I figured
the hint was enough.

"Um, Mr. Morehouse?"

I let on, "Richard and yeah, you two might have some
fun together."

"But he's married."

Even Roberto keyed him into, "Like that doesn't matter
anymore, dude."

"Kewl," he said, a smile on his face.

"Um, Anthony?"

"Yeah," I turned.

Richard stood there, a hand extended.

"I'm going to think about what you said."

"In regards to?"

"Coming out. I think it might be a good thing for me.
Not pretending anymore. Thanks."

"Let me start the ball rolling, why don't I?"

I gave him his first public hug. He didn't fight it,
his arms taking me in too. As we both turned towards
the door, it seemed like he wasn't the only one taking
the big leap of faith. There, Regis hugged Ethan, then
Randy, adding a long one to the chain, with my love.

"So, what did you two do for two hours?"

Randy looked at Ethan, who returned his gaze.

"Something I'm going to be pissed at, I suspect?"

"No," Ethan offered.

Randy, subdued, asks, "Do you live far from here,
Anthony?"

"Cut the crap, guys?"

"Okay," Ethan broke the ice, "We know we've committed
to buying this car and all, but we found a little
place, small, above the pizzeria and..."

Randy broke in, "The guy that rents the apartment..."

My turn, "Sal?"

"Yeah. You know him, Anthony?"

"His apartment is up for rent?"

"You've seen it?"

"First of all, Sal's a real sweetheart. Secondly, he
runs a tight ship, keeping it nice and clean. Third,
I'm paying the first month's rent, plus securities, no
arguments!"

Randy and Ethan, ecstatic, didn't contest my
generosity.

"We'll pay you back, Anthony," Randy offered.

Ethan says, "Yeah. Sal offered us jobs."

"Looks like my old Lexus is going to be converted into
a pizza delivery boy's transport, eh?"

They acknowledged as much.

However, my love, asked, "Anthony, where are you
getting all this loot?"

I told him, when we got to my place, I'd explain all.
The three of them, sat there, all agog, taking in the
neighborhood from all views, as it changed to upper
crust level, the pivot hedges, manicured to
perfection, wrought iron and brick fencing, homes that
resembled mansions. I did learn that Roberto did know
a teeny bit of spanish, I think comprising of curse
words!

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Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any
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