Chapter 24

The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men.  If you shouldn't be reading this, please move on.

In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms.  In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.  

The town of Stafford, the Sunrise Arts Center, and the characters in this story are fictitious.

Special thanks to Mickey S. and Drew Hunt, who have provided inspiration, advice, and encouragement throughout the writing of this series.


I went home, had a quick shower, put on khakis (it was a mild day for the season), and an oxford shirt.  I wore a windbreaker over it.  As I drove to Chave's condo, I examined yet again my ambivalent feelings about him.  After initially disliking him, I'd come to change my mind.  Chave was handsome, sexy, generous, and charming.  But the night I'd spent at his place, the night we'd had sex, he'd seemed pretty controlling.  I mean I love to bottom, but I don't particularly like feeling dominated.  Maybe it's because I'm not a very big guy that I tend to bristle when somebody gets too macho with me.

Besides, if Chave really was the one who'd been sending me the anonymous gifts, I didn't like that either, didn't like the mind games that went along with it.

His smile when I arrived was, as usual, disarming.  He wore baggy black silk pants that seemed to emphasize his package and a black tee that showed off his chest, abs, and biceps.  He was barefoot. There was something disturbingly sexy about the bare feet.  I noticed immediately how warm his condo was.  

After he had taken my jacket, he steered me toward the living room area, where he had caponata and pita chunks on the coffee table.  After excusing himself to go to the kitchen for a moment he came back with two glasses of red wine.  We sat and clinked glasses.  One sip told me it was a very good merlot.

We both knew why I was there, but as host he was controlling things.  We'd get around to talking about what brought me to his place, but not until he was ready.  So as we ate the delicious, chunky spread on the pita bread and drank our wine, he asked several questions about the Arts Alliance, its financial strengths, liabilities, and prospects for the future.  Then he asked how plans for the gala were going.  

When he rose to go to the kitchen to get the meal on the table, he had me come along and sit on a bar stool.  He brought up the recent flap over the letter to the Sentinel, asking what I had thought about Asa Dean's article.

I told him I thought Dean had done a balanced, fair job of reporting, and he agreed.

"Oh, you met him didn't you?  He interviewed you.  What's he like?  I saw him at the office when he came to interview Hank, but I was with a client and didn't get introduced to him."

"He's an interesting guy.  Very unassuming.  But, as you might guess, he's a good interviewer.  Steel trap mind, I think.  And obviously he writes well.  I'd say the Sentinel's lucky to have him."

"Not much to look at, though, is he?"

I just shook my head, not wanting to tell my host how I'd been attracted to Dean's rather haunted appearance.

The meal was good and the conversation, like the wine, flowed.  I kept looking for opportunities to bring up my reason for being there, but MacPherson seemed to meet my thrusts with effective parries, and the conversation continued at a superficial level.  

I did notice as we ate that the piece I'd made for him was on the sideboard in the dining area.  He'd put it on an easel that managed to display the glass without calling attention to itself, and he'd arranged a small spotlight so that the large oval seemed to glow and shimmer.  I complimented him on the way it was displayed, and he seemed pleased that I'd noticed, pleased that I was pleased.

Finally, as we were having a mixed fruit compote and coffee, he said, "Okay, time for me to confess, I suppose."

"Then you are the one who sent me those gifts?  But you swore you knew nothing about the roses in the Waterford vase that came on Christmas Eve."

He chuckled.  "I wouldn't lie to you, Whit.  I have no idea who sent you the roses, but I swear, `twasn't I."

"But . . . ?"

"But I did send you the other things.  After you told me about the roses, I thought I'd have a little fun with you and string out the mystery for a while."

"Chave, a Lalique bowl is more than `a little fun.'  I can't accept a gift like that from you."

"Nonsense.  Of course you can.  My secret's out.  I do admire you.  I'm hoping we can become special friends, you hot little stud!

Well!  What was I to say to that?

"It would be churlish, I suppose, to insist that you take back the bowl.  I admit you really had me puzzled.  And concerned.  I don't want to be a bad sport about all this, but I don't really like mind games."

"Mind games?  Why would you think that?  So I sent you a couple of presents, so what?  I like you, and I thought it was just a well-intentioned joke.  I'm sorry if you saw it as anything else."

As was so often the case with MacPherson, I wasn't sure whether he was being genuine or whether he was simply manipulating me.  But I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay, Chave.  I'm sorry about the attitude.  Thank you for the bowl and the chocolates.  But please don't send me any more.  I'd be terribly embarrassed if you did."

"No problem.  Now, tell me, do you have any idea who sent the roses?"

"Not a clue."

"Interesting.  So it seems you do still have a secret admirer.  Was the card with the flowers signed?"

"No, it had my name on it, but not the name of the sender."

"Did you think to call the florist and ask?"

"Well, duh.  That's what I should have done, isn't it?  But it was Christmas time and I never thought of it."

"Do you know which florist it was?"

"No, I don't remember."

"If you can remember, they may still have records.  You might call them and see.  Just explain that the gift card didn't have the sender's name and that you'd like to know whom to thank."

"Thanks for the suggestion.  I'll do that."

We talked for a while longer.  He told me that he'd been made chair of the campaign to raise money for a new organ at Holy Trinity.  I teased him that it was appropriate he was the chair of the big organ committee.  Shortly after that I stood and said, "Let me help you get this cleaned up."

"There's no rush."

"Well, Chave, your supper was delicious.  Thanks.  And thanks for clearing up the mystery of the secret admirer.  But I've taken enough of your evening."

"Nonsense.  It's Friday night.  I don't have to work tomorrow, nor do you.  I have nowhere I need to be, nothing I need to do."

I picked up his bowl, nested it in mine, picked up my cup and saucer, and carried them to the kitchen.  Chave followed along with his cup and saucer.  Together we rinsed the dinner dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

When we were done, he came up behind me and put his arms around me.  He nuzzled behind my ear.  It felt wonderful, but I didn't want him to do it.  It really was hot in his condo.  

"Uh, Chave – "

"Relax, Whit.  Just go with the flow.  I can make you feel very good."

He could indeed, as I remembered only too well.  Before I could say anything, he turned me around, cupped a hand under each butt cheek, and kissed me.  As his tongue was swabbing out my mouth, he pulled me up against him so that our cocks were grinding together.  I didn't want to respond.  I willed myself not to respond.  But my traitorous tongue engaged in the duel despite my intentions.

Then he did something I wouldn't have thought he could do.  He bent his knees slightly, picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me squawking and huffing to the bedroom, where he dumped me on the bed.  "Hey," I said, "you could leave me with a scrap of dignity."  

"Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much," he said, grinning down at me.  "Now, will you quit complaining so we can fuck?"

"But – "

He pushed me back on the bed and, still fully clothed, lay on top of me, humping against me.  He began to play with my nipples through my shirt and lick the side of my neck.  My cock responded by getting even harder and pushing out precum.  At that moment I almost decided to, as he said, go with the flow.  But if I had done what my body was screaming for me to do, I'd have had serious problems of self respect for the rest of my life, probably.

I grabbed him by the ears and yanked his head up.

"Would you please get off me?"

"Oh, come on, Whit.  Don't be coy."

His neck must have been uncomfortable, but he didn't budge.

"Look, I'm not gonna sell myself to you for a Lalique bowl and some chocolates."

He actually laughed at me.  "Would you just forget the fucking bowl?  Give it to the Salvation Army, or throw it in the trash.  It was simply part of a joke.  It's not important.  What's important is that we have good sex together."

"I don't like your assumption that you can just jump me whenever you want.  You're a controlling son of a bitch, you know."

He laughed again.  "Yeah, I know.  I'm terrible.  But you make me so damned horny!"  He rolled off me and sat up, swinging around so his feet were on the floor.  He put out his hand.  I took it and pulled myself up so I could sit next to him.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" he asked, all innocence.

"You make me feel like a toy, not a partner.  You're sexy as hell.  The problem is, you know it.  You know how you turn me on.  And you use that to get what you want.  But you always leave me feeling like I'm, as I said, your plaything.  I don't like that.  Sex should be mutual giving, mutual caring."

"You sound as if you're talking about a relationship.  That's not in my plans at the moment.  You're a very sexy guy, Whit.  You turn me on every time I see you.  We could have a lot of fun together being, well, I suppose the term is fuck buddies."

"I don't want a fuck buddy, Chave.  I am looking for a partner.  Someone I can love.  Someone to be with for a long time.  Someone who'll treat me as an equal."

"Damn, Whit, I didn't realize that.  I suppose I should have taken the trouble to find out what you had in mind."  He looked at me with a sort of puppy dog look, but then the sparkle came right back to his eyes.  "Are you sure you don't want to just be good sex partners?  We could be really good together."

"Sorry, counselor.  Finding Mr. Right is pretty high on my agenda just now.  Thanks for dinner.  See you at the next Board meeting.  Or in church."  I pushed him back on the bed, jumped on top of him, gave him a long, probing kiss, and then stood up.  "That'll have to hold you until you can find a new toy."

His hard cock was making quite a tent in his silk pants.  I gave it a firm squeeze.  "And call me Whitney, fucker!"

I got my jacket and left.

I think I grinned all the way home.


There was absolutely nothing going on in Stafford that Friday night, so the plan was that after having dinner at home with my folks, I'd head over to Judd's to spend the night.  We were gonna go work out on Saturday morning and hang at the mall, maybe take in a flick that afternoon.  Depending on what came up.

I let myself in at the Thomas's, said hello to his folks, and went down to his room (well, it was more like a suite, but he always called it his room).

He was at his `puter when I got down there, but he got up and gave me a nice, long kiss.  I took the opportunity to heft his balls with one hand and squeeze one of his tits with the other.  I was having a lot of fun, but eventually he pushed me away.

"Hey, Louis."

"'Sup, Judd?"

"I was just emailing Tommy, telling him about the team meeting and what the Albrights admitted to.  And what they hadn't admitted to.  Ya know, if Tom hadn't sent me that pic, we still wouldn't know those boys are gay."

"I hope you thanked him."

"Oh, yeah.  Just let me finish up."


He sat down and typed another line or so, sat back, looked over what he'd written, and hit the Send button.

"Now," I said, "let's get to the good part."

He laughed.  "Hold on a minute, horndog.  I've got some news for you."

"And that would be?"

"Mr. Cummings asked me today if you and I would get involved with setting up the new club for straights and gays at school.  And he wanted to know if we could suggest any straight guys who might be willing to help out, too."

"Well, if we weren't out before to the whole school, we sure will be now."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really.  Doesn't it bother you?"

"Nope.  I think just about everybody knows anyway.  And I think the club's such a good idea.  Something like that could make a lot of difference."


"So," he said, "do you have any ideas about who might be willing to help us get the group set up?"

"You know, we need to get some females involved.  But I don't think I know any lesbians.  Do you?"

"Come to think of it, no.  I mean, there must be some."

"Well, we can't just go up to people and ask, either.  Maybe we could just sort of post an announcement that we're looking for women who are interested in helping get the club started and not say anything about sexual orientation."

"Yeah, guess we could do that."

"I do have an idea about a couple of straight guys that might be willing to help us, though."


"Allen and Bo have been working at the Art Camp for the last couple of summers, sort of keeping the younger kids in line.  They're pretty cool guys, and I'll bet they'd get involved."

"Yeah, I've had classes with both of them.  They seem okay, and I know they're pretty smart, too.  But they seem to be together a lot.  Are you sure they aren't gay?"

"Judson, bite your tongue!  Just because two guys are friends doesn't make them gay."

He blushed.  "You're right.  I'm sorry."  Then he grinned.  "But are you really sure they aren't gay?"

It was my turn to grin.  "Trust me!  No blips on the gaydar with those two."

"Well, you know them better than I do because of the Art Camp thing.  Will you ask `em?"

"Sure.  I'll try to catch them Monday."

We spent an hour or so Googling.  There's a lot of stuff on the web about gay/straight groups, a lot of it from the GSA in California.  They're even willing to help high school groups get started.  We took down a lot of URL's and thought that over the weekend we might visit some of the sites and see what kind of help they'd send us.

But it was Friday night, after all, and we hadn't had more than a quick 69 all week.  Judd leaned back in his chair, put his hand in my crotch, and began to make Big Lou feel real good.  

Soon our clothes were in a pile on the floor and we were lying naked, facing each other on his bed, our toes and cocks touching.  He stuck out his tongue.  I stuck out mine.  We waggled the tips together briefly.  The feel of his tongue tickling the tip of mine turned me on bigtime, so I grabbed him, and then we got into some industrial strength face sucking.

I tended to get lost in those kisses with Judd.  Mindless, I was so caught up in the excitement of our tongues and mouths together, I focused on the here and now and forgot everything else.  Slowly I became aware that our cocks were sliding against each other, lubricated by the precum they were both pumping out.  We could have kept on with the frottage, but I remembered something about my lover.

I moved back enough to pull him over onto his stomach.

"Aww, Louis, what are you doing?"

"Patience, dude!  I know you're gonna love this."

I offered him my middle finger, which he duly sucked on, sucked as if he were starving and this was the tit that was gonna save him.  When it was good and coated with his saliva, I removed it from his hot mouth and began to shove it slowly into his ass.  

"Ohmygod, that's fantastic, babe!"

"Yeah, you are a slut, aren't you, Thomas?  You love to have your ass played with."

"Okay, I'm a slut.  Just don't quit.  That's sooo nice."

By the time I had three fingers in his hot hole, he was cooing and moaning and occasionally squeaking.  Judd was a great top.  He sent me into space every time he fucked me.  He was tender and caring, knowing just what to do with his wonderful dick to make me go crazy.  But he also had a very sensitive ass.  He had been surprised to discover how much he loved for me to finger him.  We'd never done rimming because we worried about hepatitis C, but we'd used our fingers and a variety of toys.  It felt good when he did all that to me, but it was no substitute for his nice big cock inside me.

I sometimes wondered with Judd, though, whether he wasn't just as happy to have me playing with his ass with my hand as he was when I fucked him.  I was about to learn the answer to that question.


"Yeah, baby?"

"What you're doing is great, stud, but it ain't enough.  I need the real thing.  Please fuck me now."

"How can I refuse a request like that?"

I grabbed the lube and added some to the pre that was running down my throbbing cock.  Pulling his hips up to a better angle, I pushed slowly into his silky chute.  The world stopped when we were like that.  Nothing else mattered.  I wasn't able to think.  All I could do was feel.  

With Judd's encouragement, I slid slowly into him until my pubes were pressing against his hard butt cheeks.  

"Yeah, lover, that's it!  That's what I need.  Do me, Louis, please!"

I didn't think I was "doing him."  I felt like we were doing us.  And I couldn't think of anything better that could happen to two people.


Stuart came over to my place early Saturday afternoon.  The temperature had dropped sharply overnight and the rain had turned to snow, though it was light, melting on the roads and sidewalks, sticking only to the trees and grass.  I built a fire in the fireplace and then popped some corn which we had with mulled cider.  We sat together on the sofa and watched ice skating for a couple of hours.  It was all so nice that I must have dozed off.  I woke up with my head on Stuart's chest.  His arm was around me, his head back.  He, too, was asleep, snoring lightly.  

Realizing how nice this was, I used the remote to turn off the tv and put my head back on his chest, enjoying the way it went up and down with Stuart's regular breathing.  I must have gone back to sleep, for the next thing I knew, he had taken his arm away and was stretching, arms overhead.

"God, I'm sorry, Whitney.  I feel like I've been asleep for an hour."

I chuckled.  "You have.  Or, to be more precise, we have.  No need to apologize.  I love cuddling up with you, big guy."

"Was I snoring?  I'm really sorry.  It must have been disgusting for you."

"Relax, Stuart.  You're adorable when you're asleep.  And, as I said, I slept a while, too."

"Well, my mouth feels like somebody crept in, crapped, and crept out.  Excuse me for a minute."

He got up, stretched again, and went, not to the guest bath, but to my bathroom.  When he came back, he grinned and kissed me.  His breath smelled of my mouthwash.

"You hungry?"

"Yeah, I shouldn't admit it after the popcorn, but I am."

"Well, gotta feed you growing hunks.  Come help me."

We went to the kitchen.  I poured us each a glass of chardonnay to sip while we fixed supper.  I had Stuart cut up and nuke some broccoli.  In the double boiler I started an alfredo sauce, stirring it occasionally while I cut up a couple of chicken breast fillets.  I quickly sautéed the chicken pieces.  Then it was time to cook some penne pasta while we put together a salad.  

Soon we had a spinach salad and chicken alfredo with broccoli.  Quick, easy, and pretty good, especially since we had worked on it together.

Afterward I put out a big bowl of apples, pears, bananas, grapes, and tangerines.  We ate fruit as we drank our coffee.

When the dishes were in the dishwasher and the leftovers put away, we went back to the great room.  I added more wood to the fire and turned down the thermostat, so we wouldn't be too warm.  It was snowing a little harder as we settled once more on the sofa.  We couldn't find anything to watch on the television, so I suggested he pick a cd and put it on the music system.  He chose the Bruch g minor violin concerto, a very romantic piece, I'd always thought.

Sitting once more on the sofa, facing the fire, feet on the coffee table, I snuggled against him.  Again, he put his arm around me.  

"Stuart, I had dinner with Chave yesterday evening."

"Oh?"  I could feel him tense up a bit.

"Yeah.  I called to tell him I was sure he was the one sending me the gifts from my `secret admirer.'"


"Uh huh.  There's a box of Godiva chocolates over there on the entry table, if you're of a mood to have some."

"No thanks.  So what happened?"

"He admitted to sending all of the gifts except the original vase of roses, which he adamantly denies having anything to do with."

"Do you believe him?"

"Sure.  Why would he admit to the other things and not the roses?"

"I suppose that makes sense."

"So what else happened?"

He tried to sound very casual, but I knew he was worried.

"After dinner, he tried to get me into bed.  He said he really did like me, wanted us to become fuck buddies."


"And I told him no way was that going to happen and left."

"Chave's a pretty sexy guy, Whitney.  Are you sure that's all that happened?"

"Do you want me to describe how he felt me up, carried me to his bedroom and threw me down on the bed?"

"He carried you to the bedroom?"

I blushed.  "Yeah, he just tossed me over his shoulder."

Stuart chuckled.  "I can't believe it.  Dr Whitney Pell, hauled off to bed over some guy's shoulder.  Now there's a memorable image!  So then what happened?"

"Not what you're thinking, probably.  I refused to go to bed with him, thanked him for the dinner and the gifts and left.  I don't think I'll be seeing Mr. MacPherson again except on official Sunrise business."

"Official business?"

"Well, he is coming on to the Arts Alliance Board in a few weeks.  I can't avoid him.  Besides, he goes to my church."

"Do you think he'll take you seriously and back off?"

God, I hoped so!  Chave was able to get to me, and he knew it.  I didn't want to have any more sex with him, but I wasn't sure I could withstand a concerted campaign to get me back in bed if that's what he decided to try.

"Uh huh.  I think he got the message last night.  I told him I was looking for a real partner, someone for the long haul.  He admitted that wasn't what he had in mind."

Stuart took his arm away from my shoulders and swiveled around to face me, pulling one leg up onto the sofa.  "Is that really what you are looking for, Whitney?  Or is it just something you said to Chave to make him back off?"

"No, that's what I want."

"Can I apply for the position?"

"Applications are being accepted, stud."

We sat quietly after that, enjoying the Bruch, which always makes me want to cry.  I find it a poignant piece of music, so beautiful and yet somehow so sad.  

When it was over, Stuart gently picked me up, as easily as if I had been a child, and carried me to the bedroom.  I felt a little like a heroine from a Harlequin romance, for I'd been carried to a bedroom on two successive nights.  I suspected that Stuart wanted to show me how he could do it tenderly instead of like the wicked ravisher from a melodrama.

Once we got to the bedroom, he put me gently on the edge of the bed while he went to turn off the lights and set back the thermostat.  In the short time we'd been together, he'd learned the bedtime shut-down routine perfectly.

By the time he got back, I'd undressed, brushed my teeth, turned back the covers, and got into bed.  

"Oh my god, Whitney, you're gorgeous.  Just do me one favor while I get ready to join you, okay?"

"What's that?"

"Take down your hair for me."

I untied the piece of leather holding my hair in place.  

When he got back from the bathroom, Stuart slid in next to me and, instead of kissing me, went straight for my nips, which he sucked until I was moaning and thrashing about in the bed.

"Ya like that, do you, stud?"

"God, yes!"

He gave me an evil laugh.  

"Want me to fuck you, little man?"

"Yes, please!"

"Well, I could do that, but I don't want to."

My stomach knotted up.  What was wrong?  What had I done?

He must have seen the confusion in my face because he laughed.

"Relax, stud.  You may be a little guy, but you're a stud in my book.  Tonight will you be the top?  I want you inside me, Whitney."

Feeling pretty much cock of the walk, I said, "Whatever you want, baby."

To be continued.