DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction based on a popular daytime drama. With the exception of the central character in this work, the original characters of the actual program are the property of CPT Holdings. As such, the images portrayed suggest nothing about the sexual orientation of the actors portraying the characters. If this suits your fancy and you are of legal age, sit back and turn on the television of your imagination. The author retains copyright of this material. The material cannot be posted or distributed without the author's permission.
NOT SO YOUNG AND RESTLESS--DREAM SEQUENCE 1/17/86
© 2001 by W. Foster
Looking out at the afternoon sun from my terrace, my mind is a mixture of relief and curiosity over that last phone call. My friend Tyrone is coming over to "shoot the breeze." I'm relieved because he's sounding like his old self again. However, I'm curious---he's acting as if nothing ever happened between him and Amy.
Genoa City. What a place for a writer--and a Black writer at that-- to "get away from it all" for a while. A series of bestsellers have made me financially solvent and put the name of Douglass Warner Moore on the reading map, but I'd been driving myself too hard. When Tyrone suggested that I come here I thought he was joking. Me, a city dude, come to a place I'd only envisioned in my head as dairies and cheese? Points and counterpoints were exchanged, and finally I agreed to give it a try.
Summer has always been my favorite time of the year. I look down at the pool and toy with the idea of a swim before Tyrone arrives. As I continue gazing at the reflections in the water, I muse on how good life has been to me in many respects. My career is flourishing, yet to reach its peak. Sound financial investments with my royalties have left me very well off, allowing me to make donations to various projects, charities and programs anonymously here and in my home town. With the single luxury of a swimming pool, my rented house near the outskirts of town is simple but comfortable for my stay here. Physically my thirty-three years have been more than kind. My parents gave me the gift of a 6'4", wiry, athletic body that has remained so since high school. Sporting shoulder-length, dark brown, curly hair, a mustache and my usual casual clothing, people have often assumed me for a college student or a member of a jazz band. Time spent outdoors has turned my complexion to a light cinnamon, and although I don't consider myself in the ranks of models and actors, my looks are just presentable and intriguing enough to be considered handsome by some, hot by others.
I must admit Genoa City has its share of characters. In the year that I've been here I've been tempted many times to write a book about this place, but I keep myself in check.
After all, wasn't the purpose of this time here to get away from all that, plus the rounds of promotions, personal appearances, talk shows, etc.? Still, there were those people, like Tyrone, who enjoyed my work and wanted to get to know me and my writing style. Genoa City State University expressed great interest, so I agreed to give some informal lectures, which were warmly received.
Come to think of it, that's the way I met Tyrone a few years ago. Living it up in Chicago, enjoying the fruits of my second bestseller "Black is the Color of...", I remember him from one of those impromptu discussions about the book. He wasn't totally awestricken, nor was he overly critical, but the disarming way he expressed his zillion questions was such that we became friends. He was just out of college then, so sometimes I was a mentor, other times a sounding board, and still other times we'd rattle each other's mental cages, giving one another ideas and insights for our respective careers in the literary and legal fields. Phone calls, short notes and periodic visits kept us in touch through the years, and our friendship grew and endured--longer, in fact, than any of my intimate relationships.
Tyrone was quite a happy man when he got involved with Amy. If we weren't talking about an unclassified case, something about my latest book or "shooting the breeze," Amy would come up in the conversation. He had such plans for them--nothing but the best in terms of home, travel and the good life, plus a promising career to accomplish it with and Amy by his side. Shortly after I arrived in Genoa City I gave a pool party for the crew down at the local detective agency---Paul, Lauren, Andy, Faren, Tyrone, his brother Jazz and Amy. I could see why he'd go for her. Her large, lustrous brown eyes, cocoa brown skin, wavy black hair, curvaceous figure, sensitivity and keen mind were complementary and desirable attributes. I had no way of knowing then how all that would change.
The undercover work Tyrone did to trap that underworld kingpin put a decided strain on his relationship with Amy, and increasing competition from Nathan only aggravated the situation. Many times all I could do was sit and listen as he talked about his troubles with Nathan and the position Amy was put in. Part of his dream was realized when he received a very lucrative job offer in Hawaii because of his undercover investigation, an offer most people only dream of. It didn't take me two seconds to know he'd accepted it, and after many warm and sincere wishes from me he was off to share the good news with Amy. She, however, had to think things over, so he gave her what time he had before his departure. At the eleventh hour Amy decided not to go, choosing instead to stay with Nathan.
I can't forget the look on his face the day Jazz and I saw him off at the airport. I tried to comfort him, but I'd never seen him so dejected. The promise of "the good life" awaited him, but without Amy. As we watched the plane take off I stood there, knowing the pain of what he was going through and hoping he'd get over it with time.
Now he's back in Genoa City for a visit, and for some reason I'm No. 1 on his list. The tone of his postcards and occasional calls had been either low or businesslike since his departure, so hearing from the old Tyrone over the phone was encouraging. My reverie is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I answer it, and standing before me is Tyrone.
I always felt he had a striking presence, and today is no exception. Three or four inches shorter than I, his muscular body is clad only in a pair of shorts and Adidas. He's spent his share of time at the beaches of Waikiki, for his complexion is now a shade darker than mine. I note the short, beautifully nappy hair, the heavy eyebrows, his slightly broad nose and square jaw, topped off by dazzling brown eyes. Yes, he's still striking, almost captivating--sort of a body by Fisher, mind by IBM. The old, familiar grin is back, and I greet him heartily.
Sitting out on the terrace, Tyrone and I talk with the camaraderie we've always had. This time I'm the one full of questions, about Hawaii, his life there, the new position, all the happenings. Tyrone is beaming as he tells me about the law firm and the promise of a full partnership in it, and soon he's showing me pictures of his beach home, the ocean and other exciting and picturesque sights around the islands. He's even tried his hand at surfing and water-skiing, slyly suggesting that I improve my swimming that I improve my swimming ability and give it a shot. I'm pleased, impressed and happy for him; it's almost a dream fulfilled.
As I listen to his experiences in Hawaii, I notice two things that are missing. Though he's had ample opportunity to travel, this is the first trip he's taken since his move out there. For Tyrone, travel was big on his list, yet he's done none. Secondly, he's made no mention of Amy--it's as though it never happened--nor of anyone else in his life at this time. I ask him about it, to which he quietly said, "Amy's part of the past. I accepted that a long time ago and I decided it was time to get on with my life. Work helped to make it easier; so did the change in scenery."
"Then why did you come here for your first trip since then? It isn't like you don't have your pick of exotic places to go. But Genoa City? I don't get it."
"I just have some ties and unfinished business to deal with while I'm here," Tyrone said in a mysterious way. "What about you, Doug? What's going on with your life? You don't seem to be making any moves to leave this place."
"My time in Genoa City has been good for my head careerwise; I needed the break. I have made some friends here, and that's cool too. However, except for an occasional fling in Chicago, there hasn't been a man in my life for a long time," I grudgingly admit.
Tyrone's eyes express a keen interest in this revelation, and I sense new vibes in the air. "Really? Why is that?"
"I haven't come across the right guy." Meanwhile my writer's curiosity is up. Jazz hasn't been in town in a while. Amy is a closed chapter. I couldn't let things drop. "But back to you, Tyrone. What 'ties and unfinished business' brought you back here?"
Knowing how my brain works when confronted with a mystery, he merely laughed conspiratorially. When he said, "Race you ten laps," I knew I wasn't going to get any further information out of him---at least not now.
We laugh as we run to the pool, shedding our shorts and diving in it in this burst of friendly competition. In prior contests the result would always be a tie. This time Tyrone's days at Waikiki give him an edge, and he finishes his ten laps a half length ahead of me. Not to be outdone, I swim to the bottom of the pool, then grab his legs and pull him under. An underwater tussle starts, both of us pulling each other down until we have to come up for air. Following this is a water fight which leaves us slightly red-eyed from the chlorine, good-natured and holding onto the side of the pool while we regain our breath.
The sun feels good as we rest in the water, and it's wonderful to see Tyrone again. I check that grin of his, the gleam in his eyes, the water beading and glistening on his skin, and I feel warmth, a heat that couldn't be generated solely from the sun. My dick is lengthening, thickening, brushing his leg as it hardens. Funny--I've never thought of Tyrone in this light before, even though he's known about my history with men all along. However, I like it. Apparently this action has not gone unnoticed by him. The expression on his face is not one of surprise, nor offense, but of seduction.
My mind is buzzing. Ties...unfinished business... Jazz gone... ties... Amy out of the picture...ties...friendship...ties...our camaraderie...ties...sharing...unfinished business...unexpressed interest...ties...ties...ties...could it be ME? My pleasure pole throbs insistently. On instinct I take him into my arms, feeling his hard-on pressing into my groin. We kiss gently, our lips barely touching--again, again, again, yet again, each time more torrid than the last, until we break away and sink to the bottom of the pool in a long, passionate kiss.
We get out of the pool and lie on the grass in each other's arms. "This is what you meant, isn't it?" I ask him.
He gives me a seductive smile as he replies, "We can talk about that later. Right now, Doug, shut up and kiss me again." Gladly I oblige him, and my mind is lost in a world of senses, from the moans of soul-kissing to the smooth texture of his skin and our pounding erections, blending into a mass of liquid fire. A plane flying overhead snaps us back to reality, so we head for the house.
We spread out on the living room carpet in a sixty-nine position and give each other tongue baths, slowly and gradually turning up the internal flames of desire for one another. I smile to myself as I discover a new erogenous zone on Tyrone's body, knowing that before long he'll discover one on mine and drive me wild. Eventually we work our way to each other's hot brown prongs, sucking and licking, nibbling and fondling, teasing to the torturous brink of orgasm and then pulling away at the last instant. Getting his ten inches down my throat was an experience. Though I'm a good two inches longer---to his surprise and delight---he is decidedly thicker, and my personal technique made it pure bliss.
I pull off and hurry to the bathroom for a tube of K-Y. Upon my return I find Tyrone lying on his back, stroking his hard meat. He sees me and starts running his fingers over his balls and asshole, licking his lips while drinking in the sight of my damp cinnamon body, my dick throbbing like a springboard. As I apply the lubricant to his ass, and more to my dick, I kiss him tenderly. He can't seem to get enough of my kisses. They make him eager for what's coming, and as I kiss I want him all the more.
I raise his legs. With all the tender loving care I have, I work the head of my dick into his butt. Tyrone must have more muscle control than I thought, for his lips silently form the word, "More." Inch by erotic inch, I bury my tool inside of him, hearing him groan passionately as I bottom out in his ass. It's a snug fit, yet as I fuck him with slow and easy strokes I can feel his muscles relax to take in more, to accommodate deeper penetrations. Gasps of pleasure flow from his mouth, and he's answering my call of "Give it to me, Tyrone" with "Yes, baby. Fuck me, baby." I see his thick brown pole beating his stomach like a tom-tom, and a stream of pre-cum fluid mingling with the sweat on his muscular torso. I lean over to kiss him again, deeply, heatedly. He responds by wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my shoulders, pulling me deeper into his mouth and his love canal.
Never have I felt such unbridled passion, such a wild surge of feeling from anyone before, nor have I ever wanted anyone as much. He must have done his graduate work at Mauna Kea; "Body Heat" had nothing on our version of "love in the afternoon." Fucking like panthers in heat, I moan, call, shout, grasp, squeeze, everything short of yowling and scratching. I pick up speed and ride Tyrone harder, saying, "Take my dick, Tyrone. Take it. It feels so-o-o-o-o-o good being inside your ass. But that's what you want, isn't it? You want more? More?"
"Yes, yes, Douglass," pleads Tyrone. "I want more. Fuck me more, baby. I want all of you."
I feel dampness in the carpet--goodness knows how long we've been there. Our bodies are wet and slippery. The fluid but frantic copulation, the indescribable give-and-take of our mutual desire is driving us over the edge. Tyrone's body tenses like a tightly wound spring, and shortly he lets out a scream as spurts of sex juice cover us. I wonder if he can stop--it's as if he hasn't cum in a year! I don't think about it long, for my own body goes rigid, and I flood his channel with my load while yelling out his name.
Tyrone and I collapse into a satiated heap on the carpet, our senses still sizzling with our tantalizing discoveries. Tyrone looks over at me, his eyes foggy with bliss and pure satisfaction. Gently he wipes the hair out of my eyes, and I beam with a silly grin as I run a hand down his back and over his booty. I'd nearly forgotten how powerful expressions of physical love can be, yet as we lay there in rest and recovery--for the moment--we know that our odyssey of ecstasy is just beginning. In amorous mischief Tyrone is slowly working his ass around my tumescent monument, stimulating it to scratch his internal itch again. Inspired by his sexual purring, I wholeheartedly proceed to grant his wishes....
With the energy I have left, I manage to conduct one of my lectures for summer school, followed by time to autograph some of my books. Tyrone has gone back to his hotel room to wrap up "a few loose ends" and take his things over to my place. As I stroll around the campus on my errands, the memories of the previous day and night return with a vengeance. My dick threatens to swell into a full-blown hardon just thinking about them. We must have made love everywhere in the house, including a balancing act on the butcher block table in the kitchen. Waking up and seeing his delightfully nappy head and sparkling eyes, feeling the heat of his body next to mine in bed this morning, sent a warm glow through me. He was lying there next to me as if he'd always been there--perhaps, in a sense, he had. Had I been so blind to what was right there under my nose? It wouldn't be the first time, but in spite of that we found each other. The knowledge that I'm his tie to Genoa City puts a major grin on my face, as I continue walking.
I hear a voice in the distance calling me. I turn around. Tyrone is running towards me. He takes a moment to catch his breath. I hear him ask me a question, yet the words don't register yet because of my astonishment.
"Would you repeat that, please?"
"I said, would you consider coming to Hawaii and living with me?"
I don't need to think twice. "YES!!"
Though he tries to casual and kidding about it, there's a tremor of excitement in his voice as he says, "Oh, in case you don't know it, Doug--I love you." Before I can finish saying, "I love you too, man" his arms are around me and he's kissing me, right there in the middle of the campus.
So much for a low profile, but now I'm too happy to care. Wrapping my arms around him I kiss him back. In this moment, the missing pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The caring and sharing of our friendship has taken on a new dimension, one I'd experienced long ago, but that Tyrone had to sort out for himself. His dream included someone to share it with. Though he left Genoa City and made a life for himself, the dream remained incomplete. That someone, it turned out, is me. My success as a writer was gratifying, yet it left me alone for a long time, alone with a certain void in my life. Tyrone has filled that void, and in turn I'm filled with an overflowing joy at the new prospects of our life and love together.
Our kiss breaks. We look at each other with our new sets of eyes, ones holding the warm embers of love. Tyrone's grin sparkles with a special endearment, and mine rivals the sunshine of this new summer morning. Arm in arm we walk across campus. We kid each other about silly things we did. We chuckle over the way we met. We make plans for my forthcoming move to Hawaii, knowing the demands our careers can make on our time, yet seeking ways to have the time we need together. By the time we reach Tyrone's car we're playfully taunting each other with promises of purple passion, and as we stand there we take time for another kiss.
We've been virtually oblivious to everything and everyone around us from the moment Tyrone declared his love, yet as we kiss this time somewhere in back of my mind I hear car brakes screeching and Amy's voice calling Tyrone. Is it my imagination? I hear her voice again. Evidently Tyrone heard it too, for we turn around and find Amy standing by her car, consternation and disbelief written all over face. We exchange bewildered looks. What's she doing here? I know Tyrone didn't tell her he was in town, and she has Nathan. What could she possibly want? My first question is answered when I remind myself we're still in Genoa City--any one of a number of people could have seen us and burnt up the telephone lines with "the news."
"Tyrone, I'd suggest you go and find out what she wants."
"But what about us?"
"We know what we have together. That's not going to change. Besides, it's better that she hears the facts from you instead of speculating about them." As Tyrone agrees and approaches her, I take a seat in his car to wait it out.
Though I can't hear much of anything due to the distance, I can see the exchange between him and Amy from my seat. The first several minutes are emotionally charged and heated, with Amy frequently pointing a finger in my direction and Tyrone trying to get words in. Tyrone says something that stops her in mid-sentence; from there the discussion continues at a calmer level. I'm anxious to know what's going on. Obviously I'm involved, but to what degree? And what did he say to her that changed things?
After about fifteen minutes they come back to Tyrone's car, Amy looking rather chastened. I get out to meet them. Tyrone stands beside me, giving me the high sign with his eyes.
"Douglass, I have something to tell you, if you can hear me out for a minute."
"Sure, Amy. What?"
"I....owe you an apology for the way I acted just now. I thought I was a cool sister and had it all together. Even though I knew you were a good person, I still had a blind spot when it came to two men being in love. Maybe I should put it another way---other men could be like that, but not Tyrone. Someone called and told me about you two, and I had to find out if it was true. I know that Nathan and I are together, but I was determined to stop Tyrone from making what I thought was a mistake if it was true. I saw you two kissing by the car, figured you were the villain that made him this way and---well, you know the rest. Anyway, Tyrone convinced me that you had nothing to do with his being......well, gay." She looked at him for a moment and then back at me. "He didn't make any excuses, any apologies for himself, none of that. He's genuinely happy with you, Douglass. Again, I'm sorry for overreacting the way I did."
"Apology accepted, Amy," I said graciously, understanding what it took for her to make this admission. "And I wish the best for you and Nathan."
Amy has gone back to the agency, and we're on our way back to my house. As we drive along I take Tyrone's hand and place it on my own. The itch of my writer's curiosity needs scratching.
"What did you say that stopped her so cold when she was chewing you out?" I ask.
He glances over at me and nonchalantly says, "Sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander."
"All right, come on, Tyrone. What are you talking about?" I begged.
"Remember the night she chose Nathan over me, and I told you what she said?"
"All I did was throw her own words back at her. After that, I kept talking about us and the history we've shared, what I realized about myself. Then there was the stuff she already knew about you. That finally got the message across to her that I knew exactly what I was doing, and who I planned to do it with. Satisfied?" he said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Can't beat that. When you do something, you do it," I replied, sitting back to enjoy the music on the radio.
The DJ announces a request to "someone special, now and always." Interested as I am in the different requests on this program, my ears tune in. Wait....it can't be....Lena Horne singing "Stormy Weather"? But that's MY favorite....I look over at Tyrone in utter surprise. He is driving, keeping his eyes on the road, acting cool, barely hiding his famous grin. If I had a pillow I would have hit this smooth operator. Instead, with a naughty smile, I reach across the seat, under his shirt and play with his nipples. His composure melts into pleasurable moaning and deep breathing, and his rod begins to swell and throb in his shorts.
"You sure know how to get next to me, Doug," he says huskily as I undo his shorts, massaging his turgid dick with one hand while I have two fingers of my other hand teasing his hungry hole.
We're pulling into my driveway by the time the song ends, and within minutes we're in the pool again, enveloped in each other's arms, luxuriating in tenderness and affection, savoring the smoldering appetite of mutual arousal. As the sun shines across the water, our life in Hawaii seems only a moment away.....
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