Date: Wed, 19 Aug 2009 17:03:03 -0700 (PDT) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: FoR SaLE By OwNEr 87 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, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends 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. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection. FoR SaLE By OwNEr 87 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % Every day of the week Alex got the same old sob story from Kyle, yet Alex's lover left his statement flavored with the positive as well as the negative, "With or without me you're going to the Cayman Karlyle party Alex!" But everyday Alex stood his ground to contend with his lover's feelings, "With you - okay. Without you - not!" "I don't get it Alex. Two days ago you were accepting of the fact, this being a good opportunity to get ahead. Then the next day you come in here and give me grief. Yesterday you we were all set with this and now... what keeps making you change your mind?" Alex thought on it, thinking the secret thing he was keeping from Kyle which made him feel guilty. Two days before the biggest weekend of his life, other than the weekend he met Kyle, was a good time to fess up. "I've been seeing Peter Monteith." Then he left moments of silence for Kyle to debate. Things sort of fell into place. Kyle mulled it over for all of a few seconds before saying, "So you've let a ten-year old shrink help sway your opinion?" "Just seeing Peter so cheerful... don't get me wrong... I'm totally okay with it, but without the `knowing' if he's ever going to get out of there... before... well cancer is a strange thing... you never know, you know?" Throughout their whole ordeal over Kyle's beating, then recovery, he's discovered Alex not the stalwart pillar, the `Rock-Of-Gibraltor' his character has dictated. Sure, he became involved with Alex because he's sweet and sensitive, not to mention fantastic in bed, but through the week in the hospital, there's been much closeness without having their bods lying side by side. He wanted to present the fact at least, "Alex, I don't have any life-threatening illness. I'm not going to go away anytime quick?" "I know. And I know this too, that I can't and won't be able to spend every living, breathing minute with you Kyle, but while you're... `grounded' I want to be around you, unless something `urgent'," Alex stressed, "comes along which prohibits me from doing so." He didn't want to get Alex's feelings riding high and then have them crumble, but Kyle needed something to give Alex a boost and put all this to rest, so reports, "Dr. Azayzeh is going to be at the Karlyle party." "Good for him," Alex replies sarcastically. "Don't you get it you dummy?" "Get what?" Since the incident, Kyle has seen the shopping bags accumulate under his lover's eyes, shadows forming like he was all prepped to perform with the KISS rock band on stage. Rather carrying on this cat and mouse game, he puts on a brilliant smile and informs, "Well, if there's somebody with a `vast' medical background, say for instance a `doctor', well then I would be perfectly safe being at the Cayman Karlyle party!" "What?" Alex looked at Kyle, at eye level, with a strange stare. "Sure. Would be cool sitting pool-side and watching all the boys go by. Maybe one or two of them would take pity on me and..." "They better not!" Alex replies dramatically. Kyle silenced his opinions, lying there with a smile on his lips. Tired, Alex wasn't getting it. "Wait. What you saying?" "What I found out, which must've slipped my mind, the reason for not mentioning it, is Dr. Azayzeh and Cayman Karlyle became friends two years ago when a large sum of necessary money was donated to the hospital when the city was going through a credit crunch." "Thanks for filling me in with the fiscal status of New York, but what has this got to do with you?" Kyle, even though he tried to remain patient, was getting disturbed by Alex's total abandon towards the irrational behavior he exibited. "Come here!" "Where?" "Here," Kyle motioned his index finger. "I want to tell you something." Too tired from the irregular hours he was putting in for the past week, Alex gave in readily, bending over the short fence which kept Kyle corraled in the bed. "What?" Using stored up energy Kyle reaches up and grabs Alex's shirt, balling it up in his hand. His bod is pulled up from the bed and inch or two. While pulling Alex towards him, he gives him the biggest smooch. Using the shirt as leverage, like a pulley system, Kyle kisses Alex, stops, then kisses him again. Delayed reaction, Alex says, "Hey, didn't that hurt?" He placed both hands at Kyle's sides, a slight hug to the biceps. "Yeah, but some things are more important than pain?" Kyle debated. Some of what Kyle was telling him seeped in and Alex was reacting, but the fact of Kyle being able to upright himself at all without screaming his lungs out, gave Alex indication a week in the hospital had done it's rehabilitative magic. "You have improved a lot, you know? "I know. So does Dr. Azayzeh and," Kyle reverted to the main focus of their ensuing conversation, "it should tell you something Alex!" A small crinkle lined Alex's lips. Kyle spotted what he thought `Alex in recovery'. As he and Dr. Azayzeh had already planned, Kyle began rolling out `the plan', "Friday morning a private ambulance is going to show up at the hospital. An EMT and nurse will be with me the whole time, from when we leave the hospital, throughout the whole time we are at the Karlyle estate. Of course Dr. Azayzeh will be there the whole time. If need be, the South Hampton hospital is only twelve miles away. So-o-o... what do you think?" He knew it was a good, solid plan, but skeptical of Kyle being moved. "What about the thing in your dick?" was all he could think for complaining. Ripping the sheet off from his privates he puts on smile after saying, "Voila!" "It's gone! You can pee?" The laughter. It's what got Alex into a more accepting frame of mind, coupled with the fact Kyle only hurt a little bit when he forced his bod upright for a sweet kiss. On the side, Kyle tells him, "Worst fuckin' pain... worse than them working on my fractured rib... when they pulled the damn catheter out!" Seeing and sensing Kyle being humorous did all the world of good for Alex It was a mischevious approach, Alex's hand gently massaging Kyle's deflated shaft. "How does it feel?" "Mmmm.... real nice... but my lips are kind of `dry'!" Alex saw right through his lover's comment, his lips not being `thirsty dry'! "Patience," Alex says, still rubbing. However things took a turn for the worse, Kyle suffering the most when a sound at the door caused Alex's hand to retreat like lightning and Kyle flinging the sheet back over his crotch. "Oh shit!" he called out, seeing the sheet tented. Picking up a book Kyle was reading on and off, a book Alex himself found in the lobby, Josh Kilmer Purcell's "I Am Not Myself These Days", he casually tosses it onto Kyle's lap. "Owwwch!" Kyle said, but wasn't really feeling any pain. He readjusted the book, amending his complaint, "Good move Alex!" All was in perfect order for the hospital crew to enter and tidy up Kyle and other things about the room. "Would you excuse us please?" "Sure. No problem," Alex replied to the spokesperson for the crew, returning the cute smile outlined by a dark-haired goatee.. And as if meeting people socially, he tells, "I'm Alex and this is Kyle." At least Kyle was very happy to see Alex's spirits lifted. He was also glad he didn't need the book anymore. An important development, because his bed sheets were being changed! % "How do I look in this? Pretty cool, huh?" "You look cool alright," Scotty saying it to his boyfriend, same time edging his bod up to Michael, plastering it against the Aussiebum briefs. Whereas Michael went for the `cool' look, Scotty more reserved his tastes for casual, wearing a conservative pair of briefs, the pair that's been passed around the close circle of friends for the past several months. After their passionate kiss, Michael going for the erotic tonguing, Scotty the relaxed pressing of lips, Michael says, "Y'know you would prolly look cool too in a pair of `my' briefs?" "Especially right now?" Scotty replies, smiling as he feels up the extra front pocket of Michael's briefs. Returning, Michael says, with hand and worded, "Good thing Alex's briefs are made for kingsize!" Falling victim to a sexy mood, Scotty takes Michael's hand in his, prompting Michael, putting his eighteen year old lover's fingers near the edge of his briefs, where elastic meets his treasure trail. "I love this part," Michael says. At first he stares Scotty down. With eyes still making contact, Michael's quads cave in. On his knees he's still looking up. He keeps his vision straight upwards as his hands get busy with the elastic waistband. Already feeling the pangs of what's to come, Scotty makes note, "Um, whenever?" It causes Michael to smile, knowing he's being a big tease! "How about now?" He says, his head hinged downwards at the same time he's pulling Scotty's briefs down below his knees. "Oooooooh you didn't fail me!" Scotty uttered as his head dropped back. He giggled, at the response, something Scotty has lately been saing, but when asked, doesn't know where he got it from. Michael swears it was from a movie they were watching, where the dad tells the son upon leaving to seek out some help, "Son, don't fail me!" At the time, they were in the `movie room' of the new `upright condo' they were living, doubling up with Dante and Chad on the leather sofa. First Michael got sexually-crazed, then it began rubbing off on Dante. Scotty and Chad, the more conservatives of the other halves, wound up tearing Dante and Michael apart before they became too crazily involved! Turning to all seriousness, Michael thinks on his primary purpose for being on his knees. Half enjoying the excitement of finding his lover's cock, solid as a monolith, Michael purses his lips and bobs down, then up, painting Soctty's shaft with his saliva. "Ooooh I'm not gonna last long!" Another phrase, one Michael like the most, Michael jumps up on his feet, makes the bed rock on the floor as he jumps on it, on all fours, then peels the Aussiebums from his ass. "All ready and willing!" From their shopping spree clothes, Scotty picks up a belt and thrashes it across Michael's ass. "Oh fuck that hurt!" Michael says, falling over to a sitting position, both hands under his ass. "I know something that's gonna hurt more!" Scotty says, keeping his wet cock hard with some hardy right-hand-stroking! Like nothing happened, except seeing Scotty standing there, his prime cut in his hand, firming all nine inches up, he cheerfully replies to sight and the sound of his lover's comment, "Okay... So I'm a masochist!" % For better or worse, Vince Maselli had outweighed the odds of finding a normal relationship. One night they had it out, not in a heated discussion, but rather a calm, articulate debate, Jorgen pursuing his fetish, while testing the waters of their new relationship. One of Vince's qualms was having a loving time in bed, experience some hot foreplay, then some heavy cock action. Where Jorgen was concerned, he wanted the same, but at times he would get into an obscure mood, craving something more dramatic. If Vince hadn't discovered this kinky kind of sexual stuff while in captivity..... "It might have scared you away." "I know," Vince acknowledged, as they lay there in each other's arms. "I don't suppose you're in the mood for...." Jorgen tested the waters, seeing if Vince was up for some early morning fun. Knowing Jorgen held out last night, forgoing the kinky play for some down to earth hot sex Vince's reply comes him bowling Jorgen over, his arms makeing Jorgen his prisoner, his hands grabbing up his blond lover's wrists behind his back, clutching them together in the bindings of his tight fists. "You're my prisoner now," and he spelled out Jorgen's position for dramatic effect, "Special Agent Ordman..." and with evil intent, as best as Vince could act it out, "get comfortable `cause I'm gonna get ready to drill the hell outta that ass of yours!" Ordman, Jorgen, was feeling such excitement in the way Vince forced himself upon him. Sure, a lot of improvement was needed whereas Vince's acting skills were concerned and in time he was sure this would work out - practice makes perfect - he replies, "Do what you want with me... you'll never get anything out of me!" `Oh how wrong you are!' Vince thought to himself, his wide grin on his face reflecting how, when both became totally sexually charged up, regarding how Vince was going to get `plenty' out of Jorgen! % It happened the other night when the gang headed out to Lincoln Center. It was one of the big breaks of Carlos' career, the nineteen year old accepting a shoo-in for Giulio Leonetti, principal trumpeter with the New York City Opera, having been rushed to the hospital prior to curtain time. "Break a leg!" Carlos heard about him, as he exited the limo, standing right in front of Lincoln Center. To conserve the A-C, windows zip up shortly thereafter. "I hope he does good?" Drew asks, with a mixture of confidence and question. Always the one to jump in on the spot, Michael exclaims, "Are you kidding, Drewie?" Also with firsthand knowledge of Carlos' proficiency as a trumpeter, "Carlos is like, the best trumpet-man in New York City!" "If not the world!" Ellis yells from the front seat, supporting Scotty's reinforcement. "Trust me. We were there," Vince says of the recital at Manhattan School of Music a few weeks ago, "Carlos blows... like he's the best!" Of course Vince got it, rib-ticklers galore, questioning Carlos' position in bed, their laughter and humorous banter sidetracked to Drew. New among the bunch, Drew didn't know what to say, so they passed the heckling back on Vince. When all subsided, Ellis informed them, "Get out!" when a police car pulled up behind them. While Ellis confered with the cop, "I know officer. I was only letting my friends out..." As the cop looked over the top of the limo, he bends his head down and asks, "A lot of `nice' friends you have there?" Reading the lingo, Ellis replies, "They're all taken except me!" "Is that so?" The cop replies. Incognito he was writing Ellis a `summons' for standing in a no-standing zone. "Call me tonight after nine!" The cop disappeared, but on the `summons' was written, `Gregg Lemmon', his phone number and `you interest me', written in three lines. Weeks later, Ellis was glad he turned down the guys' invitation for the after performance dinner at Trattoria Sambuco and instead opted out to call Gregg. For now their time was sparse, meeting wherever they could purposely converge, Gregg leaving his patrol car parked while they either talked in the front seat or stripped themselves of their uniforms in the smoky-glassed back seat of the limo.. It was an enlightening for both, each discovering how much pleasure they could get out of sucking each other, but giving up their asses to a nice hot fuck. "Me first!" Ellis called out. Giving in without a fight of words, something which sometimes occured, Gregg replies, "Yeah and do me hard!" Good thing the limo had good shocks, because hard is what Ellis was and so tight was Gregg's ass, it took a lot of drilling to hit pay dirt! "You're turn!" Ellis said after the ten minute `ordeal'. Switching off, Ellis now butted his chest up against the back seat, Gregg in the driver's seat, holding his loaded pistol up to Ellis' ass. "Make it hurt!" "Oh don't you worry.... I'm gonna!" Gregg assured Ellis. But it didn't happen anything like the play on words the two had for each other. Sure, Gregg had a tough time forcing himself into Ellis' tight hole, but once in getting there seemed secondhand. "Oh man are you tight today!" Ellis smiled to himself. 'Same old, same old!' Yet, as he felt Gregg's snuggily shaft scraping against his enclosure, words couldn't speak louder than action! % "We have a bit of a problem Stephen?" Sitting at the very long diningroom table, a room which he shared with no one at the moment, Stephen Braddock lowered his New York Times and replied, "What is it Alfredo?" he quizzed his butler. "Could be bad news or good news, depending on how you look at it?" Being Alfredo has been in Stephen Braddock's employ for decades, it wasn't rude of him to respond, "Cut the bullshit Alfredo?" Putting on a smile, means by which he often found Stephen's nice way of putting things, he followed up immediately, "Norman." "What about Norman?" He threw down his paper, instantly reply, "Oh shit!" Stephen held up his New York Times, the stock martket section with a big, eggy splotch soiling it. "You bumbling idiot!" Alfredo comically said, whipping the paper out of Stephen's hands. "I'll have another one brought up. In the meantime, I suggest you not leave Dustin waiting?" "Dustin? What about Norman?" "Norman was rushed to the hospital with pains in his chest. Instead, his son is here to try to assemble your luggage for the Karlyle party." "But what about..." Before Stephen could get his dibs in, knowing how efficient Norman could be, knowing Norman has always known to pack for him, whether it was a business trip, a vacation or a convention, how many clothes to pack for leisure, as oppose for business, well now he sat there panicking.... "Sir, Dustin Bailey, Norman's son?" Manner in which Alfredo said it, drew Stephen Braddock's attention to the opening between the hallway and diningroom of his Westchester estate. Next reaction, after the initial checking out, Stephen got to his feet and slowly made his way around the table. Dropping all subject matter and worry from his brain, he stuck out his hand as he approached, saying, "So you are Norman Wright's son?" "Step-son," Dustin replies. "My step-father apologizes for the inconvenience and hopes I can manage in his place." "Apology not necessary," Stephen was in instant forgiveness. Smiling, Dustin asks, "Uh, would you mind...." "Oh surely," Stephen replied, relaxing his grip on Dustin's hand. And before anything else transpired, he asks, "Have you had your breakfast?" Dustin had, but after the hardy handshake, suddenly sensed a hunger. "I could use `something'." "Alfredo, prepare another place setting for Mr. Bailey." "Oh, you can call me Dustin, Mr. Braddock." Of course, tit for tat, Braddock became known as `Stephen' to Dustin. "Your father...." "Step-father," Dustin was quick to point out. Sensing something right off, Stephen makes an assumption, "You and your step-father don't get along very well, do you?" "Thank you," Dustin was polite, giving his gratefulness to Alfredo for placing a mat, plate, forks, spoon and knife in front of him. "You're quite welcome. Juice? Coffee?" "Both, please." Before Stephen could get a word in edgewise, he waited for Alfredo to service Dustin, adding eggs and bacon to his plate, a separate, smaller plate with a roll and serving him up liquid refreshments. The whole time his attention was geared on Dustin. He wondered first the age, thinking maybe twenty-seven... or -eight, -nine, but not over thirty. Then it didn't matter . Whatever the age, he thought how handsome Dustin, the sharp cheekbones, his dark-rimmed glasses sitting atop them, the bristly goatee, slightly lighter brown than his hair. His gazing upon met with adjusting his train of thought when Dustin turns to him and bluntly puts it, "My father was opposed to me coming here today, but I'm out of work, layed off from my job and I'd appreciate it if you could give me a try." Having a good feeling about Dustin, Stephen wanted to hire him on the spot. But as he knew in his business transactions, hiring was easier than firing. Out of habit too, he always investigated people before adding them to his employ. "Exactly what was your business before your untimely layoff?" Stephen wasn't interested in eating and he sensed the same in Dustin as he took off, starting from his teen years, telling him he had a desire to study art, but his interest was quickly shot down by his real father, instead to become heir to the family business, which was sneakers. "Boy were we all surprised when he kicked the bucket!" Like the current father, Norman, Stephen had a feeling there was no love lost between Dustin and his bio-father. "He left us with so much debt, we were lucky to get out of this with our clothes on our backs. Poor mother," Dustin said, showing more remorse for her, than him, then taking a piece of bacon and devouring it, chased down with a swig of OJ. "And I suppose this is where your step-father's business `stepped in'?" "Sure. He was in the position to pay off the debt and then some. Um, I'm not trying to be malicious here Mr. Braddock..." "Stephen." "Stephen, but I'm just wondering why my step-father came here to work for you when he's the head of a successful business, with millions in the bank?" "Honor and perhaps he felt obligated." Stephen went on to tell his story, bending it towards the path which led down the dirt road to the Norman Wright empire, which eventually became paved with gold. "So, if it wasn't for you my step-father wouldn't have been successful?" "Maybe not as quickly. Your step-father is quite a good businessman. Let's just say he's catered all these years to my needs as something being `personal'." With the personal stuff out of the way, Dustin asks, "Other than being responsible for packing your clothes, would you mind informing me of my other duties?" Stephen wanted to tack on some other `duties' Norman was not responsible for, but thought of them as beyond the call of duty, especially when he had mixed readings about Dustin. Before he concerned himself with Dustin, saying, "I suppose I will have to clue you in on what I'll need for my trip, so..." and then he summoned Alfredo, who reported rapidly to table-side from the other room, "Alfredo, there's a telephone number in my datebook, on a scrap of paper, a Morgan Johnson. Would you give him a call and reschedule him for an interview here, instead of my office downtown?" "I'll get on it right away Mr. Braddock," as opposed to `Stephen', being it's how Alfredo referred to his employer when among others. "I never thought," Dustin interjects, "do I need an interview?" The looks were enough to suffice, where Stephen was concerned and he sensed good feelings towards Dustin filling his step-father's shoes, even though the approximate age difference. "I just need a few particulars. Nothing on paper." "Sure. What would you like to know?" "The usual. Age-height-weight...." he wanted to go further with the stats, below the belt for instance. "I thought I mentioned I was twenty-five?" Stephen hadn't recalled and had it in mind older, returning, "I thought maybe a couple of years older." "I'm too young for the position?" "Oh no. Don't get me wrong Dustin. You're perfect!" "What else do you need to know?" "I think that about covers it." "There's one thing I would like to say?" He was looking sheepishly at Stephen and it made him wonder, "My background?" "No, I already know. I mean, when my step-father took ill and they were looking for a replacement, I already kind of knew about you, Stephen." "From your step-father?" "No," Dustin put it cooly, "from the internet. I did a search on you and... well, I'm not against anybody or what someone believes, but I know you are gay and...." "Does it say it on the net?" Stephen was a bit surprised, but not because once the internet became available, a lot of privacy was already gone in people's lives. "No, not exactly. I wasn't sure, but read where Braddock's has its own float in the New York City Gay Pride parade and is a heavy endowment for the arts and AIDs research. I know everybody isn't this way, but...." Helping to save Dustin from racking his brain for words of explanation, Stephen cuts to the chase, "Yes, I'm gay." And then straight out, "Are you?" Dustin smiles. "I didn't think it showed. Guys are surprised normally because I carry myself as a straight guy." "I hope you don't mind me saying, but even though I didn't have a clue, I was in `hope'!" Alfredo butts in, "Mr. Johnston informs me he can be here by ten o'clock." "Ten?" Stephen looks at his wrist. He hadn't put his watch on yet. "What time is it now?" Quick on the draw, Dustin replies, "It's a few minutes past eight." "We better get moving!" Right away, derived from good habits of fending for himself, Dustin picks up his plate and empty cup. "Leave it Dustin. That's what Alfredo is `for'!" Alfredo responds, "Being there is a guest present, I shall keep myself from over-reacting and remain calm, silencing my replies!" He and Stephen exchange glances, Dustin replying, "Don't hold back on my account!" With a nasty outlook, a joking one, but for the sake of his response, Alfredo says to Stephen, "Fuck you bitch!" % Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author. The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP......