Absolute Convergence
Chapter Seventy-nine
By John Yager

This on-going series has now continued for almost two years, far longer than I ever imagined possible. I appreciate the incredible loyalty of readers who've stayed with me from the beginning and those newer readers who contact me from time to time saying that they've discovered the series and ventured through the collected chapters.

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Not more than a minute after Nita hung up, my phone rang again.

"Mr. Ballinger?" a strange male voice said when I answered.

"Yes," I responded, thinking he was probably going to try to sell me life insurance.

"My name is Sam Turner," he said. "I'm with RDF Security and we provide services for NSB. I'd like to bring a colleague of mine around and have a look at your apartment if it wouldn't be a problem. We also need to review plans for William Amsted's visit."

"What?" I said, not having any idea what he was talking about.

"We don't have much time, Mr. Ballinger," Turner said. "We can be there in twenty minutes, if that would be all right."

"Is this really necessary?" I said. I had a dozen things I wanted to get done before William's arrival.

"It is if Mr. Amsted is going to be staying with you. Otherwise, we can put him up at a hotel."

That got my attention and in less than half an hour Turner and another man were standing in my living room.

"Haven't I met you before?" I asked when they'd introduced themselves.

"Weren't you at that party at Mr. Cohen's a few weeks ago?"

"The swimming party?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Yes, I was there."

"That's where you saw us," Turner said as the other man began to look around. "We work most of the big parties given by NSB executives, especially the ones where there are a bunch of high-profile guests."

Then, without further comment, Turner and the other man proceeded to violate my privacy in ways I'd never had it violated before, opening drawers, looking into every closet, even taking books off the shelves to rifle through and then return to their original places. Nothing was left unturned.

Both men appeared to be in their mid-thirties and looked like they were in very good shape. I was taller than either of them but they both outweighed me and I figured if it came to a fight I'd be on the floor in about thirty seconds. They had close cut hair and I got the feeling they were both ex-military.

"We'll change the locks," Turner said as he and the other man, whose name I'd not gotten, completed their rounds. The apartment was small and it took them no more than half an hour to look it over as I just stood there looking dumb.

Then, while the other guy walked around with something which looked like a Geiger Counter, Turner pulled two small boxes out of his brief case and put them on the table.

"These are radio alarms," he said. "They're battery operated and don't need any external power source. We'll put one here in the living room and the other one on your bedside table. If you ever sense someone has followed you or that someone has been in the apartment while you were gone, or if you think someone is trying to break in while you are here, just hit that button.

"There will be one of our men in the compound at all times and one of our cars patrolling. If you need help you can count on it in less than a minute. You look like you're in good shape, so if you can hold off any of the bad guys for sixty seconds, we'll have someone here to take over.

"We'll get a crew here in a day or two to install a central station system but this will do till then.

"We assume you're planning on meeting Mr. Amsted at LAX in the morning. Is that correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"all right, fine. His flight is due in at nine forty-five. It'll probably take him an hour to get his luggage and clear customs, but let's not take any chances. We'll have a limo here for you at eight o'clock, just in case traffic's heavy."

"A limo?" I stammered. "I was going to drive my own car."

"Not advisable," he said, looking over his shoulder to see what the other guy was doing. "We'll be here at eight."

I didn't argue.

"Now," Turner said, "what about your own car?"

"What about it?"

"Where do you park it, what model is it, you know, the whole works."

"It's a new Firebird, a 1973 model," I said. "I rent a garage space behind this building, across the alley."

"Do you keep it locked?"

"Yes, there was a hasp on the garage door and I put my own padlock on it."

"What about the car? Do you lock it?"

"Not when it's in the locked garage. Look, I just got the car. I really don't have any routine so far as it's concerned."

"It's a 1973 model?"


"It's still 1972 and they're selling 1973 models," he chuckled, as if the idea amused him.

"Well, yeah, they do that."

"We'll need to take a look." I gave him the keys and they left, returning about half a hour later. "Quite a buggy, Mr. Ballinger," Turner said when he returned my key ring. I saw at once that my padlock key had been replaced by a larger, heavier one.

"You changed the lock," I said.

"And the hasp. Do you expect to be taking Mr. Amsted out in your car while he's here?"

"Sure," I said, beginning to get a little irritated. "I'd intended to pick him up at LAX, but I'll go along with you on that one."

He smiled, trying to soothe the situation. "Thanks, Mr. Ballinger. It makes a lot more sense, especially since it is a planned, predictable event. If you two go out for a drive or to dinner, or whatever, and nobody knows your schedule, it isn't nearly such a problem." He paused, looked me straight in the eyes, waited a minute, as if for emphasis, and added, "you understand whenever you go out, we'll have a car tailing you."

"I'd begun to suspect that," I said, trying to look back at him with equal intensity. "You two took a while looking over the garage and the car. "I'm guessing you put some sort of tailing device on it, right?"

"It's for your protection. I hope you understand that?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Good. We're not the enemy, Mr. Ballinger. We really do have your best interests at heart. It helps a lot if we can be assured of your cooperation."

"Yeah," I said again, feeling rather churlish. "I don't want anything to happen, but this is all so new to me."

"I understand," he grinned, giving me a slap on the shoulder. "It takes some getting used to, but if you care for Mr. Amsted, and I'm guessing you do, you'll need to get used to these precautions. It really isn't so bad and it can avoid real problems."

"I guess I can understand that."

"There are a lot of crazy people in the world, Mr. Ballinger," he added. We just try to minimize the risks."

"Well," I stammered, "I guess William's used to this kind of thing, but I'm not. How much privacy are we really going to have, anyway?"

"Complete privacy, Mr. Ballinger," Turner said, as if it were obvious. "That's what we're here for, your protection and privacy."

"So you guys won't be listening in on us or anything."

"Certainly not," he said, sounding shocked at the idea. "We provide services to some of the most prominent people in Hollywood, Mr. Ballinger. Discretion is our motto. Now, anything else?"

"I guess not,"

"I'd like to suggest you keep your blinds and curtains closed at all times while you're in the apartment. Other than that, just relax and let us handle everything."

Within another five minutes they'd packed up their equipment and gone. I sat for several minutes looking at the little box on my coffee table, wondering just what life with William would be like.

It was ten o'clock on Saturday morning and William and I were still lazing in bed. The last few days had gone by in a blur but despite all the unexpected social demands, we'd managed to have plenty of time alone together. Not surprisingly, most of our private time had been spent in bed.
Cohen had left us alone most of Tuesday but late that afternoon May, his secretary, called to say Dex had planned a small dinner for Wednesday evening to welcome William to Hollywood.

Wednesday evening we were again picked up by an NSB limo, not a regular staff van like the one Billy drove, but a big, black Lincoln with a liveried driver and a second man, whom I assumed was one of the RDF Security guys, although not one I'd seen before.

The party was at a country club and there were only half a dozen people in the group. As Cohen parties go, it was tolerable.

"I know you two want all the time to yourselves you can manage, but work with me on this," Dex said when we were saying good-bye at the end of the evening. "I need a little of your time but I'll try to keep it to a minimum and stay out of your way as much as possible."

"I understand, Dex," William said, then turned to me and said, "we can handle it, right, Robert?"

"Sure," I said, not knowing for sure what I was agreeing to.

"Great," Cohen said. "I'll make it up to you."

With that we went out to the waiting limo and headed back to Alvarado Court.

On Friday night Dex Cohen had taken us to the Brown Derby. William had been there before when he'd visited LA with his father, but it was a new experience for me, and not an entirely pleasant one.

We were again picked up by an NSB limo. "You know this evening is one of Cohen's public relations events," William reminded me as we drove north to Sunset and then headed west toward the coast.

"Yes," I groaned, wishing he and I could just spend the evening alone.

The limo stopped at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where we picked up two young women, aspiring starlets on the NSB payroll. They looked for all the world like live versions of Barbie Dolls and, so far as William and I were concerned, had about as much appeal.

As expected, when we pulled up at the Brown Derby, a pair of newspaper photographers were there to capture our arrival as the four of us emerged from the car, smiling and laughing for the benefit of the press, and made our way inside, where Cohen and a dozen others were waiting for us. I noticed that the group was equally divided between men, mostly Cohen's age, and women, all of whom were in their early twenties.

"Relax, boys," he said as he gave William and me hugs. "This evening is for the press but I'm going to make it up to you."

The evening was indeed for the press. Photographers hovered, recording each moment of the festivities, taking photos at a split second pace every time William or I spoke to the women sitting beside us, snapping shots which made the gathering look like a spontaneous event, a group of good friends out for a pleasant dinner together.

At midnight the party ended as abruptly as it had began.

Cohen took William and me aside and said, "I have another car for the girls, so you two can go home alone."

"Thanks, Dex," William smiled. "I think this evening was getting to Robert."

"Well, like I said, boys, I'll make it up to you."

"The best way to do that is to let us have some time alone," William said.

"I know. How would you like to spend a few days up at my place at Tahoe?"

"Now that sounds like heaven, Dex," William said, grinning from ear to ear and giving Cohen an appreciative hug.

"Good, a car will pick you up at noon tomorrow and take you to the Burbank airport. One of the studio planes will be waiting for you."

"When will we be back, Mr. Cohen?" I asked, thinking of my scheduled meetings with Basingstoke's team the following week.

"How about Wednesday?" Cohen said. "Don't worry, I'll clear it with Marty." And with that he turned away to say his good-byes to the rest of his party.

As we cuddled in bed on Saturday morning, reveling in the warmth of our bodies and the afterglow of a long night of sex, William rolled me over onto my back and then lowered his body onto mine.

"You know," he whispered as he kissed my eyes and nose, "there's something we said we'd take care of while I was in LA."

"I've been wondering when you'd ask."

"Well, I'm asking, if you're ready."

"Yes, very ready," I sighed. "I think everything you need is in the drawer," I added, gesturing to the bedside table.

Slowly, lovingly, William prepared me for his entry. He worked a generous amount of the clear lubricant into my willing hole, giving me time to relax and enjoy each little stage of the journey. When I was ready he knelt between my legs and lifted them onto his broad shoulders. Then, moving forward, his eyes locked on mine, he positioned the head of his cock against my waiting ass, and slowly slid in.

I felt so full of him, not just physically full, but that, too. I felt as if I were giving myself up to him, relinquishing my being to him, willing myself to merge with his being as fully as our bodies merged.

"Oh, yes, William," I moaned when he was fully in me.

He looked lovingly into my eyes and said, "are you all right?"

"Yes," I groaned, "fuck me as hard as you want."

"Not hard, lover, not this time," he whispered, bending down to brush my lips with his. "I want it to be slow and gentle and take all day."

"We have a plane to catch," I reminded him.

"Well, slow and gentle anyway."

I locked my legs around his hips and held him to me.

The incredible feeling of his rigid cock moving in and out of me was like magic. I felt my body begin to respond. I felt the little shocks as the swollen head of his penis moved over my prostate.

My body was tingling and I realized a thin film of sweat was developing over our bodies, making us glow in the morning light.

His motions were smooth, fluid, gentle, but in time his hard rod did its work. I felt his body tense and my own body respond. His eyes opened wide and I felt the pulsing of his life force into me, feeling myself filled with him, impregnated with his essence as surely as if our joining were spiritual as well as physical. My own cock erupted, pumping out my seed onto my stomach and chest.

We lay in bed a while longer, loving, touching, kissing, not wanting to get up, but knowing we needed to. Eventually, William rolled off the bed and headed for the shower.

"Are you coming?" he called back when he realized I wasn't behind him.

"I'll join you in a minute," I said. "I'm going to strip the bed and throw these sheets in the washing machine. We'll add the towels after we shower."

"Oh, right," he said, turning back to help. I guess when you grow up surrounded by maids and butlers and any number of other servants, the mundane tasks of everyday life seem to just get done by themselves.

At any rate, we got the laundry done before noon when the car came to take us to the Burbank airport, where a twin engine NSB airplane was waiting. I'd never been on such a private plane before and was surprised when the car was checked through a gate into the private area of the airport and we were driven right up to the foot of the gangway.

My second surprise, upon entering the plane, was to find Turner and his fellow RDF Security employee were waiting.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Turner said, and introduced himself to William. "This is Nat Barlow," Turner said and I finally got the other guy's name straight.

"I'm surprised to see you two again?" I admitted.

"Oh, we've been around, but we take some pride in staying out of sight as much as possible," Turner grinned.

"So you drew duty for the Tahoe flight," I said, trying to make things as relaxed as possible.

"Actually, we asked for it," Turner grinned. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, I'm just surprised."

"Well, actually, once we get up to Cohen's little lakeside get-away, the security more or less takes care of itself.  He has some guys on duty there all the time, but we'll be with you for the entire stay in case you two want to go off base from time to time."

"Well then," William said, obviously much more relaxed with the situation than I was, "we may just as well get on a first name basis. "Is it okay if we just call you Sam and Nat?"

"Sure," they both nodded, pleased with William's suggestion.

"We're Robert and William," he added, "but I guess you knew that."

"Yes, but until told otherwise," Sam laughed, "you were Mr. Ballinger and Mr. Amsted, so far as we were concerned."

At that point the co-pilot turned to tell us we were cleared for take-off and to get strapped in.
Within a minute or so we were moving and in less than an hour we were landing at the Lake Tahoe Airport. I decided I could easily get used to this way of travel, let alone the lifestyle Dexter Cohen's 'little lakeside get-away' afforded.

To be continued.