Absolute Convergence: Tahoe Shores
By John Yager
This is the second of five chapters of a new Absolute Convergence sequel.
While this story is being added to the existing Absolute Convergence file, it constitutes a self-contained narrative. I've given this sequel the subtitle Tahoe Shores for reasons which will become clear as the story unfolds. While it will be helpful for readers to know the original Absolute Convergence series, in which all the principal characters were introduced, this story should be enjoyable as an independent story.
Absolute Convergence made its first appearance in January, 2001 as a series which eventually ran to a total of eighty chapters, the last of which was posted in January, 2004. I never anticipated the series continuing for so long and I am still amazed by the incredible loyalty of readers who stayed with it, or with me, from the beginning.
I am also appreciative of those newer readers who have contacted me from time to time to say that they've discovered the series and worked their way through the collected chapters.
I'm always glad to receive comments, questions, criticism and encouragement and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it's only because of the pressures of work.
Andrew continues to give me much needed proofing and editorial help for which I am sincerely grateful.
The author holds exclusive copyright (© 2005) to this story. It may not be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author. It is placed in the Nifty Archive under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on other site or in any form without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I've assigned to NIFTY Archive can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of upcoming stories, and other news and information, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
"I'm impressed," Dorothy Bridges said as she tossed the script of Crome Yellow on the table.
"Thanks, I guess." I grinned as I got up to help her with her chair. We were in the NSB Commissary. Meeting for lunch on Thursdays had become a standing date when we were both in town.
"Chicken salad," she said when the
waiter offered her a menu. We both knew it well enough to order without
looking. Dorothy usually had chicken salad and I usually had clam chowder,
New York style. New England was great but the cream base was just too many
"Beverages?" the waiter asked.
"Water now, coffee later," Dorothy said and I nodded agreement.
"Aren't we a bit brisk today?" I smiled.
"I just have an hour and I want to talk. So tell me if II is going to be assigned to Crome Yellow." II was our insider shorthand for Industrial Illusions, the subsidiary of NSB with which Dorothy worked.
"Yes, you're in."
"Well, that's a weight off my shoulders."
"You were right, it's a rational partnership."
"Yes, but you never know if studio execs will be rational."
"Too true," I laughed as the waiter returned with glasses and a carafe of iced water.
"Now tell me about Alvarado Court," Dorthy said.
"The place or my book."
"Well, it was published three years ago, good reviews, average sales."
"Does NSB own the film rights?"
"They don't own them but they have an option or first refusal or something like that. It's part of my contract. They let me work off the clock on my own projects and I hold copyright to anything I publish. But in consideration of my primary position as head of Wordsmiths, NSB has the right to buy film rights to anything I do."
"So why isn't it being filmed?"
"I don't know. Maybe they think it's too out of the mainstream to make any money."
"Why are you interested anyway, Dot,
there's nothing there for II."
"There's nothing for II but there's a hell of a lot there for me and every other gay or lesbian person and it needs to be done."
"Aren't we on a soap box today," I responded. But I did know what she meant. There were too few films which dealt with gay and lesbian issues and the few which did were usually so prejudiced that they did far more harm than good.
"Don't tell me you don't know what
"I know what you mean but I'm still not sure a film version of Alvarado Court would do much good."
"How many copies of the book sold?"
"Fifty, maybe sixty thousand."
"Put it in theaters, sweetheart, and more people than that will see it in the first week, even in limited release. It may not be a blockbuster but there is definitely a market for good films based on gay themes. You get a known star or two and you can make history."
"For sure," she said as the waiter returned with our food. "Can you take this LA tap water away," she asked him, "and bring us a bottle of San Pellegrino?"
"Certainly," the waiter smiled.
"Fresh glasses, too, and no ice."
"This isn't a third world country, Dot," I laughed. "You don't need to worry about the safety of the water."
"I know it may be sanitary, if you overlook all the junk they put in it, but it tastes like a chemistry set."
"When did you ever taste a chemistry
set?" I laughed again.
"I have a very sensitive tongue," she grinned.
"I bet you do," I laughed.
That evening I told William about the conversation I'd had with Dorothy Bridges over lunch.
"She's right," he said. "Maybe it's time to form an independent film company dedicated to gay and lesbian issues."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes," he said. "Absolutely."
"Do you think a decent script could be developed from Alvarado Court?" I asked.
"Yes, it would take some doing, but you and the rest of the Wordsmiths group could pull it off."
"Do you see it as something this new production company could do?"
"Maybe. It would be a great first effort."
"So the new group would do it instead of Starmark?"
"Well, if we wanted to give a new
group a gay and lesbian focus it would be a good start. There aren't many
books around that deal so powerfully with the issues of prejudice and homophobia."
Our conversation was interrupted there by a phone call from one of William's team and a few days later we left for London, so we didn't get back to the idea of a film version of Alvarado Court for a couple of weeks. But the idea of doing the film as part of the start-up of a new film company had been planted in my mind and the next time Dorothy Bridges and I met for lunch I mentioned it to her.
"It would be great," she responded enthusiastically, "but I think it should have a broader mission."
"Not just gay and lesbian films?"
"Wouldn't such a company have more credibility if it focused on a wider range of social issues? There's a real need for films dealing with discrimination and all sorts of social inequality."
"I suppose," I said, trying to think through the possibilities. Dorothy surprised me by suggesting something I'd not considered.
"You know where it should start?"
"By making films for children, you
know, family stuff."
"Children's films dealing with lesbian and gay issues? Come on, Dot, you're not serious."
"No, you dope," she laughed. "But there are a lot of wonderful stories for kids dealing with the broader issue of tolerance. Just think what an impact such films could have."
"Films teaching acceptance of people of different racial or religious backgrounds?"
"Yes, or economic or cultural backgrounds, but for children I'd suggest stories which were a little more subtle, not about people . . . animals, perhaps."
Doesn't II have an animation unit?"
"Interesting," I said, thinking about
So our first idea of making a film version of Alvarado Court was temporarily shelved and we got down to some serious discussions of Dorothy's broader concept. Over the next six or seven months the new company, eventually called Rainbow Productions, was formed and a year later its first production was released.
Rainbow Productions, like William's Starmark, or Wordsmiths, the writing and project development shop I ran, was organized as a wholly owned subsidiary of NSB and Dorothy Bridges was named as its head.
In late 1991 Beavers of Bagley Creek opened in theaters countrywide and in six European capitals, just in time for the Christmas holidays. It was an animated film with a G Rating and was an instant success and huge money maker. It was the third highest grossing film NSB released that year.
The story was simple, more or less a retelling of the Ugly Duckling theme, but with a considerable amount of humor and a few mildly scary moments. While simple and childlike in its approach, it taught some important lessons about acceptance and tolerance. Rainbow Productions was off to a successful start.
The day after the Hollywood opening of Beavers of Bagley Creek, William and I hosted our annual Christmas party which over the years had become quite an event. Over three hundred people were through our house during a six hour period. The next day we left the considerable task of cleaning up to our housekeeper and the caterers as again William and I flew to London for the Christmas holidays.
While Rainbow's first film was being produced, largely at the old II shops in the Bay Area, Wordsmiths was hard at work on a script of Alvarado Court. But leave it to William to have a surprise up his sleeve. We were snuggling in bed on Christmas Eve at our London flat in Burton's Court.
"Remember all those building components we bought when the old Alvarado Court apartments were being razed," he asked as he nibbled my left ear.
"Yes," I groaned, my mind far from doors and beams stored on the back lot at NSB in LA.
"I told Ted Oliver, our chief designer at Starmark, to make an inventory and come up with ways of using them in the sets for the film."
"The film version of Alvarado Court?" I asked, trying to make some sense of what William was saying while my concentration was diverted by his tongue in my ear and his hand on my hard cock.
"Yes," he whispered back. His hand had moved down further and was gently massaging my balls.
"Is that what you had in mind five or six years ago when we bought that stuff?"
"Yes, for starters. We'll use it in the film and NSB will write off the cost. Then when the sets are disassembled we'll move all the bits and pieces up to Tahoe at no cost to us."
"Why Tahoe?" I asked. My mind still wasn't focusing.
"Do you remember that grove of dense pines a few hundred feet north of the lodge?"
"Sure," I whimpered. I had fond memories of that grove.
"It's ours now."
"Ours. I arranged for NSB to transfer the title. Five acres right on the shore belongs to you and me, joint ownership, just like the house on Corona del Mar and this flat. At least it will belong to us as soon as we get home and sign the papers."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well," he grinned, "For starters, I'm going to fuck you."
"I mean with the land," I groaned.
"We're going to build our own cabin, well, a house really."
His fingers had moved back further,
behind my balls, and one was gently circling the pulsing bud of my ass.
Further conversation stopped.
William gently prodded my ass, first with one well lubed finger, then two, then three. We did this often, two or three times a week, sometimes with me topping him, sometimes, as now, with him fucking me. We were practiced but it was always a thrill as I felt my body open to his touch, or his to mine.
That night, however, William was especially slow, taking far more time than usual, at least twenty minutes I think, but I lost all sense of time. Before he finally finished I was pleading with him to fuck me.
Finally, with me on my back, our favorite position, he knelt between my legs, lifted them to his shoulders, and guided his rampant cock to my well dilated hole.
"Yesssss," I hissed as he slid in
After all the time he'd taken preparing me, I needed no time at all to adjust to his presence.
"Fuck me hard," I moaned and the game was afoot.
Slowly at first, taking long, gliding strokes, he slid in full length and then backed out until the flared head of his cock tugged against the tight ring of my sphincter. That went on for several minutes but eventually he began to quicken the pace. With each entry and retreat the bulbous head of his cock raked over the knot of my prostate, sending electrical charges up the length of my spine.
Even when fucking at considerable force and speed, William was always able to maintain control of himself and me. He brought us both near the edge and backed off three or four times before he began to fuck me fast and hard with short, pounding strokes which sent us both into spasms of ecstasy. I came with such force that my own sperm shot up over my chest, hit my neck and face and a few strands plastered in my rumpled hair.
I felt William's climax like a minor explosion in my gut.
"Oh, god," he moaned as he slumped
over me, pressing his chest against mine as his face came to rest on my
right shoulder. "I love you, Robert," he droned, "I love you so much."
The next morning we drove down to Talbot Hall, Sir Peter's place in Surrey. The NSB London office always sent a car when we needed transport but we'd insisted on doing our own driving, not only because we didn't want to make one of the company chauffeurs work on Christmas day, but also because we wanted the time alone together. The car which had been brought for our use the previous day was a sleek new Jaguar.
We arrived at Talbot Hall in time for drinks at one o'clock, followed by a sumptuous Christmas dinner. There were twenty-two people around the long Tudor table and, as usual, the food was amazing and the wines superb.
"You two are to be congratulated," William's father said as we were having coffee after the meal. "That kiddy flick you pulled off seems to be a raging success."
"We had a lot of help," I said, looking over at William. He and his father had come to terms over the years but there were times when I felt a sudden spark of conflict. The earlier tensions between them, while dating back to William's teenage years and before, still kept the two of them from the easy intimacy most fathers and sons find normal and natural. I sometimes thought that in many ways I had a more relaxed relationship with Peter than William had.
"But I know it was the two of you who brought the project together," Peter said.
"It was largely Robert's doing," William insisted.
"Well then," his father said, lifting his brandy, "here's to Robert. I knew you found a treasure when you married him."
Other guests wandered into the vast room and the conversation soon drifted on to other things.
Christmas at Talbot Hall was always
quite interesting but William and I agreed on our drive back to London
that evening that we preferred our own rather quiet holidays at home.
To be continued.