This is the third 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 sites 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.

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We spent New Years, 1992 with friends in London and returned to the States on January 12, stopping for a few days in New York before going on to LA.

William wanted to look at locations for a project Starmark expected to film in New York the following spring. It was not a project I or anyone at Wordsmiths had worked on, so while he was off exploring the upper west side with some people from NSB's New York offices, I had a chance to meet with the Anne Stein, the agent who represented me so far as my books were concerned.

Anne was at Roman, Stiller and Stein, and had been my agent for the pervious five years. She had done an excellent job of represented me and had an amazing understanding of the world of book publication. During one of our conversations over lunch, on a very cold Tuesday, she said she felt my contractual relationships with Wordsmiths and NSB had the potential for being problematic, and suggested I should see a good attorney, one specializing in intellectual properties, and have my professional relationships reviewed.

"I understand that you have a rather special relationship with NSB because of your personal relationship with William Amsted and through him with Sir Peter. But all that could change, especially if the directorship of the parent company changed, which it is certain to do at some point," she'd said.

"Yes, I suppose at some point Peter will retire," I agreed.

"Or NSB will be merged into an even larger conglomerate."

"I can't see that happening as long as Peter Amsted is in charge."

"Well, now is the time to clarify things," she went on. "Do you know of Henderson and Associates?"

"I've heard the name."

"They are the best firm for this sort of thing. I use them a great deal and have sent many of my clients to them. Would it be all right if I made an appointment for us to see them while you're in town and ask them to look over your contracts?"

"Yes, certainly," I said, trusting her judgment.

That conversation led to a meeting the next day which was the basis of a long and rewarding relationship that has now lasted for over a dozen years. At Henderson and Associates I first met Allen Stark, who served as my attorney for almost ten years. Gradually, however, he turned more and more of my work over to a younger attorney, Martin Cutler, who like me, had Mississippi roots. A few years ago Cutler left Henderson and Associates to form his own firm and I went with him, becoming one of his first clients.

New York, during that January visit, was cold, wet and miserable. William and I managed to get to theaters twice, seeing Lost in Yonkers and Miss Saigon. We stayed at the Plaza, which was a new experience for us. When in New York, we tend to stay at smaller east side hotels, but we had to admit that the bustle and excitement of the Plaza was fun, at least for a few days.

On the Sunday, the nineteenth, after a week in New York, we took a "Redeye Express" on to LA, leaving Kennedy at 10:00 PM.

Within an hour and a half of leaving New York drinks and a light supper had been served and most of our fellow passengers had settled down, trying to get some sleep. I remember how William and I continued to talk quietly over a final brandy about New York Theater and its love-hate relationship with Hollywood.

"I can see NSB doing film versions of both Lost in Yonkers and Miss Saigon," he said at one point, "but Starmark and Wordsmith wouldn't have a chance of working on either."

"Miss Saigon would be too big," I agreed. It would be produced by one of the larger units. William and I had evolved our own terms for several corporate entities we worked with at NSB. Unique "one off" production units were often created just for the really big films. We called them "Block Buster" or "BB" units and tended to talk about them, at least between ourselves, in somewhat disparaging terms.

"I could see Starmark working on Lost in Yonkers, though," I added as a very cute steward came by to ask if he could refresh our drinks.

"Maybe some mineral water," William said, smiling up at him.

When the fellow returned he squatted down next to William, who was in the aisle seat, and said softly, "I couldn't help wondering if you two are a couple."

"Yes," William confirmed, never reticent to declare our partnership.

"Have you been together long?" the steward asked. Looking over past William, I confirmed my initial impression that he was very young and quite good looking.
"It will soon be twenty years," William replied.

"Wow," the fellow said, his voice a bit louder than before. Then, catching himself and lowering his voice again, he went on, "I really envy you. My boyfriend and I just split up."

"How long were you together?" I asked, leaning forward again to see past William.

"Three years. We met in college but, with me working for the airline, the separations got to us, or him at least."

"Well, Todd," William said, looking at the young man's nametag, "I hope you're as fortunate as Robert and I have been."

"Thank you, Mr. Amsted," he said, then looking beyond William to me, added, "Mr. Ballinger." I realized he'd made note of our names from the flight manifest.
"We are so fortunate," William whispered after we were alone again.

"Yes," I agreed, putting my head on his shoulder.

I may have dozed a bit, but was wakened a few minutes later as William struggled to arrange an airline lap blanket over us. It wasn't cool in the plane and at first I wondered why he was trying to cover us both up. But soon enough his intentions became clear as his right hand moved under the blanket to fondle my crotch.

"Um," I moaned against him. "You continue doing that and neither of us will get any sleep."

"Fine by me," he chuckled as my cock became hard under the fabric of my trousers and briefs.

As he stroked me slowly, I moved a little to give him better access and to allow me to reach over to recuperate.

It's odd, after being together for so many years, how the titillation of doing something naughty in a relatively public space holds such a sense of pleasurable adventure.

"This is a bit like two teenagers making out in the back row of a cinema," William chuckled.

"More like the back seat of a car," I grumbled, trying to lift the armrest between us. In first class, I'd forgotten, they can't be raised out of the way. "Have you ever done it in an airplane toilet?" I asked.

"Mile High Club?"

"Something like that," I whispered.

"No, you?"

"No, but Roger Bardwell offered to initiate me on our flight back from London years ago, when we were returning to the States just after you and I had first met."

"And you turned him down?"

"Yes, I was already in love with you."

"Proud of you," he grinned, then leaned around to give me an awkward kiss. "Come on."

He tossed the blanket aside, got up and started down the dark aisle toward the cluster of little toilets a few rows behind us. I sat for a few seconds amazed at what he was suggesting, then rose and followed him. The cabin of the aircraft was almost dark. Our fellow passengers looked like so many bundles under their blankets. William opened the door of the toilet on the left of the aisle and pulled me in behind him. By the time we had the door locked he'd lowered the toilet seat, sat down and drew me around to face him in the restrictive space. Before I could make any comment on the ridiculousness of two grown men with a perfectly wonderful home awaiting them in less than two hours, William had released my belt, unfastened my slacks and lowered my zipper. I was hard, of course, from his earlier stroking, and in less than thirty seconds my cock was out of my pants and in his mouth. I must say it was amazing.

William gives great head. In fact, he's prone to doing a bit of bragging about it. Once in a while when we are with close gay friends he'll make some comment about me being a football player at the University of Mississippi and how he'd taken instead to oralball at Durham. "I always felt sports you could continue playing into adult life were so much more satisfying," he'd add drolly.

Without question, at that moment, my balls were getting an amazing workout. William lathed them with his wet tongue, sucked one and then the other into his talented mouth, then, leaving them totally wet, he returned to my cock, which he sucked well into his throat and then began that amazing trick of his, making his mouth, and with it my cock, vibrate as if there was some very powerful motor in there.

Needless to say, it didn't take him long to get me off. He made no attempt to delay the inevitable, as he often did in the privacy and leisure of our own bed, but opted instead for speed and power, quickly bringing me to a formidable climax.
Once I'd recovered a bit he gently rearranged my equipment, zipped me up and stood in the crowded space to plant one long, loving, very sticky kiss on my gaping lips.

"Very nice," he whispered as he cracked the door and looked out.

"Don't I get a turn?" I asked.

"No, not now. Too long in here and we'll arouse suspicions."

"I think we may have done that already."

"Another flight, another initiation," he grinned as he opened the door wide and left me standing there looking after him as he walked down the dark aisle and slid over toward the window to take what had been my seat.

Some time later, as we were preparing to disembark at LAX, Todd came by with our jackets and handed each of us an envelope.

"Congratulations," he smiled as he worked his way on down the aisle.

In the back seat of the NSB car which was taking us home from the airport, we opened the envelopes to find they each contained a certificate stating we were both members in good standing of the Mile High Club.

"You were standing," William smiled, "but I was sitting the whole time."

To be continued.