Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2013 19:19:40 -0700 (PDT) From: Jerlar Subject: Porterville 2 This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read this story by law. This story is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author. All of us enjoy the stories here, so please, support Nifty. Like any other Business, it takes resources to keep it running. I appreciate you, and I know Nifty appreciates your support! Mark Stevens PORTERVILLE CHAPTER TWO When Britt opened his eyes the next morning, he thought he was dreaming. He had had this dream many times before, the one where he thought he was back home, back in his old room. It took him a few moments to realize he was not dreaming that he really was in his old room, waking up in his old bed. As he lay there, the events of the following night slowly came back to him. Had he actually spent the evening with Devon McKenzie? And, was it truth or dream that the two of them had a date of sorts that night? As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to his feet, he suddenly remembered for certain everything that had happened the evening before, and that he was indeed, going to meet Devon. He gathered clean clothes and headed down the hall to the shower. He decided spending some time under a hot steamy stream would bring him around. Later, when he returned to his room to dress, he did indeed feel like he might survive his late night. Britt finished dressing, pulled the covers hastily over his bed and hurried out into the kitchen. He found his mother sitting at the table with her usual morning cup of coffee. He greeted her with a smile. "Morning, Mom." "Good morning, yourself," she said. "I didn't hear you come in last night." "Guess I was quiet enough then, huh?" he grinned. "Are you much of a breakfast person?" "Nope," he shook his head. "Just a cup of that coffee you have, and I'll be on my way. How about yourself? What do you have planned this morning?" "I have to be at the Center at ten. Three others and I quilt today. I won't be home until around three or after." "Good. I have my morning booked up as well." "More research?" He nodded. "That's right." Britt poured a cup of coffee for himself. As he came back to the table and pulled a chair out, he said, "While I'm thinking of it, I have plans this evening for dinner. I won't be here." "Working on your book?" Britt thought about the question. "A little, I guess. I'm meeting Devon McKenzie for dinner. I met him last night, and we got to talking. I think he might have some information that will be useful." "Devon McKenzie?" It was plain to see his mother was surprised. "I didn't realize the two of you knew each other." "We actually don't," Britt answered. "We got to talking last night, and I don't even remember him in school. He was a few years behind me." "What could he possibly know that would be of help to you?" "I'm not sure that he does. We got to talking, as I told you. After all, he has lived his entire life here, has never left town or home, so he must have a lot of knowledge of what's happened over the years." "I see," Catherine Williams said quietly. "Britt, may I ask you something?" That was the second time in the past twenty-four hours Britt had been asked that question. He wondered, now, what his mother's question would be. Aloud, he said, "Sure, Mom, what's on your mind?" "Are you interested in Devon for any other reason than the knowledge he might have of Porterville?" Britt wasn't sure exactly how to answer his mother's question. Carefully putting his thoughts together, he said, "I think Devon is a very nice guy; a guy who needs a friend. And God knows, I know absolutely no one in town any more that I could even begin to call a friend. So, I guess to answer your question, I'm interested in Devon's friendship." "Just don't let yourself get hurt," Catherine warned her son. Britt was puzzled. "Hurt? How could I get hurt?" "I just know when you deal with the Porters and the McKenzie's, fireworks can evolve. Just promise me you will be careful." "Don't worry about me," he assured his mother. "You're little boy can take care of himself." "I hope you're right." Catherine drained her coffee cup and stood to her feet. "I need to get busy. Have a good day, Britt." "You, too, Mom." Britt drank his coffee. His mother soon left, and the house was pleasantly quiet. As he sat in the kitchen enjoying the solitude of the moment, he ran the conversation with his mother over in his mind. Why did she think he could get hurt by befriending Devon McKenzie? Was there something about the McKenzie's she knew? Something she was keeping from him, he wondered? Britt finished his second cup of coffee and left for the office of The Beacon. He loved writing, yet it certainly was no easy way to make a living. He often thought having a nice quiet office job nine to five, five days a week, would be a hell of a lot easier. As he came inside the newspaper office, he was greeted by Alice Cooper. "Good morning, Britt," she said, giving him one of her warmest smiles. "Back for more dirty grime, are you?" "Morning, Alice. "Did you get the file room all cleaned up for me?" he teased. "Yeah, right," she bounced back at him. "I came back last evening and worked all night long, making it ready for you." "Thanks," he said dryly. "I appreciate that." As he had the day before, Britt lost himself in the ancient history of Porterville. He found some of the facts very interesting, and some, frankly, bored the hell out of him. By one o'clock, Britt had made his travel through the early years of town hood, and when he headed for the coffee shop across the street from the newspaper office, he was entering the 1920's. It looked like Porterville was truly going to "roar" through the 20's. Although fascinated with the articles before him, his stomach was begging for attention. Britt hurried across the street and entered the local sandwich and coffee shop, owned and operated by Ralph Sims, a man he had known ever since he was a little boy. Walking inside the store, he let the door shut behind him. "Well, Britt Williams, as I live and breathe. I heard you were in town." "Hello, Ralph," Britt greeted the man behind the counter. He walked over and held out his hand. "How the hell have you been doing?" "Can't complain, I guess. Still making a living, they tell me." "Hell, Ralph, you're one of the richest business owners in town. Everyone knows that." "So, I hear you might be writin' another book." "That's right, I am." Britt looked along the counter. "You still make those awesome sandwiches?" "Sure do," Ralph nodded. "What you gonna have?" "How about a ham and cheese on Rye?" Britt asked. He walked over and pulled a coke from one of the cold boxes in the wall. He selected a package of potato chips and sat down at one of the three tables. Ralph soon brought his sandwich. He placed it on the table in front of Britt, then pulled a chair out and sat down. "So, how have you been, Britt? Haven't seen much of you around these parts in quite some time." Britt took a bite of his sandwich. "Been good, Ralph. Busy as hell, but other than that, real good." "I hear you've written a few books." "A few," Britt admitted. "I also hear that's why you're back in town," Ralph continued. "You think you're going to get some sort of story idea from this place." It was a statement rather than a question. Britt nodded. "You seem to have heard correctly, Ralph." He took another bite of his sandwich. "These are still the best in town," he praised. "Of course they are," Ralph beamed. "Now, about this story; just what do you think it's going to be?" Britt shook his head and said, "I haven't a clue at this point, Ralph, I really don't. That's why I'm busting my ass over at the newspaper office. I've been searching through newspaper files going back to about six months after Porterville was founded." "I see." Ralph was silent for a minute. Finally, he said, "Are you going to put me in a story?" "Who knows?" Britt grinned. "Like I told you, at this point, I don't know if there is even going to be a story." "Folks like their privacy." It was a simple statement, yet, it was one that hit Britt like a ton of bricks. "I know they do, Ralph. If I do get an idea and decide to write it into a story, I certainly will respect everyone's privacy. That is not a question with me." Ralph stood to his feet. "Good. How about another sandwich? On me." He brought Britt a second sandwich, but this time, left him alone to eat in silence. As Britt finished his meal, he thought to himself, just what is it with the people of this town? First his mother and now, Ralph? Were they warning him in their own way to not step on any toes? Were they telling him that perhaps something had happened sometime in the past, and they hoped he would leave it there? In the past where they thought it belonged? This might really get interesting, he decided, as he called out a goodbye to Ralph and headed back to the newspaper office. Britt completely lost himself for the remainder of the afternoon, totally absorbed in all of Porterville's news of the past. Once again, he was surprised to discover the afternoon gone. It was almost six o'clock, when he pulled into his mother's driveway. He hurried from the car to the house, running up the steps of the porch. "I'm home, Mom," he called, and headed on down the hall. "Running a little behind schedule as usual." "Hello, Britt." Catherine Williams was in the kitchen. "Dig anything new up?" she asked. "Not much," he called over his shoulder. "I'll fill you in later." Britt hurried to his room and pulled his shirt and jeans off. He picked his robe up from the bed and headed down the hall. Half an hour later, his shower over, he was dressed and had joined his mother once more in the kitchen. "You look nice," she greeted." "Thank you, mam," he said and grinned. "I appreciate any compliment I can get these days." Britt still had a few moments to kill before he had to leave, so he sat down at the kitchen table where his mother was eating her evening meal. Giving her a smile, he said, "You were asking about my day. Well, again, not much did I turn up; however, it is very interesting. I can't believe I didn't learn all this stuff while I was living here." "You were a child," his mother reminded him. "History, even history about your hometown, simply did not interest you." "You're probably right," he agreed. "Who wanted to read about ancient stuff, was what I probably thought." "That's right," she smiled. "So, where are you and Devon eating?" "I think the little restaurant down on the square. I hear it's open until ten." "So I hear. I also hear it's pretty pricey as well." "Mom, pricey, really? In this town?" "Don't you make fun of me, Britt Williams," she admonished him playfully. "I would never do that, Mom." He visited with his mother for a few more minutes, then left to pick Devon up. He had a few butterflies floating in his stomach just thinking about the possibility of seeing Elaine Porter. Even though it had been years since he had seen the woman, he remembered her all too vividly as someone to avoid if at all possible. Her word was law, she thought, and should be carried out to the fullest. Porterville was her town, as were all the people living there, and she expected them to feel obligated to her for what she had always done for the town, as well as for them personally. A short time later, he drove through the massive gate placing him directly on the McKenzie property. The mansion was a good quarter mile from the entrance, not even visible from the road. Britt slowly made his way along the private drive, the butterflies in his stomach turning into dive-bombers the closer he came to the big house. He braked his car in the stone circle drive, wondering if this was even where he should park, but thinking it would be all right since he would be here only long enough to pick Devon up. He walked up to the heavy oak door, and touched the doorbell, his hand shaking as he pressed the button. The door was opened shortly by a servant, who greeted him rather stiffly, saying, "Good evening, Mr. Williams. Won't you come in?" The last sounded more like a statement rather than a question to Britt Williams' ears; a command, actually. "Good evening. I'm here to see Devon McKenzie." Britt stepped inside the entryway that was big enough to put better than half of his mother's entire home in. The dive-bombers in his stomach suddenly turned to giant submarines, shooting torpedoes throughout his body. "Please, sir, won't you follow me into the drawing room?" This time it was definitely a command, Britt decided. As he followed the elderly gentleman, he thought to himself, I didn't even know a house in Porterville had anything such as a "drawing room". The servant drew the two doors back and announced, "Mr. Williams." When the man stepped to the side, Britt discovered John and Elaine McKenzie waiting. They were both in deep-seated wingback chairs, and seemed to be awaiting his arrival. Elaine's face held just a trace of a cold smile, making it appear that her face was about to crack. John McKenzie rose from his seat and extended his hand. "Britt Williams, it certainly has been a long time since you've been home, hasn't it?" Britt took the hand offered him and couldn't help noticing how cold and formal his greeting was; not a hint of a welcome at all. "Good evening, Mr. McKenzie," he greeted the man. "I guess it's been almost a year since I've been home." "How are you, Mr. Williams?" The words had a cold harsh ring to them, causing them to sound hollow to Britt's ears. He turned to Elaine Porter McKenzie. "Hello, Mrs. McKenzie. How have you been?" "I understand you are planning on writing a book about Porterville." It was a plain, simple statement; yet, Britt had no trouble detecting the cold meaning behind her words. "Word does seem to get around, doesn't it?" Britt could put a little hidden meaning into his own words, he decided, feeling somewhat of a triumph inside as he answered her. "You consider yourself a good writer, Mr. Williams?" she pursued. "I take pride in what I write, if that's what you mean, Mrs. McKenzie. As for being a good writer, all I can say about that is this is my eleventh book, and they have all made Number One on the chart." "So, just what do you think you will find to write about in Porterville?" Britt shook his head, and said, "I really don't know if I will turn anything up, Mrs. McKenzie. So far, only a lot of historical fact and nothing that would come close to making a good story about growing up in a small town." "I see. You do remember that Porterville is a very private town, do you not? We're not a town that wants its business displayed all over the world for people to read about." "I realize that. Porterville would only be a resource for such a story. The town, the people wouldn't be, in any way, placed on `display' as you put it." Britt heard the drawing room doors slide back once more, and was relieved to see Devon McKenzie entering the room. "Good evening, Britt," he greeted. "Are you ready?" "I understand, Mr. Williams that you think my son might have some information you could use in your book." This time it was John McKenzie speaking. "All right, Dad, I imagine Britt has had enough input from you and Mother about his book. Why don't you just sit back and see what, if anything comes of it?" "Devon, don't use that tone with us," Elaine McKenzie admonished her son. "Your father and I are just concerned about the town, that's all; nothing more. People's lives are private, and they should remain that way." "I'm starved, Britt. Let's get the hell out of here before we lose our appetite." "Remember you have a meeting first thing in the morning," John McKenzie reminded his son. "Goodnight, Dad." John and Elaine McKenzie watched in silence as Britt disappeared with their son through the door. It was plain to see they both disapproved of not only their son going out, but with whom he was choosing to spend the evening. Once inside the car, Devon turned and faced Britt. "I am sorry about that. Those two can be a real pain in the ass sometimes." Britt started the engine of his car. As he drove through the circle drive and headed toward the gate, he said, "Don't give it a second thought. Trust me, your parents are not the first to send out negative feelings about the reason I have come back to Porterville. Even my own mother thinks I should leave well enough alone and do my researching elsewhere." Britt smiled at Devon. "Besides, you and I both know we're just using my research as an excuse for us to spend the evening together." "That's true," Devon grinned. Then the grin disappearing from his face, he said, "It's just a damn shame I even have to come up with an excuse to spend time with you." "Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do," Britt reminded. "Maybe so, but I'm about ready to just say screw it!" As Britt paused at the gate before turning onto the main highway leading to the heart of Porterville, he reached across the car and touched Devon's cheek. "Hey, do me a favor, okay?" Devon reached up and touched the hand with his own. "And what, may I ask, would that be?" "I really don't give a damn about anything you might have to add or take away about my possible story, Devon McKenzie. At least for tonight," Britt added. "Tonight, I just want us to enjoy the time we have together. "I think I've missed a lot by not being here over the years, getting to know you. Now that I'm here, I'd like to change that." "I would like that as well," Devon assured him. Britt turned onto the highway and drove the short distance back into town. "I hear this is a good restaurant we're going to." "The best Porterville has to offer," Devon declared. "According to my mother, one that is a little too pricey for Porterville," Britt grinned. "It probably is expensive, but the food is really good." "Well, I have to admit, my mother has never been very far from Porterville. I have tried to get her to come to the city several times, but only once did I succeed. She says she's too old for new things, and I can just come home even if it's only once or twice a year and spend time with her." "Your mother is sweet," Devon said. "She might be a little `small town as you say, but she has a good heart; something my mother could use." "You're mothers all right," Britt said, even though deep down inside, he had a hard time believing his own words. "She's just a little too superficial, and that's probably not even her fault. My God, look at her family line. You especially, should understand that it probably hasn't been easy for her. From what I can gather, your grandfather, her own father, was rather big on money and the power it has. And I think, from reading articles of the past, it goes way beyond him the same way." "You're right, of course; yet, it doesn't give her the right to treat people the way she does. Like tonight, for example, she was belittling you, and for no reason at all, except that she simply cannot stand the fact you're here to dig up some facts and see about writing a book. She has no power, no control on what you actually write, and that drives her absolutely crazy. She only tolerates things and people she can control." When Britt reached Porterville's city limits, he slowed down and asked, "So, does she control you?" "In a way, yes, I suppose she does. Hell, I'm still living at home, for God's sake. How many thirty-five year old men do you know who still live at home?" His voice had a bitter ring to it. "Well, actually, when you think how big your home actually is, it's not exactly as if you are living right under their nose," Britt remarked, choosing his words carefully. Then trying to lighten the moment, he added, "I will admit, though, if you had your own place, we might find something to do with ourselves besides just talk. Eventually," he finished. "Oh, that would be no problem. For us to spend some time alone," Devon added. "My parents have a cabin on Porter Lake." "How could I forget," Britt grinned as he pulled into a parking space just down from the restaurant on the town square. Porter Lake was about thirty-five miles north of Porterville, located on more of the original Porter land. "Yeah, how could you?" Devon retorted. The restaurant was indeed "uptown" and "plush", Britt thought as he and Devon were shown to a table. He looked around and discovered a dozen or so people dining as well. About half of them, he recognized. He even waved to a few of them. He couldn't help but notice some of the looks that came across the room his way. Smiling at Devon, he said, "Wouldn't you love to know what's going on in their heads?" "Why don't I just reach across the table and give your hand a pat?" Devon grinned. "Then there wouldn't be any doubt in their mind at all." "Maybe another time," Britt answered. They ordered a drink and sat back to enjoy themselves. Under the table, Britt felt pressure as Devon pushed against his shoe. He returned the favor, and both felt instantly connected. "So, how does it feel to be back in the old home town?" Devon asked. "Strange, I guess, would describe it," Britt remarked thoughtfully. "Strange because so many things are different, and strange, because, in some ways, nothing has changed." "That sounds a little confusing," Devon said just as the waiter brought their drinks. "So, what do you suggest?" Britt asked, looking the menu over. "I like the New York Strip," Devon said, pointing to a place on the menu. "It's delicious, and usually what I order when I come here." Britt closed the menu. "Sounds good to me." They turned their order in and sat back to enjoy their drinks, as well as each other's company. Devon had a question for Britt. "So, tell me, Britt, do you like living in the city?" Britt took a sip from his glass. "I love city life, Devon. Sure, there are hassles, among other things involved in living in a big place like that, but all the things it has to offer, I just love. The plays are marvelous during their season." "You like drama?" Devon asked. Britt laughed. "You have to ask that, knowing that I love writing the way I do?" "Guess I never thought about that. You're right, they run hand in hand." Later, as they enjoyed the great tasting food before them, both Britt and Devon enjoyed finding out things about the other. Britt was astonished to discover just how bitter Devon was toward his job, his family, and even the town of Porterville." "That amazes me, Devon. I would think that you would be in your element here. You have a high up position in the family business, you are influential in your community, and your word is law in some instances. So, if you are that unhappy, why haven't you done something about it? You have a college education. There are lots of jobs you are qualified to do." "I feel I owe it to my parents to stay here and take care of things with the company." "Can I ask you something?" "You can ask me anything." "Do you feel you need to stay, or do they feel you need to stay?" "Probably a little of both, I guess." "You don't think they want you happy, even if that means you moving away from here?" "Hell no, they don't." The bitter sound in Devon's words held a harsh ring, and it took Britt completely by surprise. "What do they expect of you?" "I think they want me to stay here so they can have control of my life. This is especially true in my mother's case." Britt thought about Elaine McKenzie, and although he hated to admit it, he had to agree with Devon. Control was written all over her face. He shivered, thinking about what the man must have to deal with. Aloud, he said, "Well, one thing's for certain, we're not going to change either one of your parents, at least by the time tonight's over, so what say we just let the subject drop? I'd much rather discuss better things. One thing in particular," he added. "And that would be?" Devon's eyes twinkled as he spoke. "How about going for a drive? Britt asked, looking at his watch. "It's still early, even if you do have a meeting first thing in the morning." Devon reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. "Let me get this, Britt." Britt shook his head and said, "No way, put that back in your pocket. I ask you out, and I intend to treat." "At least let me get the tip." Britt laid a bill on the little black tray in front of him. "It's taken care of. Let's split." As they reached Britt's car, Devon asked, "You feel up to a drive out to the lake? I'll show you where we might be able to spend some time together. That is, if you are interested in spending some time alone with me." Britt crawled behind the wheel and started the engine. "Get your ass in here, Devon McKenzie, and show me the way."