Date: Sat, 8 Jul 2017 08:52:03 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 23

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

A shiver ran through my body as I felt a purr at my own ear, "So do I get
one of those little cards, too?" I was nearly hyperventilating as I handed
Hans about three, utterly lost in those eyes.

"Ahem," I heard Beaux fake-cough and whisper low, "Breathe, Oncle. Long,
deep breaths."

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 23: Sunday in the Park with Freak-Outs

Sunday

By Bear Pup

*****

We got home and looked at each other as we undressed, saying as if
rehearsed, "I'm ready for bed." We chuckled and made bee-lines for our
respective rooms. I had barely thrown myself into my bed before I was
relishing Han's smell, his deep voice, his masculine scent, his
soul-piercing eyes, his wonderful aroma. Did I mention he smelled good? I
could feel those mammoth arms around me as we kissed and let one hand fall
from my cock -- what the fuck did you *think* my hands were doing, doofus?
-- to my ass and whinnied like a mare as I teased my asslips.

I'm not 16, so I wasn't shooting a massive load at the touch. It took a lot
more, and I gave it to myself. My dream Hans made long, rich, powerful love
to me that night. His dream hands found every pleasure spot; his dream
voice whispered every sweet nothing I'd longed to hear my whole life; his
dream tongue licked me there... and there... and THERE!

It had been a week since I unloaded (several times as it happened, with
Andy on top of me). Actually, I realized later, that wasn't quite true
since I'd stroked one out while reviewing Beaux's masturbatory 'homework'
in the steam shower the next day. Regardless, I came powerfully and very,
very vocally, screaming Hans' name. And then I did it again an hour later,
this time to my dream Hans taking me ruthlessly and relentlessly from
behind while making slow love to the rest of my body with his hands and
voice.

I slept... rather well {smirk} and woke with an actual bounce in my step
well before six. I decided on something 'Sundayish' for breakfast and made
fresh biscuits with honey-butter and jam, crispy bacon and an egg dish
specifically designed to give an apoplectic seizure to any qualified
cardiologist. It was called 'splashed eggs'. I cooked way more bacon than
we'd need (I scoffed at myself, thinking of the bottomless pit of Beaux),
leaving about a third of an inch of bacon grease in the giant cast-iron
skillet, still on medium to medium-high heat.

I cracked the first six eggs into the pan and let them sizzle madly,
salting lightly and peppering generously. The grease actually lapped over
the edges of the whites. When I stopped seeing (much) clear albumen, I
began to use my spatula to splash the hot bacon grease over the tops of the
eggs, removing each one as the 'skin' on the yolk became opaque. The bottom
of each egg was crisp and brown, the whites fluffy and perfect, the yolk a
thick golden nectar.

I didn't notice Beaux until I realized four of the first six eggs were
already gone and a steady moan of delight had built at the counter behind
me.  I let him have all six of the first batch and took three of the second
for myself. I could see the predatory look in his eye as I too-slowly made
my way to that last egg, and I actually threatened to stab him with my fork
if he so much as thought it. I had, on purpose, drastically over-done the
number of biscuits as I had a plan for that night's dinner.

We both deeply regretted the breakfast-first option as we drove our way
through the Tala nightmare workout, but managed not to lose any of the
eggs. I could tell that Beaux was slacking I and decided not to call him on
it since he hadn't bust me yet for the same sin. The steam shower was less
torment because we hadn't pushed as hard. When we were done, it was still
only eight o'clock and I decided we both needed some down-time and outdoor
time. I checked the weather, warm but not hot, and a little dry. Perfect.

I enlisted Beaux to help pack a picnic lunch and fetched what I
euphemistically called my Beach Bag. Since the nearest actual beach-beach
was ten hours away (and that's only if you think a Great Lake can have a
'real' beach), everyone in the Plains considered sand bars next to rivers
and lakes 'beaches'. We headed to one of my favorites, a little-known one
that became far more popular (and boring) when it became an 'improved' park
a few years later.

The lake was, as was common, man-made since a flood-control dam created
it. It also surrounded a stunning bluff on three sides that was difficult
to find unless you knew it was there. The trail to it just said, "Dogs Off
Leash" and "Clean Up After Your Pets!" and the parking lot was dirt and
rutted in places. I saddled Beaux with the picnic hamper and took the Beach
Bag myself. A half-hour walk got me progressively more-disgruntled looks as
we worked through the scrubby trees and bushes on either side. He got less
and less gruntled as the path steepened until, drum roll please, we crested
the top of the bluff.

What had been a light stirring of leaves in the humid trees was now a stiff
and refreshing breeze off the wide (admittedly-brown) lake in front of
us. We were high above, and a sandy shoal was at the base. Right here,
though, was one of my favorite places in the whole metro area. I let Beaux
gape at the impossibly-wide, implausibly-blue sky flecked with the richer,
brighter blue of flitting, darting, diving tree swallows trilling gossip to
each other. I laid out and secured the blanket and put up the sun-shade, a
nearly-square sail of cloth that fluttered with the breeze but was so less
likely to vanish with a sudden gust than any umbrella.

I took the picnic basket from Beaux's unresisting hands and started laying
out an early lunch which, naturally, broke the trance. "It's so beautiful,
Oncle." Beaux's voice was almost reverent. "So open. I never seen so much
sky, me, and the birds!" Beaux munched his way through his first couple of
sandwiches.

I heard a deep, happy, adventurous BARK! from the trail behind and turned,
smiling. I was hoping it was one of the guys I knew who let their dogs roam
out here on weekends. The dog was easy to spot. A big, galumphing golden
retriever, tongue lolling, was headed for us. Harder to spot was the owner,
a smiling man in high boots and a long fishing pole.

I hadn't really thought how Beaux would react to big, loose, roaming dogs,
but he just sat, frozen, expressionless. It was almost as if he was holding
his breath. The golden furball barreled into me yapping as the owner
shouted, "Beaux! Beaux! Stop that this INSTANT! Pay him no nevermind!
Beaux!"

Beaux had jumped a foot as the voice and stared at me with round
eyes. "What he sayin to me, Oncle? Who that man?"

I laughed and disentangled myself, the dog bounding over to his other new
(if shell-shocked) friend, Beaux. The loving thing started to lick the
crumbs from Beaux's astonished face just as the man, perhaps 50 ran up,
huffing and wheezing. "Oh, Lordy. I'm so. Sorry. He just. Loves
new. People."

"It's fine. I'm afraid you gave my nephew quite a shock, though. His name's
Beaux Thibodaux and he thought you were yelling at him!"

The man laughed deeply. "No, that lick-monster Beauregard, or B-O, Bo for
short." He finally got the dog's attention and it turned to his master,
whacking Beaux's face soundly with him meaty tail. "I really am sorry,
guys."

"Don't be silly. This is a free-zone for dogs. We're the trespassers with
our pic-a-nic basket. So, what are you and Bo up to?"

The guy smiled and showed the long fishing pole. On the end was a tennis
ball instead of a fly. "Bo loves the water, and this way I can relax while
he does his thing. Come along, you rascal, and leave these men to their
lunch." The pair made their way down the path on the bluff face

"Wh-Wh-Wh-What was that?"

"That, Beaux, was a golden retriever named Bo and his nameless human."

"What that man huntin a park? With no gun?" It struck me that Beaux had
likely never heard of a pet dog before. Dogs were working animals on the
Bayou, and as crazy as my sister and his G-Ma were, he was likely never
even allowed to meet a hound at all.

"Beaux, most folks don't keep dogs for hunting. They keep them because
they're great companions, playmates and protectors. Though I doubt that one
would do much at protecting. He might lick a burglar to death!"

Beaux moved a bit so he could see down the bluff. The man wasn't yet to the
lake's edge, but had already let loose a long, high cast and Bo was in
bellowing, joyous pursuit. The man settled himself on an old log, likely
his accustomed place, as Bo rapturously found and retrieved the ball. The
next cast, the guy decided to play a little. Whenever Bo would almost get
the floating tennis ball, he'd jerk and reel hard, snatching it away. Bo
was beside himself with delight at the game. Beaux was... thoughtful,
smiling and mesmerized.

"Would you, um, like a dog, Beaux?"

"Huh? What?"

"I was just wondering what you'd think of us, you and me, having a dog." I
hadn't had one since -- oh, lord -- since I was a teen. There were the farm
dogs of course, but they weren't pets any more than the cats that kept the
mice and rats at bay. I remember the fluffy little thing I had, probably
part Corgi and part everything else and smiled. "It's a lot of work,
though. They trust you unconditionally and you have to live up to
that. They depend on their human for everything. It's a big and lifelong
responsibility, and not to be taken lightly."

Beaux got quiet then and I let the subject drop. The day was beautiful and
Beaux eventually went for a run while I laid in the gathering heat. When
Beaux got back I'd already packed up everything and he hefted the basket
and decided, since he was already limbered up, to run it down to the car. I
laughed and stuck the keys in his pocket and off he went.

He was sitting in the shade of the truck when I got there, picnic basket
stowed and tied in to the bed. I loaded the Beach Bag as well. "You know
you could have sat in the air-conditioned truck, Beaux."

"Actually, Kevin, I never asked you to show me how to turn it on."

"Oh, I'm so--"

"Oh, hush, you. You can't show me everything all the time. This is the
first time I've thought about it. So, is it hard?"

"No it's really... Hmm. I don't rightly know. To me, it's almost second
nature. Here, get in the cab. I ushered him into the driver's seat and
pointed down. "Okay, look at the floor in front of you. There are three
pedals. If you were driving, you would operate the right and center ones
with your right foot. The tall skinny one on the right sends gas to the
engine, and the wide, short one in the middle applies the brakes to slow
you down. We'll do that another day.

"The one on the left is the one we need to know about to start a
vehicle. Use your left foot to press it all the way to the floor, and don't
let up until I tell you, got that?"

"Yes, sir." He pushed gently then with increasing force until the clutch
was fully engaged. "You have to push hard!"

"Yes, because you need to be certain whether or not you've completely
engaged what is called the clutch. Now, you can see where the key goes on
the steering-wheel shaft to the right? Good. Keep the clutch pressed in and
turn the key away from you."

He did and after two loud chugs, the big ole F-250 roared to life and
Beaux, predictably, jumped a foot and he slipped off the clutch. At which
point the three-quarter-ton pickup *also* jumped a foot as the
transmission, engine and parking brake all argued over the whole
stop-versus-go thing. The brakes won and the engine CLUNKed to a halt with
another epic shudder of the entire steel beast.

"BORDEL DE MERDE! OH, GOD, ONCLE! I broke it, me!" Beaux tried to scramble
out of the truck, nearly turning the air blue with French cuss words as I
roared with laughter and held him in place. I finally got him settled down.

"It's fine, Beaux. It's fine. You didn't break the truck," (much) I added
silently. "Settled down. You see that stick in the middle with the knob.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh!"

"Push the clutch all the way in again. Now, pull the stick down and to the
middle until you can move it from side to side easily. You feel the
difference? Okay, the truck is in neutral now and won't try to move in case
you lose contact with the clutch. Now, still pressing in the clutch, turn
the key again."

"No-no-no-no-no! I think I done learned enough today, me."

"Beaux, breathe, please? Trust me, okay? It's my truck," (and my
transmission), "and I'm not worried," (much), "so just take a breath and
try it again."

With a hand shaking like palsy, Beaux did and squawked when the big engine
crankily turned over. I was worried I might have to prime it with the gas
pedal after the tranny-lock stop, but the big ole monster roared then
settled to a gentle purr. A few moments later, the AC spat a torrent of
superheated air that, I'd always assumed, was meant to make you really
grateful for the tepid cold air that followed.

"See, now you've got a nice cool truck to sit in."

Beaux's eyes were still wide and his breathing short. "I'll take shade,
Oncle, if that's okay by you?" I poked in the ribs and made him giggle with
a tickle. "Stop that, you!" I chivvied him over to the passenger side and
he buckled in.

"Just so there's no real doubt, you WILL be learning to drive. Hush. It is
an absolutely required skill in most of the US. But not today. And also not
a standard transmission like I normally use. I like them for control, but
they're complicate and harder to drive, so we'll get an automatic. They
don't even have a clutch so you never have to worry about that huge jump if
you slip."

"You can get a car, Oncle, but I'm not driving it." I laughed.

"We'll see, Beaux. I predict you'll very soon want to have more mobility
than just me driving you around places. But it can wait. For now, I want
you to watch what I do as I drive. How often I look in the mirrors, how
often I have to move the steering wheel to adjust, all those
things. They're a lot more important than you think."

About halfway home, Beaux turned to me. "Kevin, you answer true now. Am I
just a pet?"

"What? What the hell, Beaux!?"

"Wen you were talking about getting a dog. It just, well, it sounded like
me. Trust you unconditionally. Depend on you for everything. Big
responsibility. I--" He swallowed and I realize he was close to tears, "I
just feel like b-b-b-burden and all."

I pulled the truck suddenly into a strip mall that had recently infect the
nearby corner and yanked Beaux fiercely over to me. "You are not a burden,
and damned sure not a pet, Beaux. I love you, kid, I really do. I did from
the moment I saw you. What the hell do I have to make you see that?" I
realized I was crying openly and Beaux was staring, wide-eyed. "Christ,
Beaux... just... Christ!"

I pulled myself back to my side of the truck. "I-I-I-I-I didn't mean to
upset you, Kevin. I didn't. I worry, me. I don't do anything but eat and
make trouble for you. I mean, don't you, sometimes, wish you had your quiet
life back? I mean, really?"

I looked at him and wiped my hands across my face to clear away the
tears. I stared fiercely into his eyes. "Not one fucking time since I net
you, Beaux. Not one goddamned, fucking time." His lip trembled and I pulled
myself together and resumed the drive home. Gradually, we got the
conversation to less perilous topics, but I could tell the exchange had
rocked both of us in very different ways.

We got home and stripped and I went upstairs. The answering machine was
blinking. I realized I'd never shown Beaux that, either. I called Beaux
upstairs. "So, new phone lesson! A lot of people -- not everyone, but a lot
-- use an answering machine so they don't miss calls. Let me show you how
it works. I took him into the office and had him dial the home phone. I was
amused that not answering the ringing device was as nerve-wracking for
Beaux as it would be for me. There was some deep, psychological *need* to
answer that clarion call.

Beaux jumped and looked startled. I could hear my voice echoing from the
main room. 'Hello. You've reached Kevin Faolin. I can't come to the phone
right now. Please leave a message after the tone that includes your name
and phone number, and I'll return your call. BEEEEEP!' I hissed to Beaux,
"Well, say something. Leave a message."

"Um? This is B-Beaux? Calling? Um?" Click.

I took him in the other room and told him the light blinked to say how many
messages were there. There were two, and I told him his would be the second
and we had to listed to them in order. I grabbed the pen and pad that
always sat next to the phone on the hall table and got ready to write.

"BEEP! Um, hello. Th-This is for Beaux? Th-This is Will?" Why was
everything a question on an answering machine? Mystery of the universe I
guess. "You, uh, probably don't remember me but we, uh, we met? At the
party?" The next was mumbled with a clear overtone of despair. "Oh, god,
this is terrible." Back to normal, he continued, "I'm sorry. I was, um,
well, hoping? That, uh, we might? Talk? Or something? So, uh, Will Jones
eightonesixeightsixsixfoursevenonetwo! Bye! Uh, Bye?"

I went to show Beaux the replay button as Will's number was amusingly-fast
and desperate. His eyes were huge, torn equally between the visage of a
rabbit looking at a rattlesnake and the same rattlesnake looking at the
rabbit. The machine kept going. "BEEP! Um? This is B-Beaux? Calling? Um?"

Beaux shook himself out of the trance and looked at me in awe and
horror. "He called back, that Will! What do I do, Oncle? What, what does it
mean?"

I chuckled, "First off it means that I need to replay that message about a
dozen times to try and get his number. He was so nervous that he was
babbling."

I couldn't help myself. Somewhere out there in the Cosmos, the Evil Uncle
virus floats around, waiting for an uncle to be asked a question by a
horrified and unsettled nephew concerning something sexual. I couldn't help
it. "He was babbling over you, Beaux." I teased gently and inexorably. "You
made enough of an impression that that *man* was scared to call *you*! What
do you think about that, young man?"

"I, uh, think I might be sick, me."

"Not until after you call him back, you're not! It's terribly rude not to
return a call from... an admirer." Seriously, like YOU could'a kept a
singsong taunt and a little leer outta YOUR voice? Puh-LEEZE. I pulled a
chair over and let him sink into it as I replayed the message enough to
finally get the number right.

I grabbed another side-chair. There were about a dozen side- or arm-chairs
along the walls for parties and such. "So, you WILL be calling him
back. Now we need to figure out what you want to say."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Ummmmmmm. I, um, I, uh, I like that he called? OH GOD,
putain le téléphone. Um... oh, Oncle. Help me, please!"

His obvious distress finally snapped me back to my normal mode. "Beaux,
take it easy. We'll work through this. You're fine. If anything, he's more
worried about this than you are. Okay?"

"Ouais. Yeah, sure. Tell me."

"Let's start simple. What did you two talk about last night?"

"I don't KNOW, me! I wasn't taking notes! You never said there'd be a
test!"

I rolled with laughter to the obvious displeasure and offense of my
ward. "Beaux, you are precious. Tell me what you remember about talking to
Will last night."

"Oh. Ohhhhh, uh, he was nice. Real nice? That don't help none. Um, he
doesn't fish but he like to go to the gym? Something like that. Um, he's
real smart. Real nice. I said that. Um. Um..."

"Okay, stop." I had to chuckle. Beaux was damned near
hyperventilating. "Did you like being around him?"

"Yes!"

"Did you like that he called you?"

"Yes. A lot."

"Do you want to see him again? Socially?"

"Oh, yes, Oncle."

"Do you think you like him sexually?"

KaaaaBOOM, Beaux's eyes practically crossed as the concept hit him like
truck. "Um...?" His face looked like an exhibit of stop-motion animation
with expressions flickering through at a staggering pace.

"Beaux? BEAUX! I'm taking that as a maybe-to-yes answer, so stop freaking
out. Breathe, Beaux, breathe. Just let this be simple and easy."

"But it ain't none a that!"

"But it CAN be. Shh. It's fine. It's okay. You call him back. You tell him
that you really enjoyed meeting him. That you are really flattered that he
remembered you -- that one is important -- and that it was nice of him to
call. That you would really like to see him again. Don't commit to a
date. Tell him you have to talk to me, which is true anyway." He was
shaking.

"That what you gonna say to Hans? You gonna be all calm when he call? And
why ain't he called? Why ain't there a Hans message on that there thing?"

KaaaaBOOM, the little fuck had struck dead-center. The difference was I had
decades of disappointment and waiting for the telephone under my belt. I
took several deep breaths. "I don't know, Beaux. Different people work at
different paces. As for what I'll say, yes, actually, that's it more or
less." I sighed.

"Okay, we'll do this differently. Come on. Up you get. Into the office with
you."

I settled him in the office next to the phone and told him to dial the
office number. RING! "Hello? This is Will?" Click! "Beaux, this only works
if you TRY. You heard how worried he was on the recording. You know he'll
cut you some slack. Come on, try, Beaux." RING! "Hello? This is Will?"

"Salut, um, hi. This is B-B-Beaux?"

"Oh! Beaux," I let relief and joy leak into my phone voice. "Thank you for
calling me!" Click!

"I cain't do this Oncle. Can I just, um, learn to drive or something easy?"
I laughed.

"Nope! Again!" RING! "Hello? This is Will?"

"Uh, hi. This is Beaux? Th-Th-Thank you for calling me. I really, um,
really like that you recalled me. From the party?" Mouthpiece covered, "I'm
ruining this, Oncle! Help Me!"

Mouthpiece covered, I hissed, "He thought so too!" Regular voice, "Oh! I'm
so glad you called me back. I mean, my message and all..." Click.

"Oncle, if I practice any more, I'm gonna puke. Can I just, you know, call
now? Please?"

I handed him the number. It took three dialing attempts, including one
misdial that rang up the suicide prevention hotline, which nearly killed
me. "Hi, uh, Will? This is, uh, Beaux? Thanks for... Really? Oh, that's so
nice. I wasn't sure you'd even rem... Oh, really? Oh, hush! No, now that's
just silly. I'd love t... well, I gotta ask my Oncle... well, yes, he's
here... Sure, uh wait a moment."

"Mr Faolan? It's Will? I doubt you remember me but I met Beaux at the
p-p-party and I, well, I'm so sorry. I know it's probably a lot to ask. Can
I, uh, see... um, see Beaux sometime?"

Out of nowhere, a weird Dad voice appeared, "What did you have in mind,
Will?"

"Um? Maybe dinner? Could I, uh, take Beaux out sometime? I mean, *any*
time? I know I'm, you know, too old. But... I'm sorry, sir, but I know I'm
ruining this. Can I like, start over or something?"

I laughed at that. "Well, I have to tell you, Will, that Beaux asked me the
same question about starting it over, so I think you're about on the same
wavelength here. No, you don't need to start over. Yes, you can take Beaux
out sometime. I'll go with you because, well, Beaux isn't used to the
dating thing. How do you feel about, a, uh, double date?"

"REALLY?!? That would be perfect. I'm so n-n-n-nervous. You, won't like, be
up-p-p-pset if I'm not, you know, real um?"

"No, Will, I've been where you are. It's good. Breathe, son. It's
fine. Beaux will call you," He was shaking his head frantically and furious
at me for committing him to yet another call on whatever 'putain le
téléphone' meant, "with the specifics. Have a good night. Yes. I
understand that you're on shift tonight. No, Beaux won't be trying to reach
you. Okay, you're off tomorrow at... eight in the morning? Fine. I'll make
sure he knows. No, don't call when you get off. I'll make sure he calls
before you go to bed. Yes, I promise. Yes, I really-really promise. You go
to work. Yes, and, um, cc-could you, um, say hi to H-H-H-H-Hans for
me. Bye, now!" I hung up.

"See, that wasn't so... what?" Beaux's eyes, now that the threat of actual
phone conversation was over, were a pair of narrow slits. And they were
aimed at me.

"Let's talk about Ha- Ha- Ha- Ha- Hans for a minute, Oncle. AND about
double-dating. AND about me calling Will. AND about--"

"Yep! Tomorrow! Good idea! How about dinner!" How the fuck was I gonna get
outta this one?

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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