Date: Fri, 27 Apr 2018 12:30:13 -0700 From: Paul Landerman Subject: The Old Fag chapter One Chapter One ONE Growing up on a barley farm on the eastern steppes of the Snake River Valley, the "big city" is Pocatello; seeing Manhattan for the first time, Mason Taylor was prepared to be overwhelmed. What he did not realize was just how overwhelming New York City is: it assaults every sense, and the noise and the congestion and the smells and the teeming life of jousting taxis and pedestrians and bicycle couriers and police and street-food vendors that together form a greater population than several western states combined, completely threw him off his game. Looking back on his life as a journalist and political and economic analyst and editor for one of the national financial news weeklies, Mason realized he was somehow still grounded in that old farm; perhaps a visit out west was overdue. It was not just that he realized that a change of some kind was looming, but that suddenly the huge noisy bustling city he landed in as a freshly-minted college graduate was now much smaller than he ever imagined. Years later Mason realized there comes a time in life when you walk away from all the drama as well as those who create it. You surround yourself instead with people who make you laugh; you try to forget the bad things and the bad times and focus on the good moments and consequently love those who treat you appropriately and pray for the ones who do not. You somehow realize that life is too short to be anything other than happy. He also recalled the words of William Zinsser, "The past looms over us in a thousand fragments, defying us to impose some order upon it." 1 The immediate past, last weekend, was still burning brightly in his memory; Ross had come to spend the weekend and what a wild time it was. "What are you doing this weekend?" he had asked innocently enough, and Mason answered "You must come and see my new beach house in Malibu." Picking up Ross James, his ex-lover and longest friend, at LAX just before 10 AM Wednesday morning, Mason realized they had plenty of time for shopping and sight-seeing before running off to the beach. After window shopping along Rodeo Drive and lunch at the Beverly Wilshire, they arrived back at the house just before 4 PM. A dip in the pool seemed in order, and when Mason found Ross lounging on the side of the pool staring out across the beach and toward the ocean, he slipped his right hand inside Ross's trunks and found his hole and began massaging it and stroking his cock with his left hand. After sufficient moaning to prove he was ready for it, Mason led Ross to the chaise lounge on the poolside and knelt over him and began sucking. Just when it seemed Ross was about to come, a distraction in the form of the houseboy, Mario, arrived, and turning his head towards Mario, Ross proceeded to strip down the black Speedo the houseboy wore nearly every day and started sucking his long narrow Argentine cock. Soon enough, the threesome was standing poolside, Mason bent over the head of the chaise, Mario fucking him, and Ross fucking Mario. Covered in sweat and cum, they jumped in the pool, and Ross and Mason made plans to drive back into Beverly Hills to find Mason's favorite Thai restaurant and go clubbing. At 2 AM, flying down Pacific Coast Highway in the Mercedes Benz S65 AMG, with a southern Mediterranean hunk in the back seat sucking Ross's cock, and a Viking god seated next to Mason stroking his cock, it seemed like the old days. With all four sucking and fucking in the master bedroom, it was nearly 6 AM when they fell asleep; it was well past noon when Mario announced Bloody Mary's and toast and coffee were available on the patio. After another fuck fest in the pool, the two Europeans were in a taxi headed back into the city, having promised to attend the coming party Saturday night, and Ross and Mason were drying out on the chaise lounges poolside. Mario came to announce he was leaving in the LR-4 to go grocery shopping; he needed to know if there was any special request. "A gorgeous boyfriend" Ross tossed off, and all three laughed. Mason and Ross decided to go window shopping in the Malibu neighborhood, and among other sights found a small out-of-the-way art gallery. Stepping inside, into the cool and subdued interior, at first it seemed they were alone, but suddenly The Most Gorgeous Man in the known universe came out of a side door and introduced himself as the gallery owner. There was instant electricity between him and Ross, and as they began chatting and drifted away, Mason found it expedient to pretend to be highly interested in the foreign abstract artists' collection in a far corner. Soon the gallery was silent again, and after gliding all around the small space, Mason noticed a side door partially ajar, and inside was The Most Gorgeous Man in the Known Universe, together with Ross, both naked from the waist down, fucking like monkeys. Mason made a silent retreat out to the parking lot, and sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of exquisite German engineering for about another half hour, said to a brightly smiling Ross when he opened the door, "Did you buy a painting?" "No, why?" "Well, I noticed you making a deposit." "Bitch!" They both laughed. "He wants to come for dinner tomorrow night; is that OK?" "Sure." "Actually, I asked him to dinner; I hope you don't mind." "Not a problem, we can have a couple of other friends over and have a little wine and cheese party, I guess." Mason began to remember the years in Manhattan, the thousands of meaningless but oh-so-strategic cocktail parties he had been forced to attend, and the myriad cocks that had been forced upon him as a result of business connections and company strategy. This was different: just friends, no agendas, no strategies, just relaxation and good times. Ross looked at Mason sideways asking "What's wrong?" "Nothing, why?" "You seem like you are a million miles away." "Yeah, maybe, sorry. Well, anyway, let's just have fun while you are here this weekend, that's what it is all about, correct?" "Yes sir." It was just past sunset when they arrived back at the house, and Mario had already prepared a beautiful whole-meal Greek salad with seafood for their supper; sitting on the patio watching the fast-fading sun over the edge of the Pacific was magic. A bottle of Pinot Noir later, they decided to wander down Pacific Coast Highway to the little village where there was a great jazz bar surrounded by a sushi bar and a tapas bar. By midnight they were tired and drove slowly back home. It was a pleasant night, and with all of the doors and windows open, having Ross cuddled into him and a stiff cock in his ass, Mason drifted off to sleep. Mason had no trouble getting out of the bed in the morning without waking Ross, who had been a champion sleeper since college days. Mason was on the patio having coffee and chatting with Mario about the Saturday party, when Ross finally awoke. They agreed to have plenty of wine, plenty of beer, and to hire Mike the bartender from the jazz bar to come and be their bartender for the evening. Who to invite was likewise no problem; in the three years that Mason had been in Malibu, while not egregiously social, he had made enough strategic friendships to be able to easily fill up a party roster. Mason called and confirmed that his lawyer, David Neville and his partner, as well as his doctor, Fritz Cooper and a hospital intern, would attend, together with the wine department manager from the grocery store, and Mike's boss Jerry Ride, as well as the two hunks from the Wednesday night adventure in Beverly Hills. Mario volunteered to bring the three surfers from across Pacific Coast Highway in the nearby apartment complex as well as his Argentine friends who waited tables at the tapas bar. And of course, The Most Gorgeous Man in the Known Universe from the art gallery would be there. Mason was certain that TMGM would be hit on by everyone at the party: dark hair graying at the temples, just about 6 feet tall, a slim 180 pounds, bright smile and light hazel eyes offset by light olive skin, this man was expensive eye-candy. After spending an hour working on a few business details, Mason told Ross he was free for the afternoon, and they ought to get ready for the supper with the Gorgeous Gallery Guy. Mario had all of the usual staples on hand, including steaks, shrimp, salad, lots of wine, lots of vegetables, but no dessert. Ross offered to call TMGM and ask if he could bring a little dessert, and soon they were ready to take a drive off to the south on PCH and go sight-seeing for an hour or so. Arriving back home about 4 PM, Mario already had the grill tempered, the steaks rubbed and the wine chilling; he had called Mason just a moment before and warned him that TMGM had just arrived, and they had better get back soon. They found him on the patio, lying on a chaise and gazing out across the ocean; he saw Ross and stood immediately and hugged him and kissed him, and just as immediately the loose linen drawstring pants he was wearing revealed how excited he was to see Ross. It looked as if a T-bone steak was trying to get out of the crotch of those pants, even as loose as they were. Ross took him by the hand and they disappeared into the second master bedroom, and Mason sighed; "Looks like supper is going to be late." In less than a half hour, the pair returned, with disheveled hair and goofy smiles; Ross whispered to Mason they had only 69'ed because of supper and would get around to serious fucking later. For Mason, `dinner' was the traditional heavy noon meal served to farm hands to refill them for their hard work. `Supper' on the other hand was the light evening meal. This supper was delightful, with Mario joining them, and TMGM wanted to know all about Mason and Mario, if they were a couple, how they met, and all of the past history they cared to divulge. In turn, he talked about his childhood in Spain, his travels, and his work in New York City as an art buyer for a museum and his blog for a European art magazine. Ross was fascinated by him and never stopped gazing at him. Mario served the tiramisu which TMGM had brought, along with demitasse cups of decaf; they chatted for another hour and finally all four claimed to be sleepy. Mason and Mario cleaned up the kitchen and headed to Mason's master bedroom together; they could hear the sweet sounds of fucking coming from the other master bedroom. Once in bed, Mason told Mario how he could tell it was Ross who was getting it up the ass tonight, not the other way around. Ross has a certain rhythm, a certain style of fucking, lightning fast, and Mason knew it by heart, and the moaning coming from the other room was clearly Ross getting fucked, not doing the fucking. Mason chuckled because he had lost count of how many times over the years Ross had insisted he was strictly a top and would never bottom for a man. They fell asleep in Mason's bed with Mario's beautiful slender Argentine cock once again safely embedded inside Mason.