The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
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SEPTEMBER endings and beginnings 02 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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The rest of the day skipped by, Jean-Claude caught up in calling clients. Denny was late, but forgiven when he reported he had to go bail AJ out of a flat tire, stuck on the NJ Turnpike on his way to Trenton, without a tire iron! However, Denny was doubly-forgiven when he came up with the completed plans for the troubled entranceway to the civic center and Jean-Claude was so happy, he kissed him!
"This looks great Denny," he patted him on the back.
"I don't get another kiss?"
"Didn't you get enough out of me for the past few years?"
"Hey," Denny asks, "did you ever tell Brendan about you and me?"
"Yes."
Denny was all ears, "What'd he say?"
Putting on a sour face, Jean-Claude replies, "Brendan said, `you're kidding'?"
"No he didn't!" Denny disbelieves Jean-Claude and then doing something he's done so many times in the past, two sucker punches to the gut, a lite left and a hardly touching, right.
"Nah. Actually Brendan thinks you're a very sweet guy!"
"He said that?"
"Yep."
"Do you think Brendan and me can get some quality time together?"
"Why would he want to go to the zoo with you?"
He earned another `left-and-a-right'!
"I'm going out for some lunch. Want some?" Denny asks.
"Lunch? What time is it?" Jean-Claude asks, with more motives than lunch in mind.
"It is..." Denny figures it out to the second, "One sixteen and..."
"Did you happen to see Cody?"
"I wasn't looking for him. Isn't he in his office?"
Denny followed him as he walked rapidly down the hallway. Cody's office was empty.
"I hope nothing's happened," Jean-Claude stood there, tapping his foot and thinking.
"What do you mean?"
"Cody and Jaime had a big fight this morning. More than a lover's quarrel and it wound up where Cody told Jaime to go home, pack up and get out!"
"Shit! But they were like the tightest couple going... that is until you and Brendan hit it off... not to mention AJ and me," Denny said in one exhale. "What are you going to do J-C?"
Grabbing his jacket he replies, "I think I'm going to take a walk down by the water. Cody left this morning around ten to `get some fresh air'."
"Maybe he decided to get drunk at some bar."
"Could be."
Just then Brendan walks in, enroute to the jon. "What? Going to lunch and not inviting um-moi?"
Alarmed, Jean-Claude replies, "Brendan, Cody went out for some fresh air this morning and hasn't returned."
"Could he have gone home?"
"No. That would be some place he definitely would not go, else he would run into Jaime packing up," Jean-Claude rationalizes.
"Hmm... let me throw some water on my face."
"Need help?" Denny asks.
Jean-Claude would normally crack a joke, but he had something more vital on his mind.
In the office jon, Brendan stripped off his sweat-soaked tee shirt and proceeded to use about ten paper towels, wetting them and then dabbing himself all over the face. After, he wiped his pits, then pecs and stomach. He reached over each shoulder and got as much as he could. He smiled, thinking of how Jean-Claude soaps up his back every morning now.
With a knock, Denny yells, "J-C says to hurry it up."
Immediately Brendan opens the door.
"Hell yeah!" Denny is delighted to see him shirtless!
"Give me your shirt."
"My shirt?"
"Yeah. I need a shirt to wear. This one's all soaked," he holds the smelly tee shirt by a finger.
"How about we trade?"
"You're a sick fuck Denny, but okay!"
Taking off his light blue dress shirt, Denny took Brendan's sweat-soaked, smelly tee shirt off his hands.
"Oh, I want it back, washed and ironed!"
"Iron? It's a tee shirt, Bren?"
"Okay," Brendan yelled as he walked backwards down the hallway, "make sure it's clean." He no sooner got back to the main part of the office when Jean-Claude scooted himself and Brendan out the door. Jean-Claude went right for his car.
"I thought you were going to check out the boardwalk?" Brendan questions.
"I was... I am."
"It's like only two blocks?"
"Sorry," Jean-Claude replies, relocking the drivers side of his car, walking around the front and reporting to the place where Brendan is standing on the sidewalk.
When they get to the end of the street, Jean-Claude asks, "What do you think?"
Looking to the right and then the left, there was a small amount of pedestrian traffic, but it being the last few days of August, most of the summer board-walkers had gone home for the season.
"Well," Brendan ponders, "if memory serves me correctly, there are two or three bars down this way. What about the other direction?" he looks to their right.
"Maybe one."
"So we'll head this way," Brendan replies, pulling his tee shirt out of his pants to allow the light breeze to blow under it.
To compensate for not being able to do the same, Jean-Claude removes his jacket and loosens his tie, unfastening the top button of his dress shirt.
"Bar number one," Brendan says, walking over the threshhold. But he was almost hit in the face when the door wouldn't budge. "Bar number one out of the way," he said, pointing to the list of hours. "Doesn't open till four."
"Right. I forgot. The season is winding down.
Proceeding to the next bar, they had to pass by D'Artan's surf shop, so ducked inside for a moment.
"Can I help you with someth... oh it's you," D'Artan replies.
A catchy remark would have come to mind, if Jean-Claude didn't have some personal official business at hand, so he skipped the ordinary phrase said and asks, "You know Cody Finsterwalder, from my office, don't you?"
"I think," D'Artan replies, then describes, "early thirties, about six foot, medium blonde hair?"
"That's him. Have you seen him?"
"Like in what span of time?"
Jean-Claude states, "Between ten this morning and now?"
"No." Then he gazes out of the front window of his shop, asking, "Say Brendan, have the cops finished up their investigation yet?"
"Investigation?" Brendan questions D'Artan.
Paying attention to his `customers', he tells, "Yeah. Around noontime a surfer reported seeing a body in the water. By the time they fished him out he was history."
"Body?" Jean-Claude's heart took a leap into his throat passage.
"Yeah. They figure he fell off the pier maybe. He was dressed in his clothes and all and...."
"Oh my God, no!" Jean-Claude replies.
"Oh but don't worry. It wasn't Cody. This dude had dark hair and wasn't at all `his' build," D'Artan quickly replies.
Rigid, Jean-Claude's whole bod relaxes, a deep exhale signaling relief from his nervousness.
Then, from the back of the surf store a familiar face comes, the voice matching a person they both knew, "You better come quick," Gazi says.
"What's up?" D'Artan asks.
Brendan kind of forgot why they were there, feasting on Gazi, all decked out in some boardshorts, riding low on his torso. Hairy from neck to where the two white laces kept the shorts from falling off his hips, Brendan couldn't help but lick his lips.
"The Schlack... it spilt all over!" Gazi responds.
The four, D'Artan leading the way, advance to the back of the shop. Out the back door, they parade through the small back door and into an outer courtyard.
"I am so sorry," Gazi replies.
Brendan is quick to say, "Am I hearing right? Gazi apologizing?" He stabs his pinky in his left ear and gives it a shake.
"You're not having hallucinations, Bren."
A wide smile creased Brendan's lips when D'Artan, like Gazi, wearing boardshorts and a Hurley tank top as opposed to shirtless, bends down to pick up the can. He left the smile on his face until D'Artan uprighted himself from stooping over, the boardshorts surfing back up his waist, covering up half of his ass crevice. "Owch!" he said when Jean-Claude's elbow struck a rib.
"Sorry," he said to his lover.
Jean-Claude told him, "Did you forget why we are here?"
Immediately Brenadn asks, "Say Gazi, have you seen Cody today?"
"Who?"
"I don't think Gazi has met Cody," Jean-Claude replies.
"It's not so bad," D'Artan says about the can of shellac, or lack of. "We've just got to clean this up good or else the environmentalists will be on our tail!"
All Brendan could think about was having his tongue on D'Artan's tail!
"C'mon, there's nothing here," Jean-Claude said about his reference to finding Cody.
If he could read Brendan's thoughts, he would have found him out, thinking about two reasons to stay awhile, Gazi and D'Artan being the `two'!
When their feet hit the boardwalk, Jean-Claude cautiously says, "I'm not too sure about all this fishing a body out of the ocean. Wouldn't your friend, Mike, know about all this?"
"Right!" Brendan says, holding a finger up in the `number one' position and then digging in his right pocket for his cellphone. In minutes he was talking with him.
Attuned to Brendan's every word, Jean-Claude watched him like a hawk.
"Oh really? Oh... Oh..." as Brendan responded to Mike's conversation, each time he answered the tone of his voice dropped in tone, "Oh... I see... um yeah," he finally bottomed out, giving Jean-Claude a grim look. Finally he clicked his cellphone shut.
"I need to know," Jean-Claude expected the truth.
"It wasn't Cody they fished out of the water."
"Thank God!"
"But it's still not good news J-C."
His relaxed feeling quickly dissapated and Jean-Claude clammed up, "And so?"
"The person they found was Jaime Quezada."
"What tha fuck? Jaime? No! It can't be...."
Immediately Brendan threw his arms around Jean-Claude and hugged him for all it was worth. Brendan filled him in, "They found his wallet in his pants pocket. It was all there in black and white Jean-Claude. There's no mistake. They are sure of it."
"This is all a nightmare. Why would Jaime..."
It wasn't the whole scenario and Brendan purposefully waited for Jean-Claude to calm a little bit before he bestowed upon him, "There's more."
"Huh?" An inch shorter, Jean-Claude looked into Brendan's blue eyes, searching for more news, hoping it wasn't negative. "What did Mike say?"
"This is going to be a shock for you, but..."
"What?"
"They have Cody in custody."
"What? They don't think he had anything to do with this?"
"Nobody knows, but for now this is the way it is."
"Well, what is their reasoning Bren?"
Several people saw Cody and Jaime on the pier around noon time. They were in a heated argument. It was reported, two or three times, Cody pushed Jaime. But then this becomes the mystery, when it seemed to die down. People went off, doing their normal business. All they know is the two were left alone and then they fished Jaime out of the drink. The unfortunate thing is, instead of him just drowning, they found a rather large bump on his head."
"But Cody wouldn't... Cody isn't anyhow capable of..."
"We can't go jumping to conclusions Jean-Claude. The only way this can be cleared up is allowing the professionals to do their job."
"I suppose," he said with disgust. "Did Mike say we can see him?"
"Do you want to see him?"
"Wouldn't you want to show your support for a co-worker whom you have been associated with for several years?"
"Right," Brendan accepted it, leading the way on the boardwalk, turning a corner putting them on the street towards Jean-Claude's office. When they reached the car, Brendan was insistent, "I'm driving."
A press of a button unlocked Jean-Claude's vehicle. He got in and handed the keys to Brendan, whom sat behind the wheel.
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"It's not going to come off without losing some hair, Gazi!"
"But there will be a spot!" Gazi complains, looking down on himself, the black hair covering his deep brown pecs.
"Really you have a choice. We could rip the shellac off or I could try some solvent, but it might even be worse... for your skin that is."
A patch of chest hair, about one x two inches, near Gazi's left nip, the drying shellac glued the follicles to his skin. He finally tells D'Artan, "I trust you. Whatever you say."
"Sorry," D'Artan responds and then wincing, replies, "I think we should," and not to aleviate telling it like it the way in which it was going to hurt like hell, "not use the solvent."
Gazi ran both his palms over his own hairy pecs. "I'm not going to like this!"
"Uh yeah," D'Artan said with more passion, his hand on Gazi's shoulder. "Like I'm not going to either, but I don't think it's good we leave it on your skin. Besides, it kind of shows anyway."
It did too. Gazi's patterned chest looked like one huge mass of black hair, extending from the tops of his shoulder and neck, to the pec line separating abs from his pectorals, flowing across his chest from right to left. The spilled shellac didn't come anywhere close to the trail which began midchest and extended straight down, dividing his abs into two equally muscled parts.
"How we do this?" And Gazi also informs, "With pain I am such a baby!"
"How about I make it up to you later on?"
The two stare at each other. D'Artan's smile infects Gazi a small amount, the Arabian showing a minute creasing of the corners of his mouth.
"How should I get?"
D'Artan figured this was not going to be pleasant for either of them. Too, he didn't wish to have Gazi screaming his lungs out and scaring away prospective customers, even though they were in the rear yard of the shop. "Come inside."
Gazi follows D'Artan inside. Inside it was cooler, but Gazi still sweated like a wet rag.
"Why don't you lay down on one of the surfboards," D'Artan suggests as he closes the front door and latches it shut.
Seeing only one lying flat, across two sawhorses, Gazi proceeds over to the surfboard. He passes by some coiled up rope. "Maybe you should use this on me?"
"What? And deprive you of being a man?"
"Right now I feel like a scared man!"
D'Artan saw Gazi was trying to make light of a bad situation. Walking over to Gazi, butting his chest up to him, he puts his hands on his bare torso and sweetly delivers, "You aren't scared of little ole me are you?"
He was mellowing out, mainly because of the soft treatment he was getting. Opportune timing, Gazi reaches down and feels up D'Artan's crotch. "Little?"
Backing off, D'Artan says, "Get your ass on the board."
And when Gazi turns to walk towards the surfboard, D'Artan gives him a small whack on the fanny!
Hopping up on the surfboard, rear first, the upwards motion seemed to make Gazi's boardshorts go the other way, slipping further away from his trim waistline.
With something other than ripping the square of hair off of Gazi's left pec, D'Artan suggest, "Maybe you should remove your shorts?"
"Remove my shorts?" Gazi questions, even though he would not mind removing them, whatever the reason.
"Sure," And D'Artan makes up, "as a precaution."
It wasn't making any sense, but did Gazi give a shit? Nope! He went right ahead, slipping his thumbs into the waistband, hopping down on his feet, shedding the shorts and then slapping his ass back on the glossy surface.
"Nice," D'Artan slipped, "I mean I think it'll work out better this way."
By now, Gazi was on to him. But rather than discuss the matter he lay right down on the surfboard. As his back hit the board, he reaches up to the tip, his hands grabbing hold of it. On purpose he allowed his legs to dangle over the narrower edge, opening wide the gap between his thighs.
Standing there, hands on hips, D'Artan only smiled, his attention obviously geared to checking out the sagging balls, both sitting on the board as if a palate holding up them and the soft nine-incher lying on top.
"I think you should take off your shorts and shirts as a precaution," Gazi suggests. "Yum!" he says when D'Artan takes the tails of his tank top and pulls upwards, at first showing off his thick treasure trail, then the stripe thinning out, giving way to a smooth bod. As soon as he gets it off, there's a knock on the door, followed by a pounding.
"I wonder who that could be?"
However the two hear, "D'Art! Are you in there? I've got an emergency! D'Art?"
Standing a foot from the door, D'Artan yells softly over his shoulder to Gazi, "It's Orca."
"Whale?" Gazi questions him, pushing up on his elbows.
"No. Short for Arcas. That's his name but he's kind of got a reputation and well, we've given him the name Orca. I gotta let him in. He won't take no for an answer."
Shrugging both shoulders, Gazi says, "Let him in!"
"Put your pants on!" And he didn't check that Gazi was following through with the strong suggestion, unlatching the wooden and glass door. As he opened it, the closed miniblind attached to it swung with it.
"I'm so-o-o glad you're here bro." His attention on his board, Orca didn't pay no mind to anything else happening about him other than the owner. He stood the board up on the opposite end.
"What happened to your skeg, Orca?"
"Got tored off," Orca replies with a tinge of his Greek accent.
"A wave did this?"
"No, not really."
D'Artan seemed to think Orca was stalling. "Okay. Out with it Orca!"
"Well y'see D'Art, I was riding along and this `awfully' cute dude has his thumb sticking out and... well I didn't have the heart to let him walk all the way to the beach on this hot, hot day."
It seemed rational, especially the part about `awfully cute'. "About the skeg?" He looks at it, completely sheared off the board.
"Where's the little fin?"
D'Artan hoped when he turned around Gazi was wearing his boardshorts!
"He-e-ey, who is this D'Art?" Orca asks, his eyes scanning Gazi's bod faster than radar.
Before D'Artan could answer, Gazi is replying, "I see why they call you `Orca'."
"Gazi?" D'Artan busts on him.
But Orca takes control of the situation, lifting his muscle shirt, exposing his rather beefy bod. "I'll have you know this is all muscle!"
"Not all of it!" Gazi begs to differ, showing the reason why he thinks so, taking Orca's pecs by the nips.
"O-o-o-oh fuck!" Orca cries out, arching his back and dropping his head back as if looking to the ceiling, his mouth in an open position like a fish skimming the top of the water.
Lucky D'Artan was there to catch Orca's board!
"I like nice, beefy pecs!"
"Oh man - don't stop!" Orca said, looking down and watching Gazi gently squeeze Orca's quarter-sized.
"I like to play with man-nips!"
"News to me," D'Artan says as he lays Orca's board up against the wall. "But cut it out," he interferes, cutting off the switch to Orca's sexual electrical circuits.
"D'Art? What are you doing?"
"This is a surfshop, Orca, not a pleasure palace!"
"I think you cut Orca a break," Gazi says.
"Yeah right," D'Artan says. "I'll repair his skeg for half price!"
"Cool!" Orca liked D'Artan's reasoning, dropping his tank over his bare bod. As he followed D'Artan and his surfboard to the back room, Orca walked funny at first, readjusting himself.
Both missed Gazi's comment to himself, "Oh how I would like to suckle up to those nips!"
Strange how, not more than five minutes ago, Gazi was ready to take on D'Artan, lying down while he hoped for a hot oral session. Now, he's completely bent in the opposite direction, wanting to bottom for Orca!
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Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author. If you don't adhere to this condition, you run the risk of having your pants sued off you... might lose your shirt too!
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....