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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"For Sale By Owner" 50 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Anybody home?" Kyle heralded as he and Alex walked in the door.
"It's damn quiet," Alex replied, taking a listen here and there.
Then, just as the clock was striking eleven thirty, three characters barge in the front door, almost sweeping Alex off his feet.
"And where were you three all evening?" Alex inquires, as if the 'father'.
Speaking up for the trio, Scott says, "Oh, just took a nice quiet stroll around the neighborhood."
But having more to say, Jarrett tells them, "It was cool. Scotty took us over to see where he's going to work. There was an old man working there. He said maybe we can get some part time jobs."
"Did that 'old man' happens to be Carlos' father?"
"Yeah, that's him," Jarrett said. "Say, is there anything like leftovers in the fridge?"
Coming a bit out of his shell, Jason says, "You ate pizza like an hour ago, Jarrett?"
"I know, but all that running we did in Central Park kind of burned it off."
"You were in the park at this time of night?" Kyle questions Jarrett.
"Well sure. It's not like we were alone," Jason tells.
"Yeah," Jarrett breaks the news, "we met Scotty's friend."
"Scotty's friend, eh?" Kyle questions, smiling at Scott. "It didn't happen to be the same one you stripped for in midtown traffic, would it?"
"You make it sound so seedy, Kyle. I only took my shirt off," Scott replies in his own defense.
Left standing there, the trio has changed members, Jarrett and Jason taking off for the kitchen.
"Sounds hot," Alex says. "Lucky Reiko. Nobody even stripped for me in the middle of 'my' hometown!"
"Oh I'm sure that would have turned heads," Kyle said of the laid back town of Lake Quinn.
"However," Alex plants a thought, "every year the frat guys from the community college do this streaking thing for charity."
"You don't say?" Scott says, his reaction probing for more detail.
"Nope. I mean yup. There's got to be about a hundred of 'em. They soar clear down main street, ending at the docks and jump right into the lake," Alex explains, putting two hands together like praying, throwing them up in the air then 'diving' into the floor.
"What about the cops?"
"Well," Alex says, casually leaning with one hand on the foyer table, "I have the feeling at least two cops might enjoy the fracas, but the fratguys are always careful not to make it the same day every year."
"It might make for an interesting reason to get arrested," Kyle suggests. "the cells are packed with sweating, testosterone-induced, horny guys!"
"Nope!" Alex exclaims. "Funny thing is, you would think the cops would have the lake surrounded. But no. Every year the streakers swim to other regions of Lake Quinn and make their getaway."
Scott reasons, "Well couldn't they just go to the frat houses and place all the guys under arrest?"
"I think what Alex is getting at, Scotty, is maybe there are more than two gay cops on the Lake Quinn Police force!" Kyle surrenders the clue.
"Hey guys, did you know there's Hagen-das in the freezer?"
"Was," Kyle says, seeing Jarrett and Jason eating right out of the two last containers.
"Mmmmm.... got any Rocky Road?" Alex asks, forcefully spooning one of Jarrett's spoonfuls into his mouth. "Needs topping," he comments.
"That could be arranged," Jarrett comes back with, doing a little hip dance, rubbing his cock and balls on his inner thighs.
A look then came over Alex, him smiling as if he had secret, which he did.
"You haven't?" Kyle directed at Alex.
"Oh no. Not me, but somebody I know...."
Scott, speculating, says, "I think I'm gonna be sick!"
Turning to Jarrett, Jason says, "Is Alex trying to tell us somebody ate some ice cream with 'you-know-what' on it?"
It was more than a secret between Alex and the swim team, matter of fact, a bond between himself and Devon, never to tell what Devon's penalty entailed when he backed down from a dive, in cahoots with a swimmer from the opposing team.
"So?" Kyle started up the badgering Alex received, then sorry he ever mentioned it.
"You can have the rest of my Hagen-das if you tell, Alex?" Jarrett offered.
Into the small pint-sized container, Alex's eyes searched for even a smigeon. "Yeah. Thanks a lot Jarrett!"
"You can have some of mine," Jason offered.
"If you don't want it, I'll take it," Jarrett says, stealing Jason's container away.
Standing up to Jarrett, Alex tells him, "What a hog!" It's at this point Alex decided Jarrett wasn't going to get all the ice cream.
"Aleeeeeeeeeeex! You little sneak!" Jarrett called out, playing tag, chasing him around the sofa and back.
"Okay. Here," Alex gave in, handing the empty back to Jarrett.
Jarrett in turn handed it over to Jason, Kyle taking it off Jason's hands, Jason following him into the kitchen.
"And what are you up to, Scotty?"
Over Scott's left shoulder Kyle hung, his chin hanging on like a hook. Over his right shoulder, Jason did the same.
"Looks like pie," Jason gathered.
"It's like a pizza 'in' a pie, instead of 'on' it," Scott replied, arranging the last bits of mozzarella cheese to the top. "Hey, do me a favor guys and check in the fridge for some Parmesan cheese?"
Kyle could have gone, but he allowed Jason to do Scott the favor.
"It says Par-me-san-reggie-ano. This any good Scotty?" Jason spelled most of it correctly. If he sped it up, it would have sounded right!
"Good enough. Bring it over here," Scott said.
Seeing himself as 'useless', Kyle excused himself, heading out to the other room.
"Do you like really 'like' Reiko, Scott?" Jason asks as Scott slaps the top of the apron over his head.
Forcing Jason to turn around so he could tie it in the back, Scott replies, "He's a really nice guy, though we've only just met and I don't know too much about him other than he's one of the organizers of the bike club at the Pride Center and works at the Metropolitan Opera."
After a pause, thinking on Scott's words, Jason says, "I don't know Jarrett too well, but I think he's a really cool guy."
Not sure how to put it, Scott asks, "Have you two done anything in the sleeping bag yet?"
Indirectly, Jason replies, "Does kissing count?"
"It's part of it. A good start."
Trying to get somewhere with all this, Jason asks, "When do you feel like you should go all the way with a guy?"
It was one of many questions Scott hadn't considered, being he hasn't had any real love affairs. Yet he had his own views on the subject so settled for, "You have to go on your own values you set for yourself."
"Oh, okay," Jason replied, Scott having the feeling his statement went right over the nineteen year old's head.
Picking up on it right away, Scott sits on a bar stool after putting his 'pizza' pie in the oven, folding his hands as if a doctor delivering a verdict on a patient's condition. By example, Scott told him, "Some guys fuck guys or get fucked for whatever reason... maybe because it just feels good, which I suppose it does, so I've heard."
It gave Jason reason not to pop the sensitive question to Scott.
"Other guys are more serious about getting fucked, almost as if a personal issue. Like me, I would not want to fuck a guy just because he looks hot," Scott continued his explanation.
"Oh, so you 'are' a top then?" Jason broke down and asked.
"Top or bottom, I'd rather not say for sure. Instead, I would much more like to do away with the tags and just lie with a guy in bed and see where it goes."
Then Jason asks, "But isn't that the whole thing about meeting guys? I mean if I'm a top, wouldn't I want to meet up with a guy who is a bottom?"
"I suppose if that is the most important thing which is guiding you into a relationship. Sure. Go for it," Scott tells him.
"Then again if I hold out for a bottom, or top guy, which ever I'm 'not', I might never find Mr. Right."
"Could be true. The way I see it, too many guys are basing their quests on looking for Mr. Right, from the 'position' point of view and when that happens they find too many Mr. Right-now's, fall into the niche and never find the true one."
"Do you think you and Reiko are... um, the true thing?" Jason asked.
"I don't even know Reiko, but for sure the first opportunity we get to jump in between the sheets I'm not going to offer up my cock or ass to him!"
It made Scott smile, becoming infectious, Jason catching on. Then he had one concern about Jason asking, "Why? Has Jarrett been pressing you for sex?"
"Jarrett? Oh no. He's a real gentleman. You know that first night we got in the sleeping bag he wanted to keep his clothes on?"
"Oh, so it was 'you' who encouraged stripping down to your briefs, was it?" Scott asks.
"No. It wasn't me. It kind of was a mutual thing when it got too hot in the bag," Jason explained.
Some of the parts Jason left out, for instance when it became not the room temperature but the struggling he had in his pants, his jeans making his crotch hurt because his 9.5c was at full mast and cramped in it's own prison cell. He didn't mention when Jarrett said 'it' felt good on his ass that he proceeded to strip his gym shorts. He didn't tell Scott how they mutually agreed how much sweeter it was, him spooning Jarrett, legs mixed, twisted into a comfy, erotic configuration.
"And what else?" Scott asked when Jason stayed too long in his own reverie.
"Oh nothing."
Even though none of his business, Scott confronted him, "I bet you felt something else, huh?"
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"So what have you been up to while I was away?"
It was a late evening for Devon and Dominic, their first evening together in over a week.
"Oh let's see. Registering for school, over at Kyle's, looking for a job, hanging with Alex and Kyle, more hanging with the guys and that's it!" Devon replied with his long list.
"Well one thing is for certain, I'm glad you have Alex and Kyle around for company," Dominic replied, moving his hairy chest closer to Devon's smooth back.
Finishing the list, Devon says, "And Scotty and Jarrett and Jason and Dustin and...."
"Oh right. Dustin. Have you seen him around much?" Dominic asks of his 'other' boarder.
"Sometimes," Devon replied. It getting late, going on midnight, also finding Dominic's cock too hot to be idle around his ass, broke free of his arm-locks and turned around facing him. "I wish you could be around more."
Dominic silenced Devon with a kiss, a prelude to their foreplay. For now Dominic evaded Devon's question, the two sinking in the bed, into a pool of sweet bliss.
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At one o'clock in the morning, Stephen, Vince and Ric floated up in the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor, a three floor complex known as the 'Braddock penthouse'.
"Sorry gentlemen, but it's the stairs from here on," Stephen said to his two guests.
Adam, having to get home, get some sleep for classes tomorrow, reduced the quartet to a trio.
While Ric and Vince wandered around the first room to enter, their jaws dropped down from the awesome view, Stephen took the liberty of chatting up the elevator attendant.
"Got some free time on your hands, Kirk?"
No stranger to ferrying Stephen Braddock up to his $70,000,000.00 penthouse suite, Kirk Kiertis smiled, replying, "What did you have in mind?"
"Feast your eyes on the Italian hunk," Stephen proposed.
"I have ever since you three walked in the elevator," Kirk threw the coy answer his way.
"So, how about calling your relief man and entertain Vince for a few hours?"
Already firming up his crotch, Kirk didn't have to say a word, except, "Let me make the call."
"What will you men have to drink?" Stephen asks, reporting directly to the bar, his shirt pulled out of his pants and unbuttoned to his bellyhole.
"Drink?" Vince replied, dumbfounded. "It's going on like two in the morning, Stephen. I've gotta think about heading home. The boys'll be expecting me."
Ric had made himself comfortable on a stool right in front of Braddock. "I'll have a cosmo, bartender and your shirt off please!"
Smiling, Stephen took out the Manhattan glass then proceeded to peel the shirt off his back.
"Sweet... real sweet," Ric replied.
Good thing Stephen didn't have a glass in his hand as Ric reaches out and grabs hold of Stephen's two nips, flooded over by coarse brown hair. Sighing deeply, Stephen dropped his head back. He seemed to whimper when Ric stopped doing it to him.
"Hmmm... nip play is one of my specialties you know?"
A bigger smile dawned on Stephen's face as he replied, "What other hidden talents do you have, 'sir'?"
Along with a sip, he made his intentions clear, asking, "Got toys?"
"Um, I guess I'll be going," Vince, once again the lone stranger, said as he faced the elevator looking all around for the button to summon it up.
"And where do you think you're going?" Kirk asked as the two doors opened, his hand planted on Vince's chest, stopping his advance.
Of course, on the way up, Vince scanned the elevator guy, taking note of his light brown hair with a hint of red. He placed his age at around late twenty-something, rather slim with some bulk around his arms and chest. He didn't want to make it obvious, checking out the bulkiness down below.
"Home?" Vince replied, hoping this guy would change his mind.
As if Vince's age, thirty-four or older he was totally shocked out of his gourd when the elevator guy's answer was projected in the center of his shirt being balled up in a strong fist hold, propelling him forwards, their lips clashing.
"Hmm... I guess maybe I'll change my mind!"
"The name's Kirk. Let's go find a bedroom."
Vince thought it cool how Kirk grabbed his hand, leading him through the first floor, flicking on a light switch, then make their way up a wrought iron stairway, feet treading on the light wood. Ascending a floor, he looked out over the contemporary furnishings against the yellow paint. In the far corner he could barely hear Ric and Stephen chatting. But the visual seemed to say much more, Ric standing there with Stephen stripping off his pants.
"You into that stuff?" Kirk asked.
"Stuff? What kind of stuff?" Vince replied, his mind more attuned to Kirk pulling at his bowtie, it falling apart into one long strand, Kirk's other hand working at the top button of his white shirt.
"Never mind. It's not for everybody and for certain it's too late for all that playing around stuff. C'mon," he shrugged his head towards the door, "I'm kind of gritty after a long day. Let's take a swim."
'Swim?' Vince said to himself. After passing from the elevator, through the first floor and up the stairs he did some quick-figuring, estimating the place alone had to be furnished with more elegance than he could make in a lifetime of nursing. He figured Stephen's stores had to be raking in the bucks in order to make this kind of money.
"So, what flavor bath would you care for? Almond? Sandalwood? Ocean mist?"
"Flavor? Bath?"
Too busy taking in the sights of the lux 'bathing room', Vince hadn't noticed Kirk getting ready while he made up his mind. Last view he took in was Kirk standing there as if morphed into a creature of the deities, there to cater to his every whim. "Wow! You are so fuckin' hot!" Is all the description Vince could summon up out of his throat.
"Have you picked your flavor?" Kirk once again questioned Vince.
"Yeah and it's you!"
"I guess I'll pick," Kirk replied, turning to bend over, fix the faucet with a press of a silver button, allowing the sandalwood crystals to mingle with warm water pouring out of the main spout. "Me fuckin' hot?" he was surprised to turn around, finding Vince two steps below him at the walk-up tub.
"I could just eat you up standing there!" Kirk comment, his eyes all over Vince.
"Oh really? And I don't get a choice?"
Getting closer, two steps brought him to a little above Kirk's bellyhole. As he stepped up, Vince followed the slender reddish-brown trail upwards. Immediately reaching Kirk's mid-chest, step number two, the trail broke off in two directions; east and west. Third step brought him up to Kirk's height, almost same as his, six foot two, only an inch shorter. Still, both met at lip-level. For a moment Vince gazed into Kirk's eyes then Vince lowered his head to take his first lick.
"Oh no you don't. Swabbing the deck is 'my' job," Kirk made it perfectly clear when Vince's tongue licked along his collarbone.
"You think, do you?"
Suddenly the bathing room door swung open.
"Hey Kirk, how's things going?"
"Great and you?"
"Not bad. I just thought you might need a help handling 'the bear'!"
Standing there with his hands on his hips, Vince said, "I thought you had to go to beddie-bye, Adam? Are you sure you'll be all chipper for your classes tommorow? Did Stephen plan this little rendezvous too?"
Smiling, the twenty-five year old replies, "No. I'm here on my own free will, unlike some people I know," he directed to Kirk.
"For your information Mr. Smartypants, I only had a half hour left on the clock which is gone and forgotten. Now if you'll excuse me, before I drool all over the place?"
Adam had the same idea. To both, Vince was a god - a god whom could very well be leader of the bear population. As Adam made advancement to the wide, elongated tub planted in the center of the room, he stripped an article of clothing. Reaching the perimeter he joined Kirk and Vince on the top steps. "Oh cool, ocean breeze?"
"Try sandalwood, bro?" Kirk said, shaking his head.
"Why is it I always get those two mixed up?" Adam states, his toes feeling up the bubbling waters.
"Like how could you get sandalwood mixed up with the ocean, huh?" Kirk questioned.
"'Can't figure it. Ever since..."
"I know, I know Adam. Ever since that weekend out in the Hamptons...." Kirk trailed off.
Meanwhile, Vince stood there, arms across his pecs, watching the two, cat-fighting like two actual brothers. He had to ask. "You two aren't brothers, are you?"
It's then the two remembered why they were there. Stephen Braddock might have thought the two were there to attend to Vince like some cheap trick, but to both, they didn't mind at all being around the hot, hunky, hairy, beefy Italian.
"How's the water?" Kirk asks Vince.
"Well," he says with a pompous attitude, "if I ever get into it, I'll let you know!"
Each taking one of Vince's arms, Kirk warns him, "Watch your step. The tub sinks down way farther than these steps."
"Oh wow!" Vince said of the water, the scent drifting up his nostrils like sea air up his swim shorts. However more shocks drove him onwards, being escorted into the steaming bath by two hot, young dudes!
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Way up in Westchester, beyond the facade of buildings, almost empty streets and light smog, the last of The Opera House doors was locked for the night.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," a voice spoke into the truck as Jim opened it to admit their 'pick-up' from the show.
Jack put it, "Good things come to those who wait!"
"Patience is a virtue," Jim countered.
"Yeah well, I couldn't wait for the show to be over after catching your eye, Jack... or should I be giving you more respect?"
"No, Sergey," Jack answers, "by the time we get back we'll be into the wee hours of the morning. I think we all better get some rest."
"I'm not at all tired," Sergey said.
Jim follows with, "Me neither."
"What do you mean Jim? You were like ready to take a nose dive into the table from all those beers you had!"
"Oh yeah. You better put on some speed. I think I have to like 'go'?"
Right out of the blue, Sergey says, "I can take care of that for you if you have to go 'that' bad Jim?"
"Take care of? Take care of like how?" Jim asks, totally puzzled.
Jack smiled at Jim. Seemingly it seems Sergey has had more experience way beyond Jim's comprehension could take him.
"Look," Sergey got down on the floor, all crumbled up into almost a ball. "All we have to do is open up..."
So, Jim was a little under the influence, but conherent enough to see and feel Sergey's hands busy working on his zipper.
"Like what are you doing?"
"Trust me, okay?" Sergey responded.
Too tired to argue, Jim allowed Sergey to withdraw his piss-filled cock, anchoring his balls under the elastic of his tightey-whities.
"Now just relax," Sergey instructed Jim.
Mashing his nostrils up, Jim couldn't believe what his fears projected. "Tell me you're not going to swallow my piss, Sergey?"
Drawing on the moment, Jack said, "Nothing like a hot glass of recycled beer, huh Sergey?"
Talking Sergey's language, he sunk into the fantasy mode, responding energetically, "Yes sir!"
No matter how much he had to go, Jim froze in place, mainly thinking how gross a thing, a guy drinking down his load of piss. Going over a bump in the road it got Jim a-pumping.
"Ohhhhh," Sergey said as his mouth opened wide to accept Jim's hot fountain.
While he was into it, but not, Jim managed to get out, "I can't believe you are like 'gulping' it down!"
"You get any of that piss on my carpet and I'll take whip to you boys!"
"Me?" Jim protested. "But I'm not the one drinking?"
"Drinker or feeder, you're still a fuckin' bottom boy."
After the kindness delivered tonight, being taken to The Opera House, a nice dinner, Jack talking to him about the show, like a regular couple out on the town, it gave Jim a reason to feel anger. Of course maybe it was too much beer playing a part in it, but he couldn't resist adding himself to the protest.
"Oohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-shit!" Jack called out when Jim's cannon squirted piss all over him, the 4x4, steering wheel, windows, his clothes. Doing a wheelie, he came to a halt, the smell of burning rubber seething into his nostrils. "What the hell did you do that for?"
Straightening the 4x4 off on the lonely, desolate road, Jack pulled off at the shoulder and got out.
"It looks like we're in for a heap of trouble," Sergey said to Jim. "Like why did you do it?"
Jim wasn't talking.
Then out of nowhere, as Jack yelled, "Oh fuckin' shit," two red lights lit up the darkness, a police vehicle pulling up behind the 4x4.
"We're going to get it now," Sergey said. "Just wait til the cop smells the piss on Jack."
Still Jim, a bit perturbed over the good buddy-buddy time he and Jack were having, to be reduced to a slave in no time at all, got his goat.
Turning to look over his shoulder, Jim finally broke silence saying, "I betcha they're old friends or something." Then facing the dashboard, Jim tells Sergey, "Um, you don't have to sit down there Sergey."
"Oh but I do."
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Jim replied, seemingly missing something.
Sergey reported frankly, "Even though I could get into having my ass paddled or even a whipping, I'd much rather get involved in some hot, steamy sex with Jack."
"Steamy sex? You and Jack are 'not' going to have any sex together."
Letting it ride, Sergey was too tuckered to argue. He left it at, "Whatever you say."
With their little chat going on, neither Jim nor Sergey heard footsteps along the gravel, a stranger's head poking in the door. "So which one of you boys is responsible for pissing up Master Jack here?"
Turning back on the anger, hurt, despise, Jim reverted to his ownself, first telling off the police officer, "First of all, I'm 'not' your boy and second of all, Jack deserved the shower of piss I gave him!"
Uprighting himself, the cop looked to Jack.
Jack told the cop, "I tell you Craig. The boy's got a mind of his own."
After the comment, the two hear the truck door slam. Officer Nelson pokes his finger in the air, his other hand braced against Jack's chest, saying, "I'll handle this boy!"
"But Craig....."
Following behind Officer Nelson, who tried catching up to Jim who walked briskly up the shoulder of the road into darkness, Jack kept telling him to "Hold on a minute."
Going back to high school, Jack always admitted Craig was faster than him when on the track. He's seen Craig now and then, but never lost his amazement of his friend's prowness, leaping as if a cheetah, staying well ahead of him.
"When I tell you to stop boy, I mean stop!"
Jim didn't care for it one bit, the police officer grabbing him by his shirt, tearing the sleeve no less.
"Uggggggh!" the police officer cried out, bending clear over, almost toppling onto the shoulder of the road as if slugged in the stomach by his own police baton. "Oh shit!"
Catching up, Jack stood there, giggling.
"What the fuck you laughin' at Jack? Can't you see your boy right out assaulted me?"
"Really Craig?" Jack replied, a grin on his kisser. "I would have thought you hitting the gym seven days a week you would have built up those abs and guns?"
Coming more to his senses, especially when Jim had stormed up the road and out sight, he said to Jack, "Well it's for damn sure I'm not going to let that boy get away with this!"
"Now hold it.... Wait on there a minute, Craig," Jack blocked his old school chum's repair and stalking of Jim. "Let him go."
"Let him go? You saw what he did to me? He purposefully assaulted an officer!" Craig protested. Then he mellowed out, trying to provoke his friend, "You ain't going and gettin' soft now are ya, Jack?"
There was only one way for Jack to say it. Really he would have liked to have Jim overhear him say, "Soft? Nah, I wouldn't call it that. Craig I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?" Craig countered him, strangely looking at him. "You been drinkin' Jack?"
Honestly, he replied, "Think about it Craig? Who doesn't go to The Opera House and 'not' drink?"
"Okay, so cut the small talk Jack. What's with you and this boy?"
"It's all new to me and I guess I've been pretending for so long I lost it and went into some kind of fantasy play. Well, the other guy in the truck offering to drink down Jim's piss didn't make it easy not to be tempted."
"Boy in the truck, huh? He into watersports?" Craig showed renewed interest.
"First time I've seen him there, but yeah, it seems like he has an interest," Jack replied, casting his attention to up the road now and then, worried about Jim heading off into the wilderness of an area he has no knowledge.
"Hmm," Craig showed interest, a man with a new plan. "Y'know I'd be willing to let your boy go, in exchange for the boy back in the truck?"
The way he now felt towards Jim, he had little interest in playing master to some boy this evening, or rather morning. However, Jack wasn't one to let things go easy. "It took a lot to get that boy to come home with me tonight. I don't know Craig," he scratched the back of his neck.
"You know Jack, I have a good case against your boy. 'Could throw the cuffs on him and lock him up?"
He could have reeled off and laughed Craig off the side of the road, but Jack had made enough mistakes tonight. So instead, he responded, "You could, could you?"
"Assaulting a police officer is a risky misdemeanor," Craig said, fingering the little pack of cuffs at the back of his belt.
"Well then," Jack summoned up all his acting powers, "I suppose you've forced my hand officer."
"Um, excuse me," a light accent spun the two around. "Are you still interested in using me tonight sir?"
Each wondered whom this boy was talking to. While Jack looked up the road, Craig looked upon the Iranian lad, skin almost too dark to make out against the half-mooned sky. Since Jack didn't offer reply, Craig took it upon himself, "Y'know boy, you're so damn hot lookin' you went and gave me a hardon. Why don't you take care of it?"
"Yes, sir."
Turning around, looking down, Jack could have felt some tingles between his legs, watching Sergey on his knees working at freeing up his police officer friend's pent up emotions. Instead, he patted Craig on the shoulder, saying, "Sorry 'bout the gut punch. Um, he's all yours!" Jack got the feeling he was being ignored, his twenty-six year old high school bud already getting into it, moaning as Sergey's fingers worked at parking his balls under the elastic of his briefs.
"Damn you Jack!" he heard Craig say when he diverted his headlights to the road instead of Sergey's blowjob. A few yards up the road, he thought he saw something resembling clothing lying on the side of the road. "Oh shit!" he called out, backing up his 4x4. Using his headlights to illuminate the shoulder, he knew it was Jim.
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Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee
This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.