You know the drill: 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, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. If this is the first time you are reading of my stories and like it, check out the info at the end of this story.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
CK's STuD MuFFiN PaRTy 02 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
"Hey."
Geoff's head switched around to the right. Not seeing anybody there, quick reflex action brought his chin around to the left side. Making an about face, he exclaims, "Ale-h-h-ex!"
"Hi Geoff." And like giving Geoff the once over, "I'm so happy to `see' you!"
"Funny Alex," Geoff replies to the wisecrack about him in the buff. "Oh! And what are you doing here? You're `entourage' is not supposed to arrive until much later?"
Standing there, swinging his arms back and forth, shooting the breeze, one hand in a fist, cupping it against the palm of the other, making a slight popping sound, Alex rather taking in `the breeze' of naked dudes around the pool, replies, "On the contrary Geoff... looks like we're here right on time!"
"Well don't get used to it Alex. When the clock strikes one, everybody's bottom gets covered up!"
"In that case I better get a move on it and find our room!" Alex replies, all giddy.
"Oh cool!" They hear from the other side of the pool.
It's Michael Coelho! And he wasn't waiting for anybody's permission to start stripping down!
"Michael?" Alex yells to him.
His head is bopping left and right, trying to figure out who is calling him from within the wall of naked dudes. When he spots Alex, he points quickly to him and with his tee shirt stuffed in the back of his pants as if he was at a club, he runs around the perimeter of the pool. "What's up Alex?"
"Before any of us can enjoy living in the lap of luxury, we need to get ourselves situated in our room?"
"Bummer!" the eighteen year old replies.
Alex laughed, never seeing Michael run so fast, down the walkway they came from.
Suddenly they are interrupted by a dude, totally out of context with the naked bunch around the pool. He informs Geoff of something he already knows, "The guest in the ambulance has arrived."
Right away Geoff steps from in between Alex and the over six foot beefy dude and says, "Alex, this is Timothy Ryan. He is in charge of making sure our guests are kept happy!" And in turn, back to Timothy he relays, "Timothy, Alex Nouguet is the boyfriend of Kyle Dryfiss, and...."
At first Timothy wasn't sure, but finding out it was the boyfriend of the Dryfiss lad, the forty-one year old takes both of Alex's hands in his and sweetly says, "Oh I am so happy to meet you Mr. Nouguet." And commandeering Alex away from Geoff, "Allow me to welcome you and show you the house where you will be staying."
"You can call me Alex," Alex offered.
"As you wish, Mr. Nouguet," Timothy replies.
Alex bid Geoff farewell with a wave and "Catch ya later," as he hung on Timothy's arm, not by choice. He didn't catch it, when Timothy had said it, but looked forwards to getting him and Kyle situated in their room. But it was a new awakening when, being steered away from the complex of guest rooms and towards a modern looking building, much different in appearance than the rest. "Nice place," he comments to Timothy who hasn't shut up since they left Geoff.
"Yes. Mr. Karlyle has built up quite an estate, speaking of which, this is the building you and your boyfriend will be residing while guests."
Timothy held one of the two heavy oak doors for Alex to pass through.
"Oh, if our room is upstairs, I don't think Kyle will be able to make it," Alex comments, seeing the staircase.
"I beg your pardon?" Timothy replies.
"The staircase," Alex says. "I was saying, I don't think the EMT's can manage the stairs with the guerny he is on."
Baffled for a moment, Timothy explains, "I think you misunderstood me Mr. Nouguet. Mr. Karlyle, who is an old friend of Mr. Dryfiss' father, specifically stated when you two arrive, to put you up at the guest `house'!"
"House? Meaning?" Alex thought he heard right and understood, but wanted confirmation.
Timothy explains, "The others in your party and all of Mr. Karlyle's other guests will be staying within the main complex. You and Mr. Dryfiss will be taking up residence here, at the second house."
"Mr. Karlyle has two houses?" Alex asks, trying to figure out if what he was thinking was correct.
"Yes. This one, which is almost identical to his own residence, which is a stone's throw across the narrow path."
It was as Alex thought. "So, we're not staying at the hotel?"
It wasn't called a hotel, but Timothy didn't correct Alex, instead took him by the arm and told it like it is, "You and Mr. Dryfiss will have full use of all the facilities in this house. Allow me to show you around."
He felt obligated he should be with Kyle, but then again he was shooed away by Faraj and Justin, the two EMT personnel, figuring he was being a pain in the neck about Kyle's transportation from the ambulance to the inner estate.
"This," Timothy says, "is probably one of the most used rooms in the house."
"OMG!" Alex exclaimed, looking up, his head dropping as far back on the hinge of his neck could go, as he looked up into the skylight, which seemed like it extended three stories up. Landing at eye level, he looked around, catching up to Timothy who began pointing out the entertainment center, pool table, "... And here, you may find your choice of dvd's..."
Alex blinked, not believing the size of the collection, as Timothy unveiled section after section, walls of movies and other titles.
"And on this particular computer is the database of every dvd here. If you don't see what you like, which is highly improbable, unless you're looking for the science of the Monarch butterfly, all you need to do is tell.... where is that boy?"
"Sir?"
Alex turns around to see a neatly groomed young man, blond, in a tuxedo, answering to Timothy's beckoning.
"There you are... Mr. Nouguet, this is Wattie Piper. He will be staying here with you and Mr. Dryfiss during your time here..." and Timothy had such a tough time getting this `idiotic' phrase,in his own opinion, out, "'Stud Muffin' party."
"Nice to meet you, Waddy," Alex said, advancing to shake his hand.
LIttle did he know how Timothy was frowning on such a gesture, a guest shaking hands with a hired hand' more or less. Whatever', he thought, rolling his eyes. "Wattie, have you made sure everything is arranged for our guests arrival?"
"Yes, sir," Wattie replied in between greeting Alex, which, in the act of doing so, holding Alex's hand and after a quick "Nice to meet you," carried on conversation with his boss, "Fresh flowers are in place in every room as you requested, the beds have been remade with the silk sheets and the master bedroom has been remodeled so Mr. Dryfiss may be able to have greater comfort in mobility."
"Remodeled?" Alex asks. "You didn't have to go and do anything special like that."
Timothy could tell Alex was very rough around the edges when it came to high society living. If it were one of their high end guests, most likely he would be already complaining about something, instead of taking everything in stride. Yet, he was on his best behavior, giving Alex a cordial smile and assuring him, "Any little thing you desire Mr. Nouguet, all you have to do is give your request to Wattie and he will make sure you are satisfied."
Wattie answered for himself, "Yes. Any little thing, Mr. Nouguet."
One thing Alex was getting' here, was the chain of command and for sure he didn't want to get Wattie into trouble, especially when he was ready to suggest he call him Alex' and not the more formal greeting. Too, he thought the house servant, or whatever title he went by, was very cute! "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."
Breaking in on the conversation, Alex stepped lively across the room after hearing Kyle's voice, "We're here!"
"Are you okay sweetheart?" Alex immediately sought need to inquire of his lover's comfort.
"I'm fine. Good thing they have an elevator or I would have never made it up the back stairway from the parking lot."
Faraj butts in, "I beg your pardon," he folds up his elbow and shows his jacket busting its seam from the bulging bicep underneath. "Between Justin and I, we could have gotten you up those stairs, and in one piece, without as much as one peep out of you!"
For Timothy, the humor was a bit crude, but if he wasn't feeling a stir in his loins gazing upon the Arabian Knight' who just waltzed in the back entrance, he probably would have found excuse to leave their presence. Instead, he stayed and breathed in Faraj's big, beefy, muscular bod and the most handsome face to match and that beard! OMG!' Timothy was thinking about how he had such a love for a bearded man!
"Oh Kyle... here," Alex walks across the room and escorts Wattie over to where Kyle is stretched out, "this is Waddy Piper."
"Cool name," Kyle responded. Unlike Alex, he didn't take Wattie's hand.
Immediately Timothy sought to dub Kyle as two steps up from Alex!
"Thank you," Wattie replies. "Was your trip comfortable?"
"There were a few rough turns and some potholes..."
Faraj breaks in again, "Rough turns? Where?"
Justin, who has been quiet, taking in the surroundings, adds in Faraj's favor, "I thought the pill Dr. Azayzeh gave you was to put you to sleep?"
"Oh yeah," Kyle remembered. "I guess it was the last few miles after I woke up!"
"Hmm," Faraj replies, like he was being raked over the coals. Then, eager to get out of his glad rags, asks, "Where do you want him?"
Faraj was looking at Timothy and Timothy `getting it', put the matter in the house manager's hands, "Wattie will show you to Mr. Dryfiss' room."
Normally Timothy would put things in Wattie's hands, allow him to take on things with solo responsibility. But being he would be wrapped up in all the responsibilities his two hundred and fifty thousand dollar salary would demand, he doubted he would set eyes on Faraj again during their stay. Though, he remained positive!
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"Michael?" Scotty stopped him in his tracks as he was about to head out the door of their accomodations.
"What?"
"Y'know just because all the other guys don't mind showing off their jewels, doesn't mean you have to too?" Scotty said so sweetly, grabbing Michael by the arm and flinging him around in a circle, pulling him on the bed, right on top of him.
"Bummer!" Michael replies. "I never swam in a pool with nothing on."
More disappointed, especially the means by which Michael was expressing himself, a pout and a little whimper, Scotty gave in, "I suppose it was too cold to even swim in Fairbanks?" he talked of where his boyfriend hailed from.
He enlightened Scotty with some more of his home state deatils of growing up, "We were always wearing some clothes in Alaska. Excep-twen somebody makes a dare."
"Dare?" Scotty asks.
"Not me. But once there was money put on a bet the captain of the football team wouldn't streak around the school one time."
"Did he?" Scotty asked as Michael's mude bod lay on top of him.
"Of course. He was making a hundred bucks to freeze his buns off!"
Scotty laughed. It wasn't of the dare, but the way in which Michael was saying it. "You're so cute!" He kissed him.
"I am?" Michael asks.
"Yeah." And rolling Michael off to the side, onto his back on the bed, Scotty gets up, says, "What the hell!" and begins to strip down.
"Cool! We're both going skinny-dippin'?"
And when it came to it, Michael had no problem scooting out the door, but he had to do some coaxing with Scotty!"
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"I think we are lost."
"How about GPS?" Dr. Azayzeh asks over the front seat of the private taxi.
With a slight Norwedish accent, the driver replies, "I was to hope, after you pay me for the fare I could go and get myself one."
Mohamed and Asaf exchanged a little Farsi, the outcome, Dr. Azayzeh saying, "Why don't we stop in this town and get you one?"
"Like I say," the Scandinavian college dude says, "I was...."
"I know what you said," Mohamed reiterates, "but Asaf and I think you.... `we' would all like to get to our destination sometime today?"
"If you say so," Bjorn replies, mumbling something about college tuition and falling deeper into debt.
They cruised up one side of East Hampton, then made a u-turn, not knowing it would be the case by entering a road called `The Circle'.
"How do you know this will bring us out to Main St., Bjorn?" Asaf asks.
"I don't, but if it says it is `circle', then it has to bring us back!"
"Brilliant deduction," Mohamed makes judgement!
And it did, but it was Mohamed yelling, "Stop!"
"What?" Asaf and Bjorn were questioning him.
Like a teenybopper, the thirty-one year old doctor yells out, "I must go there!"
"Where?" Asaf shifts his attention to the right side of the vehicle.
"Pull over there in front of J Crew!"
As requested, Bjorn uses his excellent driving skills to weave through town and pull directly in front of number fourteen Main St. But before they get out, Bjorn makes comment, "I know J Crew. My grandfather shops here. One year I save some money and buy him a scarf."
"Your grandfather?" Mohamed finds it nervy, but it strikes him as wanting to shop for a more younger taste. He then announces, "Go back."
"Go back?" Bjorn question him.
"To `the circle'," Mohamed says. "I want to check something."
Asaf is wondering if Mohamed wants to check something out, which he had seen with his own eyes, a younger man's store for clothes shopping.
It was busy, but Bjorn navigated the streets of East Hampton as if his own hometown, New York City. In as much as ten minutes he was back on `the Circle'.
"There!" Mohamed pointed for the second time today.
Asaf smiled. He was right. It was the store with the blue-striped awning, `Blue & Cream'.
He told Bjorn, "You go and find a parking place and meet us inside."
"You're the boss!" Bjorn replied.
OMG!' Asaf thought, looking at an ordinary white tee shirt, a little baggie, but nothing more than a white pullover tee shirt, a hundred and eighty-five dollars?' He could get a 3-pack of Hanes for ten!
"I think you would look good in this!"
Asaf turns around and sees Mohamed holding up a black jacket. "Come. Put your arms in here Asaf."
If the white tee shirt cost a hundred and eighty-five dollars, then the jacket had to be at least double the price. "I don't think I better."
"Nonsense!" Mohamed replied, his arms holding up the jacket.
"Allow me!"
Both Mohamed and Asaf turned to their side. Standing there, a young man, sun-tanned, dark brown hair, dishelveled, with in a toss, held out his hands. "May I please hold this for you?"
"Go on," Mohamed replied, turning the jacket over to the sales-boy.
"Okay," Asaf replies, very reluctant to even touch the fabric!
"One moment please," the sales-dude tosses the jacket over one of his arms. "This I believe would look very nice with this jacket. Would you care to step in the back to try it on sir?"
`Sir?' Asaf thought. This man is probably the same age as himself, give or take a year.
"Go with him," Mohamed encouraged his boyfriend. "I will wait here for Bjorn."
The dressing room was amazing. It wasn't at all like Macy's, where Asaf happened to shop with Chris one year at the end of the summer. It wasn't a small booth meant for one. No, instead it was a room bigger than his jon at home.
"Would you prefer I wait outside, um...." he fished for a name.
"I am Asaf."
"Good to meet you Asaf. I'm Eric and if you need anything you let me know. If I think this shirt does not look well on you I will tell you the truth. As for myself," Eric says with cordial abandon, "I would not want to wear clothing which does not fit my look."
"I don't know much about it," Asaf replies.
Smiling, Eric replies, "This is why I am here. Now, shall I wait outside?"
"No. I might need help."
Eric was hoping for such a response. He watched, not trying to stare, to see Asaf remove the yellow windbreaker. Labels were his business and he thought it a nice choice, probably bought at a high end store. Little did Eric know Asaf got it for seventy-five percent off at the Macy's end of summer sale, from last year. But he had more important matters to attend to when Asaf peeled the tee shirt he was wearing off over his head. He was almost salivating at Asaf's nicely formed pecs, a small patch of brown hair midchest, a sliver of dark hair jutting down his stomach, a deep navel and a tight, dark trail leading under his beltline. "Here, let me assist you," he said of the charcoal gray shirt.
In the meantime, Mohamed shows up, Bjorn in his company. "How are making out here?" Mohamed asks.
Asaf had the gray shirt on his bod, Eric making comment as he is shaking his head, "No. It's not you."
"It's not me?" Asaf asks, looking down the front of him, the shirt tightly clutching his pecs and abs.
"He's right," Mohamed says. "It doesn't look good on you. It needs to be on a slimmer guy." After Asaf peels it off, Mohamed says to Bjorn, "Here. You try it own."
"Me?" Bjorn replies. "I can't afford to try this on!"
Fortunately, Eric had stepped out to rustle up some more clothing.
Mohamed cautions Bjorn, "Sh-h-h! We don't mention things like that in a store like this!" He ended his comment with a smile.
"Sorry," Bjorn replies, not understanding the custom.
`Nice!' Eric thought to himself of Asaf standing there shirtless. But turning to Bjorn he says of the shirt clinging to the Norwedish youth's bod, "Oh now that fits you just perfect! Here," Eric picks up the seven hundred and twenty dollar Rag and Bone Classic Tux jacket, "put your arms in here."
As he fed his arms into the jacket, Bjorn was thinking he would much rather be feeding his hands into Eric's pants!
"Oh yes. Very nice. What do you think sir?" Eric asks Mohamed.
"I like, but what about Asaf?"
"I think he will like this," Eric picks up a very pale, orange cashmere tee shirt and holds it for Asaf to fit on his arms. Lifting it up and over his head, Eric gets a good look at Asaf's stretched bod, the black hair against his naturally tanned skin, his bellyhole nice and deep. Eric was getting `thirsty'.
At the same time, Mohamed was suggesting a pair of jeans Eric had brought in, to Bjorn.
Bjorn didn't say a word, but he looked like `death', pale at comparing the price tag of the jeans to his salary for the next three years!
"Sir, how do you like Asaf in this?"
Bjorn beat Mohamed to it, making note, "I think it looks very good on Asaf, um..." and he went fishing for a name to put with the face of the sales help.
"Oh... many pardons. I'm Eric Wagley."
"I'm Bjorn," Bjorn simply states, shaking Eric's offered greeting. "How do I look?"
"Not bad," Eric says of Bjorn in the gray shirt, the shoulders fitting him perfect and he almost slipped and said it fills out his pecs very well, but last minute diverted his true intentions to, "It fits your physique very well." He then felt a little embarrassed, smiling as he blushed, holding the jacket open for too long a time. "Uh, the jacket goes very nice as well."
"Thanks," Bjorn replied.
Mohamed rolled his eyes at Asaf, whom smiled back.
Looking down, Eric sees Bjorn holding onto one side of his pants, his hand keeping them from falling to his ankles. "Were you going to try on some pants?"
Bjorn replies, "Mohamed said I should try on this jeans." Right now, pricing was the farthest thing from Bjorn's mind.
"Not with the tux. No. Try... .um," Eric searches through the twenty to twenty-five pieces of clothing he has brought in the large dressing room, not at all cramped for space even though four occupy it. "Hmm, try these," he holds up a pair of black denim jeans.
"I'll try," Bjorn says.
The shirt hung a little in the way, but somehow Eric managed to get a short view of Bjorn's package. Something twitched down yonder when he saw that Bjorn was `hung'!
"How do I look?"
The three turn to the thirty-one year old doctor, decked out in blue check shorts.
"May I suggest something and I hope you don't think I'm being forward," Eric tread with caution.
"Yes?" Mohamed gives the go ahead.
"I would most stongly suggest, if you are going to be on the beach, that you should...." and he started to chicken out a little bit, "think about having your legs shaved?" Eric thought for sure he blew it, they would think he's got a helluva nerve and beat it out of the store quicker than a speeding bullet.
"My legs?" Mohamed looks down, same time pulling up on the shorts, which are already quite short, which means part of the briefs encasing his big balls are partially showing.
Asaf fesses up, "I wanted to say the same thing myself."
"You did?" Mohamed turns his head and faced Asaf. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He makes excuse, "Because then I think maybe you will not love me anymore."
Eric smiles, saying, "Oh that's so sweet. You're a couple?"
It's Bjorn who tells, from what he's found out so far, "As soon as they legalize gay marriage in New York City, they are getting married." And then throwing a hint Eric's way, "Maybe if I find the right guy I will think about it too!"
If he hadn't blown the deal of selling roughly five grand worth of clothing by now, he wouldn't be, so took a gamble, "How do those jeans fit Bjorn?"
"Snug!" He replies.
Eric jokes, "They aren't too tight around the crotch?" And then before a pause and a smile, "We don't want to cut off the circulation."
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Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee
`For Sale By Owner/CK's Stud Muffin Party' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
Feedback is welcomed. Include your age, height, build, `size', hair and eye color. Optional: Are u smooth or hairy? Where are u hairy? Bet you never thought of this one: What hair patterns do you have on your chest and stomach? Do you shave below the chin? Innie or outie? Make up your own question, then answer it! Make sure the name of the story, as copy and pasted from this page, is in the subject line of your email or else it will be directed to hell before I get to open it! Email me for the links to additional stories I have written at NiFTy. survivalgame@yahoo.com
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....