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.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
FoR ThE MaN WHo HaS EVeRyTHiNG 01 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Two suits walked the hot sidewalk, oblivious to the tall skyscrapers walling them in.
On one man's mind was one thought which he kept to himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell, but here, on a busy street with thousands of people, was not the ideal time for a subject of this sensitive nature.
Because he had been Zach's room mate, in Michael's home own home, for a number of years, it became common for Michael to be on his toes, knowing something was bugging Zach.
"So, what's up?"
"What do you mean what's up?" Zach returns.
"You seem on edge."
Zach replies, "Nothing. It's the job interview I have. Nothing else."
By mentioning nothing else', Michael draws conclusion, in fact there is' something else, but lets it go and at the same time tries to calm, "Well I'm sure you have it in the bag."
"Second interviews usually make a person feel that way, but I'm going into this placid, so I don't jump the gun and say anything I wish I hadn't said."
"`Placid', huh?" Michael makes fun.
"I told you. I'm trying to develop myself so I'm more verbally astute."
Another smile precedes, "Sure beats your four letter vocabulary, although lately I've been missing all that `fuckin' shit?'"
"Shuddup!" Zach replies. "There's my bus!"
No kiss goodbye?' Michael made an ugly face, but then mellowed it out to an everyday look. Maybe later,' he thought and then continued on his way.
It was only two long city blocks to the world headquarters of Songrad's Table Landscapes & Edible Creations, Michael smiling at the facade, the environmental green sign bearing his surname, like every time he faced the music of his success, overcome by a proud feeling.
Entering the foyer he was greeted by his security man, Tom Morgan, a forty-six year old single father, to a twenty-four year old college student, whom says a cheery, "Good morning, Mr. Songrad."
"`Morning Tom,'" Michael adding his usual, "what's new on the homefront?"
Ever since Tom had been widowed, which Michael had often counted backwards, from Tom's son in college, he's kept close tabs on one of the most valuable assets of his company.
"Not much to report," Tom replies, personally, then turns to business, "but I've been working on the assignment you gave me last week?"
"Oh? Anything I should know about?"
"I've gotten with maintenance and... Well that's another story," Tom cut it short, knowing Mr. Songrad had more to do than chit chat this morning.
"Let me guess," Michael probes, "Jason's in trouble again?"
Since Michael's intuition found him out, Tom replies, "If the kid only did what he was told and ordered one hundred of the lighting units, but..."
"I have a feeling there's a happy ending to this story?"
Tom smiles, replying, "Isn't there always, when Jason Hotchkiss is involved? Come to find out, if we ordered less than one-fifty security lamps, there wouldn't have been enough lights to go around. The kid was right on the ball!"
Twenty-nine years old, Jason Hotchkiss had been hired right out of college, which took the course of more than the average collegiate to complete his field of study. Documented from age twenty-five, Jason has been ferried through more departments than either Tom nor Michael could guess.
Knowing there was more to it, "You want to hit me with the `bad' news?"
Taking a deep breath, the built-bear says, "Be on the lookout for Jay."
"Oh," Michael sums up, "don't tell me... I'm about to get `the kid goes or I do' threat again?" he giggles.
"A few years away from retirement, do you think Jay is going to let a kid mess that up?" Tom replies.
"I'll have a talk with Jay."
Tom wishes him a good day.
Turning, Michael asks, "By the way Tom, you wouldn't happen to have enough payroll for an add-in would you?"
"Don't get any bright ideas!" Tom replies, knowing `Jason' was on Michael's mind.
Walking through the second set of glass doors, Michael wipes the idea of moving Jason Hotchkiss to security, from his slate. Although, he wasn't about to allow the cute man disappear from the ranks of workers. He probably could have been accused of some kind of offense for keeping an employee, solely on the basis of his handsome face, nice build and... It's hearsay, but he believed what he's heard about what Jason is packing. Taking all this into consideration, once again, the idea of firing Jason Hotchkiss goes right out the window.
"Just the man I want to see!"
His cheery nature, stoked by his feelings for Jason Hotchkiss, are temporarily ruined, hearing the voice of Jay Ross from behind. Michael could have ignored it, but being he was the only one in the hallway, it would have been difficult talking his way out of it.
Dramatically, a slight high pitch to his voice, Jay says, "Mis-ter Songard! You're a sight for sore eyes!"
Michael was convinced this could be a literal phrase, considering he's heard complaints, from guys being followed to the jon, with intentions of taking the fastest piss they've ever done in their whole lives and leaving with lightning speed, even breaking the law of `all employees must wash hands,' to escape the lurking eyes of the fifty-eight year old head of maintenance. There was never any real harm done and Michael finding the complaints rather horny in a way, figured if he said anything to Ross, those stories would stop coming to him!
Like he never heard anything from Tom Morgan, Michael asks, "We having a problem Jay?"
"It's that Hotchkiss kid again!"
"Oh?" Taking five, Michael listens all over again to Jay's story, perhaps patronizing him, rather than sincerely extending his condolences. All Tom told him, has been said, leaving out one particular detail, the one which would make Jason a hero. Of this Michael says, "That's too bad. So we're short fifty or so security lights, are we?"
"Uh, no," Jay replies.
Waiting for Jay's interpretation of the story from henceforth, Michael prods, "Oh, then a hundred security lights were enough after all?"
He hated to admit it, thinking it the utmost act of humility, telling Michael, "If Hotchkiss hadn't made a mistake, then we wouldn't have had enough."
Michael thought, Did Jay get the story wrong or was he covering for himself by saying Jason made a mistake, rather than redo Jay's figures and determined the need for the extra fifty lights?' He had had enough of this, replying, "Well I'm glad things had worked out, Jay," he patted Jay on the shoulder. In reality, Michael wished he were handing Jay his pink slip, but like Jason, Michael had this fetish', an oath of allegiance, if within his power, never to fire a hot man and like Jason, Jay was this hot bear, complete with the scruffy beard, which only highlighted his incredibly good looks.
Departing the scene, Michael headed towards his office, entering. His first order of business was, `why isn't there any coffee brewing?'
"Michael!"
"Oh shit Terrence! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?" Michael exclaims, upon the voice of surprise jumping and turning abruptly around.
"Sorry `bout that, but I wanted to let you know, Ferdi needed to head back to Puerto Rico, something about somebody died?"
"Somebody died? Did he say who? Mother? Father? Sister? Brother..."
"He didn't say. All he said is he's going to Puerto Rico and he's not coming back," the thirty-eight year old director of human resources replies straight forward.
"So, who do you have to replace him?"
Terrence jokes, "The coffee shop two doors down?"
Michael half-jokes, "If I don't have a secretary to accompany me downtown later today, you're elected!"
As he closes the door, Terrence replies, "I'll find somebody!"
Michael set about figuring how to use the coffee machine. He shook it. It had water in it, so turned the on' switch. Picking up one of the little plastic cups, marked hazelnut', he tore the top off. Such was the force of his handling, plus doing the intelligent thing, by placing the flavored container in the machine and allowing the machine to open it for him, the coffee grinds flew all over the place.
"Oh shit!" he complained, Michael detecting some of the little grinds had even gone inside the places between buttons of his dress shirt. He could `feel' it!
"Now what?" he said of it. Dropping the little container right there in front of him, along with the other scattered grinds, Michael reaches down and unbuttons the button of his shirt right above his belt buckle. It wasn't enough, so undid the next up. He confirms it, little granules of coffee touching skin, "Oh shit!"
Without going to great lengths, he reaches in and tries brushing the small particles of coffee from his right side with his left hand and vice versa. He smirks at the wall, thinking, `I wonder?'
With wonder overwhelming, he sticks his finger in his navel. If there were some coffee grinds in Michael's bellyhole, pushing his finger into it, it would have made the grinds press in deeper. Rather than bother, Michael giggles, saying out loud, "Hey! This feels kinda good!" Biting his tongue, at the left corner of his mouth, Michael moves his pressed finger around, thinking of it, "Mm-m. Pretty nice!" Thinking about it, he's suddenly engrossed in not only the slightly moist indent, but his hand finding it erotic to graze over his bellyhole swirl.
"Excuse-me!"
There was Michael, lower half of his shirt unbuttoned, his middle finger deep in his navel, pulling up on it to reach the hairy trail down his abs.
Who should be hanging over the edge of the door, staring point blank at what Michael is doing?
"Sorry," Jason Hotchkiss says, "I didn't know you were... um... involved in something... um, personal?"
Plucking his finger out of his navel, Michael replies, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened, "I spilled some coffee grinds and some of them went down my shirt," he dusts his hands off.
Jason replies, "You want me to get the vacuum?"
Michael got a twitch from down yonder, wondering how that would work! Putting his erotic thoughts away, he says, "I think there's a dustbuster in the closet."
Going for the closet, which Michael points out, he then realizes what Jason is here for, saying, "By the way, did you happen to see Mr. Grant?"
Replying, Jason wasn't as formal, "Oh yeah. I was about to see Terrence in his office, but he caught me first."
Hearing him call Terrence by his first name, Michael wonders, "Terrence?"
"Oh, you mean the respect thing. It's okay. Terrence said I can call him Terrence. He says he doesn't do it for all employees, only ones who he talks with a lot."
"You and Mr. Grant... I mean Terrence chat a lot, do you?"
"Yup," Jason replies, holding up the plug of the dustbuster, as much as asking where to plug it in.
"Beats me!" Michael says, shrugging his shoulders.
Going through a short tirade, Jason replies, "If the coffee maker is over there," he swipes by Michael, "excuse me, then there's got to be someplace to plug it in!"
"One way of looking at it." Since all busying himself up with talking to Jason, Michael was paying more attention to the twenty-nine year old than to his appearance.
Giving the dustbuster a switch on, then off, Jason says, "Where should I start?" he confronts the gap of Michael's shirt.
"Oh this," Michael says, hastily buttoning up the two buttons, "I can let the grinds fall out when I undress at home."
Michael knew Jason was being conscientiously serious, replying, "If you want to take it off here, I can vacuum out your shirt now?"
Wouldn't that be dandy!' Michael thought. Too, he couldn't fight the feeling his loins were pulsing with the idea, like they had a mind of their own, his nads saying, Do it! Do it!' Michael refusing to listen, "Thanks just the same Jason."
Turning his attention to the coffee grinds, Michael walks over to his office. As much as he had pressing attention to give to some paperwork before the meeting this morning, he couldn't take his eyes off of Jason.
"Am I doing okay?" Jason asks, switching off the noisy machine and looking up at Michael.
"Fine. Just fine. Say Jason," Michael walks over to where Jason is kneeling on the floor, "you wouldn't happen to know how these coffee machines work, would you?"
"Yup! My sister has one. She showed me how it worked once, but now she's dead, so she doesn't have coffee anymore."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Michael honestly was. While on topic, "What about the rest of your family?"
"Do they have coffee makers, you mean?" Jason inquires.
"Not in particular," Michael replies. "What about the rest of your family? Sisters? Brothers? Your folks still alive?"
"Nope. Don't have any. I've got some parents, but I never see them."
Michael guesses, "Out of state?"
"Nope," Jason says, then switches the dustbuster on.
Taking it like a signal, Jason not wanting to talk about his parents, Michael went back to his work.
Unknown to him, there was a reason why Jason was working on his knees. Down there, jackknifed in half, it was easier to hide his erection, especially tough to conceal when, him on his knees, was eye level with his boss' crotch!
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Copyright 2011 T. Chase McPhee
`FoR ThE MaN WHo HaS EVeRyTHiNG' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.