Dear Readers:
First, I want to apologize for the length of time it has taken me to get on with the story. As an avid reader myself, I know how frustrating it can be to be held waiting. I just did not like the drafts that I had written, and re-written.
It now seems that instead of the story coming to a conclusion as I had assumed, the characters seem to have more to convey. Secondly, I want to thank all of you who have encouraged me thus far, and I hope that you continue to find some enjoyment in the story. There are many issues in the male psyche that a work of prose touches upon. Each issue is only used as a tool to further the progression of the story, and is only for entertainment purposes. Some readers, who have written, have commented that they felt put off by some of the descriptive narrative. Believe me, most authors write from their fantasy, and nothing is meant to be a used as a substitute to serious medical attention that should be sought.
My only answer to those of you who have questioned the narrative is to love yourself. God made each of us, and we all are perfect in His sight. Rejoice in that! It is hard enough being "gay", whatever that means, in a world that is resistant to how God made us. Don't add stress to your life by being self-conscious about trivial things. The one thing that we all need to strive for is acceptance: acceptance of each other, acceptance of our differences, and most importantly, acceptance of ourselves. Love yourself! If you don't, no one will. Besides, who deserves love more?
Many of you have requested a "bio" from me, and that will be posted with the last chapter. So keep reading. LOL As always, I want to remind you that even though Dave and Greg are not practicing safety in their sexual escapades, remember you must. We're dealing with some serious stuff out there, and if, God forbid, the world will lose some of its brightness and glitter without you.
This part is for all you guys and gals who are too young to be reading this material. LEAVE NOW! (Yeah, like what am I going to do if you don't)? If you find this subject objectionable, LEAVE NOW! And remember, this story is a creation of my overworked imagination and belongs to me. If you'd like to reproduce this in any form, please contact the author (me) for permission.
Also, any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a compliment and should be taken as such.
Thank you,
Jay As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to hearing from you.
Four Become Two: Chapter 25
From Chapter 24:
"Listen to yourself. You said that you were going to put Jeff there, not me. It's not my fault that he and Jeff are together. Bruce and I don't have a relationship. And to answer your other question, I feel guilty about what happened. Can't you see that you're the one that I want? Can't you see that you're the one that I want, that I need? Can't you see that you are my future?"
"I don't know Greg...I don't know where we stand anymore. Until that night, I thought that nothing could come between us. I thought that we were in this together."
"Dave? I'm afraid. I think we need to get help...professional help. We need help to get past this. What do you think?"
"What? Tell somebody all of our little secrets?"
"No--we need someone to help us deal with what's going on. There are some dark issues we need to work on: the infidelity, yes. But there's also some other issues that have come between us."
"Like what?"
"This control need that we both have. I noticed it with the way I became during renovation. I noticed it when you subdued Reynolds that day, and the way you treated Shelia. We need to work these things out, don't you think?"
"Greg..."
"If you're honest with yourself, and me, you'll see that I'm right. Baby, we need help. Please!" His voice softens as he comes towards me.
I reluctantly nod my assent.
Chapter 25
"If it's going to rain, I wish it would rain," I say. I'd been somewhat of a grumpy Gus all morning. To say that the weather matched my mood was an understatement.
"I'm so happy that your parents and my parents got along so well together. I guess they all are halfway to Chicago by now."
"I guess."
"I can't imagine where we're going to put all the stuff I know they are going to send for the kids. Honestly! You think that they have never seen toddlers before," he laughs.
Greg pulls into the parking lot of a two-story building next to the hospital. We had managed to ask Dean's recommendation regarding a family therapist. Of course, being the astute doctor that he is, all types of warning bells sounded. I guess my attitude didn't help dissuade him, either.
We finally convinced him that we were still having repercussions from the kidnapping and attempted murder. He seemed to buy that reasoning, and suggested that we see a protégé who happened to be practicing in the Washington area. The man had a lucrative practice. As they say, location is everything! All of those politicos! He even called, persuading his doctor friend to see us as an emergency.
Greg turns off the engine, and the silence becomes deafening. "Dave, you have to give this a chance," he says, his tone pleading with me.
"What do you want from me Greg? I'm here, aren't I?"
"Are you? Are you here? You've barely said two complete sentences to me all the way here."
"Greg, I'm doing the best that I can..."
"That's what scares me," he answers. "I'm so afraid that we're not going to get over this. Do you realize how hot and cold our relationship has gotten?..."
"Since that night? Yeah, I do. Greg, I am trying to put it behind me. Really I am. But, all I see when I close my eyes is you with Bruce!"
"See, I thought you had forgiven me for that. But then again, why should you? I haven't forgiven myself."
"Don't try to turn this around. "
"I'm not. I violated your trust. And the sad thing is I honestly don't know why."
"Greg..."
"Come on. Let's go inside. I promise that if we don't like this guy, we'll leave. Being the son of a psychiatrist, I hope that having someone neutral..."
"Yeah."
We get out of the car, and head into the building, taking the elevator to the second floor.
The sign on the door read, William Diggs, Psychiatrist. We opened the door, and Greg followed me inside. The décor was tasteful.
There were woods and overstuffed chairs in the waiting area in soothing tones of beiges and browns, with complimentary draperies adorning the windows.
Just as welcoming was a copy of a Louis XIV desk that sat almost in a corner, behind which a lady, who looked to be in her mid to late forties, sat. The nameplate said that this was Cynthia Baker.
"Yes, gentlemen, may I help you?" Her voice had just a twang of Southern charm as she smiled warmly at us.
"Good afternoon. We are David Welsh and Gregory Jefferson. We have a two o' clock with the doctor. Dr. Jefferson made the appointment."
"Oh, yes, I see it right here. Will you please fill out these forms? You may have a seat right over there," she says, pointing to a grouping of comfortable looking chairs. "The doctor will be with you shortly."
Greg and I sit, filling out the forms with our necessary vital and insurance information. We had just handed it back to the receptionist when the door opens, and a man in his late twenties appear.
"Mr. Jefferson? Mr. Welsh? I'm Dr. Diggs. Won't you please come in? Can I have Cynthia get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water? Valium?" He chuckles when he notices the strange looks on our face at his last offering.
"No! No, thank you," we both answer.
"Well, why don't we be seated over here?" he asks, pointing to a seating area to our right as he closes the door.
Greg and I sit on the couch, and a smile forms on my lips. "What's so
funny," Greg asks.
"Psychiatrists do have couches," I chuckle.
"It's just to make you feel more comfortable," Dr. Diggs assures. "Now, how may I be of service too you?"
"Well," Greg begins. "Dave and I seem to be having some relationship problems as of late, doctor. And I'm -- we're -- afraid that it might be creating a chasm between us that will be hard to overcome if we don't communicate."
"And how do you see the problem, Mr. Welsh. May I address you as David and Gregory?" he asks.
"Sure, but I'm Greg."
"And I'm Dave," I answer. "We don't have problems, doctor. We have --
issues."
"Would you care to clarify?"
"I don't know. Maybe our issues came from the beginning, when we first got together. We almost didn't -- get together, I mean. Then there was the bombing, the stabbing, the kidnapping, the murder attempt, finding out we were parents, rescuing our children, and the biggest, Bruce." The doctor was scribbling on a yellow pad all the while I was speaking.
"That's quite a laundry list," he says. "And there are some serious issues that need to be addressed.
"You can add guilt to that list as well," Greg interjects. "But can you help us?"
"This is not something that we are going to rectify with one or two sessions. I am anticipating a number of them, both together and individually. The two of you have seemed to have undergone some major obstacles in your relationship, obstacles that are not the norm. But, we can, if we work together, find solutions."
"Can you guarantee that we can get back to a healthy relationship?" I ask.
"No, and any doctor that does would be lying to you. Peace and harmony, in your relationship, is only something that the both of you can attain. Let me ask you a couple of questions: do you love each other? Do you want your relationship to foster? And are you willing to give one-hundred percent to achieving that goal?"
Without hesitation, we answer `yes' to all of the above.
"Greg is my life, doctor. He's my existence."
"I feel the same about Dave."
"Then, we have crossed the first hurdle. Now, I would like to make appointments to see the both of you on Thursday. Is this time convenient?"
"Yes," we both answer, nodding to each other.
"Good. And Dave, can you meet with me Wednesday mornings, at nine? And Greg, Wednesday afternoons, say at one?" "If it is possible, can we switch the times? I assist in getting our children off to nursery school each morning. A switch would be most convenient."
"Sure, as long as I get to meet with you, I'm flexible."
"How many sessions do you anticipate?" I ask.
"That is entirely up to you, gentlemen. All would depend upon your progress. But, I am not seeing years of therapy. What I see now is that you most likely have some communications issues. That is what we're going to address. As an exercise, I want the two of you to express yourselves more freely, and listen to each other. Don't get offended, but remember those feelings and expressions that seem to irritate.
If you get angry, take five. Step back, go for a walk. And understand that that is why the argument is temporarily shelved. Relate to each other the reasons for your angst. And above all else, be honest. We'll discuss these things during our sessions. Do either of you have any more questions?"
We both signal no.
"In that case, I'll see you Dave Wednesday morning at nine."
"Did you notice that things were a little -- tense -- this weekend?" Bruce asked as he and Jeff settled on the couch of their living room. "You don't think there's trouble in paradise, no pun intended, do you?"
Jeff chuckles at the reference. "From what I understand, my brother is making an asshole of himself again. I thought he outgrew that in his twenties."
"You don't think he's still harboring some resentment of me? I mean, that night with Greg was over two-years ago, and we both admitted that the whole thing was a mistake. Besides, I'm with you, now, and you're more than enough man for me."
"Knowing my brother, there is probably still some anger left. He'll just have to get over it. You're mine now." Jeff gives Bruce a decisive kiss upon the lips.
"You keep that up, and I might have to teach you a lesson."
"I'm a willing student," Jeff says, standing and pulling Bruce to his feet. They head towards the bedroom.
"We are invited to the Governor's thing tonight. Are we still going?" Greg asks, as we enter the house.
"Aw shit! Is that tonight?" Greg nods. "Then I guess we had better get ready."
"I'll go let Mrs. Harrington know to alert the chauffer."
"Okay. I'm going up to the nursery. I'll be there if you need me." I head up the stairs, making a left into the nursery.
"Da!" Robyn says, when she notices me standing in the doorway. She runs to me, and I scoop her up in my arms, my heart suddenly feeling lighter.
Hearing Robyn's acknowledgement of me, Micah is soon on his feet, and running my way. I squat down on the floor, a mistake, since I am now at their level, and they both tackle me, causing me to burst into laughter as I pull both of my bundles of joy close.
"How are you guys doing?" I ask. "What have you been up too today? Have you been giving Stephanie a hard time?"
"They are wonderful," Stephanie says, coming out of their bathroom. "How are you doing, Sir?"
"I'm fine, Stephanie. I just wanted to spend a few minutes with the children."
"Very good, Dave. I'm going to take this opportunity to run down for a cup of coffee. Can I bring you anything?"
"No, thank you. I think I have all I need." I spend the next half hour playing with the children. We painstakingly build with the blocks, and of course, they think it funny when they crash them back to the floor. Their squeals and laughter is just the medicine I need for the day I've had.
"Dave? Greg asked me to remind you that it's getting late, and you have to get ready for the reception tonight."
"Thanks, Stephanie. Guys, Daddy's got to get ready to go to a boring dinner tonight. Has to make some contacts important to business. You guys be good tonight, and don't give Stephanie any trouble, and maybe Daddy Greg and I will let you keep some of those presents that your grandparents will soon be shipping." Stephanie smiles at that.
"Oh no!" she exclaims.
"'Fraid so, Stephanie. Both sets are together...in Chicago...with charge cards."
"Guess you'd better call Connor, then, and have him start on that new wing," she laughs. The children join in with peals of laughter as only toddlers can.
"I love you," I say, kissing each on the cheek as I stand and retreat from their bedroom, crossing the hall into my own. I can hear the buzz of the electric razor coming from the bathroom as I begin to disrobe. I walk naked into the bath, seeing Greg running a hand over his face.
"Care for a trim?" he asks.
"Yeah, thanks," I say, sitting on the closed lavatory seat. He begins to trim out the shadow beard that I now sport.
"I love the look of this beard on you. It makes you so sexy. Thank you for growing it for me. Hold your head back so I can get this right here," he says, removing the hair at the edge of my neckline. "There!"
"Thanks," I say, surveying the haircut in the mirror that covers the vanity wall. "You do a good job, babe."
Greg looks at me, a tear rolling down his cheek. "What's the matter," I ask.
"Nothing," he quickly adds. "It's just that...that's the first time you've called me `babe' all day."
"I'm sorry," I say, pulling him into my arms. "Greg, we are going to be alright. We are going to be alright!"
"If you say so, I believe you," he says, looking in my eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too." He breaks my hold on him, and turns on the showerheads. Dropping his underwear, he steps into the spray, and I follow.
"Do we have time for a little hanky-panky?" he asks, as he grabs the soap.
"We have time for the hanky and the panky," I leer. Greg excites me more every time I see him. We've been seeing Dr. Diggs for a few weeks now, and a lot of the tension has gone out of our relationship. Not to say that everything is perfect, but the fact that we both want to work this out helps -- tremendously!
I seek, and find, his warm, soft lips, and we get lost in each other. He begins to soap my back as I pull him into an embrace. My lips move along his freshly shaven face to his left earlobe.
"Umm," he moans, as my lips and tongue begin to play with the soft flesh there. I can feel his hardness against me as he pulls me closer.
I reach for another bar of soap, and begin to likewise soap his back, feeling the muscles move under my exploring hands. I push away from him, looking him in the eyes as I begin to soap up his hairy chest, watching the suds froth on his chest, and run in rivulets between his massive pecs.
"You are beautiful," I say. I sink to the shower floor. Greg shivers as the heat of my breath flows over his wet flesh. I begin to soap each leg, beginning with his right as I allow his hard, outstretched dick to rub along my cheek, the hair of my beard tickling the nerve ending s along its surface.
"Damn, baby. That feels awesome!"
I begin to do the other leg, allowing his dick the same treatment as it received before. I can feel him leaking as he leaves a trail of man juice along my cheek.
The water has been cascading down his chest, and I maneuver him so that it quickly rinses him off. I swoop him into my mouth, pulling him deeply within. Greg's knees buckle, but he manages to right himself.
"Oh fuck!" he exclaims, as he withdraws, only to be pulled back in again. His hips begin to move at a more steady pace, fucking my mouth and throat. I moan in agreement to his passion, his need.
I take the bar of soap back into my hand, and rub it over the cheeks of his ass, feeling the hard muscles contract and relax as he fucks my mouth. I run the soap between his asscheeks, getting it nice and slick.
I then let my fingers do the walking to his rosebud, and slowly begin to penetrate him, burying myself to the first knuckle.
"Yes," Greg hisses, as his asshole clamps around my finger. I begin to move my finger around that tight hole as Greg begins to loosen up like an experienced whore.
"I want you to fuck me, babe," he says, as I get a third finger into him. I have long since found that special button of his, making his squirt his love juice in the confines of my throat.
"Dave, I'm getting close. You had better stop before I...I can't hold off. I want you in me, please."
I release him from my mouth, standing to kiss him once again. Then turning him around, I push him against the wall. The man is a slut. He easily assumes the position, standing with his hands on the wall, his ass jutting out, begging for me.
I step out of the shower, grabbing lube and a condom from the vanity drawer. I take the soap and apply some more froth to his ass, then rub coat my dick with it. I move against him, my dick instinctively finding its target.
I ease my dick forward, breaking the barrier designed to release, not admit. And I sink forward, filling Greg with me. He moans, and from the way he is moaning, I know it's not from discomfort, but from joy.
I reverse my advances when he has half of me, drawing back until the head is just at the rim, then moving forward again. I set up this pattern until I am completely seated, my pubic hair rubbing against him.
"Oh lover, I love it when you are completely inside me. Now, fuck me!" he demands.
I begin to give him what he asks for, making love to Greg, standing in the shower, meeting his need and mine. I circle my arms around his waist, pulling him against me on each forward thrust, forcibly expelling the air from his lungs.
I reach up with my left hand, finding his jutting nub, and rubbing it hard between my fingers. Greg thrusts back against me, almost knocking me off balance, as I wrap my had around his dick, jacking him to the rhythm of my pounding hips.
"I cumin, baby," I groan in his ear as I feel my dick begin to swell. "Oh Greg! I'm gonna blow!"
"Yeah, now!" he screams, as I begin to unload into his ass. As if on cue, he begins to spray the wall, his essence being washed down the drain. I collapse against Greg's back, as all my energy is drained from my body.
"Damn!" I say, as my sensitive dick is expelled from his body. "You are wonderful," I say, kissing his neck. Greg turns in my arms. "I love you."
"I love you, too," he replies. His lips meet mine.
The double-stretch limousine slowed to a crawl as it made it's way along the road leading to the Governor's mansion in Annapolis. In the comfortable back seat sat Greg and Dave. Greg was a little nervous at the enormity of the grand evening. "I've never been to a Governor's reception before. Have you?"
"A couple of times."
"Well, I'm nervous...and excited. I wonder what's it's going to be like?"
"It's just a party, Greg. That's all. A chance for the Governor to say hello to his constituents, and for the constituents to get a chance to network. Many a great deal has gotten started at one of these things, especially since many industry leaders will be present."
"This will be a great feather for PCL."
"Precisely. That is why Dad wanted us to come. To represent the company."
"The grounds are beautiful," Greg says, as we turn through the massive gates leading to the front of the mansion. Finally the limousine pulled up in front of the well-lit mansion. A doorman opened the door, and we exited.
Governor Robert L. Ehrlich, Jr.'s reception was in full swing as we entered.
Honored guests include Congressional Representatives Roscoe G. Bartlett and Benjamin L. Cardin, and their wives. Among other distinguished guests were Michael Dell of Lockheed Martin and Al Myers of Northrop Gromann.
The affair was a sweeping success, and before the night was over, Greg and I had established some wonderful business contacts, as well as some budding friendships among the many captains of industry there.
"Hi Babe."
"Dave? I'm so glad to hear your voice. I miss you."
"Well, you could have come with me, you know."
"Well, I wanted to do a few things here around the house, and I ran into the office for a few minutes. Rich had sent some last minute changes that needed to be signed off."
"Yeah, what changes?"
He chuckles. "He changed the basic shape of the atrium in the hotel. It is a minor change, but it does something to the whole look. It gives the area a totally different feel. I think you are going to like it."
"Well, if you like it, I'm sure I will."
"So, what's up? Why did you call?"
"I called for a couple of reasons..."
"Such as...?"
"To tell you how much I love you...to check on the children...to see if you missed me...and to see if you wanted to go to New York with me this evening."
"Let me answer the last question with a question." The boy was definitely smart. "Why do you need to go to New York?"
"I got a call from Shelia."
"I knew it!"
"Greg?"
"What does she want?"
"She wants to have dinner again to discuss seeing Micah. I'd like for you to come. I've already booked us a 4:12 p.m. flight out of Ronald Reagan, and we 'll land at Newark a little past five. We have reservations at Tavern on the Green at eight. Will you come?"
"You know I don't want to be around that bitch."
"Greg, she is the mother of our son."
"But you think she's turning into some kind of saint."
"Then come along and see for yourself. If you find that she's exploiting me, and the situation, in any fashion, I promise I'll tell her to take me to court and sue for visitation.
Fair?"
"I don't like this."
"I know you don't, sweetheart. But will you at least come?"
"Okay. I'll meet you at the airport. What airline?"
"Continental."
"Okay. I'll be there at three." He hangs up the phone.
"I take it we're staying at the apartment tonight."
"Yeah. I had to leave Bryan a message. I hope he gets it. Wouldn't want to interrupt his plans."
"That was nice of you, letting him move in there."
"It's the least I could do after all he's done for us. Plus, his place was being demolished for the new Nets Stadium."
We climb into the rental and head out of the airport towards the New Jersey Turnpike. Soon we are heading north towards the Lincoln Tunnel.
I turn north on Tenth Avenue, and we travel until I get to 57th Street. I turn right again.
"Aren't we going to the apartment? We still have to change. Can't go to the Tavern in jeans."
"We'll get there, but I need to make a stop, first."
Traffic is typical as I maneuver east. I'm trying to get to Fifth Avenue. Finally, we get there, and I pull into a parking garage.
"Where are we going?" Greg asks.
"There is something in a store on the next block that I want to get. Come on," I urge, getting from the car, and getting the ticket from the attendant.
We walk down the block towards 56th Street, and into Harry Winston's.
"Yes, may I help you?" this man says, obvious as he looks down his nose at us, two waifs dressed in old jeans and rugby shirts.
"We'd like to see something in wedding surrounds that can compliment this emerald setting," I say, showing him my ring. He looks at us with obvious distain as he walks us over to some cheap (by Harry Winton's standards) settings.
"These settings begin at $25k. They are our least expensive," he says.
"And why would you..." Greg begins, but the salesman ignores him.
"Excuse me. Gail? Will you help these...gentlemen?" He scurries off, leaving Greg and I standing there as this young lady comes over to assist us.
"Of all the nerve..."
"Greg, don't let it bother you," I say. "Gail, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Whatever sale is made today, you are to get the commission -- and only you. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir," she smiles.
"Mr. And Mrs. Trump. My name is Holden Weathers. Welcome to Harry Winston's. How may I assist you this evening," we hear the salesperson who abandoned us say.
"I have some jewelry that I brought in to be cleaned," I hear Mrs. Trump reply. Holden scurries off to retrieve her pieces.
"Well, aren't you going to say hello?" I turn to see the Donald coming my way. "Dave? Dave Welsh?"
"I didn't think that you'd remember me."
"Of course I would. Anyone who donates that kind of money to one of my favorite charities rates high in my book. Allow me to introduce my wife, Melania. Melania, this is David Welsh, and..."
"Gregory Jefferson, my partner," I finish.
"Let me personally congratulate you on your nuptials and the success of your television show," Greg responds.
"Thank you. Dave," he says to his wife, "is one of the most brilliant corporate attorneys in the country, and he also happens to be one of the heirs to Paradise Cruise lines."
"Oh, I love your cruise line," Melania says.
"Then you're going to really fall in love with Paradise Island," Greg says. "It opens June 4th. You'll be able to come."
"Donald?"
"Wouldn't miss it! You must have dinner with us while you're here."
"We would love too, but we're only in town for the night. But, if we can schedule it, why don't you plan on coming to our home in Maryland July 4th week. We would love the opportunity to get to know you better."
"I'm sure we can find a couple of days then."
"You're in Maryland?" Melania asks.
"Yes, this wonderful man built me a...what's the word...compound...there. Sixteen bedroom suites on forty-two acres along the Chesapeake. It's really beautiful."
"I'm getting a brainstorm, Donald. Maybe we can discuss a possibility of Trump's Paradise for the island. The PCL board will be there, as well as my father. I'm sure he'd be interested in speaking with you regarding this project. Feel free to invite whomever you wish. I always secure a couple of floors at the local Sheraton for the overflow."
"We'll definitely make it. Just call with all the particulars. Well, we'd better be going before Mel sees something that she wants. We'll see you in June on the island."
"Looking forward to it. Nice seeing you again." The Trumps leave after securing their packages from Holden.
"I'm sorry, Gail. Take this stuff away. What do you have in platinum?" Greg and I chuckle as Holden gets this sick look to his face. By the time we leave, Gail has helped us to pick out our ring-surrounds, onyx and gold bracelets, a gold locket, and diamond cuff links. She was very happy as she found the purchases totaling just over 150k would give her a nice commission. Greg added another $3500 purchasing yellow diamond studs for Robyn, and we bought a diamond initial for Stephanie at $4k. It was fun seeing Holden get sick...very sick.
We take our purchases, sans rings, which have to be fitted, and head back to the car, then drive to the apartment. I, surprisingly, find a space on the street in front of the building, saving me from having to drive into the garage.
Stan, the doorman, is pleased to see us as we enter, and greets us warmly.
"Misters Dave and Greg, it's so good to see you again. How have you been?"
"It's good to see you, too, Stan. We're doing fine. We love our new place."
"And the children? They must be getting big."
"They are, Stan. Growing up so fast," Greg responds. "How's your family?"
"Very good, Sir. Thank you for asking."
"Is Mr. Lane in?" I inquire.
"No, he stepped out a while ago, but he wasn't dressed for work, so he may be coming back tonight."
"Okay. Well, if you see him, tell him that we are upstairs. Never want to surprise a man with a gun," I chuckle.
"No -- no you don't," he too responds, chuckling.
We take the elevator up to the apartment. Bryan has made few changes, only adding a few personal touches here and there.
"I can use a drink," Greg says, crossing over to the bar.
"Sounds good. Pour me one."
He sets about getting our drinks while I sink into the sofa. "You really enjoyed yourself today, didn't you? And what's this about Trump Paradise?"
I take a sip of the drink that he's made. "You're right. I did enjoy making that pompous, arrogant, egotistical, self-serving bastard cringe. How dare he make assumptions about customers. I should call Harry and have him reprimanded."
"You wouldn't?"
"Oh yes I would, but I won't. I'm glad that that salesgirl, Gail, came to assist us."
"Yes, she has a good eye."
"And I liked her."
"What about the Trump Paradise? What was that all about?"
"I've been knocking over the idea of adding another resort, on the southern shore. And if we make it a casino, it would greatly enhance the stock, as well as the profits. I'm sure the board would go for it.
But right now PCL doesn't have the loose capital to undertake a project such as this, not without investors. If I could get someone like Donald Trump on board..."
"You'll be able to get the investors more easily."
"That's correct. And I plan for us to be a major investor ourselves and to put some stock in the children's portfolio."
"I just love when you make money," he says, kissing me.
Tavern On The Green is one of New York's finest establishments. Located in Central Park, it has a commanding view of the Great Lawn.
Shelia was sitting at a table when we arrived. I noticed that near her was a couple that looked familiar. They were Evan's men (man and woman, to be more exact.) I knew that there were others; they just happen to be operatives I did not know.
"Greg, it's good to see you again," Shelia said in greeting.
Greg mumbled a response as we were seated.
"You look lovely this evening," I say to Shelia. Dressed in a black cocktail dress, it was stunning against her red hair. The tones of her skin were striking in the ambiance of the room.
"Thank you, Dave. You two look rather dashing yourself." We settle in, and I order a bottle of wine." The chitchat continues as we sip our wine, Shelia and I dominating the conversation as Greg broods.
"Shelia!" he says, "Dave invited me here because he is considering allowing you contact with Micah, but I have my reservations, needless to say."
"You don't say..." she quips.
"Now is not the time to get cute with me," Greg counters.
"You're right, Greg. I apologize. I was just trying to throw a little levity into this situation."
"Then tell me why I should allow you back into Micah's life?"
Before she can answer, the waiter returns with our orders.
The plates look delicious, and we begin to dine. Shelia's thoughtful for a few moments before she answers. "It's easy to say that you should do this because I am his mother. That's just a title. Anyone can be a mother."
"In more ways than one," I throw in, earning a disapproving look from Greg. I can see that he's struggling with this, and I decide to take this seriously.
"Yes. I think that Micah needs me. Every child, especially a male child, needs the influence of a mother, someone who can help to mold that child into a productive adult."
"They need their father, too, but you and Annette were willing to sacrifice that reasoning."
"We were angry, and it was a way to hurt the two of you. I understand now how wrong that was. It would have accomplished absolutely nothing. It would just have delayed the inevitable: the children's resentment of us for separating them from you.
Contrary to what you might think, I am now at a point in my life where I truly only wish the two, no, the four, of you happiness. I just hope that you allow me to share it with you."
"Shelia," Greg begins, "those words are pretty, but it's going to take a lot more convincing, and a lot more time for me to trust you. Just know," he says looking at me, and then directly in her eyes, "if you ever, and I mean ever, try to hurt my family again, there will be no waiting for justice to take its course. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner. I will make you pray for death; a death that I guarantee will be slow and painful. Do I make myself absolutely clear? For I will have nothing to lose; do you understand that?"
"Greg, I understand what you're saying. You'll see. I will find a way to convince you -- to earn your trust."
"Do you have anything you want to say Dave?" Greg looks expectantly to me.
I take a deep breath. "Shelia, you know my feelings. Greg is echoing the same sentiments I expressed to you the last time we met. As I said, hell will be a welcomed respite for the place you'd be in if you even come close to thinking of hurting any one of us again.
Maybe I'm stupid, or maybe Greg is more cautious than I, but I recognize the need of a mother in a child's life. My life would not be the same had I not had my mother's influence.
But, make no mistake, I will quash you like a bug if I find that you impact Micah, or Robyn, in any negative manner, or that you put your own agenda before their welfare. On that point, Greg and I are completely together. You caught us off guard once before. It will never happen again."
Shelia considers the terms, and I'm sure she considered the threat before we see her flaming mane nod in the affirmative. "Okay, she answers. I don't think you are being unreasonable."
"Alright, Shelia, in that case, we'll make arrangements for you to see Micah, soon. Within the next week. But, it's going to be on our terms."
"Understood."
"Now, two more things, and then we'll be ready to leave. First, if you will give us the name of your parole officer..."
"Why do you need her name?"
"We need to contact her to keep her apprised of what is happening. We don't want to do anything, or present any situation, that would violate your parole, and ruin your chances of being with our son."
"Okay then...her name is Clarissa Smart. The office address is 52 John Street, here in Lower Manhattan. I can give you her telephone number if that would help." I nod to Greg who is recording this information. "555-8712. She usually gets in at nine."
"You know a lot about this woman, more so that I would think her other charges do."
"We've had a chance to talk, plus, having once been a criminal defense attorney, I understand the importance of her role in my rehabilitation."
"True."
"You said there were two things?"
"The other is this," I say, giving her the locket Greg and I purchased earlier.
"What's this," she asked, opening the small box.
"It's a peace offering from Greg and I. We realize that we played a major role in your unhappiness, and even though it was not our intent to hurt you -- you must know I never wanted to do that -- we don't dictate with whom we fall in love.
It had to have been a major shock for both you, and Annette, considering the history that you and I had. Believe me -- us -- our feelings were a shock for us, too. We will never understand, or condone, the lengths which the two of you took, but, we can..."
"What made you change your mind? I mean, why did the two of you agree to see me, and hear me out?" she asks.
"Open the present," I urge. "Honestly? Greg and I have been in therapy for the last few months. A lot of the feelings that we have for you have been discussed, together in sessions with our doctor, and separately in our own individual sessions.
The one thing that I have taken from these sessions is learning that life is too short to harbor resentment and anger; both of which rear their ugly heads when I thought of you (prior to the sessions)."
"But," Greg continues, "we are trying to get on with our lives. And this means coming to terms with you. For -- forgiveness is a key element to our recovery, and we are determined to recover, not only for ourselves, and our happiness, but for the healthy development of Micah and Robyn."
"What's this?" she asks, holding up the locket.
"Open it." Inside one half, we have placed a picture of Micah, and in the other side one of he and Robyn.
"We wanted you to have something about him. If you have been truly sincere, that locket will now find a place in your heart."
"Yes. It has," she assures. "Thank you. Thank you both!"
We had spoken little as we arrived back at the apartment. Taking the elevator up from the lobby, we were greeted by the scent of candles, the melodic sounds of soft background music, and the soft murmur of conversation.
"It looks as if Bryan is home," Greg whispers as the elevator silently closes behind us.
We step into the room with an "Ahem!"'
"Greg? Dave? When did you two get here?" Bryan asks, getting up from the chair to give us a hug.
Robert, his partner at work, and, what appears to be, his partner, otherwise, soon embraces us.
"It's so good to see you guys," Rob says. "What are you doing in New York?"
"We didn't interrupt?" Greg asks.
"No," Rob blushes.
"We were just talking," Bryan adds.
"Well, we had dinner with Shelia..."
"Shelia!" they both exclaim.
"Yeah. Ain't that a blip?" Greg interjects. "Dave has this fool-hearty notion that she can visit the children."
"It's not being fool-hearty," I protest, taking the drink that Bryan has made for me. "It's just that every child should have the opportunity to get to know their mother."
"She didn't care that the child -- our child -- got to know his father. Neither one of them did."
"I can understand what Dave is saying, Greg. Parents, especially mothers, are important to their children. Not to say that fathers aren't. Both of them are. It's just that mothers hold a special place in a son's heart. Just think of how'd you be if Penelope wasn't in your life, or never had been."
"You wouldn't be the man that he grew to love," Brian adds .
"Okay, okay. You've convinced me. But that doesn't mean that I'm giving Shelia free reign with Micah. I will be watching her like a hawk. And if she pulls anything, I will come down on like a ton of bricks."
"Babe, you'll have to stand in line."
We chat for a few more moments, before we bid Bryan and Rob a goodnight. We go into our old bedroom.
"You're kidding right? Bryan and Rob are in the other room."
"So?" I ask, pulling him close and nuzzling his neck from behind. "I'm sure that they know we have sex." I begin to unbutton his shirt, pressing the firmness of my erection against his tight buttocks.
"But this is Bryan's home now. Shouldn't we exercise -- ugh -- some
restraint?"
"Believe me. I never wanted to exercise more in my life." I slide my hand down his torso, cupping the swelling inside his trousers. Another moan escapes his lips.
"That's not fair," he moans, turning in my arms, his lips finding mine. I slide my tongue across his lips, and they open to receive me.
I slip Greg's shirt from his shoulders, anxious to feel his hot flesh in my hands. His skin is approaching fever conditions as we both struggle to breath without losing our connection.
I can feel Greg's hands fumble with my belt, soon getting them open and pushing them to the floor. Greg breaks our kiss, sliding down my body, pushing my pants and underwear the rest of the way around my ankles.
"You are so magnificent!" he whispers as his lips and teeth nibble at the head of my dick, bringing a moan from deep within me. I can feel myself begin to leak as his tongue swipes across the sensitive flesh.
Greg has learned to relax and he can now easily take me. He demonstrates his talent, sucking me deep into his throat. His desire -- his want -- and his need are now apparent as he takes me, and it's pulling me close.
I reach down, seizing him under his arms, and pulling him back to his feet. "I'm getting too close too soon," I say.
He reaches up, grabbing my shirt, and not so gently sliding the buttons through the buttonholes. It a good thing we bought a change of clothing.
Once naked, he removes the rest of his clothing after pushing me back on the bed.
"The first time we made love on this bed, you made love to me. Now, it's my turn."
He reaches over to the nightstand, pulling out the lube, and a condom. "No condom tonight," I tell him.
"You sure?" he asks. We've been using them since his little tryst with Bruce.
"Yeah. I want -- I need -- for us to be one again." He bends, bringing his lips to mine again as I spread my legs, inviting him inside.
Greg takes his time, gently preparing me to receive him, although I can see the urgency in his eyes. I pull my legs closer to my chest, giving him total access.
Soon, I am ready. Greg hands me the lube, allowing me to coat him as he has coated me. I lovingly take his hard dick in my hand, feeling his natural lubricant flow into my palm as I coat him with Hydrolube.
I place my legs on his shoulders. Greg moans. "I love the feel of your hairy legs against my skin. It's so hot!"
He grasps his bouncing dick, and maneuvers it to my backdoor. I relax my opening, and with a little pressure, Greg begins to slide inside of me -- filling me.
I am stretched and luxuriously full as he withdraws a couple of inches before beginning his downward drilling once again. "Yes! Yes, lover! Fill me!" I exclaim.
His pubic hair soon scratches against the outer lips of my hole as his full balls nestle against my upturned cheeks. I wrap my legs around his waist, opening myself further, allowing him to sink those extra few millimeters into me.
"Let me know when," he says, "'cause you're so tight."
"Glad you like it. I exercise that muscle quite often. Now, FUCK ME!"
Greg draws his hips back, pulling about four inches of his thick man meat out of me before he slides forward again.
"Damn!" we both sigh in unison. Soon, a rhythm is developed, me opening to receive his downward thrust, and milking him on his retreat. The air-conditioned room cannot cool the fire that was burning, threatening to consume the both of us.
I wrapped my arms around Greg's back, feeling his strong muscles contract and roll under my touch. A thin sheen of sweat covered his back, and my hands slide over the heated flesh, from his broad shoulders down to his narrow waist, prevented from going further by my own legs as they were enveloping his heaving body.
I planted my feet firmly on the bed beside our bodies as Greg continued to move in and out. He finds my nut -- my prostrate -- and he beings to massage it on each forward stroke, causing me to shudder with pleasure.
I call out his name, urging him on; forcing him to join me as I go over the edge. I can feel him begin to swell, stretching my already overworked spinster wider. I am burning there, not from the friction, although what there is I find wonderful. All my nerve endings are concentrated in two places: my dick, which is rubbing constantly against Greg's hard stomach, and my asshole that is receiving his love.
"Dave! Oh Dave," he groans, as his hip take short jabs into me. I can feel him pouring forth, filling me. "I love you, Dave."
"Yes, I can feel it, Greg. I can feel it! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" I shout, my own dick spewing forth a thick load.
Greg collapses on me, and I wrap my legs around him, a satisfying purr emanating from our throats. I feel him slowly leaving me, the head of his love tool escaping from my ring of flesh that has tried to keep him captured.
Greg finally manages to roll off of me, "Baby, that was...that was fantastic! You're amazing," he says, as he gulps in much needed air.
"No, you are the one who's amazing," I say, as I cuddle up in his arms, feeling them wrap around me. I hear the thump of his heart as my head settles on his chest. He pulls me closer, and we drift off to sleep.