"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty-Six
By Griz
umgriz@protonmail.com
Hi,
Happy Trails To You, and daily, we meet again!
Well, that's kind of how this has worked out this week. For whatever reason, Jozef and Marc walked in and stayed in my mind. Oh----and they're greedy, hungry fuckers! In the middle of a chapter, they decide they want Buffalo Wings! And lemonade! Extra bleu cheese dressing and celery! And you know WHO has to get up and make all that? NOT THEM.
But the three of us enjoy it, and after everything gets cleaned up and those two settle down, we get back to work. There've been a few longer chapters, and yeah, I know a few readers weren't fans of that. Well, too bad. I warned you in the first chapter: I'm not a Jane Austen, but I CAN be a Leo Tolstoy. Read any of this, and you're gettin' quantity----and a little dubious quality, as well. Just relax, read as much as you can, and dream about farm boys and college professors. Everyone gets to the end of the chapter eventually.
Today, though, will be not quite as much quantity. It's Friday, 1 March, 2024, and I have a list of things to do that'll take away from time with Jozef and Marc and everyone else.
Thanks for your letters and comments; I appreciate all of you. More on its way, but not RIGHT away.
Oh----I have to tell you: I have/had a critic who actually seemed to be wanting some Austen:
"Do you write with crayons? Your writing is immature, childish, boorish and predictable. The characters are one-dimensional and transparent. Translate this into `Adult' and then post it."
HA!
No, I was not offended! Clearly not, as I just shared the brave and wizened email with All Y'All! Exactly what kind of `literature' is he expecting on nifty.org?! I've read many of the stories there! None of us will end up for 52 weeks on the New York Times list*! I certainly promise to emulate Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winners, but not with THIS story. I am able to entertain you guys and myself with this, and that's my entire goal. Thanks for indulging me, and for letting me indulge you.
Something that has also come up in emails about the story and myself: my sex. Not the kind I have (nothing to write about there), but the one I was born as. I know there are writers of gay erotic fiction who are females, and there has been some enjoyable work by them.
I am a slightly-older, Polish-Montana Fergus County Lewistown farm boy, and my chromosomal pairing is XX. I don't think it makes much difference to most people, but I've been asked by a few. Now you know. As for proof, no, you will not get a picture of my big Polish dick. Sorry.
For any Polish-Montana gay erotica writers who are, indeed, female? Thanks for your work! Maybe we can collaborate. If any of you receive requests for sex-revealing pictures, just decline politely, take a page out of my playbook and assure everyone you're hung. In your case, like a doughnut.
Happy March to All. I hope it'll be your best month yet!
With Love, Affection, Buffalo Wings and Lemonade (but no doughnut); Griz
*PS: I wrote above that none of us on nifty will win any literature awards. I don't think that's entirely true. I have my favorite authors, and I've read their work here repeatedly, never enjoying it less than any previous readings. One I'll mention is The Writer X. "The Brotherhood" and "The Brotherhood Awakening", as well as other stories.
If anyone deserves perpetual addition to the short-list for the Nebula Award, it's X. Reading how he writes love between men is inspiring for me the writer, and pleasurable (all over the place....AGAIN.....dangit!) for me the reader.
thewriter_x@hotmail.com (Search on nifty by that)
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/the-brotherhood/
X has a Patreon, too. His most recent work is there, with each new chapter.
patreon.com/thewriter_x
Anyway, X is very good at what he does. I'll discuss other writers I've read (and addicted myself to) in future chapters from Yours Truly.
Thanks, X; and all the writers on nifty. And thank you, nifty, for keeping an archive of them/us.
Griz
*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.
All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***
"Babe, I read somewhere that switching rear pockets for a wallet can help if you're sitting for long periods of time. How many cards do carry in there, anyway?"
"Two. And my license. Maybe a couple of Twenties. Also, my wallet is in my front left pocket." "Then why....."
I raised one eyebrow at Marc and chewed the last bite of the perfect eggs benny.
"Oh. Yeah. Ummm.....sorry, Babe?"
"No, you're not, so don't tell that lie. If you were really `sorry', you would've stopped after the first time."
"I seem to recall a certain stud teen farm boy who had a death grip on my ass so I wouldn't pull away from his."
"That was only basic first aid skills. You know, the rule that if someone has something impaled and imbedded in their body, it should not be removed; far worse damage could occur."
"So, hindsight tells us we should've stayed in the hotel, stuck together, and ordered room service?"
"Yes. Just keep your sight on my hind, Marc. And the `stuck together' aspect of that is just something we're gonna have to live with. The hair around your dick and the little nest of hair around my hole might give us an historical hint about how Velcro was created. But yeah, if you'd remained in your core-sample drilling mode there, I wouldn't be squirming here."
"Oh, damn....."
"Don't get me wrong, Boyfriend; I'm not complaining. My ass is wanting to go on strike, but I am keeping the factory open, 24/7, no holidays, only minimal downtime for maintenance and cleaning. Gonna delay the whole `labor unrest thing' for awhile."
"How long is `awhile'?"
"I'm prepared to prevent that strike for the following sixty-five years. Management demands: `Quitcherbitchin', Get used to it, settle down, and get back to work'."
"What does Labor have to say about it?"
"I don't care."
Marc laughed, and really laughed, for the first time since yesterday. I joined in. Phyllis came to see what the ruckus was about.
"I don't know what you boys are laughing about, but I'd better not have toilet paper stuck to a shoe or something....."
We only laughed louder.
"And look! CLEAN PLATES! Oh, thank you! I hope it was because you liked the breakfast, and not because I'm trying to avoid a scene in the kitchen."
I smiled at Phyllis. Perfect breakfast, and perfect laughter to help digest it.
"We REALLY liked it; both of `em, Phyllis. Next time, Hash for me! So your dishwasher has issues with non-shiny plates?"
"The worst! Almost takes it personally, even though she didn't cook the food! Still, we're used to each other; she's worked here as long as I have."
"Wow! Two of you this long in the same place, and one of you is Glinda and the other is Miss Gulch!"
"Babe, I think they're not only in the same place, but in the same body.....unless I'm mistaken, Phyllis....."
"Damn! The secret's out! CURSES! But you boys did admirably at keeping `Miss Gulch' content; thank you! Now, what else can I bring you this morning?"
Marc rubbed his rock-hard, ab-dominated, and yet still-full and slightly distended belly.
"No room, Phyllis; but thank you!"
"If he eats more, he won't be able to try on that new suit being built from the ground up for him."
"Oh! Are you getting a Perry Special? Works of genuine art, they are. I love it when local guys come in here with `em on. I can tell from the parking lot who's wearing something from Jason's. Hey, would you both be loves and take him and his team something for me? I have five bear claws remaining from this morning's work. Tell him I appreciate that he sends me eye candy every once in awhile!"
"We'll be happy to do that, Phyllis. I'll take care of the check; Jozef gave his wallet a work-out yesterday."
"Marc, that's just fine. Thank you. Here it is. This was the best day here in a long time! I hope you'll come back!"
I nodded and smiled.
"Every trip here, Phyllis! You're breakfast and lunch, only?"
"That's right. I don't have the energy to work around the clock, and finding good people here for an evening shift is about impossible. Besides; Jake's is right there, the Sheraton and the Northern hotels have their own restaurants, and now with all this food delivery going on, there just isn't the traffic in and out of here. We do just fine slingin' hash and sammies, and relax after."
Marc reached for his wallet (how nice for SOME people to be able to keep it in a back pocket). He pulled out two Twenties and handed those with the check to Phyllis.
"I'll be right back with the change, Marc."
"What change?"
"Why, the change....."
Phyllis looked completely perplexed, but Marc and I laughed good-naturedly, and she was in on it.
"Now that's just plain silly! And too much!"
"Nah. Just doin' me a favor, Phyllis. My wallet was too heavy. Truth, though: you created the perfect breakfast for Jozef and me, all the way around. We needed exactly what you brought us, and appreciated the welcoming kindness, too."
"Now don't do that! Takes me forever to get the eyeliner and mascara just right! Oh, you boys.....thank you. I'll have the bear claws in a sack up front, but please take all the time you want here!"
We thanked her and finished the water, and reviewed the rest of the day. Nothing on it, really; we were staying a second night only for the sake of the hand-tailored suit that'd be ready Wednesday. There was the zoo in Billings, though I'd go only if Marc wanted to. I'd had enough during the previous week of seeing amazing, exotic animals in the graceful forms of chickens, steers and birthing monster-sized dogs.
My watch indicated we had fifteen minutes before the suit fitting at Jason's.
"Boyfriend, do you need any time in the room before we go see your suit's progress?" "Yeah, actually. The hash was delicious, but I'm done wanting to taste it. You?"
"The same, I think. I'll pull a page out of my grandpa's book: `Well, I came in the bathroom for a reason; might as well pee while I'm there'."
Marc laughed and we stood up. Only two more tables with customers at them. I loved the entire experience there that day. I'd been in before, but there's a difference between eating in a bustling, busy cafe with your family, and eating leisurely with its newest and warmly welcomed member. You see and hear and taste and smell everything differently. We'd return, I was sure of it. Here, too, you never get a second `First Time', even if you are a cute couple.
Phyllis was on the phone ordering supplies when we approached. She winked and handed us the sack with Perry's pastries in them. That was a thoughtful touch on her part. At a time when the Chamber of Commerce was primarily into fundraising for lobbyists and politicians, this was a simple act of appreciation from one business to another that still achieved the goal: build and support businesses and community together. Absolutely no different from what farmers are always doing at each other's operations in Fergus County.
Back in the hotel room, we freshened up and enjoyed a serious kiss. It was our first after the harrowing morning in the room, and then breakfast. I needed that kiss, and the one I had to return to Marc was intended to carry with it appreciation, love and trust. 100%.
We both remembered that we had about fifteen minutes, not an hour and fifteen minutes; but the message had not yet made it down to our young and eager dicks. `Calm down, Boys; you will be released soon. You're not being exiled to some penile penal colony.' That would happen after those sixty years with Marc that I kept going on about. Unless Pfizer released Viagra v10.0.....
"Umm.....Babe, just curious.....but I know there was a lot that I put inside you, but I'm not aware of anything coming back out."
"Is it supposed to come back out?"
"Well, if only by way of Newton's Law of Gravity. Or the natural process of displacement through daily factory production. Eventually."
"Does it HAVE to come back out?"
"I know of no examples of autopsies done on old gay guys, finding evidence of all those nights at the bath house."
"Oh, yeah! Bath houses! I've read about those! I think my generation will never know that experience. At least not with Bette Midler and Barry Manilow performing live. I know really old gay guys online talk about the fun they had, back when they were young. And yet.....you don't. Maybe you just forgot."
"You'll pay. That's all I have to say."
"Nah. You'll forget about this, too. I win! Um, on the other issue, though.....nothing has come back out to see daylight for the first time. I haven't researched the entire physiological processes involved in, well, what is known in Polite Society as `getting fucked up the ass repeatedly'."
"You're exaggerating. Again. You did not get fucked up the ass repeatedly'. That happened only once, when Anna dropped by to visit. All the other times were, shall we say, expressively intense and intimate moments of passion-filled love-making'."
"Which Anna would misinterpret as `getting fucked up the ass repeatedly'. Well, gotta tell you, Boyfriend; that was clever. I am not that creative."
"We don't know that yet. I'll bet you a sack full of bear claws that if you really tried, you could park your ankles behind your ears. Maybe sing a Sam Smith song at the same time."
"Do you HEAR this voice? I am no tenor. But my ankles behind my ears, huh? Hmmm..... I wonder how that would look with some `Non Piu Andrai' at the same time.....I'm sure you'll let me know, since you'll be there for both."
"Front row, center. And of course you'd know Mozart."
"Not as well as you, I'm sure. Tell me: was he really as hyper in person as the movie made him out to be?"
"So let's see.....in only a few minutes, you're making a very grave mistake in assuming----and mentioning----that I have been in contemporary acquaintance with Midler, Manilow and Mozart."
"Oh, let's throw in Marx along with them."
"I got your opiate' right here....."
"Oh, I know you do.....I can still feel it. But I meant Groucho, not Karl. Damn, this morning is hilarious!"
"You're not, however. No one hears me laughing."
"Because you have your teeth in. You know how they fall out when you laugh. I'm sure you're laughing on the inside, though."
"Sigh. Might as well relax and play along. I'll wear myself out trying to keep up with you, Kiddo."
"NO!!!"
"Oh, YES! Each time you assert I'm of ages still far off from my own, I'll remind you in kind just how much I can still play, even if there's a minuscule delay behind you."
"Oh-----I like that last part."
"Which part? I'm comprehensive in my sage responses. And my books."
"When you said, `behind you'. That means me. That means you behind me. And THAT means I know what to do with the rest of the day, after you try on your suit."
"Well, I guess we COULD take the finger off the Pause button, but we could also try to think of other activities. We are in the largest town in Montana, after all."
"Tommy suggested the mall and miniature golf. I'd rather be imprisoned in Guyana."
"After last night and this morning, I don't think you'd give the inmates in the showers any significant challenge. Come on, Babe. Pattern and texture await us."
"They await YOU. I just want to see you standing on that raised red platform in nothing but your underwear. All that's missing is a spotlight, a disco ball and Dr Frank-N-Furter singing that he `Can Make You A Man'. Fuck the suit."
"Sounds like you're feeling a little better, Jozef....."
"I am. Thanks to you. Many, many thanks to you. And Phyllis. I think that was part of my problem earlier; I was trying to be all grown up on an empty stomach."
"Then you'll just have to keep eating."
"Yeah. At least as long as my youthful metabolism holds out. Do you miss yours, Marc? It's been gone awhile now."
I laughed and ran from the room to the elevator. Yeah, I liked that Marc brought us back around for a moment. I was feeling better. Heck, a stranger, and a wise and experienced one, said we were a cute couple. I'm sure she has seen more than her share of Hope walk in her cafe, and Reality and Disappointment, not a cute couple, leave over the past fifty years.
Marc caught up to me where I was standing at the elevator doors. He pulled me right up against him and kissed me.
"See what I mean, about having to `catch up with you'? Literally and figuratively, Babe; may it always be thus."
It was my turn to kiss him, and mine had a little added intensity of gratitude and relief. We heard the bell sound and stepped back as the doors opened. Walking out, though slowly, was an old couple. Not elderly; OLD. I don't think I'd be far off if I put them in their late-Eighties or even Nineties. They were all smiles for each other, and she was holding onto his arm tightly. That wasn't from any imbalance; they'd probably worked through a lifetime of imbalances together. That was 100% love, right there.
The old man turned to Marc and winked.
"The police found us decades ago in my old jalopy out at the river, where we all went back then. He just smiled and told us to `get a room'. So we finally did!"
"JOHN!!! Hush!!!"
"It's our anniversary and the honeymoon we never got! We'll try to keep the noise down!"
All four of us laughed heartily at that, though Mrs Still-In-Love was more subdued than the three of us. They waved and started off down the hallway. There was only one suite past ours. The one that every better hotel always has, with big double doors and a corner view. You know the suite I mean. Marc and I stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.
We shared a kiss again, and you probably think all Marc and I do is find opportunities to kiss. That kiss was, like all before it, with the man I loved and was in love with. If you've had only kisses from your grandmother or someone who MAYBE made an R-rated movie, then the reasonable reaction would be `Okay. Thanks. YAWN.'
If you've ever been lucky enough to get even ONE KISS like the ones Marc and I share? That will be your heroin, and you will spend the rest of your days trying desperately to find another one like it. When you get That Kiss, don't let your dealer out of your sight---or off your lips.
So: Suite 2021. That's where I wanted us to be staying fifty or sixty years from now. If she's still working there, Anna would get a much different show, and I suspect all three of us would just laugh that time around, if not fall asleep waiting for something to happen.
Eight minutes before Suit-Up. Billings was platted nicely. The downtown area is easy to navigate. Everyone uses the hotel as the landmark when if they get turned around. Some entire areas of the town were not North-South, but kind of NE-SE. Who knows why. Oh----you wanna know why Lewistown is all platted NE-SE? Because in the very earliest days, before streets or anything else, a woman named Margaret marked off her garden.
She owned the mercantile in town, and carried folks on credit. $1.00 per month credit, $1.50 per family. Zero interest. Due in 30 days. No exceptions. And yet, she made exceptions, and hauled her sister out from St Cloud, Minnesota to live in Lewistown.
Margaret owned the mercantile. Ruby had been a nurse in Minnesota, which of course meant in Lewistown, which had no doctor then, she was the Surgeon General, Midwife, Official Aspirin-Giver and actually a pretty successful pediatrician, too. Very few stillbirths in town, relatively speaking.
Ruby would tell Margaret who came to their house for care in a little room off the kitchen. If any of the patients' were on credit and in debt, Margaret was known to slyly extend credit a little, or accidentally' sell two pounds of flour for the price of one.
The garden was huge. She was influential, and when it came time to actually build a town, the planners didn't even go near her to say her garden was going to get chopped off on a corner. Nope. Leave it and her garden alone, and instead, just draw the streets around it in an orientation that makes no sense and confuses tourists passing through.
You could ask her for credit and you could ask Ruby for a mustard plaster; but don't even THINK to ask if by ANY CHANCE the garden could be maybe turned just a little before any bricks get laid for streets.
Mom's grandmother had an isolationist attitude toward tourists.
"I like tourists confused by Lewistown streets. They spend their money at the Yogo Inn and not at the real estate office."
The irony: she and my grandfather didn't even live there, but visited often. They were up in Hingham on the Highline, the part of the state only miles from the US-Canada border on the 49th Parallel. Huge, flat, amazing soil with bountiful minerals in it, and the Milk River meandering lazily throughout, irrigating tens of thousands of acres for millions of bushels of grain----water that cost no one anything.
Grandma just didn't like anything getting too big or seeing anyone she didn't know, even if the Anything or Anyone had nothing to do with her. And yet.....she and Grandpa doubled the size of their wheat farm and grew wealthy, relatively speaking, with a big bank account. That's different, of course.....
All of us are in our own hypocrisies, which we don't like to examine too closely. But by all means: I'll talk behind your back all day long about YOUR hypocrisy. Okay, I don't mean I will; it was just the hobby of my great-grandmother and her friends. And pretty much all seven billion of the rest of us, a time or two in our lives.
Took me longer to tell you that than it took Marc and me to go three easy blocks. While the air wasn't yet oppressive for early August, I was glad we were there then and not later. Still, when we walked in the store, I noticed the air conditioning right away. I also saw all the team there, looking right at the door as we walked in----right at 10:00AM. Perry smiled and approached.
"Welcome back. How was your first night in Billings?"
Pleasepleaseplease Marc; say something so I don't have to. You fuckin' took my cherry last night, shot I don't know how much of your DNA up around my liver over the course of three hours, and more this morning. If I have to answer Perry, it'll sound like I'm bragging and complaining at the same time.
"It was nice, thanks. Comfortable hotel room, great breakfast. Oh----here. These are from Phyllis. She says thank you for dressing and sending eye candy to her cafe." Perry laughed and looked in the little sack. He was pleased with that, and handed the sack to Louis.
"We will enjoy those later, and of course, repay the compliment. Perhaps you would go back in tomorrow? A new design, hot off the three-blocks-long runway from here to there."
I thought that was a good idea. Marc smiled, and we both followed Perry has he held his arm up to direct us into the studio. My man wasted no time taking off his shoes, then his jeans, then his polo shirt.
Oh.
DOWN, Paco.
No t-shirt. Of course not. Not under a polo. Marc was down to only a pair of bright white briefs. Cut higher in the back and lower in the front, they were designed to look like the briefs were under the heavy burden and near-failure of containing and support Marc's goods. Silence. Deafening silence. Marc was the last to read the room and realize what was different from yesterday. Then it dawned on him.
"Oh, damn.....Perry, I wasn't thinking this morning. We kinda raced out of the hotel earlier. I remembered this fitting, but not about what I dressed in earlier. I can run back and get a t-shirt. Five minutes."
Marc looked at me. Nine days together, same number even just having met, and yet we had, as Mom would say, `upped our game' and could communicate with a brief expression---or lack of one. At the moment, Marc was apologizing to me, and asking for an update on the percentage of trust at that moment.
I kept my eyes on his and smiled back. I thought I was fine. But really, what were we going to do if I wasn't? Embarrass everyone there by embarrassing myself again, and even more so this time? I'd like to think I had grown up just a little in the past twenty-four hours.
Perry cleared his throat and said he thought they could help a little. Whew. I was doing fine, myself; but all the other guys? How were they going to concentrate on wrapping my man up in expensive fabric, when was only barely wrapped already was staring right back at them?
Les stepped forward with a new t-shirt for Marc.
THAT'S their solution?! Okay, now all y'all are just playin'.
Perry smiled and thanked him. Marc pulled it over himself. I think there must've been some elastic content in that shirt, because it was just another layer of tight skin, and it was a bit longer to make up for coverage the briefs lacked. If he and that shirt were wet right then? Marc would have, yet again, made me cum without touching myself.
Over the next 45 minutes, four professionals got Marc in and out of the trousers, the jacket, then more measuring, back in, raise your arms, bend slightly. The next thing I knew, Marc was back in is casual clothes, and all but Perry and Les returned to the floor.
"We are right on schedule for completion by tomorrow morning, Marc. Les found two details on the jacket needing resolution, and other than the very slight change to the seat of the trousers, the suit makes me happy. What are your thoughts?"
"I've never worn a suit that made me feel like I was not wearing a suit. Obviously the fabric was right against my skin, top to bottom, but it wasn't.....in the way. And I like how it looks. If I saw that on a rack, I would never have thought it I'd look good in it."
"It's not about the suit. It's you. You look good in it. It's all about the suit being an extension of your physique and your personality. Will I be able to reach you on the phone today if there are any last-minute issues?"
"Yes. As yet, we haven't made any plans for the day. I doubt we'll be far away."
No shit we won't be far away. It's only three blocks North and twenty floors up for me to demonstrate my love, appreciation, admiration and lust for my boyfriend. And to remove his barely-there-briefs with my teeth.
The walk back was more relaxed. Our building-shaking empty stomachs were filled, Marc filled his suit, my dick got hard and filled some of right leg of my jeans, and it wasn't even 11:00AM.
Marc looked at his phone on the short trip.
"Hmmm.....Emil called and sent a text, too. I need to call him when we get back."
"Might need some privacy for that.....I'll wander around in the lobby. Text me when the coast is clear."
"Babe, please stay with me, if you're comfortable. You were there when this whole thing started, anyway. Emil and I have nothing contentious between us. If it's a FaceTime call, then maybe just stay out of view during the call. He'll let me know."
"Thanks, Boyfriend. I'm also missing my brother. I want to check in with him today."
"Of course."
We smiled. I wanted to hold Marc's hand while we walked across the street, but Tom wasn't far off when we talked. Billings and the east side of the state had a bit of a different culture going on from the rest of the state. Not everyone was going to be like Phyllis. Nor did they need to be. I just didn't need any harassment for being proud----privately or publicly---of Marc. And of myself. Of us.
Once up to the room, I got out of my clothes, but not before hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the handle facing the hallway. I also made sure the deadbolt lock was engaged.
That blasted my brain from the past. The first quasi-mature joke I told was in conversation with my dad. We were locking the house up for the night. I was in the kitchen. As I walked into the living room Dad asked me if the kitchen door's deadbolt lock was engaged.
"Geez, Dad; that's kind of personal, don't you think?"
"What's personal about a deadbolt lock being engaged?"
"Well, isn't it the lock's job to tell everyone? Maybe they don't want anyone to know yet. Also, I can't even imagine who the deadbolt would be engaged to. Might be kind of difficult to find someone to propose to if your name has the word `dead' in it."
"THAT is what the rest of us get when you jump a grade in high school? This must surely be the beginning of the end."
"Nope, Papa. It's the end of the beginning. I'm now a Freshman. I got a hundred of `em. Lock jokes, Townie jokes, pig jokes; the list goes on. Like this time, you play the straight man. We split ticket sales down the middle. No performances Wednesdays."
"How you know and remember all this stuff is just amazing. Tomorrow, tell me a pig joke."
"I knew it! One little sample, and I already have a booking! Anything else for now? I want to get ready for bed."
"Oh, by all means, Carl Reiner. See you in the morning."
"Night, Dad; love you."
"Love you more, Jozef."
I turned and watched Marc standing by the window, seeing the urban majesty that was the south side of Billings, Montana. He seemed distant in that moment. I wasted none of the opportunity to get my phone up and aimed. I set the camera to take burst photos; just endless photos at twenty-four frames per second.
For about thirty seconds, I got Marc with his polo off, only the jeans on, and his standing with his hands on his hips, like he was deep in thought for a moment. I was in the doorway, out of his line of sight, loving the show both my phone and I were getting.
Marc's bare chest was partially reflecting the Sun, in the sky but lower than it was a month ago, casting more of its rays on his densely-haired and muscular torso. Richard Avalon would be beyond jealous of me and what my camera and I were seeing in that hotel room.
Slowly, still looking at some distant point on the city's treed horizon, Marc worked through each of the buttons on his Levis. That was the easy part. To actually get the jeans off, Marc had to exert considerable effort to reverse the lengthy process of putting them on. Pull, stretch, pull some more. And all that only got them down below his perfect half-globed ass.
Once down to his thighs, Marc re-adjusted the barely-there briefs back up to covering barely anything, and continued pulling and pushing the Levis legs further down. Each inch revealed more and more fur-covered skin and the taught muscles beneath them both. Each inch a live-action version of `The Illustrated Grey's Anatomy'. Hamstrings, then quadriceps, moved slightly as Marc adjusted his stance.
When he had them down to his knees, the jean's legs still tight against him, Marc bent at the waist to further finesse the stretched denim off his body, once and for all. I could only imagine what the phone's camera was seeing. I was focused on Marc's face; the camera was getting all of him. Something was going on inside Marc's mind. His face wasn't blank at all, but he wasn't betraying his thoughts to either my phone or to me.
The muscles on his back stretched and relaxed, the biceps in his arms looking like they were actually engaged in work to get my boyfriend undressed, and a moment later, the jeans were tossed on the bed. Marc resumed looking out the window. He raised his arms high above his head, his long and powerful fingers reaching for the ceiling, and he stood up high on the balls of his feet, all of him in perfect balance.
Every muscle was on display, from his forehead to his ankles. Marc's abdomen tensed, and a six-pack was suddenly joined by two more abdominals. Yep, the whole show: The Brady Kids, Cousin Oliver and Davy Jones, all on human wool-insulated magnificent display.
Marc held that for a moment, and then, intentionally or not, performed his own Vitruvian Man positions, slowly lowering his out-stretched arms to his sides at the exact moment the soles of his feet were back on the floor, but now at a broader stance. I didn't let my eyes leave him to confirm my suspicions that Paco was enjoying the show, too. Getting my own jeans off would be a lot easier than it was for Marc; my leg was being lubed quite nicely.
Something caught his attention outside the window. Marc furrowed his brows and moved his face forward for just a moment, and then relaxed into a slight smile. He moved his hands up to his hips, his fingers in place to take hold of the briefs and remove them, too.
"Don't. They're mine."
Yeah, should've had my phone on a tripod so I could catch the action that followed, because at that moment, I parked the phone on the hallway table and stepped forward toward Marc. He was brought back from his private reverie and saw me in the room with him. My eyes were on his, and I have no doubt mine today, like Marc's were last night, were feral-fierce and not to be taken as anything but seriously.
Marc smiled just a little, tilting his head to the side but also down just right, which cause a luxurious length of his long, floppy hair to fall forward across his face. Veronica Lake, reincarnated and fuckin'-hotly-improved-on-this-time-around, just for me and my oh-so-carnal desires and needs.
I stepped forward, slowly and deliberately, removing my own clothes on the way. It didn't take long for almost everything of mine to be on the bed with almost everything of Marc's. I could feel my turgid and granite-stiff cock, begging me for release from my own more modest briefs.
`Not yet. Calm down. You and my ass are in the same union, but I own the factory, and I'LL say when the both of you can get to work.'
Oh, fuck. Who was I kidding? Those two were in charge. I was merely the vehicle that got them across the hotel room floor.
Marc raised an arm to brush his hair back up on his scalp and off of his face. Of COURSE every fiber of that arm's bicep had to make themselves known from under that beautiful darker skin, catching the Sun for further enhancement. Marc smiled genuinely and held his other hand out for me to join him.
"Hey, Babe. Come here. The Sun is warm in this exact spot. Feel good in my arms. I'll feel good in yours, I think."
"I think'? He thought'? Sun or Moon, hotel room or highway, I was born to wind up in Marc's arms, and seventeen years and a few months later, that's exactly where I was.