You know the drill: The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
i Was a Teenaged CuB 12 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
I've never, ever, never, ever, ever, been in a place like this Grandma!" Michael said, looking towards the domed ceiling of the restaurant, all decked out in its finest crystal lighting.
Pete, standing behind responds, "Well you're making me dizzy too!" said as he steadied Michael at the shoulders.
Then, looking down, Michael makes comment, "Gramma, how come you're so good at walking at home and when we're out you have to ride that contraption. People are going to think you're a cripple!"
Pete whispers in Michael's ear, "Handicapped is politically correct I think?"
"Really?" he questions Pete's usage and then flits his attention back to the table.
However, Michael's whole attention wasn't drawn to the wheelchair being scooted under the table, but who was doing it!
Catching on right away, Pete says to Michael, "That's Philip..."
The waiter servicing Michael to butting his belly up to the table introduces himself, "I'm Maurice and," noting Pete's personal waiter, "this is Aldo," he places a hand to Aldo's back as if presenting him.
Michael did catch the connection of eyes meeting, between Maurice and Pete, but he couldn't also shake the feeling when he gazed at Aldo, thinking he wasn't much older than himself!
"You're looking rather dapper tonight, Pete?" Maurice mentions.
Pete just smirked, saying, "Would you happen to have a menu or two?"
"Or three?" Grandma questions the head waiter for their table in an annoyed manner. She wasn't no dumb bunny when it came to reading between the covers of the book of love.
Expelling his breath, Pete knew, once the head waiter did his thing he would not be a part of their dining experience until the end. Then he would make his appearance for a short speech, telling how `wonderful' it was to have them here, thank them for making this their dining choice and wish them a good night, Maurice throwing out his famous line about coming back. He knew all this from coming here on special occasions with his family in the past, plus sharing a few nights in Maurice's bed!
Michael, already perusing the menu, say, "Where's the pictures?"
"Pictures?" Grandma asks.
"Yeah. At Subway they have pictures showing you what you're getting for your money." Doing a quick browse, including the back cover, Michael asks, "Hey and how are you supposed to know how much it costs?"
Before Pete or Grandma could snap to it, the young waiter appears, reaching over Michael's shoulder to grab a goblet to fill with water, snapping to it, "If you have any questions about the menu sir, I'll be glad to assist?"
"Cool!" Michael and in flipping a page, accidentally nudged Aldo's arm and instead of pouring the water in the glass, he pours it into Michael's lap! "Oh-h-h..." he automatically meant to say `shit', but a quick recollection of where he was at, Michael instaneously changes it to, "no!"
"You!" Maurice steps in, coming in between Michael and Aldo, blotting Michael's pants and in a lower tone, "Don't you know whom you are serving here?"
"I was," Aldo struggled.
"You're fired!"
"But?" Aldo pleas.
However, it's Michael who steps in with, "But I don't want Aldo fired!"
On his knees, blotting up the spongy rug, Maurice states, "I'm sorry, but we only hire competent people here and..."
And how Pete was thinking, just like the night he had the opportunity to fuck a guy for the first time. With dirty thoughts, all he had to do is bend over, reach underneath Maurice, rip off that silly looking sash around his waste and if' motivated enough wouldn't care about ripping open the fly, strip the pants right down to his knees, taking the briefs with them and just fall off his chair', accidentally of course!
After that first time, Pete knew how much Maurice craved his cock inside of him, that is until Maurice got tired of getting fucked by older twenty-something guys and desired fresh, young, college meat. He never forgave Maurice for that and now was a perfect opportunity to get even. No, he didn't strip the pants off, kept glued to his seat, but Pete did voice opinion, "It wasn't Aldo's fault."
"Of course it was and that's why he is no longer employed here," Maurice insists as he gets up, using the same white napkin to wipe himself off.
Seeing Michael's face contorted, like his opinion wasn't important and flew right out the window, Pete says, "It was my fault. I did it!"
Grandma, taking all this in, was keen from the start, because she was making it a part of her night out to pay attention to Pete and his new `friend'. So, to prolong Maurice's misery she says, "Why don't you explain it to us, Pete dear?"
"Well," Pete goes through the motion, "first of all, I was listening to the conversation between Michael and Aldo and... and I'm afraid I let my jealousy get the best of me, this Italian stallion standing there talking my personal Adonis and... and... well, the water pitcher was right there, the glass in Aldo's hand. All the pitcher needed was a new direction and... and... and I know I should be ashamed of myself!"
In a calm manner, because Grandma didn't believe a word of her grandson's story, "You `should' be ashamed of yourself Peter Parry!"
Michael throws in, "The third!"
The mention of the Parry name was a shotgun going off in Maurice's head. If he didn't watch dotting his i's and crossing his t's he might not walk out of the `Charlotte's' with little more than his usual take. Then, conjuring up a new attitude, Maurice delivers his respectful speech, "On behalf of the management I wholeheartedly apologize for this interruption of your dining experience."
Looking towards Michael, Peter sees him mouth, `Aldo?'
Pete loved it! With a vengeance, takes the manly upper hand, "Good, now bring Aldo back to wait on our table, since none of this was his fault, Maurice?"
Grandma was laughing her ass off, quieter than at home of course, but still entertained by how Pete told Maurice off and the follow up, the head waiter first smirking and then his bod language, showing off his temper a bit, with curses under his breath.
Showing, with a fresh pitcher of water, Aldo says, "Thanks, whosever is responsible for covering up my goof!"
Because Pete was in a joking mood, Michael says, "That's okay. We're always easy on Italian stallions!"
"Oh shit! I almost did it again!" Aldo remarks, his hand a little unsteady and slurping the water over the edge of Pete's goblet.
Waiting in the wings, the devil was right there, dashing over to capture his prey, barking at Aldo, "We do not take kindly to profanities, especially directed at our patrons!"
Knowing Maurice was in the right and tough to cover up, Pete figured if you couldn't beat them, join them, "What the fuck do you mean Maurice?"
Michael loved it!
It became a three-ring-circus, Grandma putting her two cents in, backing up her grandson, " Hell, you wouldn't `believe' the shit I hear coming out of people's mouths these days!"
Michael wanted to cheer her on, wanted to strike his arm towards the domed ceiling and shout `Alright Grandma'! Too, while all this was going on, he wasn't oblivious towards Aldo standing there right next to him, as he checked out the Italian stallion!
%
Mark West was in heaven. Possibly this would cost him two gym passes for the year, what with Master Trevor sinking in, pulling out, his ass getting a hot workover and Patrick... was he glad Patrick had to go back to the dorm to study, because as a result, even though Heinrich Baden had worked the college jock over with paddle and cock, he had plenty of ammunition leftover.
"Oh-h-h-h," Master Trevor moaned, sinking in, "oo-oo-oo," pulling out and feeling the cool, damp air of the basement kiss the sides of his ten inch barrel, "oh-h-h-h," came his immediate response, rushing back in.
"Will you fuckin' come!" Heinrich badgered, his shaft planted in Mark's mouth, replicating the ass-fuck, his long tube sinking till it wormed its way down Mark's breathing tube.
A bit selfish, but more because Master Trevor thought the gym owner a prize when it came to his cock being massaged on all sides, the tight ass showing now mercy, he voices opinion, "Ah shut the fuck up and play with him!"
Harsh is hardly the word when Master Trevor worked over Mark's nips about six months ago, pinning them with rubber-tipped clamps. At the time the two found out how much pleasure could be derived from both the sadist and masochist, boiling down to the same beginning of the equation, a hard, dripping cock.
Tonight, it was a repeat performance, only tweaked up a bit, rubber-tipped clamps looked over as Master Trevor owned Mark's nips with alligator clips.
How Mark wailed when the full effect of the croc clips were fastened, but after nonuse the pain kind of mellowed out.
"Oh-h yeah!" Heinrich remarks, bending a bit, not much. He didn't want to become dislodged. Too, as his hand found the connecting chain, he warns, "I feel one tooth boy and I'm gonna rip your nips right off your chest. You got that boy?"
Of course Mark could not talk with his mouth filled, by mesmerized by the ins and outs of his lower bod massage he could be convinced to forget. Just the vibration of his vocal chords in agreement convinced Heinrich he could start with a little tug. And as he did he sighed, "Mm-m-m..."
Making sure his lips were cupped, Mark endures the slight tug of the croc clips on his nips. It was sheer trickery, trying to figure out which was more aggressive, the pain of the sharp-toothed clips torturing his nubs or being prodded at both ends. Too, he had to contend with his own tool, a toy for Master Trevor's hand. His shaft buried deep inside him wasn't the only thing turing the master on, but the cock-salve derived from jerking Mark's hard shaft, just enough to secrete a little and not shoot the whole load. Well, part of his euphoria, Mark hummed with pleasure having his balls slowly massaged with his own pre-cum.
It seemed like a neverending chain of events, nips being stretched farther and farther, it an added treat of excitement, Heinrich looking beneath the stock beam which encased Mark's neck and wrists, to see the tortured nubs protrude from Mark's hairy chest. Part of the game was to see how winy he could make Mark's nips without pulling them off.
Being fifty-two years old, Heinrich has roughly been into bdsm since his early teens, making up nifty little gadgets to use on himself. Then, at his sixteenth birthday party he happened upon one of his friends who had gotten into his parent's liquor closet. The two, up in his room, found a whole new meaning to pleasure and pain. After the birthday party was over they partied on their own, Heinrich blowing out the birthday candles all over again, the mock cake being His friend's chest and stomach. He even made his friend count how many drips of hot wax it took to fill his bellyhole!
Mark knew how much Heinrich was enjoying this as the pace was picked up. Not the pulling of the croc clips on his nips, but the cock action, the pull out and recover, Heinrich driving his cock deeper and deeper, till Mark felt pubic hair stuffed in his nostrils, almost.
Too, it seemed to set everything into a faster-paced motion, Master Trevor taking advantage, speeding up not only the fucking action, but his hand below, driving Mark's lust on.
Sweat was building, flying, more sweat to replace the driplets rolling down all three bods. Accompanied by moans and groans of pleasure and pain, the three voiced opinions of the sheer ecstasy they experienced.
"Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" Master Trevor announces getting `close'. And when his seed shoots up out of his cock, "Oh fuckin' yeah!"
As for Heinrich, it was split second, leaving little for Mark to savor as his seed shoots right down into stomach.
One of the `fun things' Master Trevor loved to do is finish a boy off and with his hand all lubed up he goes at it with Mark's shaft in hand. He does caution, "Get ready for the nips, Heinrich!"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" he replies, Heinrich blurting out an evil laugh.
Mark, he's unphased by any of this, so caught up in the rough way his cock is being stroked, Master Trevor still massage his balls. Too, the rough work on his nips, Heinrich pulling and contracting the chain attached to the croc clips tormenting each nub.
Precision and experience is what it takes for two tops to work a bottom to completion and by the way Mark is vocally `singing', Heinrich knows the precise moment when to remove the croc clips.
To be sure, Master Trevor feeling Mark's manseed start bubbling up through his cock, he yells, "Now Heinrich!"
Rather going on his own intuition at this point, Heinrich's fingers and thumbs press the croc clips together and pull downwards.
"Ak-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k!" Mark wails out loud at the initial shock of the blood rushing back into his nips. With haste the pain turns to sweet pleasure as ropes of come shoot out, "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh fuckin' shit!"
A bit of evil pleasure left in Heinrich, he exchanges smiling faces with Master Trevor, reaching under the beam once more to give Mark's nips a little `recovery' massage!
%
All was going fine after that, Grandma pulling her last trump card when Aldo was reprimanded for some minor infraction, her telling, "My family has been coming here for generations, Maurice and if you value `your' job, I suggest you flit away," she gestures with her hand, "so we can have some peace at this meal!"
Maurice didn't like it, but as he cursed under his voice already he was conjuring up some plan of the next time he met up with Pete at the `Cub Club'.
"You're awesome Gramma!" Michael awarded her.
Not only did he start something new, the name calling, but it was the first time Gramma responded to anyone with a high-five and she felt like she was breaking old boundaries, a little late, but never the less, taking her into the 2000's.
All was not to remain a happy occasion, Michael's cell phone singing off with a ringtone in his pocket. He apologizes, "I'm sorry. I should have turned it off..." After looking at it strangely, excuses himself from the table, "Excuse me."
Gramma turns to Pete with opinion, "He's such a nice, nice young man, Peter."
"I know Gramma. I lucked out, I guess."
"Michael didn't look so happy when his phone rang."
As if a soothsayer, here comes Michael back to the table, tears streaming down his face.
First to greet him, Aldo asks, "Everything okay?" Offering a fresh linen napkin, "I'm such an idiot. Everything's not okay!"
Taking over, Pete stands and addresses him, "What happened Michael?" He puts a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder for comfort.
For the first time in a coupla decades, Gramma stands on her own, walks around the table, bracing herself on the backs of unused chairs and comforts, "Michael dear, what is it?"
"Uncle Jim. He had a heart attack. He's in the hospital." And second thought, "I've gotta get there."
However, on their big night out Gramma insisted on arriving at Charlotte's House Restaurant and Cafe in style, contacting a chauffeur service on call.
If immediately being said, they didn't have a set of wheels, Aldo produces a set of keys, saying, "You can use my car?"
Pete took the reins, saying, "Thanks, but you're driving us!"
"Okay, but I'm gonna get fired for it!"
"You leave Maurice to me!" Pete told Aldo, with conviction.
By this time Michael had walked Gramma to the foyer and they were on their way.
Only one thing was on Michael's mind, his uncle.
Gramma, she was in the front seat and Aldo, the eighteen year old would be deserving of sainthood, having to put up with the `front-seat-driving expert'!
As for Michael and Pete in the backseat, they were pretty much quiet, after Pete's inquiry of what happened, which was short, his Uncle Jim sitting there, watching Tv, the newspaper over his face, which generally was the case. When Aunt Mary couldn't awaken him, that's where the panic occurred.
"Everything's going to be alright, Michael," Pete pampered him, snug next to him, holding his arm and rubbing his hand.
However, it also was on Pete's mind his last words to Maurice, concerning Aldo's job, Maurice claiming it not a problem', making amends with, you owe me'. He wondered what it really meant, the reason to cause bother, his knowledge of Maurice getting into this bdsm stuff within the last coupla years and combined with the evil grin.... It didn't rest well with Pete.
"Now you just park anywhere dear. I know everyone very well!"
"Huh?" Pete, broken out of deep concentration to acknowledge Michael.
"We're here."
"Sure," Pete replies, scooting out Michael's side.
Aldo, meeting them, says, "Gramma is going to stay in the car. Is that okay?"
Pete replies, "Yeah. Don't worry. She knows everybody."
Later, in conversation they would learn about all the Parry Family research endowments the hospital has benefitted from over the decades.
%
"I could get used to this again?" Master Trevor hinted, as he unlatched the ketch holding the top beam of the stocks allowing its victim to slowly emancipate himself.
With the roleplay wearing down, Mark says sarcastically, "Yeah right, Trevor and then you `go and run off to your little boys' to play with?"
Mark standing, Trevor walks right up in front of him, looks down, to the right and then left and remarks, "Oh my, aren't these swollen?"
Standing back, swatting both hands from handling his nips, Mark scolds, "Oh no you don't, Trevor! Don't you go and change the subject. You know what I'm hinting at!"
Placing his hands behind his back, like they are coupled with leather and metal, Trevor steps forwards, saying, "Boys, yeah right! Exactly what they are. Not a real man who can really a man's punishment?"
"Really?" Mark began to soften.
Trevor reveals the truth, one they both knew held fast amongst them, "You used to be able to take much more than this?" his head nodded, his eyes making a statement by looking at Mark's pecs.
"I know," Mark says, "back when I was a fat hog, before I started working out." He winced. Since Trevor's hands were voluntarily locked behind himself, Mark took the liberty of massaging his own tormented nips.
Then bringing his hands forward, Trevor went not for the pecs, the abs, saying, "It's been a long time since I've tested these," he said, giving Mark's stomach slight jabs.
"Yeah and you better believe they're a lot sturdier than the last time you worked me over?"
It was meant as a pitch to highlight the last time Trevor punched Mark in the stomach, over and over as Trevor, at the time the neighborhood bully, had Mark's back up against the wall. Going back, Trevor recalls, showing signs of exclamation, self-surprise, "That had to be...."
Mark smiles, even though he is fully rubbing his nips, "Fifteen years ago Trevor? We're not getting any younger you know?"
Doing the math, even though they were using ballpark figures, Trevor says as his fingernals gently massage the hair on Mark's stomach, "You were fifteen and I was sixteen."
Then, getting a crazy idea, Mark says, "You know it might be kind of fun!"
"What?" Trevor looks at him quizzically.
"A reunion of sorts... you and me? You the bully' and me the innocent victim'?"
Moving forwards, backing Mark up against some ordinary planks of wood, bought at the hardware store and fashioned into an `X', Trevor softly says, "Might be nice."
Mark, thinking Trevor is liking his idea, "Right! And you can tie me with my arms over my head..." Mark back-steps up on the two places where a man would stand, forwards or backwards to receive a pleasurable punishment, "like this and you can see how many punches these abs can take?"
Hah! Grabbing Mark by the cock as if a door knob, Trevor pulls him off balance, bringing his feet to the floor, replying, as their chests slap together, "I thought maybe I'd take that ass of yours in bed, instead of some dark alleyway!"
As if yesterday and not fifteen or so years ago, Mark recalls the incident where Trevor, only a year older, pulled his fat bod into the alley as he walked home from school, terrorizing him not only with fists to his stomach, but pulling down his pants and raping his ass over a garbage can. From that afternoon this went on about twice a week, dwindling as Trevor found more willing victims. Parting for college the two saw each other once, when Trevor came home from business school. At the time, Mark had just opened his first gym and Trevor had been amazed at the transformation. Gone were the floppy pecs and rounded belly, a tough chest and stomach lined with a six pack. Fast forward another ten years and Trevor, six months ago, reappears, looking for a place to settle down nearby.
"Oh?" Mark ask, wondering how this is going to go, knowing Trevor is taking this somewhere.
"Yeah," Trevor replies, starting in to the real reason he sought out the `Cub Club' tonight, looking for a certain individual, finding him, "the old Fenwick Ranch I bought up six months ago...."
"I didn't know you were into farming?"
Caging Mark in the crosspieces of the `X', Trevor places a hand on each side of the braces, one where handcuffs could be attached to hooks, "I'm not, but while away I developed an interest in raising horses."
"Like this one?" Mark says, his hand touching, feeling up Trevor's eight inches of soft meat.
He smiled, but didn't shun Mark away from playing with him, "Anyway, I thought maybe you'd be interested in raising some foals with me?"
Getting dramatic, dropping the soft demeanor the conversation seemed to take, Mark, in a huff, says, "What? After you worked me over in that alley and then proceeded to take the liberty of using my ass whenever it suited your fancy Trevor?" he ended with exclamation.
Trevor just laughed it off, saying, "Yeah, right! Like you weren't getting something out of it!"
Mellowing out, Mark had to admit it. Being a fat tub of lard, stout and not meaning beer, he was quite fortunate to get some mansex, regardless of how it was to be had. He joined Trevor, saying, "Yeah, right. I probably should be thanking you."
Then Trevor admits, "Right, but I did realize it was the wrong thing to do and I'm willing to make it up to you."
As the teens at the gym would say, Mark replies, "Cool!"
%
Michael seemed to be taking it worse, Aunt Mary there by his side.
For now, Pete just watched. He would have loved to be there next to Michael, but somehow things fell into place where their newly acquired friend, Aldo San Pietro, comforting Michael, Pete's thoughts reflected what a nice couple' they would make! The more he thought about it, the more he got to thinking of was he going into this, trying to work up a relationship with Michael out of vanity, because he was turning twenty-eight, which to him was close enough to thirty and with youth vanishing, trying to cling to youth, he... "What?" he questioned when a doctor stepped in the midst of things.
Interrupting them all, the doctor stood there, cleared his throat and delivered one of the most hated speeches, a person whom devotes his life to saving lives, has to deliver, "I'm terribly sorry, but..."
"Uncle Jim?" Michael looks up to ask.
Well of course, the reason they all had gathered there, Aldo San Pietro probably the most foreign to their plight, slides his arm across Michael's back, to his opposite shoulder and before the doctor can finish, adds soothing words, "Things are going to be alright, Michael."
Touching', Pete thought right away, not out of jealousy, but touched himself because this youthful kid was acting more adult' than some adults. Too, he felt weird, because at a time of crisis in Michael's life, `he' should be the one on his knees next to Michael's chair, be the one to help calm his sorrow.
"Thanks," Michael replies, but not oblivious to Pete standing there and as if him rising to the occasion, to soothe Pete's sorrow, he stands, walks the short distance and throws his arms around his boyfriend.
"Sorry," is all Pete says, not sure of what to say at a time like this. Only heir to the Parry dynasty, only child to the late Peter and Rose Parry, he more often was off with the nanny or another caretaker, than his own parents. It wasn't until it was left to the last two surviving members of the Parry Estate, him and his grandmother, Pete understood what it was live like family and even that, it was in its abbreviated form.
Walking over to him, the doctor splits the union in two, "If I'm not mistaken, aren't you Peter Parry..." hesitating, "the third?"
"Yes?" Pete replies, looking straight into the doctor's eyes.
"If it is not convenient I would like to see you for a moment?"
Right away, Pete says, "But it's Michael's uncle, not mine?"
"No, no... I was wondering if you would take a look at a research program the hospital is trying to develop and..."
"Oh, you want money!"
With a small smile, the doctor replies, "We like to refer to it as a grant?"
Still, Pete's eyes were glued to the doctor. For some strange reason he couldn't shake the hold, until noticing he wasn't the only one in the room. Turning to Michael, he asks permission, "You think it would be okay?"
Same moment he asks, Aldo steps over and stands next to Michael.
Michael replies, "I'll be okay", cracking a little smile, dividing his attention between Aldo and Pete.
"Your Aunt Helen?" Pete asks more vocally. Seeing Gramma and Michael's Aunt hitting it off, "I guess Gramma's handling things from that end."
"Yeah," Michael agreed. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something weird about the whole thing. Here Uncle Jim, her husband had just passed away and she and Gramma were behaving like they were having a Sunday afternoon tea.
While Pete disappeared behind the double doors, the four sat and chatted, Gramma suggesting they return to the Charlotte House for a spot of tea and some cakes. Michael thought it weird, thinking Aunt Mary would want to return home to grieve, but she was all for it.
"I suppose this means you'll have to go back to work?" Michael questioned Aldo.
"Nah. In fact I was thinking maybe I'd quite that job and find something else."
Michael had to laugh at Gramma. Because of her ditching her wheelchair and finding the courage to walk, she talked Aunt Mary into folding hers up and leaving it behind a bush!
"Aunt Mary, what are you doing?" Michael questions.
"Doing something I should have done five years ago, but no... your Uncle Jim wouldn't have it... wouldn't hear of it!" she said with vengeance of an animal attack.
"Sorry I asked," Michael said, scratching his head as he and Aldo piled into the front seat. Now, he thought back to the waiting room, he had a piece to part of the puzzle of why his aunt wasn't feeling the pangs of the loss of someone dear to the heart!
"Are you okay, Michael?"
"I'm fine," Michael replies, even though his thoughts are frazzled, especially when she hears the two in the back suddenly cackling with laughter. "It's not me I'm worried about!"
He was thinking of Aunt Mary, but on Aldo's mind, "I'm sure Pete will show up at the Charlotte when he's done examining the grant."
Strangely, Michael had temporarily forgotten all about Pete, but made like they were on the same wavelength, "Oh yeah. Right."
Probably farther ahead in maturity than most seventeen and half year olds, on the verge of turning eighteen, Aldo suddenly remembers youth and before even turning the car on, "Oops!"
"What's the matter?" Michael questions.
Too, Aldo's comment drew out silence from the back seat.
"I'm not eighteen yet. I'm not supposed to drive at night."
Leave it to Gramma, "Oh that's no problem. Michael, get behind the wheel!"
After the two got out of the car, met each other at the hood, then returned, Gramma does herald, "You're a very good driver, Aldo!"
"Thank you ma'am," Aldo replies.
Michael offers Aldo, "Call her Gramma!"
"Gramma?" Aunt Mary quizzes her and then with compliment, "Why you don't look old enough to be a grandmother, dear!"
As Michael pulled out of the parking space, his tongue was in his cheek, thinking most likely his assumptions were correct. With all due respect to his Uncle Jim, there was a very good reason why Aunt Mary was not befallen to the usual cry of grieving a dead husband!
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Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee
`i Was a Teenaged CuB' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....