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, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state 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.
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"OLD-FASHIONED GOOD WILL" 02 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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First to wake, Cliff rolled over on his back, with a royal hangover, a mixture of beer and sex. As most mornings, his hand moved to between his legs. Ugh,' he thought, puzzled, to find his cock soft and raw'. Usually he was raring to stroke it, chopping his morning wood, before heading off to the jon.
"What tha?"
After looking over to the side of the bed, at Jim's bare back, he starts to put the pieces into perspective.
"Oh," Cliff sighed, then remembering, with a smile, "That's right!"
Still under the influence of a sweet dream, Jim slept through Cliff's redeveloping thoughts, recalling last night, the stripping in the livingroom, the shower scene, tumbling into bed, othe highlights of the late evening. Reaffirming his memory, brought about by retouching his deflated shaft, he smiled. Leaning over, he kissed Jim on the right shoulder. Still sleeping, Cliff decided to sneak away, get a shower, to wash last night's sex off, then get started on some breakfast.
"Oh damn!"
Standing at the vanity, he forgot about the beer which had waterfalled out of his briefs. Stepping high, he wrinkled his nose up, his feet making sticky sounds. Too, he complained to himself about the empty beer can in the sink and the one on the vanity, most likely flat. Sniffing at the opening, he fanned the fumes away. Only one thing kept him from going over the edge, cursing out loud, his memory.
"Hurry up, if you're going, I gotta take a leak real bad!"
In his reverie, Cliff turns, with a grin.
"What are you all smilies for?"
"Oh, my feet were just thinking about how come they are sticking to the floor!"
"It's your own fault, Cliff."
"'My' fault? May I remind you, it wasn't me who dumped the beer on the floor?"
"I didn't dump it on the floor."
"You know what I mean!"
"It is my fault you don't have waterproof briefs?"
"Waterproof briefs?"
"Yeah and is it my fault, when I told you I shouldn't have more than one beer? You gave me two."
"I thought it was three," Cliff mentally counts up the tally.
"Two or three, it's your fault for letting me have it. I told you I'm not a big drinker."
"Hmmm.... how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"In my book, anybody over twenty-one is responsible for their own actions, so grow up little boy!"
"Hmm.... responsible for my own actions, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Then hold me responsible for this!"
"Oooooooooooh!"
Cliff couldn't help but sigh out loud, when Jim singles out his pink nips, hiding in his chest fur. Utilizing them for handles, he pulls himself into Cliff's embrace. After they part from their sweet lip-lock Cliff has plenty to complain about.
"My nips are sore."
"I don't doubt it," Jim replies, heading for the toilet.
"What's up with that?"
"I think you had more to drink than I."
"Oh?"
Looking in the mirror, Cliff's nublets stand out, even without probing through his pec hair.
"Yeah, you couldn't get enough of me twisting them, mashing them," Jim reports, whizzing.
"I don't remember."
"Maybe you don't, but your nubs do!"
While Jim took his leak, Cliff reached under the sink for paper towels. Soaking them, he bent down to wipe up the yellowish stains on the tile. Soon, two feet stepped in front of him. Looking up, Jim still had a hard on.
"Excuse me. Can I get through?"
"Maybe. After you pay the toll?"
"How much?"
"One load."
"I'm not in the mood."
"That's okay. I have ways of putting a guy in the mood!"
"I don't doubt it. How many guys have you sucked?"
"Who said I sucked any guys?"
"Cliff, whether you realize it or not, you compared almost every one night stand with the way my ass felt!"
"I did, did I?"
"But I forgive you."
"Forgive me? What's there to be forgiven about?"
Jim loved humiliating Cliff. Squeezing past, without paying the `toll', he stepped over the tub wall. With the mess more or less removed from the tiles, Cliff stood up, entering the stall.
"Are you going to close the door?"
"Drafty?"
"Yeah. When you're talking, the Santa Ana wind does tend to pick up!"
Cliff didn't know what to throw back in Jim's face. As he closed the door, Jim turned on the jet.
"Oooooooooooooh fuckin' shit!"
All Jim could do is laugh, as the cold water shot at Cliff, straight in the mid-chest.
"Awake?" Jim asked, adjusting the temps.
"That was dirty."
"Yeah. I know. Pass the soap, please?"
Cliff passed it alright. Personally delivered, a low blow, his hand moving under Jim's balls.
"Oooooooooh! I don't deserve this."
"I know you don't!"
The bar of soap traversed around Jim's thigh, up his back. When Cliff slid it back down, it became centered.
"Cleaning up the mess you made last night?"
"To do that, I would have to give it a push."
"Y'know," Jim overrides the soap bar, "I thought it would hurt a lot more, first time and all."
"Really? Are you sure it `was' the first time?"
"I'm not a slut like you!"
"I'm not a slut."
"Picking up hitchhikers on the side of the road and taking them home?"
"I told you you weren't the first hitchhiker I picked up. I was being truthful, but I didn't hear you confessing anything last night."
As the water played over their bodies, Jim's face caught a blast.
"Don't try to hide that smile from me, `Jimmy'!"
Cliff made it sound like Jim's mother, scolding him.
"Like I said, I never let a guy fuck me."
Cliff didn't think Jim's statement had full conviction, but let it ride.
"Okay, so what else?"
"Oh, college stuff."
"Like what?"
"I dunno."
"Name one thing."
Thinking, Jim snaps his fingers, making a dull sound, drowned by the water.
"The night of the living jello."
"Night of the what?"
"Yeah. A bunch of us frat guys got together. We bought ourselves one of them blow up pools?"
"They explode?"
"No, doofus. Air? You blow them up with air?"
"Oh yeah. So?"
Rolling his eyes, Jim continues, "Yeah, so we filled it with red jello, then had wrestling matches."
"In the jello?"
"Yeah. Was hot stuff."
"Did they know you were gay?"
"Hell yeah. They were too."
"Who was?"
"All the other guys."
"How many?"
"I dunno." Shrugging his shoulders, Jim replies, "Off and on, maybe ten or twelve."
"That many gay guys?"
"Hell, Cliff. I thought being a doctor you would be up on your medical statistics. One in every seven guys is gay, dah!"
"I hadn't a clue. "So, you got all slimy?"
"Yeah. Was real hot. Some guys would be licking me all over, I'd lick them. Some guys would be fucking other guys. Sometimes some gang-banging would progress. What a bunch of perverts we were!"
Cliff parked the thought in his brain. Might be an interesting thing for him to surprise Jim with some night.
"What else did you do?"
"Usually sex, sucking guys. One time I went to a white party."
"White party?"
Seeing Cliff hadn't a clue, Jim began to explain.
"Um, you want to rinse off? I'm getting kind of waterlogged."
Cliff agreed, "Okay, but this isn't the end of our conversation."
Jim had hoped not. He got all tingly inside remembering the hot studs he played with back in the city, at college and other fun places. Back in the bedroom, they picked up where they left off.
"Um, didn't your momma teach you no manners?"
"For what?" Jim replies.
"To ask before taking other people's stuff?"
"Oh, well," Jim states, matter-of-factly, "I figured, since you know I don't have anything extra, you would be offering anyway."
"True," Cliff returns an answer, adding, "so just where are your clothes?"
Unfolding a pair of fresh socks, Jim says, "I shipped them separately. They should be getting here any day now."
Seeing he was about to go through a heap of clothing, between the two, Cliff went to the closet, to fetch the laundry basket. On his way, Jim, sitting on an a wooden chair, pauses, watching the mounds in Cliff's briefs shift from left to right. He smiles, thinking, `he had his fill of my ass last night. I wonder if I get to drill his?' The room vacant, he continues dressing himself, helping himself to a tee shirt and a pair of jeans.
"Don't you look a sight!"
"Right. The tee shirt is cool, but I look like a real sagboy in these!"
"Sagboy?"
"Yeah. Guys walking around in pants, looking a coupla sizes bigger than they ought to be."
"Sagboys, huh?"
"Yep. Plenty of them in the city. Why? What definition did you pick?"
As if Jim didn't know!
Smiling, Cliff replies, "Never mind."
"No. Go ahead. Tell me. I won't laugh." Then delayed, "Too much!"
"Being you had so time away in the big city, I figured it might be one of those sexual references."
Beginning as a giggle, his shoulders began shaking, before he broke out in laughter.
"Not much sefl-control you have there, do you Jim?"
"Sorry."
Cliff paused, looking at Jim, only dressed in his socks, ready to spring on him the most perfect joke. He made it most obvious, staring at Jim's treasure trail, following it to the deflated shaft, hanging freely over the set of orbs. Closing in, Cliff reached down, with his hand, making Jim's cock flop up and down.
"Sure you are, `sagboy'!"
"Wait til tonight. You'll be calling me `timberboy'."
"Oh yeah? Well don't you get any ideas about where you're going to put it!"
After saying it, Cliff, still the laundry basket in his unoccupied hand, set about to pick up dirty clothes here and there, set about the room for the past five days.
The thought in place, Jim stood there, hands on his bare torso, thinking about a few minutes ago, as he got his hopes up, regarding where he might be putting his thick wood. Looking up at Cliff, busying himself with the laundry chore, Jim, as he learned the first time around, in a relationship, even if only friends, you have to have some concessions. He let the feeling go, to see what happens later.
"I meant to tell you something, Cliff."
"What?"
"You're a real slob, you know?"
Going for his briefs, set on the chair, hanging from the back, Jim couldn't figure out which was the clean one, which the dirty. Picking it up, he sniffed at the first.
"Here's a funky one!" he called to Cliff.
Holding the basket, Cliff replies, "Two points," when Jim flings it across the room, scoring.
"I used to play a lot of basketball when I was a kid."
"Your dad play with you?"
"No. I..."
The two stood there, Jim feeling up the elastic of the tightey whities, readying to place them on.
"Well?"
Standing there, both hands holding the weighted down laundry basket, Cliff waits.
"I used to play basketball with my brother. He was two years older than me."
"Was?"
"Yeah. You see, my folks weren't always this keen on the idea of their son, well `sons', being gay. But they paid a terrible price in order to set those feelings aside and take up new views."
Setting the laundry basket on the bed, Cliff senses Jim needs some sweet support.
"And how did all of this evolve?"
Looking up at Cliff, now standing immediately in front of him, Jim looks up at him, then down, at the Fruit Of The Loom label, picking at it.
"I haven't talked about this in a long time."
"Need to share?"
"When I was in the city, the first week, us frat guys went to a gay sports bar. I hooked up with an older guy, who later I found out was a psychologist. He gave me some free session time."
"In exchange for?"
"In exchange for lying naked in the sheets, with no other strings attached, nosy!"
"Curious. That's all. So, what happened, if I'm not being too nosy?"
"My brother, Ian and I were close."
"Because of you both being gay," Cliff assumed.
"No, not only as a result of that. We just got along good. Since young kids, we did most things together, had mutual friends, etcetera. I had this strange feeling about myself, but never cared to share it, until I was around fifteen. So, one day, when we went skinnydipping, we lay out on the grass, to dry off. I couldn't help myself, Cliff. There, Ian was lying there, his eyes closed, as the sun glistened off the water crystals on his body. To me, he looked like a god!"
"I know the feeling, but I'll hold the thought for another time. Go ahead."
"My hand hovered over his stomach for all of almost a minute. I wanted to so badly feel another man. It never occurred to me I was touching my own brother, until I actually did it!"
"He wake up and bop you one?"
"No. He didn't even flinch. Never even opened his eyes. With his hands still parked behind his head, he softly moaned, saying `feels real good.' I was so surprised, I lifted my hand off of him."
"Then he bopped you?"
Now Cliff was joking.
"Nope," Jim acted annoyed, but wasn't. "Removing one of his hands, he grabbed my wrist and slapped my own palm down on his wet stomach. It's as if it were yesterday. I can still hear the sound of my wet slap on his skin."
"So, did he get involved, touching you?"
"Not really. Well, yeah a little bit," Jim changes his mind, with recurring thoughts. "But not before I had rubbed my hand over his stomach, chest and touched the little bit of hair growing below his navel and lower extremities."
"You didn't go any lower?"
Looking once more at the FOTL's he held, Jim moves it a tad.
"Hmm... I can see you're enjoying my story and no, not our first time together."
"Yes, I'm enjoying it, but not from the standpoint you're referring to. You're not the only one needing to relieve their bladder, mind you!"
"Yeah. Okay. So, sometimes I've got a one track mind when it comes to a hard dick."
"So?"
"Huh?"
"Your brother? You then went on to have another bout at it?"
"More than once. At the time we didn't realize it as gay sex', but we went through all the moves'."
"Except fucking?"
"Cliff, I kind of fibbed to you."
"Ian fucked you?"
"Yeah. But I don't count it, on account of he is my brother and it wasn't like he got the whole thing in there.."
"Wait a minute."
Cliff probably should have been picking up on the breaking and entering, but instead looked at it from the grammatical standpoint.
"Wait. You said is'. Before you referred to Ian as was'."
"Yeah, well here's the heartbreaking part. We talked about coming out to our parents. Ian thought, him being the oldest, he would come out first. If they didn't take it too well, then there would be no need for me to follow."
"Logical I suppose."
"Yeah, but I bet you're thinking what a coward I am, huh?"
"No. I never said or even thought it, Jim."
"Sorry."
With Cliff's hands, now pawing up and down Jim's arms, massaging to soothe, there's an immediate change of attitude about the twenty-seven year old.
"You don't have to be. I could see where you would want to be. I think I can guess the outcome of your folks' reaction, at the revealing of your secret. Anger?"
"To say the least. Try rage'? Right away, mom had to phone the minister of the church. You would think they could think for themselves, dah! But no, with scary stuff about a son being gay', in a religious sense, `evil', well if wasn't too long, before the preacher was knocking at our door. He had an elder with him, this big burley guy."
Cliff tried recalling, whom, twelve years ago or so, could fit the description.
"Owner of the Eskridge Pharmacy?"
"Right. But how did you..."
"Eskridge wasn't as big a town as it is now. With the population under sixty, it's not tough to pick out the chub."
Which brought up another issue with Jim, being such a small town, how could he have not run across Cliff?
"What?" Cliff question, as Jim remained far away.
"Oh, never mind, so where was I?"
"Um, `big burley guy'? Combs?"
"Right. So, it was the father, not Jeremy."
"Continue, then?"
By this time, the two sat on the edge of the bed. Still using the briefs as his `security toy', Cliff took it away from him, replacing it with his hand.
"It's getting stretched out of shape," Cliff said of his briefs.
"Sorry."
"No problem. So?"
"Sooooo," Jim lets out a big breath of air, falling backwards on the bed.
Cliff falls back, turning on his side, elbow holding himself up like a tent pole.
"They had my brother sitting in a kitchen chair, as if in the electric chair'. I figured I better leave, but the preacher said I should stay... it would be good for me to watch. The fuckin' bastard! He told my brother to take off his shirt, all the time telling my folks this devil crap' about Ian being unclean. I had to hand it to Ian. He had a lot of guts. The preacher takes out this little bottle of holy water and sprinkles it on Ian. Right over his head, mumbling some kind of words, like `taking the devil out of him'. I don't blame Ian for doing it."
"Doing what?"
When Jim sat up, beyond a doubt, reaching a climax in his story, Cliff follows along, extending his care by placing his arm behind Jim's back, his hand rubbing the opposite shoulder.
"I think he meant to only push the preacher away, but instead he punched him out."
"Punched him out? Like giving him the ole `one-two'?"
Cliff made like a fighter, each fist punching air.
"One, actually. I think he aimed for the stomach, but came up short."
"The balls?"
"Right. In any case, right away the pastor falls to his knees and this is where Mr. Combs steps in."
"Scary guy. When I was a kid, I always feared going to the drug store for my folks."
"I get what you mean. Even to a seventeen year old kid, Combs was like a giant, even though he was only like five foot-eleven."
"More like six foot-one?"
"Was he?"
"I saw his death certificate and info by coincidence. I always wondered how tall he was. I don't know why I still remember."
A pause ensued, most likely Jim waiting for Cliff to finish his thought.
"So, what was Combs' reaction?"
"Worse than road rage. He was a very religious man, you know?"
"Like a lot of folk around here. Some still are."
"But Mr. Combs was `really, really' religious. And protective, to say the least" Jim reinforced the intent. "But something else."
"What?"
"I really was a coward. Grabbing Ian, Combs began yelling all this at him, talking about being the reincarnation of the devil, having an evil spirit in him, talking in so many words about exorcism or else he'll infect all of us. Badgering, he turn to my folks, saying if they didn't do something, Ian would be going straight to hell because of the uncleanliness of his soul. And I did nothing."
Furthering his massage action, Cliff responded, "There's not much you can do when someone has something set in their mind, especially hate."
"That's not the end of it. He convinced my folks to put Ian in his `care'."
"Oh boy."
"Yeah. He took Ian out to the barn and wouldn't let anyone, not even the preacher go with him. But since I was a kid, I had found this small place I could squeeze through, a short cut so I didn't have to go all the way around the farmyard to get inside. See this?"
Looking at the spot on Jim's arm, Cliff takes in the scar, rubbing his finger over it.
"You get it from a loose timber?"
"Right. It was bleeding, but I used my handkerchief on it."
"You should've put pressure on it."
"That's what I did. Well not right away, but later, after the handkerchief was red."
"Next time."
"I know. So, I got inside the barn, hiding in one of the stalls. In between the slats, I watched as Mr. Combs began to drive the evil spirit out' of Ian. Taking a lanyard, he tied Ian's wrists together, then threw the other end up and over the rafters. He hauled him up, like a slab of beef. The whole time Ian cursed him out, using every evil word' in the book. This only infused a deeper anger in Combs."
"Like he didn't know any curse words?"
"Then, taking off his belt, he started whipping Ian all over his back."
As if a parent listening to a child, Cliff took Jim in his arms, the feeling of emotions readying to pour out.
"I was such a fuckin' coward, Cliff!"
"No."
"Yeah. I should have stopped him. You should have seen it. Ian's back was all red, bleeding and his cries make me cry!"
Weeping as if the day it happened, Cliff felt such sympathy for Jim, kissing him on the side of the face, as a comforting parent would do, using the loose sheet to wipe away the flood waters.
"Like I said, Jim. When hate is involved, paired with high strung emotions, there's not much one can do, especially when you are young. We don't understand things like this. It's natural for us to think ideas like it's `our fault'. Thinking we could be responsible for causing someone's grief, because we didn't react and didn't stop it."
Taking a breather, Jim reveals, "Before coming out, Ian made me swear I wouldn't interfere. Dammit, Cliff I loved him so much and he loved me."
"Apparently. I can sense it. So, what became of him?"
"He wound up in the hospital. His wounds became infected. He showed me the welts. They were hideous."
"I don't doubt it. I know what a strap can do to an animal's hide."
"I felt so bad for Ian. He was in the hospital for weeks. Mr. Combs claimed the evil spirit had been driven out."
"Geesh!"
"Towards his second week in the hospital, which I visited everyday, Ian told me, going home, things would never be the same. I agreed with him, asking him what we could do. Cliff, I never told my folks I helped Ian with his plan to runaway."
"And what kept you from going with him?"
"Ian thought it best I stay. You see, Cliff, I don't know if this makes any sense, but Ian didn't hate our folks. He just didn't like what they let happen to him. He said I, being younger, to keep my feelings of being gay quiet. He convinced me, saying nothing, would be best. So I kept it quiet for awhile about my gay sexuality."
"Until?"
"About four months later, after Ian disappeared without a trace, I kind of went off on them at the dinner table."
"Did you....."
"Yes," Jim read Cliff's mind. "I hadn't planned on it, especially after agreeing with my brother on the silence tactic. However, I got so sick of hearing my folks blame each other. Tossing back and forth the same ole shit, each telling the other they shouldn't have called in `the church' on the matter, saying if they hadn't, Ian might still be around. Well, it built up inside of me so much, I couldn't take it. I just had to vent my feelings."
Sitting there, the moment heated up, Jim forming sweatbeads on his body, Cliff's hand feeling the masses of perspiration.
"Yeah, I can picture it as clear as the day it happened. There I sat, watching them sling the shit back and forth, til I finally threw my heap of mashed potatoes onto my plate. I swear it could've broken the china."
"You must've been steamed."
"Oh, I was. Especially enough to lose control and hurl curses like they had been everyday vocabulary. They weren't. Both Ian and I knew, in our Christian home, such words were considered tabu."
"So, you cursed them out and?"
Shrugging, Jim just said, "I told it like it is, ending my monologue, I revealed being gay."
Cliff's reassuring smile, let Jim know he could be trusted, not doubting it for one minute.
"I take it they weren't too hasty to run to the phone this time?"
"No. They sat there. Maybe `stunned' is the word."
"Most likely, thoughts of losing one son is enough for one lifetime."
"I think."
Perhaps, Jim thought, he was meant to be picked up by Cliff, come be with him, see there could be another man to trust, one who showed sympathy, interest in his own wellbeing. His past relationship, taking up with an opportunist, he wasn't so quickly to trust. In Cliff's arms, Jim began to restore some of his trust.
"Thanks."
Cliff saw other questions in Jim's eyes, but for now, let a kiss seal off their conversation, to be picked up on at a later date.
"It's getting late here. Why don't we finish this over breakfast?"
"Sure."
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine."
Picking up the laundry basket, Cliff throws the tightey-whities Jim played with in.
"But, they're not dirty."
"No, but a little out of shape."
"I'm sorry."
"The dryer will remedy the situation."
"I'll get dressed."
"Try the bottom drawer."
Waiting, laundry basket clutched by two hands, walking through the doorway, Cliff looked over his shoulder, as Jim opened the bottom drawer.
"Under the white tee shirts," he called over to Jim.
Lifting the crewneck tee shirts, Jim makes a discovery.
"Where the hell did you get this?"
It brightened the room immensely, Jim smiling, holding up a sexy red thong!
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Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.