This story contains explicit sexual activity between men. Please read no further if you are offended by such or if you are a minor. Any resemblance to actual persons or activities depicted is purely coincidental, but actual places and events are mentioned to add a sense of reality to the story.
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SAM CALDWELL'S FURTHER ADVENTURES
by Macout Mann
Chapter 3
George
Sam's seatmate on the flight to Chicago is a hot, straight dude. Only in porno tales is everyone you meet gay. This guy is an officer at the Harris Bank and spends the whole flight complaining about being away from his wife when he had to take long business trips.
As usual Sam's plane is stacked at O'Hare. They are over an hour late reaching the Delta arrival gate. But he sees George....and George's boyfriend....as soon as he steps out of the jetway.
Sam has kept up with George since they graduated. George is one of those people who does not age. He still gets carded from time to time. His bright features and well-coiffed auburn hair make him look twenty-one still.
George, except for the four years he was at Sparta, has always lived on the North Shore. He now has a small (for the area) house in Wilmette, not far from the Baha'i Temple. Not too far from his father's bank, still an independent State Bank, where George is vice president.
George also has had at least ten boyfriends in the last ten years. Sam suspects George's father wants George to appear to be in a "stable relationship." George is incapable of that, and so partner after partner, looking for "a lifelong companion," breaks up with him, while he looks for bigger and bigger dicks on the side.
"Sam! So wonderful to see you!" George cries.
"Good to see you too," Sam embraces George in a brotherly manner. "And I'm sorry you weren't me on the flight. You would have loved my seatmate. He was a banker too."
"Oh, really?" George says.
"Yeah," Sam replies. "Only problem was he was straight."
George's companion laughs, and George remembers to introduce him.
"Oh!" he says. "Sam, meet my boyfriend, Marc Jeansonne. He's a Frenchman."
"Good to meet you, Sam. I hope we can get together. George says you're awesome in bed."
"I'm sure we can," Sam replies. Marc may pass as French, but Sam immediately recognizes the lilting accent of South Louisiana Cajun in his greeting. Still from Marc's openness, he thinks that maybe George has found a kindred spirit that'll hang around a while.
As they walk down the concourse, George says that Marc is from Marseilles.
"Yeah, 'Southern' France," Sam says. "I had a prof in college who said that Marseilles was the most sinful city in Europe."
"We hope," Marc laughs.
Sam had intended to treat the others to dinner, but after the delay it is too late to go to anyplace good, so George drives back to his place and volunteers to fry up some burgers. While he's in the kitchen, Sam asks, "So where abouts in Southern Louisiana are you from?"
"What do you mean?" Marc replies, his accent becoming thicker.
"I illustrated a nature book about the Atchafalaya Basin. Spent four months down there up to my ass in mosquitoes. I can recognize Cajunspeak when I hear it," Sam tells him.
"O.K.," Marc says. "When I first came up here, I pretended to be from Montreal, but a lot of people could tell that wasn't true, so I decided to try Marseilles, and you're the first person that has recognized that's not true. Please don't tell George."
"What George wants to believe is none of my business," Sam says.
Later they form a triangle of dick suckers, and one thing leads to another. Marc gets his wish. George is still commonly the bottom, but somebody has fucked Marc often enough that Sam easily slips in with only spit moistening his shaft. But before morning comes all three of them have been plugged more than once.
The ostensible reason for Sam's visit is to meet with Curt Abramson, a popular novelist who can usually be found on the New York Times' Best Seller List. His stories usually feature plenty of sex and high adventure. "Lady Chatterley" plus "Indiana Jones." He is proposing a graphic novel that will appeal to young adult non-readers, but with a difference. Instead of being in comic book format, his novel would feature fully developed illustrations every two pages or so. Sort of like a child's story book, with a picture that illustrates one of the sentences on the facing page. Who better to do the illustrations than the country's leading illustrator of children's books and teen fiction.
Sam's agent, Janet Harrison, is not in favor of the project. She thinks it would demean Sam's reputation. Sam is ambivalent. So after George and Marc have gone to work, Sam sets out for the CTA terminal and catches the "L" to the Near North Side.
He still takes a cab from the station to the Ambassador East, where Abramson lives.
Abramson turns out to be a mere wisp of a man, barely five-foot-seven, balding at forty-five, and possessed of a mild stutter.
"P-please bear with me," Abramson says, when his speech defect first appears.
"No problem, my friend," Sam answers. "I had a gross lisp. Fortunately they were able to correct it when I was at Sparta. But, man, I know what you've gone through. Just hang loose." Now he knows why Curt Abramson never gives radio or tv interviews.
Abramson smiles. "Th-thank you," he says. "Th-that's g-good to know."
In short order the two of them bond. "The sort of writing I d-do," Curt says, "is b-based on c-careful market research," he explains. "M-my novels for women always do well. Gals love to fantasize about being f-fucked by a hero.
"I-I've done a couple of successful macho novels. M-men who read generally read the "Wall Street Journal" or "Forbes" when they come home. Or p-porn after they go to bed. Sometimes they want something with "redeeming social value" to read, and "Sampson's Night" and "Down Under" appealed to them. N-never sold as well as "Maggie's Son" or any of the other hot pussy stories."
He admits that he has even tried his hand at porn. "I've even written some porn under the r-ridiculous pseudonym of Make Out Man.' That's spelled m-a-c-o-u-t-m-a-n-n.'"
Sam laughs. "I've drawn some erotic shit," he admits, "under the name, `Dick Hardson.'"
After they both have had their laugh, Curt Abramson becomes more serious. "I hear you're gay," he says.
"No big secret," Sam replies. "I don't advertise it, but I don't deny it."
"I'm b-bisexual," his companion admits. "Of course, there are more g-gals that are willing to fuck a puny but famous novelist, than there are guys I'd like to be with or that would like to b-be with me."
"Back when I was a poor kid hustling back in Columbus, I used to say, `All models come comparably equipped,' like he old automobile ads used to say," Sam laughs.
"Well, n-now that we understand each other b-better," Curt says, "l-let's get down to business.
"T-there's a huge market out there. G-guys....and gals, who've never read a fucking thing since they finished school, if they even did that.
"I want to p-penetrate that market. Research shows that they want stories that relate to t-their lives. And they don't want it to be like the b-books they d-didn't like to read back in school.
"I don't want to write a f-fucking comic book. And research shows a f-format like the books you've done would work."
As he describes his idea he speaks faster and his stutter seems to disappear. "W-we decided," he continued, "that a construction worker was a subject they all could relate to. Macho man that'll fuck any gal that smiles at him. But a guy that just builds houses wouldn't work. Too hard for him to get into serious action.
"A high steel dude! That was the answer. He could discover a plot to destroy the building under construction. And the illustrations could feature him shirtless up on a beam, maybe with the top of his ass crack showing."
"That's precisely the reason my agent is against this whole thing," Sam interrupts. "She thinks suggestive illustrations would demean my reputation."
"Hear me out," the author replies. "We've already thought of that. We're willing to give you complete control over what scenes from the book would be illustrated. And, goddammit man, we don't want any naked women on top of the sheets! Under the sheets? That would be your decision."
"Well, I came fully prepared to thank you for your interest and say `Sorry.' But I gotta say that I'm intrigued," Sam says.
"Let me send you a couple of chapters of the draft," Curt responds, "If you're interested, you might send us a picture or two. If not, it was a p-pleasure to meet you.
"Are you a b-baseball fan?" he asks, changing the subject. "Fucking afternoon Cubs games almost n-never happen these days, except on Sundays. B-but there is one today. We can g-grab some lunch here t-then head to Wrigley Field, if you'd care to join me."
Sam doesn't have anything planned, so he agrees. They watch the Cubs lose to the Cardinals, then Sam returns to Wilmette looking forward to more sex. George's Cajun friend has a nice dick and a nice ass.
First, Sam makes good on his last night's invitation. They dine at one of Evanston's best restaurants. Sam thought it was o.k., but not worth all the fuss.
On the drive back Sam and Marc sit in the back seat and Marc loses no time in getting Sam up.
"You can taste it if you want to," Sam says, as he frees the monster from its prison.
"With all this traffic passing by?" Marc seems incredulous.
"Why not? They're not staring at us. Happens all the time in Marseilles, doesn't it?"
Marc feels he has no choice but to gobble Sam up.
"George, your boyfriend is sucking my dick. Do you mind?" Sam teases.
"Fuck no," George laughs. "Maybe you can teach him how."
The fun continues when they return to George's place. Sam doesn't even bother to zip up when he gets out of the car. In three minutes, they are all naked. There is no pretense, just raw sex. Marc finds himself on the spit more than once. And the next day Sam's dick feels sore for the whole flight back to Atlanta.