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 4
The Manuscript
Sam retrieves his car from the long-term lot at Hartsfield-Jackson and three-quarters of an hour later finally reaches the Habersham. He has several messages on his answering machine, one from Merritt, who said he was horny.
He first calls Janet, his agent, to report on his meeting with Curt Abramson. He tells her that he's agreed to read a draft chapter or two, and if he's inclined to do so will send Curt a sample illustration or two. He says he would have complete control over the content of the illustrations.
"Yes, but the text may be pretty suggestive, if not explicit," she cautions.
"We'll see," he answers. "I'm still not on board, but Abramson and I seem to see eye to eye."
"Your funeral," she says. "I still get mine."
Next Sam calls Merritt.
When Merritt hears who it is, he says, "Oh, thank god. I need you buddy."
"With all the dicks in Atlanta you need me?" Sam laughs. Not the first time they've done this routine.
"Oh!" Merritt replies, "but you're the best."
"I'll bet you say that to every boy you've been with," Sam teases.
"Not every one," Merritt says.
"I've heard you tell Vernon that. You can go over to Sparta and do him."
"You know that Semiatkovski doesn't play the summer park concerts. I've got to stay here and play like concertmaster."
"Well come up here and I'll give you what you're looking for," Sam offers.
Five minutes later Merritt arrives. Sam, still returning telephone calls, is talking to Vernon. Merritt doesn't let that stop him from unzipping his friend and beginning to play with his hardening schlong.
"You'll never guess who's playing with my dick," Sam says to the phone.
"Well, Christian's not due back for a couple of days, so the only other person I know it could be is Merritt," Vernon answers.
"You're our new winner!" Sam exults. "You get a year's supply of free blow jobs and a chance to talk, Vernon." He passes the phone to Merritt.
"Hi, sexy," Merritt says.
"Will you let me fuck you?" Vernon answers.
"Not through the phone line. Too painful," Merritt whines.
"Well, if I wasn't teaching summer school, I come right over there. You know how much I love your hot ass."
"Yeah, you're the best."
Sam grabs the phone and says, "He just told me that not fifteen minutes ago!"
"He says that to all the boys," Vernon says. "Yall have fun. I gotta go."
Sam hangs up and finishes pulling off his jeans. "Suck this fucking thing," he commands. "You've got me all het up."
"That's what I'm here for," Merritt replies.
He takes Sam's rod into his mouth and demonstrates the technique that he began to develop way back when he and Christian were both taking violin lessons together. The rhythmic sliding up and down the shaft. The extra stimulus of the tongue piercing the piss slit and snaking around the pole.
"Yeah, eat that motherfucker!" Sam ecstatically whispers. "Fuck yes!"
He releases his load into Merritt's mouth and waiting throat. "Man, you really are the best," he exclaims.
"Will you fuck me too?" Merritt asks.
Sunday Christian returns. He spends the night with his childhood friend, but Sam comes down to Merritt's apartment for a passionate three-way. Christian's abandon more than makes up for his reticence during the four years Sam was his student.
The next day Federal Express delivers draft texts of the first three chapters of Curt Abramson's still untitled novel.
"Only five stories of the steel frame of what will become One Financial Center are up.
Soon it will be six times higher.
"Guy Roberts is perched on the top beam surveying the activity below. Shirtless, his
body covered with sweat from the hot summer sun, he is completely at home. He has
always worked on high steel. Feels it's about the manliest job a guy can have.
"Back at technical high, when he was in school, he excelled at metalworking and
welding; and one of his teachers suggested that he might like working on tall buildings.
He was already lithe, but also strong and fearless. And so he never thought about doing
anything else. Now at thirty, weather-beaten but still good-looking, he couldn't be
happier. He is considered one of the best workers around, and after work almost every
gal he knows is after him, including some of the married ones.
"It is almost quitting time, and as he steps along the beam, he notices a rivet that's
not quite right. He'll have to tell the foreman about that first thing tomorrow."
Sam is pleased with the opening paragraphs of Chapter One. He can visualize the tanned figure of Guy standing on a steel beam looking down at the reader, perhaps with completed buildings in the distant background. Guy would have a sculpted torso and a nice but not too prominent bulge in his jeans. He skips ahead.
"`Honey, come up to my place for a nightcap,' Guy urges.
"`But it's late, honey.'
"`Never too late.'
"`Well, for just a few minutes,' she finally agrees.
"Guy's apartment is the typical efficiency. Also the typical bachelor pad. In total
shambles. But it serves his purposes well.
"He puts ice in two glasses, pours twice as much bourbon into one than the other, and
fills both with water. He passes the stronger drink to his date.
"I'm really hot,' he says. Mind if I take off my shirt?' He doesn't wait for an answer.
"It's all right,' she says. This summer's been brutal.'
"Later they are sitting side by side on Guy's sofa. "A few minutes" has become more than
an hour. They are well into their second highball. Guy's arm is around the girl's neck
and is reaching down to cup her ample bosom. He plants his tongue in her ear and whispers,
"You're really something, baby."
"He knows another conquest is minutes away.'
Again, Sam visualizes the two of them together on a cheap sofa, his bare torso pressed against her side, his arm around her, his trademark bulge still barely apparent. No need to show his hand on her breast or his tongue anyplace but in his mouth.
"Guy and Hank take their beers to a booth. The place is full of noisy hardhats just off
work.
"`I tell ya, Hank, it really pisses me off. I keep finding these half-assed buck tails.
They're all the same. You gotta have a sharp eye to notice 'em. But if there's enough
bad rivits, the whole damned building could collapse. I keep telling Bob, but he don't
do a damned thing.'
"`You aint got any idea who's doing it?
"`Nah. But it's got to be one guy...or else a bunch of guys that have been told to do
it the same way."
So Sam sees where the plot's going. He can see the two men in a smoke filled bar, heads together, expressing their concern.
He reads and rereads the fifty pages he's been sent and resolves to try and visit a high steel construction site to get the lowdown on what it is really like.
There are always high rises under construction in Atlanta, so Sam has no trouble finding a general contractor who, when told who he is and why he wants to visit the site, will make him welcome. Josh, the big boss's college aged son who is spending the summer learning about the business, is assigned to show him around.
"Are you the Mr. Caldwell that illustrates books?" Josh asks, as he hands Sam his hard hat.
"Guilty," Sam answers, "but I'm surprised that you would remember my name. The author's the one that gets the credit and the fame."
"Oh I've always loved your stuff," Josh says. "I remember back in seventh grade, we read "Waiting for Friday Night." Your pictures of Myron, the quarterback, were so real. I used to jack off looking at your pictures...that is, uh..." The realization of his admission hits him, and he blushes big time.
"Don't be embarrassed, Josh. I take that as a complement," Sam smiles.
They step onto the construction hoist that will take them up to where the work is going on.
"Really? You do?" Josh is amazed.
"I do," Sam replies. "Those pictures were not painted to arouse anybody, but....after all, we all jerk off, and if something I've drawn helps you enjoy it, so much the better."
"Well Myron was one hot fucker....if you'll pardon the expression. I'd love to meet your model."
"Actually, I didn't use a model. Myron did look a lot like an older friend of mine who was in construction.
"Quite a few hot guys wandering around here," Sam observes.
"Yeah, I keep a hard-on half the time...Oh shit, I really keep saying the wrong thing. So I guess you know.
"I aint never done anything, though," he says by way of apology.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, Josh. I am too."
"Really? You are?" Josh responds. "You're not just saying that to....;"
"No," Sam interrupts. "But if you want to stay in the closet, you've got to be more careful how you react to things."
A "Clump!" announces that the lift had reached the top. "We're here," Josh says. Sam and Josh have traveled up two hundred feet in the open air.
They are fitted with safety gear and climb one story up where the real action is. Even with their safety gear neither Josh nor Sam can walk out onto the beams. "If you fall," Josh says, "you won't smash yourself onto the ground below, but it's still no fun to be suspended by your gut, swinging back and forth waiting for a hook.
Josh explains that the steel columns are set first. Once the vertical columns are in place, the horizontal beams can be affixed. Josh explains that holes are precision pre-drilled both in the columns and beams so that when they are put into place, the holes match and several rivets can secure them.
They watch as rivets are heated red hot, forced into the holes, and using a pneumatic hammer, the riveter forces small end of the rivet to expand and bond the two steel girders together, making the building's frame secure.
"What does it look like if the riveting isn't properly done?" Sam asks.
"John!" Josh calls. "Sorry to interrupt, but this gentleman is doing a project for Mr. London. He needs to see what happens if the buck-tail isn't hammered right."
They are shown a couple of examples before the rivet cools to the point that it can't be hammered properly. Sam now knows how to avoid problems in his illustrations. He doesn't want letters from riveters saying that his pictures are shit.
As they descend on the lift, Sam says, "I worked construction in the summers, when I was in college. I know that all those guys, especially John, if he knew who you were, appreciated the way you handled my request."
Josh laughs. "Dad told me that if I ever referred to him anyway but as `Mr. London,' he'd have my ass." His eyes sparkles a moment, then he adds, "Of course he wasn't thinking about that the way I was."
Sam laughs appreciatively.
Josh is one hot kid. Wavy auburn hair trimmed just below his ears. A neat oval face with regular features and full lips. Nice biceps that disappear into his rolled up chambray sleeves.
Sam looks into Josh's face. Its lustful expression says everything Sam needs to know. He can take Josh's cherry--that's what his look said, anyway--and that's what Sam aches to do right now. But for the first time, he really understands what Christian went through years ago. It wouldn't be right, would it? Sam is Josh's teenaged idol in a way.
When they reach ground level, Sam shakes Josh's hand warmly. "I'll be writing your dad," he says, "but do thank him and tell him I said you were a wonderful guide. And Josh," he winks, "if you can't be good, do be careful."
Before he releases his grip on the younger man's hand, he forces their hands down below their belts so that they do brush each other's groin.