Timothy and the Lion Boy Chapter 4
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Works of fiction are all fantasies about other people's lives. Those lives have their own trajectory of wants and needs, actions and reactions, hopes and despairs. Fiction allows us, the reader, to share their paths, vicariously. without personal consequence. We do not need to approve or disapprove of their actions because it is their lives. Our role is to bare witness and take what we find relevant to ourselves.
This story is intended for adults who like homotropic erotica. Erotica is more about the journey to sexual fulfillment than the event itself. All erotica is aimed for those 18 and older.
© 2020 Boethius Cell
Timothy and the Lion Tamer--4 Dinner with the Folks
Chez Andre
Chez Andre, while a good French restaurant, was not a snooty one. The wait staff wore dark jeans and acted normal, not like they had not had a dump in a week. The tables had white tablecloths and matching napkins, the silverware was stainless steel, and the glassware was nondescript. It prided itself on French country food, so portions were large, robust, and savory. What was best about the place, besides the prices, was that Andre was owner and head chef. He wandered the restaurant, talking to customers, offering samples of dishes he might serve in the future, and gave a glass of wine or a dessert on your birthday. It was a family place and kids were welcome.
My parents and I arrived at 6:45. My sister was miffed because she was not invited. My mom explained that this was an adult night out; she was mollified by a sleep-over at her friend Trishia’s. Horse, Crystal and Danny were sitting at the bar, since the table was not yet ready. I saw Danny, he rolled his eyes at his parents, I did the same toward mine. Horse saw me and yelled, half the restaurant looked--since the restaurant had maybe twenty-five tables it was not that loud, “Timothy, join us here.” I walked over and introduced my parents and then was pushed aside, I joined Danny.
“Ready for this?” I asked Danny
“Meet the Fockers.” he replied with a shrug. We both laughed softly.
The bartender shoved a drink in front of me, “Think you will need this,” It was only cola. He shot me a sly glance as a jigger of liquor, rum, trickled into my glass. The bartender was tall, thin, and cute. He was definitely not French with his dark eyes, dark hair, and olive skin. “You a couple?” Danny said sort of, which I found unsettling because I thought we were more than a sort of. “It’s meet the parents, right?” I rolled my eyes and said yea. “Don’t worry guys, they are bonding and drinking, so you are both safe. It is rather charming that they care enough to meet each other.” I didn’t totally agree with his assessment. “I’m Armand.” He extended his hand, “Know the name is a cliche in an French restaurant, but my parents lack imagination.” we laughed and introduced ourselves. He left to pour Horse a martini, Crystal a Kir, my dad a scotch, neat, and mom a Daiquiri. “Got them settled.” Armand said as he returned his attention to us. “Told Martin, your server, to hold up a bit before calling them to the table.” Armand gave Danny and I an appraising look, “Let me guess, both college dudes.”
Armand was flirting with us, I realized. I looked at Danny, who was flirting back. “No, just graduated high school, both eighteen and horny.” I gave Armand a shy, innocent smile. I could flirt better than Danny. Armand smiled at me and then at Danny. I was having fun flirting with Armand. A quick glance at Danny and a nod from him, we double teamed Armand.
He leaned over the bar, obsessively to grab a wet napkin. “I want both of you, one in my ass the other in my mouth.”
“Sure,” Danny said, “but how do we arrange that?”
“After the meal, I’ll make sure your parents linger over coffee and dessert. I’ll signal you and we’ll use the liquor supply room. No one goes in there but me.”
I looked at Armand, and laughed lightly, “You’ve done this before.”
“Maybe once or twice.” The conversation was interrupted by a waiter, Martin, who announced our table was ready.
The meal was sensational with fresh breads and a tapenade. Dad and Horse ordered Le boeuf en daube; Mom, Sole Marinière; Crystal, Ratatouille; Danny, Pâtes au Pistou (spaghetti); and I had Le lapin à la provençale. It was only after I had raved about how tasty my dish was that I was told it was rabbit. I pretended to gag, but then took a large bit. “I didn’t care if it was the Easter Bunny, it is damn good.”
The conversation was mostly driven by the parents, who talked about the kids, work, family, politics (all were in agreement about President Obama), us and our future, us and the bonehead things we did growing up. We laughed and laughed. Our parents were enjoying themselves.
Martin efficiently cleared our plates and then presented a cheese plate, inquired about a “digestif”, which my Dad and Horse requested cognac, Mom was persuaded to try Génépy, while Crystal had Mirabelle. Danny and I ordered our third soda, unspiked, Martin returned with the drinks and a dessert cart; he recommended the Tarte Tropézienne and an espresso or cappuccino to complement it.
I saw Armond signalling us to come; I nudged Danny’s knee. “Too much soda,” I cooly said, “I need to find the men’s room.” “Me too,” Danny hastily added. We stood with some urgency that would hint at our full bladders and left to find Armond.
The liquor stockroom was small, cramped, and full of boxes. Armond cleared a space in the middle, pulled down his pants to present his ass and leaned across three boxes of beaujolais nouveau. “This wine is mostly crap, so I don’t care if I’m fucked on it. But the customers buy it.” Danny and I promptly mounted both ends and fucked fast and furious, got close and switched. Being young we shot within five minutes. Armand was not as tight as Danny but firmer than Brad, though Brad had better muscle control. Then Danny and I took turns blowing Armond, who took a little longer. Within fifteen minutes, Danny and I were back at the table. Armond graciously disposed of the condoms.
The parents were just finishing the dessert when my mother leaned over and took a napkin to my chin. “Timothy, haven’t we taught you to never come to the table with jism on your chin.” Mortification. The parents just laughed like it was a dab of spaghetti sauce.
“Danny, Timothy,” my dad said bemused, “you can't hide stuff from us, we’re your parents and always know what you do.”
Red was no longer a color to describe my face. It was bad enough when my mom found my cum soaked underwear, but this was a whole new level of humiliation. But Danny came to the rescue, “What can we say; we’re eighteen and horny.”
While the parents settled the bill, Martin came over and slipped a piece of paper in my hand. “Armond,” he whispered. I nodded slightly.
As we walked past the bar, Armond wished everyone a good night. Crystal turned to Danny, “I assume you got the bartender’s contact information, because he is interested in a repeat performance.” Now it was Danny's turn to slink behind me.
“Yes, Crystal,” I said, “got it right here.” I waved the piece of paper Martin gave me. Everyone laughed and we headed home.
I sat in bed that night, after good night wank off with Danny by phone video, thinking about how fortunate I was to have parents who not only accepted that I was gay, that accepted that I had a boyfriend, but fully accepted that I was sexually active. Since the day I determined that I was gay, I worried about my parents’ reactions when I told them. But tonight, when my Mom wiped the left over sex from my chin, like when I was four, and I was the one embarrassed and not her, I knew my parents were very special.
And to top the night off, my parents really like Horse and Crystal. I wondered what my parents were like when they were my age--all hormones and horny. Was I an adult if I could even imagine of my parents having sex, my Dad fucking a guy, my Mom being fucked? I shivered at the thought--not that adult. However, I needed to be more of an adult, take responsibilities for my actions, protect the ones I love. That I would be in the morning. Tonight, I hugged my stuffed Tigger and slept.