All of the events portrayed here are based on real life experience, with the exception of all the sexual explorations. This was a terribly annoying night I had when I decided to drive a coworker home, this should give people a look into what kind of atrocious luck I really have.
Soundtrack: I found that Creedence Clearwater Revival (CCR) works very well with this. Other good choices are The Eagles, Jim Croce, James Taylor and EARLY Jethro Tull (This Was/Stand up/Benefit). Any southern/country rock will suffice.
Commentary is appreciated, and I greatly wish being informed of major mistakes or inconsistencies.
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"What Manner of Mischief", written by "Plexadonn"
~^'^'^~~^'^'^~-...Prologue.../-~^'^'^~~^'^'^~
As of late, the times being of a now unstable financial situation between two lovers and the harsh winter plaguing John's life more so now than during any other time of the year, the gentleman's stressed mind was nearing the point of needing a dire exempt from life's ridiculously placed trials.
Simply stated, the gentleman needed a break from the everlasting instability.
John, a young adult -- originally native to the North lands - had now shared a decently-priced apartment with his lover, another gentleman a decade older than he; and until now, after a mutual benefactor had departed for his own life -- along with a female love interest -- their foolish, casual dealings with their money had never seemed to be troublesome.
But with that third person gone, the two of them found themselves inundated with such a tight budget, that John's failing transportation was now going on months without the necessary `check-up' to fix whatever problems it was having that John himself could not.
Yet these minor, non-lethal albeit tragically stressful inconveniences would perpetually bother John's state of health. The amount of drama caused by these, conjoined with the declining health and inevitable death of his father and the effects it had on his eldest sibling -- a brother -- seemed to bring preposterous guilt on his part. In his continued ineffective attempts to visit or aid his miserable mother in any manner possible, the additional pain he inflicted upon himself accumulated.
Not being completely masochistic, the sad boy of three and twenty quite often inadvertently unleashed his weariness upon his lover in order to displace some of the stress. This other man, the older of the two (as stated previously), however gracefully taking the emotional draining, could only withstand the beast of a depressed, stubborn youth (cursed with an attitude of being certain in everything he viewed) for a given amount of time, and this quickly ran its course.
Thus brewed friction between them. Each day, John was found to be less agreeable and much more difficult to bargain with in terms of his true situation: that he was loved quite dearly by his fellow human, and that he should be quite satisfied with the tale of misery his lover had to offer.
John did little to listen to the story, however. He indeed heard it, and understood that he really did have much more to be thankful for than he gave himself credit. None of these items of consideration were sufficient, though, to guarantee his immediate contentment. His love, by name of Shaun, knew not of these facts. That John was living with a want of refreshed romance, and was totally unsatisfied with his lifestyle.
-~^'^'^~*~^'^'^~-
The thought of his continued love and affection plagued him the most this night. It was not due to his mild fascination with the new chef and an accompanying fancy of absurd fidelity, nor was it that he was only now feeling a slight mollification from his imposed misfortunes; he was in a cheerful mood, actually. Yet if it was neither of those, and not many of the other maddening deliberations had yet entered his mind, it truly must be one, the other, or both.
John stood upon a rubber mat that spread across the ceramic tiled floor of the kitchen, his torso bent over a sink with his hands vigorously working a steel brush applied to steel pans. This was his vocation of choice for the time. Here was step one to his life of continued torment: being found comfortable with a menial and unbecoming job of convenience at a restaurant, being close to the apartment, and already having been there a year and a half.
With this detestable work and the minimal payments he made from it stemmed other problems, the brunt of the misery he so slanderously accused himself of. But none of that now, obviously, for his spirits were much higher than most other nights here. Not even a mere fraction of mirth could be contributed by the chef assistant tonight, though.
This was Hobbie, a dark-skinned gentleman with black hair and a fair musculature that John found deliciously appealing. Of the multitude of chefs he had seen here come and go, Hobbie was certainly not the most physically attractive, nor was he the favorite of the past lot. Before him had been a fellow John, with whom he had more in common than this Shaun. With this last John, our John had actually felt very close to something of intimacy, but alas, the other John was soon after fired for reasons no one other than the owner had known.
Next, previous to John had been three others, and only one of which he felt any sort of attraction, or even a bit of friendliness. At this time, John had left the restaurant to join his family in observing the death of his father (a large contribution to his stress), and could only bring himself to return to work after a month of rest. Further back in time, past the departure, were two other dishwashers, Eran and Josh. Eran was the best pick of the two gentleman, being of a larger build -- much like his lover -- and the meekest and quietest of the entire lot.
Of all those other men, only Hobbie had requested the honor of taking John to his house, or hospital as it was tonight.
As stated earlier, no mirth was displayed by Hobbie tonight, as unusual for his character as it was. Not even a bit of friendly manner of speaking or his silly, jovial sense of humor. Tonight he seemed to be in a great deal of pain. The poor dear, John observed, had only recently convalesced from a fever the previous week.
In the manner of groaning Hobbie was doing, and his disposition for this night of work, John could not commiserate indefinitely.
"Where are you hurting?" Asked John, he had since now taken a brief stop from his work to walk around the kitchen equipment -- oven, stove, grill, fryers and various tables -- to face Hobbie as the man was leaning on the oven, trying to distract himself from abdominal pain with the intense heat.
"All down here," he commented, waving a hand behind him, indicating "in my kidneys." John could only imagine the agony, never having suffered from kidney problems or urinary infections of any sort before. When suggesting that this might be the sort of problem Hobbie was experiencing, he professed that his urine had been colored pink the last few days.
John was certainly not surprised, knowing well the behaviors and hygienic neglect of chem users, and Hobbie was an admitted addict to many narcotic types of herbs.
"Hey, do you think you could take me by the hospital after work?" The chef, also, did not have any sort of mobile transportation. He was simply in such a wonderfully horrible spot.
Then, by habit, John had to hesitate in his response, taking a few moments to ponder over the plans for the evening. Being that he entailed nothing more than going home, showering then going to sleep soon afterwards, he knew he could easily help his friend along.
"Yeah, sure, no problem." John affirmed.
"It shouldn't take too long; I've had to do this before. I got this once before and had to go and get some medicine."
"How long does it usually take?"
"When I went there the first time I was only in there for about forty-five minutes."
Even with the grimace on his face, John could admire the cook's handsome features. Although Hobbie was about as young as he, the gentleman's face seemed to be worn from age, as if extra years of work and experience had given him that appearance of wisdom and importance that he found so attractive. His skin was uniformly of a light tan, and all the hair of his head black as coal, likewise his eyes.
John felt a strong urge approach that he wished to comfort his friend with any form of physical attention he could. Of course, he understood this would not aid in Hobbie's pain in the slightest and would likely do no more than perturb him.
They both glanced to the clock upon the wall, noticing that their work shift would end in less than an hour. During the remaining time of cleanup and preparations for the next day, John thought of things that might help with Hobbie's pain or help clean out his system of the infection, but at the moment he could not recall any advice his eldest brother (a doctor) had given him. Nor could he remember any mention of cleaning an infection other than antibiotics.
"Maybe you should drink some water."
"Nah, man." Hobbie argued, "I think I'll have some beer later tonight."
"That will make your kidneys worse." John said, leaning through a doorway in order to pour himself a glass of water from the drinks fountain.
"No! It'll flush `em out."
John rolled his eyes and did not bother to argue with him. He was fairly sure that alcohol would only irritate his inflamed system even worse, but was not certain that it was so terrible. It was of no consequence, John was only hoping that the hospital visit would go well and Hobbie would receive the proper medicine and the dishwasher would be done with it all soon and in his bed asleep with his partner.
The restaurant closed its doors for the night and all the dishes and pans were cleaned as quickly as possible, courtesy of John. In the process of trying to hurry his job, John only managed to saturate the front of his shirt and pants with splashed water and spray soap suds across his face, speckling his glasses, which he could not find a way to clean off, his hands being covered with it. Looking behind him, he saw that the cooks and manager were nowhere to be seen, all busy with their own tasks, and thus he was helpless and groaned with displeasure.
After a few swipes with his shoulder, he rid his face of most of the suds except for the very tip of his nose, his glasses and the top of his head. When he was completely finished with a pan, John decided to dry his hands and clean his face with a towel, but it was exactly then when Hobbie was finished with his tasks and came to help with the cleaning.
Hobbie noticed the glob of soap on John's face and offered to clean it off, "Please do." John replied with a laugh, Hobbie chuckling the same way and wiping off John's soapy face.
"Thank you."
"It's also on your glasses." Hobbie noticed, how astute of him.
"Yeah, I know." Hobbie then aided again, grabbing a somewhat dry towel from the counter and wiping away the bubbly soap from the lens. There remained a smear, but it was less annoying than soap.
The two young men then quickly finished the washing, John cleaned his glasses properly, placed all the utensils and dishes in their proper places, then departed the restaurant, bidding farewell to the remaining waitresses and manager and that they'd see them tomorrow.
Stepping outside into the cold, winter air, John's spirits dropped significantly. With the temperature, he knew that his vehicle would have a terribly rough time operating tonight, and with his destinations being much out of his way, he knew that this night would be an adventure in stress level. The dishwasher did not tell any of his to his acquaintance, seeing no reason to express his unimportant complaints to a relative stranger.
Approaching the vehicle, John noticed that the windows were covered with ice. Starting the engine to allow it to warm, he removed a cloth from the backseat of the car and attempted to rub away the ice from the window, which did not help. Hobbie tried his best to assist, while sitting in the passenger seat smoking a cigarette and trying to scrape off the ice from the inside of the window with a another cloth found at the floorboards. The interior window...
"The inside is covered with ice too?" John asked with evident irritation.
"Yep." Hobbie said; he did not seem too worried about it.
"Fuck." John then sat into his seat and removed his wallet, then removed his driver's license. With the plastic card, he began to scrape away the thin layer of ice from the window, stroking it along vertically and sending fragmenting shards to scatter across the dashboard. After scraping away enough to see through the ice, John noticed the main chef, Sam, striding along the sidewalk towards the back of the restaurant (where he parked his truck), and having a good chuckle at John's predicament, waving his hands.
"See ya later." Hobbie said to Sam as the latter male disappeared into the shadows of a side street. The infected gentleman still did not seem worried; fact is, he seemed indifferent to the disaster befalling John. But John understood: Hobbie was still enduring a lot of pain in his abdomen.
John managed to remove most of the ice from the inside then decided to try the outside again. Making sure he placed his wallet on the roof of the car, not quite trusting his friend with it in his sight, he leaned across the door and proceeded.
Eventually, John realized he could remove no more ice and although it still terribly obscured his vision, he would have to deal with the "fucking atrocity", as he put it. Sticking his license into his pocket, John closed the door and began the trip to the hospital. Crossing a street immediately past the restaurant, and traversing half of a roundabout, he merged onto the highway and proceeded speedily. Several moments later, he began to search for his wallet.
It was not in his pocket, he could not feel it with his backside and when reaching into the pocket it was certainly not present. Searching the dashboard, then the floor and the console between the seats, he began to worry, as it was nowhere to be found. With the flip of switch, he quickly turned on the ceiling lamp, all the while being careful to watch traffic.
"Hob, can you look back there and see if I threw my wallet back there?"
With the cook twisting his form and rummaging through the horrendous mess on the backseat, John shook his head with utter humiliation at himself. The wallet had his social security card inside, and keeping it there in an easily displaceable object was quite an idiotic thing to do, along with about 50 dollars, his bank card and various other slips of paper with numbers, dates or addresses on them.
"I don't see it." Hobbie said finally. And it did not surprise John, for the backseat was littered with piles of garbage. Behind him sat strewn sheets of paper, bleached and soiled and ruined, long ago back in his college days (which only lasted about a year); numerous plastic bottles with remnants of juice, soda or water; hundreds of cigar butts along with about half as many cigar packets, and even the corpse of a bird that had somehow managed to get inside of his vehicle and die under the driver's seat, (the last item of interest he had left in the car merely for the morbid humor of it all).
"I'll check it out more when we get to the hospital." John said aloud, mostly to himself.
The ice on the windows was not fading like he hoped. Of course his hopes were misplaced, being that his defroster did not work, and neither did the vehicle's heater. Of these two things, Hobbie did not seem to be concerned. He gave the impression that as long as John drove him to the hospital, there was no use in complaining. Either that, or he was incredibly polite. The latter of which was much more probably.
From the short time that John had been acquainted with the young man, Hobbie had exhibited a very pleasant attitude, and his personality seemed to be compatible with everyone around him. He rarely smiled: even when laughing his face did not express joy, but he was very talkative and friendly. John, in particular, liked the man's sense of humor: the way Hobbie pretended that the kitchen's utensils were medieval weapons, always challenging John to battle, or making jokes that the food was made of "buzzard" instead of "chicken" and the milk was from a squirrel instead of the proper cattle.
It was John's main attraction to him, the secondary being Hobbie's facial features. He felt very comfortable around Hobbie, in his company, and although the circumstances of the drive and the pressing embarrassment of losing his wallet, John was happy to spend the time with him. Though he was mildly anxious with the oncoming traffic, being that his sight of them was impeded with foggy and ice-tinted windows; each time he passed someone, he felt as if the two vehicles would collide. The terrible rumbling from the engine made it all worse, only promulgating a possible disaster; John hated that sound.
John saw the hospital entrance and pulled around the curve, gliding through the ER parking lot and stopping the machine crooked across two spaces and getting out, kicking the tires of his car in anger. Hobbie walked towards the large doors that made the entrance to the building, a small foyer encased in glass as an antechamber to the main lobby.
He immediately went to the reception desk and asked to see the doctor while John sat down in a chair, a row of ugly, plastic seats attached to a railing. There was a small television screen set up in the corner of the ceiling displaying news and politics, which distracted him from concentrating on the problems in his head. John only now realized that his bank card was out of his hands and possibly being found by some ridiculous cretin who would see to spending every penny in the account.
Whatever Hobbie was told by the nurse there, the chef sighed with misery and waddled over to sit next to the John who was his precious savior, "She said the doctor would be here in about ten minutes." To this, John nodded and smiled to him, patting his shoulder in commiseration.
Removing his mobile phone from his trousers pocket, he dialed for his boyfriend. "Hey Shaun, how are you?" The ensuing conversation was constructed of John telling him of the loss and Shaun stating he would notify the bank to cancel the card immediately. The news certainly ruined the spirits of his lover, and John truly felt terrible for doing it, but it was inevitable.
"Where are you?" Shaun asked.
"The hospital." John replied nonchalantly.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?" The joke worked and Shaun's voice came through with emphasized surprise and fright.
"Yeah I'm fine. The cook help at work has some kidney problem I think, so I volunteered to drive him to the ER." At this time there was a pause, in which John was unsure what Shaun was thinking about, "You know that could take several hours right?"
"What? Hobbie said it would only be forty-five minutes." John frowned and looked at Hobbie, whose face was blank, like that of someone suddenly accused.
"Well, I guess `cos it's later in the evening, it might not take the doctors that long to get to him."
The remainder of the conversation was typical chit-chat between the lovers, describing how their day had gone (either in or not in favor), and other uninteresting things. John had no desire to speak with his boyfriend for right now though, still frustrated with himself for doing something so idiotic, thus he ended the call, replying to Shaun's "I love you" with one of his own. Before he put away the phone, he checked the time, finding it to be 9:30 in the evening.
"Who was that?" Hobbie wondered, staring at the screen. The cook sat there slouching with an arm fixed to the adjacent seat, propping his head and frowning in pain.
"My uh... boyfriend." John replied.
Hobbie glanced to him with an extended frown, so to speak, but rather than looking confused or angry, he appeared to be interested. He chuckled a bit, nervously and said "I didn't know you was gay."
"Yep." John said with a shrug, stretching his limbs out, trying to push out some of the tension. The work in the kitchen was truly not as bad as some of his previous jobs. Yes, standing for prolonged periods of time was an excruciating exercise for his legs and feet; but in the kitchen he was at least able to sit down for a couple of minutes every hour or so. Looking to Hobbie, he wondered how exhausting being on the other side of the kitchen truly was.
"How long you been together?" Hobbie continued; John, pulled from his reverie, thought for a few moments.
"Eh, about two years." Any more information would have to wait, for at that moment the nurse spoke up, informing Hobbie that the doctor would see him now. He stood and left the lobby, following the woman's instructions. John stayed put, not sure if he should follow his acquaintance to keep him company. But suddenly he remembered that there was an engagement he had wanted to keep with his damnable car.
So, he spent about five minutes standing outside in the freezing weather, rummaging through the disaster of his backseat, and with no flashlight. He sufficed to use the soft glow of his phone, but it was fairly useless. With all his efforts, he still found no trace of the wallet, and thus he fiercely kicked the tires again, venting his rage. Returning into the lobby, he was able to notice the dragon approaching from the hallway just before John's glasses became foggy, causing him to bump his face into the automatic doors before they had time to open for him.
"Goddammit!"
Hobbie snickered and shook his head, "Hey, would you mind hangin' out in the room with me? I need some company in there."
"Sure, no problem. Did you just give them your urine sample?"
"Yeah, they said I'd have to wait a little while longer."
John and the dragon then proceeded to the office where they each became agonizingly bored. Within the four walls was a chair and examining table (cushioned of course), a counter and various examining machines which were utterly foreign to them both. In addition, there was a screen in the corner of the ceiling, not unlike the lobby, this one displaying some sort of educational program.
The gentleman spent the next half hour switching between seating arrangements and wandering the diminutive confines of the room in nervous boredom. Not many words were exchanged between them: an occasional comment about the program on the screen, or a joke that surfaced to memory. At one point, John found himself weary enough to glance through the shades of the window, a mini-blind, and stare at the nurses and doctors mingling about and chatting near a desk in a different lobby.
Each time one of them would glance towards the window, John would shut it and look away.
"What are you doing, man?" Hobbie asked.
"Just looking." "Quit it," he laughed, "they're gonna think your creepy." Thus, after each time John ventured his voyeuristic glances, Hobbie would tell him to stop being creepy. When the doctor arrived, coming through the door at the moment John was taking a notion to be creepy again, John was the one sitting on the examination table, and thus he was addressed by the doctor.
"You have a urinary tract infection..." The woman began.
"Oh, it's not me, it's for him." John said sheepishly, stepping down from the table and sitting in a chair besides Hobbie. She explained the function of the medication she was prescribing and the process for consuming them then gave him a painkiller to take immediately; John was only interested in getting out of there for the boredom, he felt, was killing them both. They left the office and returned to the main lobby to pay the bill. The nurse gave the cook several documents to sign and berated him with questions such as,
"Are you employed?" To which Hobbie replied in the negative.
"What?" John asked, curiously, and just as quickly learned the error of his blabber. The dishwasher decided to trouble the two debaters no more and turned to approach the door and wait for Hobbie to finish.
After what seemed like an eternity of formalities and protocol, the males found themselves on the road again, cruising along the highway and in the direction of Hobbie's small trailer outside of the city in a wild and unkempt suburb. During the trip, John tried numerous times to get his heater or defroster to work, but knew very well it would never happen.
"Just let it run for a bit, it just needs to get warmer than the air outside, you know?" Hobbie's suggestion was very ideal, and after several minutes the fog on his window slowly cleared.
"I'm such a moron, why didn't I ever realize that?"
"Eh, it happens." Hobbie chuckled again. The sound of his light mirth was quite pleasant to John; he liked hearing the young man laugh, liked seeing him so friendly. Such contact between John and other beings was so rare, as of late, that John always engrossed himself in acquaintances he met, such as Hobbie. Being sociably inept and awkward, John rarely chose to mingle in crowds or visit any sort of gathering, settling with the affectionate company of his boyfriend for social interaction.
Finding other folks with whom he could really feel comfortable was difficult, which is what lead very strongly to his quietude. Now with Hobbie riding in his passenger seat and reciprocating conversation and generally enjoying John's company, he would try his best to make the night enjoyable and memorable.
Before they ventured out of the city to Hobbie's home, John asked for them to return to the restaurant property and look around for his wallet among the street and parking lot. They did, but found nothing, not a trace of it anywhere, which both of them had expected; thus, they moved on to other things.
The trip was irritating, John nearly missing the proper road turns several times and almost driving them both into a ditch or a street sign. However, the pair arrived intact and with no injuries, John parking on a dirt road next to the trailer, almost running over a hyperactive dog in the process.
"Oops, I almost ran over your dog." John said with a grimace.
"Nah, he knows not to run in front of cars. Redbone, quiet!" He shouted at the dog, motioning his hand, telling the animal to get back. Redbone was barking nervously at John, the strange and large being invading its home.
"He won't bite will he?" John wondered.
"No. He's just not used to strangers. Redbone, shut up, get inside!" He threw his arm again, trying to shoo the dog away, and Redbone promptly scuttled through the door Hobbie had just opened. The males entered and John glanced about to take in the surrounding scenery.
It was pretty basic, unlike his own apartment which Shaun decorated excessively with clutter and tacky bric-a-brac. The furniture and kitchen equipment was standard, and the place was in a state of general mess. But it did not matter to John, for his apartment was the same; it was apparent that they were mutually lazy. Sitting next to a large television screen was a disorganized collection of movies and video games, which Hobbie claimed were the property of his roommate's.
The placed smelled mostly of electrical appliances (the sort of odor produced from a stove or oven), and of the three residents, Hobbie, Redbone and the absent roommate.
"Sorry it's cold in here." Hobbie stated, now rummaging around some pots and pans on the kitchen counter. "But I don't have a heater, so I just use the oven." John then understood why the smell of electric heat so permeated his senses. Hobbie then turned on the oven, setting it for a temperature unseen by John, opened the oven's door then proceeded to the refrigerator. "Are you hungry?" He listed several frozen items that he could prepare and that he was hungry himself.
"No thanks, man. I'd ask for some booze, but I gotta drive."
Hobbie glanced to him and for a moment he appeared to be either puzzled or disappointed by the statement, "Oh, alright, that's cool." He shrugged and continued with his preparations.
The curious dog, Redbone, then made his reappearance, approaching John and sniffing at his knees. For a few moments, John simply stared at the animal and watched him, "He won't bite, I promise." Hobbie repeated.
"I know, I know. I'm just letting him get to know me." John then strode through the kitchen and dropped onto the couch. It was an enormous piece of furniture that stretched across the span of the room, and was incredibly comfortable. Redbone happily jumped up and sat beside him, John reaching over to pet him a little.
He then noticed the abode's décor. It consisted of several decorative swords and daggers hung upon the wall opposite to him, along with a framed photograph. It portrayed a young girl, a blond... glamorous. When Hobbie was done cooking, he sat down with a plate of corndogs, and Redbone abandoned the stranger in favor of begging at the foot of Hobbie for some food.
"Who's the girl in the picture over there?" John inquired.
"My girlfriend." Hobbie said. Obviously, it was a somewhat depressing though to John, learning that Hobbie was taken and probably very hetero. It was not surprising in the slightest though, and it changed nothing between them.
"She live with you?" John continued.
"Nah, she's in Georgia right now with her family."
"Oh, that sucks. I'd hate having to be away from my boyfriend like that. I can't stand sleeping alone."
"Eh, I really don't care. We're prolly gonna end up breaking up soon, we aren't getting along anymore." He said this with a mouthful of food, "I only keep her around for... you know." He motioned with his hand nonchalantly, sure that John would understand.
"Ah yes, that. That's a good reason I suppose, but I don't like girls, so I'll take your word for it."
"I hate women, man; I don't know why I keep trying." Hobbie stood and moved back to the kitchen to pour a glass of water from the sink, "I keep thinking I'll find the one I'll marry and have kids with. But..." He shrugged again and kept eating, giving chucks of the meat to his dog who gladly accepted it.
John grinned, "Well..." but he yawned and had to stop. Hobbie looked to him. The bear continued, "Well, you could always try your luck with guys instead." John tried to make himself sound like he was only playfully joking. Strangely, Hobbie's countenance changed and showed that he considered it, and nodded his head.
"To be quite honest... I never would have said it, but seeing how you're okay with it, I've always been really curious what it would be like with a guy. You know?" This practically excited John, and as a cruel coincidence, his mobile phone abruptly sounded the music that indicated it has lost its battery power and was shutting down.
"Ah, shit!" John sighed with sudden stab of frustration. "You don't have a phone charger do you?"
Hobbie shook his head and mouthed "sorry" through his food. Leaning to sideways John removed his pack of cigarillos, removed one, and lit it, inhaling the thick smoke deeply and hoping the effects of being lightheaded would make him feel less angry.
"Sorry, man." Hobbie stated, taking his plate to the kitchen to rinse it, followed by his obedient pooch. John stared at him, dreaming about seeing his form stripped of its clothing, wondering what his skin looked like on the rest of his body. John did not particularly find younger men attractive; but, like said before, there was something about Hobbie's physicality that very much appealed to him.
Hobbie was standing in front of him, his eyes wandering the interior of the trailer, his body twisted unusually, evidently still in a little bit of discomfort. John silently wondered what he could do to make his friend feel better. There were several methods he knew of that would distract him from the pain, but as they were sexual in nature, he was not sure if he would allow the John the honor. There was also the danger of getting the poor cook's infection.
"So, what do you wanna do?" John asked.
Hobbie looked to him and shrugged, reaching forward, "Can I have a bit of that." John released the cigar into Hobbie's fingers and watched him suck down a good mouthful of smoke.
"Well, I thought of something that might distract you from the pain, unless you're a bit too tender down there. But, seeing as you have a girlfriend, I'm not sure if it's a good idea." John enjoyed seeing his friend's face light up the way it did, both smiling now.
"You think I'd actually tell her if we did anything?" He puffed again, sending ribbons of the pleasant-smelling smoke spiraling to the ceiling. "But what about your boyfriend?"
"He won't care," John motioned with his fingers for Hobbie to come nearer, then reaching to take back his smoke when Hobbie was inches from him. Taking another toke then letting it go again, John - hoping he would be allowed - raised the hem of the cook's shirt and lifted it in order to glance up at his chest. Then using his other hand, he gently caressed the Hobbie's stomach upwards.
His skin was fairly smooth save for a good patch of body hair that grew up the center and felt very enticing. John noticed that Hobbie's coloring was much lighter around his chest and belly. John bear arched his hand around to feel the muscles along Hobbie's sides, his back and his waist. Not protesting in the slightest, but smiling pleasantly, Hobbie removed his shirt, and carefully took the cigar back from John's hand.
"You've never been with a guy, right? Nothing at all?" John said, now gazing deeply at Hobbie's exposed torso, sliding his hands along either side of his body.
"Well, no. Nothing at all." "Alright," John responded, "I hope I can make your first experience a good one." John continued rubbing the male's body, now leaning forward to nuzzle Hobbie's belly, softly nosing against the area directly above his belt line, licking softly and sighing happily, quite pleased to have the handsome gentleman in his clutches. His curiosity consumed him, and John decided to try for something more erotic, next moving his hands in order to unfasten Hobbie's trousers and gripping them in conjunction with his underwear. There was still no protest or complaint from the dragon, so John proceeded, pulling down his friend's clothing and exposing his abdomen and surprisingly muscular legs.
Although the powerful features of his deep tan tones and masculine fuzz appealed to John greatly, he could not avoid noticing and focusing the genitalia slowly engorging with blood. John inhaled through his nose, smelling the cook's sexuality, knowing there were traces of sickness within him. He was fairly sure that he could not contract the infection through his mouth as long as he cleaned the oral cavity soon afterwards. And even with the risk, he was willing to take it simply to have his way with Hobbie and to taste him.
John gave a soft lick to the growing appendage, invigorating the chef and causing him to gasp in delight. John licked happily, hungrily, at Hobbie's shaft, silently pleading for it to grow and extend out fully, tasting the fluid seeping gently from his urethra. He saw that it was more than a good mouthful, Hobbie's phallus, and John was able to consume it almost completely, encasing his mouth around Hobbie's stiff shaft and nursing on it eagerly.
Hobbie had shut his eyes, shut out the fading pain in his abdomen, and focused on the attention being paid to his groin. The mere fact that he was being swallowed down by a fellow male gave such a feeling of renewed excitement that his member leaked its coital fluids immensely. John's mouth felt much different than his girlfriend's, it felt very different than any female's maw, and for this moment in time, it was the most sensual sexual treatment he had ever received in his lifetime.
He attributed it simply to its novelty: that he had never been with a male before. The chef help was not truly attracted to other males, they lacked the charm and beauty of his girls, but the male sex was very, very intriguing to him in some unspeakable way. The circumstances of their trip that night had been a fairly disastrous one, and Hobbie felt that this pleasurable experience was more than enough to make up for it.
John continued his suckling, gently nipping at the base with his teeth -- which he hoped would be received with pleasure and not irritation -- still caressing his friend's sides. While he was munching, the dishwasher took an interest in the thick, soft padding of Hobbie's buttocks. He reached forward and gripped the flesh there, finding it to be very different from his own lover's (but much like his own). Hobbie was smaller than Shaun - less heavy -- and the plush rump of his new lover was so much more supple and malleable, quite a different sort of pleasure to be had.
Whatever Hobbie wanted to do, or in whichever direction he wished to take, John was unsure, but knew very well he did not want to merely suck on his manhood all night long. Hobbie could not wait though, it seemed, for soon after this thought, the excited male grunted and began to shoot his semen into the John's mouth. John groaned with displeasure at how quickly the Hobbie had climaxed, and pulled the convulsing member from his mouth, not wanting the contaminated sperm inside his stomach.
But the alternative was to let the spurts of white liquid fall on his shirt or face. The latter was the lesser annoying of the two nuisances, so thus John allowed the remaining streams of reptile come to splash across his face and forehead. After the eruption, in which Hobbie had gotten dizzy with the combined effects of tobacco and orgasm, John wiped away a glob of come from an eye and stared up at the enraptured, grinning dragon with a look of misplaced disappointment.
"Sorry, man." Hobbie gave the cigar to John and stumbled out of his crumpled trousers, wobbling into the kitchen in order to produce from a drawer a cloth, which he then ran under the faucet. John stared, smiling and chuckling silently, enjoying the sight of the man's light-brown backside.
"So, was I just that good or has it been a long while for you?" John asked jokingly. Hobbie approached him with the cloth, now saturated with hot water, and gave it to the bear to clean up with.
"Eh, well I guess kinda both. It felt kinda wild, you being a guy and all. It was just real different than a girl doing it."
John, rubbing the cloth into his face in attempts to absorb the slime from his skin, smiled and nodded with understanding. "Well, I hope it didn't hurt or anything, with your infection. I normally would've swallowed it down except I don't wanna risk it. I know going into the stomach will kill the infection... or I'm sure it will. But you understand."
"Yeah sure. No, it doesn't hurt to have a hard-on; it is tender, but I feel a whole lot better with that pain killer the doctor gave me."
"Can you go again?" John wondered; now back to his loving caresses, letting his hands roam over the naked legs of his friend.
Hobbie considered the thought for a moment then replied, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can." He smiled again. It was such an attractive smile: he used only lips and eyes, no display of teeth. It made him look more approachable.
"Well," John continued, reclining backwards into the couch. "Maybe you should show me your bedroom." Redbone then came around from the kitchen, sniffing up along his owner's legs, wondering what he was doing.
"Alright, let's go." He jerked his head towards the back of the trailer, indicating the direction of his bedroom. He moved first, striding past the wall of decorative swords, followed by the dishwasher and his pooch, padding along behind John.
The interior of the room was just as plain as the rest of the home. His mattress was unmade, and around it on the floor were piles of clothes and several boxes of assorted, useless clutter. It looked very similar to the spare bedroom in John's own abode and also the backseat of John's car.
John then removed his shirt; Hobbie already, totally in the buff, watched John expose his torso, seeing skin much lighter and with more body hair. John was a slim male, unlike that of his mate who was quite rotund. In truth, John loved the physique of his lover, and never really did care other slim guys, believing they were boring and unattractive and not cuddly enough. Of course, the current circumstances saw him with a fellow skinny man, but it was not as boring or unattractive as he might have thought.
The cook helper looked back to him, obviously at a loss for what to do. Poor Hobbie was most assuredly comfortable around his females, but now with someone very new, he simply did not know how to go about this. John certainly noticed this, watching Hobbie grinning at him, waiting for him to speak.
"So, is there anything you'd like to try, hmm?" John moved behind his friend, wrapping both arms around him and letting his hands explore his chest and neck. Hobbie was not long on his answer.
"Well uh, maybe you could let me suck your cock?"
John nuzzled him, prodding his nose up into his short hair. They both needed to bathe, very badly, both reeking of grease and a wild combination of various foods. Even through that stench, though, John could smell the natural aroma of his friend(as weak it was), and enjoyed it.
"Alright, you want me to lie down then?"
"Yeah, sure."
John moved towards the bed, stepping past his friend, then lowering himself onto his back and positioning himself in the center of the bed as if he were about to take a nice, long nap. As he began to remove his belt, Hobbie knelt down and crawled to him, stopping directly in front of the bear, between his outspread legs.
In his anxiety for the proceedings to follow, the cook simply watched John undress himself, keeping his hands on the mammal's legs and nosing around his belly a little bit, giving soft and hesitant nuzzles. John did not care if his friend was still nervous, for there was nothing to be nervous about, thus he did not speak a word, doing his best to slide his pants and underwear down his legs and remove them, tossing them to the floor with a jerk of his arm.
Hobbie wasted no time in his efforts; John was ready for sex, being completely erect now, Hobbie taking John's hefty phallus in hand and applying his mouth to it. At first, he only lapped at it, apparently tasting it for his satisfaction, to see if he could tolerate it. He did, apparently, for then he engulfed it completely, taking about half of its length into his maw.
Unpracticed in such activities, he performed very poorly, grinding his teeth all over the shaft and squeezing much too hard. But John did not bother to help him out, simply letting Hobbie enjoy himself on his friend's groin, with this new activity. But Hobbie asked after several moments, "Am I doing alright?"
"Eh..." John laughed and frowned, "Well, you're trying too hard. I like feeling fangs on my cock and all, but go easy on it, don't squeeze so hard, too."
"Sorry, man." Hobbie sighed and idly stroked the John's member, feeling utterly disappointing and wondering if he should even bother continuing.
"It's no big deal. I still like it... did --you- like doing it?"
"Yeah, I actually did. It just..." he frowned, "it tastes kinda weird."
"Well, yeah, I know what you mean. I guess to be gay you have to like the taste of cock." John snickered.
"Well, it doesn't taste bad, it's just different. I kinda liked it." John noticed that his friend's phallus was now erect and once again ready for action. It looked very appealing to the dishwasher, who was still very hungry for the appendage. But now that he was in the wrong position for fellatio, John had to consider his options. Devouring the dragon's manhood again simply made him salivate, and it looked like Hobbie could really benefit from it too.
"How about you flip around and we can suck each other, sound good?" Hobbie agreed with a grin, gripping his own limb and stroking it a bit.
"Sounds like fun."
John shuffled his body and scooted down along the bed a bit, watching the chef carefully reposition himself above his friend's body, straddling the head with both legs, letting his wet appendage to hang downward in front of the bear's muzzle. Seizing both of Hobbie's muscular, furry legs with his paws, John growled with delight and slipped his mouth around Hobbie's stiff shaft completely, quickly going to work at it, wanting to please his friend.
John sighed happily with it in his maw, growling again when Hobbie descended his mouth down onto the erection in front of his face. This time around, either because of John's advice or because of the angle, the chef's technique had improved slightly, and his fervor had calmed to allow him better treatment. It really did feel incredible to the dishwasher, even though his true lover was magnanimously more skilled in this art, and was absolutely delighted at being Hobbie's first foray into the male sex. Thus, he performed as best he could; slurping slowly and nibbling at the quivering, dripping shaft nestled in his mouth. He hoped that Hobbie would not come so quickly this time, or that if he arrived close, the gentleman would say something.
Hobbie could not tell what he enjoyed most about the situation of them sucking at each other so. The taste of John's member became quite appealing to him, as did his thick scent -- the thick musk ascending from his backside and legs - and it fueled his efforts to the extreme. He mouthed ferociously and growled quietly, swallowing the small amounts of fluid that seemed to be pouring from his friend's phallus, his mind swimming with pleasure all the while, the cortex of his brain being inundated with dopamine.
Yet only after a minute of this, during the period when John was increasing his efforts greatly and losing himself with the masculinity of his friend, Hobbie felt himself getting ready to climax again, and to John's silent desires he mentioned it, "Slow down, I'm about to come." With the notification, John quit slurping completely and let the wet shaft slip out from his hot mouth.
"Well, if you are --so- eager to come again, I have something I really want to you do, if you're interested."
"What's that?" Hobbie said, now releasing his mouth from John's phallus.
"Put my feet up and fuck my ass nice and hard."
Hobbie gulped, trying to wash out the intense taste of heat and muskc, and remained silent for a few moments, then said, "Alright." He turned about to face the bear who was grinning again with amusement and anticipation. John wiggled his body a bit, trying to settle into the mattress a bit more comfortably, bending his knees and pulling up on his legs in order to expose his backside, willing and eager, brimming with excitement.
The chef aide frowned with concentration, approaching the bear on his knees, hunkered over, and began prodding at John's warm anus with his wet phallus. Then it was at that point when John remembered something devastating, and he had to quickly press his hand up against the dragon's chest to stop him.
"Wait, do you have any condoms?" Hobbie screwed up his face with confusion.
And just as John had done, Hobbie realized the probable and horrifying consequences of their actions, "Oh, yeah, the infection. Sorry, man." The dragon glanced around for a brief moment, thinking to himself, attempting to recall the place where he might have stored his protection. He leaned to the left, reaching with an outstretched arm to the small and cluttered side table, jamming his shaft into John's testicles in the process.
"Um, ow." John grunted. Hobbie quickly retracted with a handful of condoms and apologized. He somewhat fumbled with the handful, dropping them in the process and letting them fall across John's belly and chest and scatter to either sides of the bed.
"Shit." Hobbie blurted. They cleared off the mess and Hobbie proceeded to don himself with the protective device, ripping its package away and sliding the fragile sheath onto his shaft. "There we go, you ready? Wait, we need some kinda lube."
"Nah, don't worry `bout it. I'm pretty loose, just spit on the condom to help it." John suggested and Hobbie obeyed, doing his best. But he only managed to drench his hand with saliva, putting out way more than he had intended, and needing to wipe it off on the sheets.
Hobbie positioned himself again, pushing forward on the John's legs as his friend arched them backwards, keeping them positioned upwards with both his hands, his naked feet wiggling in the air. John felt the tip of his friend's shaft push up against his entrance, causing him to softly sigh with excitement. Hobbie pushed inwards, letting himself glide inside about an inch, causing a moan of delight to emanate from John's throat.
The cook soon became enveloped in his own pleasure, and forcefully thrust deep inside as much as he could, growling all the while and letting his slick, pink tongue protrude from his mouth between his teeth. The sudden intrusion only hurt slightly, John noticed, and he gripped his muscles around the thick shaft penetrating him, only making the intensity worse... or better, as it were. John purred, somewhat, and allowed himself to relax, simply feeling Hobbie's awesome maleness sliding about within him, stimulating the sensitive sphincter muscle and his prostate gland.
"Damn, that feel good." John sighed, causing Hobbie to chuckle and breaking the poor man's concentration.
He did not need to ask if Hobbie was enjoying this new attention. From the quick precipitation into the thrusting-- Hobbie being surprisingly enthusiastic about it -- and the look of rapture on his face, John was certain that his friend was in heaven. Hobbie awkwardly humped with great force, shoving his thick and warm member deep inside his friend's body each time, grinding his hips against his eager and hairy backside.
"Oh fuck, yeah!" John quipped, gripping his legs tightly with his fingers, squeezing around the Hobbie's phallus as well, feeling the hard thrusts against every muscle in his posterior, in his legs, on his prostate. Hobbie held onto John's thigh's tightly, leaning forward and pulling himself off of his own knees, taking the bear's rear-end from the bed, then proceeded to hammer himself with incredible force into John's body.
The effect was astounding, and both males cried out in mutual ecstasy. John's body was at a different angle now, and Hobbie's pulsing appendage seemed to delve even deeper into him than it had before, like an oil drill pushing deep into the Earth. With each move, the entire length of Hobbie's cock was retracted only to be forced back into the tight orifice with incredible vigor, the slamming bodies causing the mattress the creak and bounce.
"Oh yeah! Pound me good, Hobbie!" John cried again, growling and cringing, feeling that each thrust would utterly drive him to climax each time. But it never did, so he would have to suffice to manually stimulating his climax... only after the wonderful beating he was receiving, of course. But John felt an incredible orgasm grip his mind and body quickly, and amidst Hobbie's ferocious hammering, the dishwasher quivered helplessly under the weight as his muscles spasmed and only made the friction of Hobbie's cock all the more intense.
Like the sucking mouth of the bear, his tight and warm backside brought Hobbie to climax very quickly, and he seethed through his teeth, trying not to scream as his convulsing member shot his load into the latex sheath surrounding it. To the fact that the dragon's come would not fill his innards, and that Hobbie was fairly quick in the exercise, John did not enjoy this as much as he believed he could have. But merely seeing the drained fellow collapse upon his body with sleepy, happy delight was pleasure in itself.
"Oh, man. That was nice." Hobbie whispered, grinning, his tongue touching the skin of John's abdomen.
"Ah, sit up. Keep fucking me for a few seconds. I need to come so badly!" John whimpered. Hobbie immediately stood back up to his knees and started back to his humping, John grabbing hold of his own shaft and pumping it with a clenched fist. He gripped as hard as he could with his anus, telling Hobbie to go faster, and squeezing his member, jerking it quickly, growling menacingly. Soon he came, and with a burst of air from his mouth and his body relaxing into the bed, his shaft shot ropes of his white jism through the air.
The fluid settled onto his stomach, soaking deeply into the fur along his belly and making a humongous mess. John was not concerned though. Hobbie pulled out, making a slick pop with the effort, and stood there on his knees, peeling off the condom while watching his friend shiver with the last bits of excitment. "Guess I'll get you that cloth again." He vanished and appeared a minute later, John having not moved an inch in the time.
"That's one thing I don't think I wanna try." Hobbie said, watching his friend clean himself, now sitting up and yawning, slightly exhausted from the exertion.
"What's that?"
"Getting fucked in the ass."
John scoffed and shrugged, "Not every gay dude likes it. The --smart- ones do. If you do it right, it's the most incredible feeling you will ever feel in your life."
Hobbie lit a cigarette, the pack and lighter sitting on the floor beside the bed amongst several dropped condoms. "Maybe one day."
"Shit, what time is it?" John asked. Hobbie squinted and glanced about the room, looking for a clock -- supposedly -- amongst the disaster.
"I got a clock in here somewhere," he said with the cigarette in his mouth, smoke billowing from his maw. He started to search then, crawling through the piles of "shit" all over the place, tossing various items aside and behind him, groping around an unseen table under a broken television screen. He dropped his cigarette, which began to burn a shirt and send dark smoke up into his face.
"Ah, dammit!" He retrieved the cigarette immediately.
Eventually, he found the clock - an archaic, digital model - that told them it was approaching 11:00 PM. Quitting the chamber, the males returned to the living room and sat on the couch. For another half hour or so, they conversed about music or past relationships, movies, exchanged jokes... typical and unfamiliar banter. Hobbie showed him a large, frayed book of tattoo art and explained certain designs that he wished to get done on him. Thus John looked for designs he liked himself, and wondered how he would look with it painted on his flesh.
"You hungry yet?" Hobbie asked again.
"Uh, not really. I'm thirsty though; I'll just get some water." Hobbie nodded and moved into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.
"Oh yeah, do you got any mouthwash I can use?" John asked.
"Yeah, it's in the cabinet in the bathroom." John then walked to the lavatory and used the antiseptic, hoping that it would destroy any lingering bacteria in his mouth and throat.
At this point in the visit, both became more taciturn and weary. It was bed time very soon for both of them, so thus John said, "I better get going. My boyfriend is gonna be worried sick."
"Alright man, it was fun, I'll see you tomorrow."
John nodded, gathered his things and left the trailer. He started his car, which at first refused to submit to its normal functions, being so cold outside and the beaten thing in dire need of maintenance. Lighting a cigar that he kept in the central console, he wondered how he would proceed in backing out properly, the lot being too narrow to turn around, and his windows iced over so badly that not even his card could scrape it off.
However, he was done with worrying about it, he just wanted to get home and stop fretting over his ridiculous car. He also did not want to think about his missing wallet and the trouble it would cause. Looking outside of his window, towards the highway, he decided to pull into the neighboring yard and try to turn his car around to go forwards instead of backwards. But in doing so, he only got the car stuck in a tiny, invisible hole in the ground and could not back up. Hobbie came running from his trailer, waving his hands and his eyes wide.
"No! Don't do that, that woman will call the police."
John groaned, and drove forward, closer to the trailer and straightened his car, "Could you help me back out? I can't see shit and I'm really bad at backing up anyway." Hobbie moved towards the driver's side door and directed, John completely blind to what he was doing except for noting the view of a shadowy tree that he had to be sure not to drive into. Hobbie quickly ran back inside when John's tires touched the road, apparently being too cold outside.
As soon as he was perpendicular with the highway, situated directly on the road, he shifted into drive again and the vehicle promptly stalled, the engine dying and going quiet.
"Ah, fuck." John growled ferociously and tried to start up the car again. It persisted in fighting him, though, refusing to idle while in drive, but having no problem in park or while as dead like the frozen night around him. Letting the car have its way for a while, he hoped that allowing it to heat up in park would help it to actually drive properly. Then after what seemed like ten hours, he was finally home, the apartments in view and the light of his living room glowing softly.
The apartments were assorted into five different buildings -- aligned on a hill - his and Shaun's being in the third to last set. There were about two dozen spaces for cars along in a small lot between buildings three and four, designated for residents of the chambers within, where he and Shaun normally parked.
However, in par with his terrible luck this night, every single space was occupied. John, then, had to park in a small spot at the side of building four, besides a large and intimidating van of sorts. Shutting off the vehicle and desiring never to see it or step foot within its rickety confines again in his life, he strode through the lot and clambered up a short flight of concrete steps, stopping in front of the door to unlock it and enter.
Shaun stood up from the couch where he had been watching something on the screen and embraced his lover with tremendous satisfaction. "Everything okay? You're phone is off."
"It died at Hobbie's." He removed the small device from his pocket. "He's a cook at work; I hung out at his place for a little while." He attached the phone to its power adapter leading from an electrical outlet from the wall, which they always kept in the main room next to their computers. Shaun embraced him again, from behind, and gently kissed the back of John's neck. Immediately he stopped and began to sniff around his neck, curiously. John knew that he smelled like fried chicken from the deep fryer vats in the kitchen.
"What did you guys do?" He asked quizzically. John explained everything that happened beginning at the time of departure from the restaurant to his arrival at the apartments, omitting most of the conversation, but doing his best to emphasize the outstanding misfortunes of the night. They sat poised on the couch, cuddling slightly, John wanting to rest for a bit before he went to shower himself.
"Well, at least you got some fun out of tonight. I wish I could have watched." Shaun pouted, tehn confessed that soon after he had been informed of John's misplaced wallet, he had ventured out to the restaurant with a flashlight and searched for it, going through the excess trouble of searching the back lot as well as the front, and looking through the small alleyways.
After a minute or so of discussion, the couple left the apartment, armed with two flashlights now, and proceeded to search the premises more thoroughly. At a suggestion made by Shaun, they inquired within a small tavern on the roundabout if anyone had either seen or turned it in. Seems that no one did. Next stop was the police station, where they informed an elderly woman behind a tall desk of the incident, with whom John made a report and gave an explanation.
Returning home with even less hope than they had to begin with, the two males went to bed. He kissed Shaun affectionately as they both lay in the darkness, feeling an abundance of love radiating throughout them both, only now realizing how much he truly did appreciate the fellow.
~^'^'^~~^'^'^~-...Epilogue.../-~^'^'^~~^'^'^~
The return to work was just as unpleasant as ever. John hoped that he would never have to drive Hobbie home again and fuss with the excursion that his vehicle made it out to be. With no transport of his own, he truly felt very sorry for the poor cook helper. Yet on the day after their ordeal, John learned that a waitress friend of theirs -- a very pretty, young woman with blond hair named Alana -- had taken John's role of transportation for Hobbie.
When telling John of this, after learning of the horrible misfortunes the dishwasher had suffered in his previous favor to Hobbie, she told him that he was "paying" for her services. By this, she clarified saying that he was giving her miscellaneous electronic gadgets in exchange for her services. John did not bother to tell the girl how Hobbie had paid him for his services.
Hobbie, like every other cook assistant, eventually stopped attending work, either having quit or having been fired, and John had only learned of this when asking of Alana, "Does Hobbie still work here?"
"Nope." She said, shaking her head.
"Huh, that sucks. I liked him."
"Yeah, I talked to him yesterday, he's in Cartersville; he said he got into some trouble and has to stay there for a while." The news did not surprise the dishwasher, but he was very curious if not a bit concerned.
"What kinda trouble?" He chuckled.
"I have no idea." She looked equally as puzzled as him. Regardless of what manner of mischief Hobbie had gotten himself into, John never heard from him again, and thus continued the chain of folks coming and going through the restaurant, no one ever managing to stay for more than a couple of weeks, as if the place were cursed. It seemed he was doomed to be the only dishwasher in the restaurant, and doomed to be stuck with the same faces everyday.
~^'^'^~~^'^'^~-...The End.../-~^'^'^~~^'^'^~
Dedicated to my short-lived friendship with Herbie, wherever the hell you are today. Thank you for the cell-phone headset, I still use it frequently to this day.