You know the drill: The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, of continents or islands, in countries, counties, cities, towns, villages, neighborhoods, streets, cul-de-sacs, nor governmental or non-governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if guy-to-guy sex stuff makes you barf or is going to screw up your mind, you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such.
% Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
"WTF?" 01
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"We made it, Jase!"
"That we did!" Aldo says, the two clinking glasses of champagne.
A high school graduation party, set up by their parents, each pair of guardians had wanted something special, based on how elaborate a set up could be created from a small fortune. As the neighborhood, it was who could put on the bigger, more lavish spread than the next `Jones' household. Out of the dozen or so mansions which dotted the landscape, most churned out siblings of spoiled brats. However, two or three were composed of children brought up out of the ordinary, those who have come to appreciate what they have and not take it for granted.
"Too bad Brad couldn't be here today."
Aldo replies to his friend, reflecting on years prior, "I can't believe how he almost kicked the shit out of you and now, four years later you two are..." he smiles, because Jase is smiling.
"Yeah," and Jase laughs when he says this, "I can't believe I called Brad a faggot in front of the whole team and here we are today!" After an interval of silence, he questions Aldo, "What?" "You're lucky it was me catching you in the locker room and not some other guy."
"When?" Jase asks. He knew what Aldo talked about, but wanted to relive the memory, hearing it told back to him.
""Like the first time Brad put his hand around your neck, but instead of wanting to choke the living daylights out of you, Brad softly wove his hand around the back of your neck and..."
Aldo was smiling, watching Jase's eyes closed, reliving the memory in his mind, but at the same time Also watches a hand slip in under Jase's collar, around the back of his neck.
"You mean like this?"
"Brad? I thought you couldn't make...."
But he was silenced, Brad drawing their bods together, mashing their lips. It was short-lived, Brad diving into the platters of food, "Oh cool! Your rents really put on a spread for you!"
A portion of the school population, Brad wasn't one whom got everything or nearly most things he wished for. Unlike the other two, he worked, doing odd chores at the town deli, making up sandwiches, delivering them, stocking shelves or unloading trucks. Living in a disconnected family it was more `every man for themselves', whereas he had to fend mostly for himself among an uncle, cousin and older brother, whom recently moved out with no forwarding address.
Aldo and Jase just laughed their asses off, watching Brad heap up his plate of food.
"Need another plate?"
Jase and Brad were really good friends, Brad, Jase's token `gay' boyfriend, when the need arose. Other than that, Brad was a free spirit. Too, he worked hard for his money, whether at the deli, or otherwise, and likewise was judicious in his spending habits. He knew college was right around the corner and a two years ago thought he was much prepared for it.
"What's up?" Brad asks, standing from looking at some red peppers and veggies in a pool of oil, his golden locks automatically shucked out of his face.
The fellow holding the plate out right away sensed the young lad knew he wasn't being a cordial waiter.
Shocked, Jase and Aldo stood there taking it all in, Brad telling the waiter, "That plate padded with a fifty?"
Brad's two friends look at each other as is to say, `What tha fuck?'
"There isn't, but I think I have a bigger plate in the truck which might have much more?"
Brad smiles, right away picking up on the lead. Almost his height, like himself muscular in appearance, the wide upper shoulders, follows the waiter towards the garages. He knew even though the McCormicks had a five car garage they owned only three cars. When he arrived there one of the trucks had been backed up to an open port.
"I scouted around earlier. There's a door here which leads to a basement."
"I could've saved you the trouble," Brad says, as the two descend the steps, door at the top closing behind them. And when they reach the bottom step, "By the way, what's your name?"
"Depends," the waiter says, removing his jacket, folding it nicely and placing it over the top of a built in bar.
"Huh?" is all Brad returns, him too taking off the suit jacket he wore for his last occasion, last Christmas eve mass.
"It depends on what you want to get into? How far you want to go?"
Brad replies as he tosses shirt, tie and jacket in a chair, "I'm a businessman. You tell me what you want and I'll put a price on it."
The guy liked his attitude. Partially, on the real side of life he liked the prudence at which a man could conduct himself. On the darker side, it made the play of things more fun, more soulful, really got a man's balls churning!
It's for all these reasons he deviates from the norm of meeting a guy and after dropping his pants, kicking off his shoes, uncupping his cock and balls from the speedo-like sac of briefs he extends a hand, "Olav Bortileff."
Brad, too stripped to the skin, couples with Olav's hand, saying, after taking a quick glance down, "Brad Coleman."
"I know." "You know? Have we met?"
It would be common for Brad to ask. In his line of work at the deli, minimum wage would not be more then a drop in the bucket, earning tuition and all the other things which go along with college. There were at least three married guys Brad could pick out, who always volunteered to stop by the deli for them. It was easier to make up a meeting time instantaneously, which meant Brad would probably have to give up three or more hours of his evening, but that's business'. Too, there was the occasional truck driver, one in particular, David, bread man, who Brad did' every Monday. Then Brad smiled, thinking of Jerome, the black guy who always wanted to be treated like slavery wasn't dead!
"Something strike you as funny?" It's all Olav could do, holding back from saying the word `boy'.
"No," Brad replies, "just something that happened." And to get on with it, "So, what's up?"
"Could be me?" Olav says, holding his soft meat in his hand.
"Nah, sorry. I'm strictly top."
That was enough right there to make Olav pop a boner, but he contained himself, responding with an offer he was sure would not be refused, "I'll give you a hundred bucks to suck my cock?"
Brad figured this day would come, but always put off thinking about how high a bid would weigh out actions against money for school. Too, if he was going to break his own code of ethics, it wasn't going to be for no cheap money. Playing it cool he says, "I wouldn't suck you off for five hundred!"
One of the leaders in his field, the twenty-nine year old was only beginning to feel the excitement, whereas another dealer might fall on frustration. He knew these graduation parties drew in lots of young men and spotting this one in particular he had a hunch. Olav took it as it came, an easy mark or a prospective client he would have to work to gain his confidence. "How about I give you five hundred dollars to suck you off?"
"Wait," Brad shows question, "you right now wanted me to suck you off for two hundred bucks, and now you want to suck me off for five. What's the catch?"
"You're right," Olav says, stepping real close to Brad.
Brad looks down as the back of Olav's knuckles graze the area separating his six pack, moving his hand up and down so they tickle the hairs of the dirty blond stripe dividing his stomach in half. Knuckle of his middle finger pushes into Brad's deep innie, "I'll take a long time sucking your hard shaft, wet down your pubes, suckle on each of your hot ballsacs... you can come as many times as you want..."
It does occur to Brad, "Um, like, aren't you supposed to be playing waiter?" His thumb points up the stairs.
"I just gave notice," Olav replies. Yeah, he was on assignment, to canvass the graduation party, seek out some young `meat', but rather than quantity, Olav was on a lead for something much more of quality than hustling up a number of males. Dropping his hand, he says, "If you're interested in pursuing, I have a place we can go and..."
"You didn't tell me what was after me coming as many times as I want?"
Olav turned from picking up his pants, ready to step into them. Damn', he loved what he saw, Brad standing there erect, hands on his torso, hot vision of a man needing to be broken. He knew if he didn't provide something concrete, all would be lost. Too, he wanted' Brad more than almost any man he's reeled in over the past nine years.
Brad saw him reach in his pants, pull out a wallet and then some cash. Right now he wasn't sure who was going to do who, but he hoped it would be Olav sucking him off. However, his curiosity solely wasn't on who sucked who.
"Five hundred bucks," Olav held the five folded one hundreds in between two fingers, right up in front of Brad's eyes.
He knows he licked his lips, but hoped it wasn't for wanting to lick cock. More, eyeing up the green bills, he wanted to add to his bank account what would take a week's worth of tricks. "For?" he asks, getting to the bottom of whether it would be his lips wrapped around Olav's cock, which he knew would give him a mouthful, or vice versa.
Placing his knuckles back up to Brad's abs, he pressed in, Olav now revealing, "You allow me to punch you in the stomach five times and the five hundred is yours!"
"What tha fuck? What do you mean punch me in the stomach?"
Running his knuckles over each line which separated the six packs of Brad's stomach, he says, "I bet you wouldn't even feel it. C'mon. What do you say?"
Enticed by the bills in Olav's hand, Brad steps back, rubbing both hands over his pecs, down his stomach, feeling up both skin and the small amount of hair. One hand runs continually over his hairy bellyhole, "My stomach? What do you mean punch me?"
Saying it like Brad has already accepted his proposition, Olav begins to dress, telling him, "C'mon. Put your clothes on. This really isn't the place for this."
Too much information, too fast, coupled with visions of `green', Brad is indecisive.
For Olav, he has an agenda of his own, his cock already given over to having some fun with Brad. Almost all dressed, except his shirt split open, loose tie around the collar, Olav walks past Brad, still stripped clean of clothing, "Here," he places the five hundred bucks in the middle of Brad's pecs as if he was using the small patch of hair as a target, "I'll meet you upstairs."
What could Brad do, but catch the bills as they trickled down his bod, the last one caught at the top of his pubes. One last time he feels up his abs and co-mingled with the paper money he rationalizes, "I can take five gut-punches easy!" He begins slipping on his clothes.
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Copyright 2010 T. Chase McPhee
`WTF?' may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness! TCMcP.....