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.
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"WTF?" 11 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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It seemed like they were on the road for hours, for what boiled down to an hour and ten minutes. Too, the scenery seemed to pass by faster than normal, but it might not have been so much Theo's heavy foot, but the vehicle in which he was a passenger, the chosen vehicle from Denji's collection from his garage...
"Nice wheels," Brad finally brought up the subject, the luxury ride in the Ferrari f430 Spider!
Pulling into the parking lot of a restaurant, Theo took the liberty of covering their head with the convertible roof.
"Yes," he replies, "one of the fringe benefits of being on Master Denji's payroll. C'mon," he says, abandoning the car to a parking lot attendant.
For the majority of their trip here, Brad had fired away questions regarding Theo's association with Denji. On the long agenda Theo spell out for himself, Brad found out he was twenty-five years old, held a Master's degree in music, was an accomplished flautist and conductor, self-taught on the guitar and could cover quite a few pop songs. Specifically, regarding his employment for Denji, at the top of his roster, his main concern was keeping visitors to the house happy, contented and in his quest to do so, money was not an option. So Brad had realized, learning the tux he was wearing cost him more than a month's salary at the deli he worked for. It then occurred to him, he hadn't been in touch with them, figuring by now he would be considered unemployed'. However, he shrugged it off, especially now, after walking through the big double, oak doors of Rack's Willoughgy Quay'.
"Welcome to `the Quay' Mr. Taylor-Evans. Your usual table?"
Brad giggled to himself, `Mr. Taylor-Evans? Oh my god! Is this a swanky joint of what!'
"Yes, Jordan."
Another delightful moment, it's all Brad could do, not look back, at people gawking at the two perfectly tuxedoed, manicured gentlemen making their way down the center aisle, towards the rear of the restaurant. They all knew, as pricing went, the cheaper tables, one would want to reside closest the front doors. However, where Theo and Brad were concerned, they were headed for the most expensive reservations in the place. Where large picture windows displayed the water, decked out in the finest sailing ships, this is where Jordan ushered the two.
Brad smiled, watching Jordan scoot Theo's chair under the table, looking up to see who was doing him. "Hey," he said, a gesture of greeting, "how's it going?"
"Good evening, Sir."
They exchanged smiles, then the waiter-dude disappeared.
"Cute!" Brad asses to Theo.
Snapping his fingers, Jordan was back at their table, "Yes, Mr. Taylor-Evans?"
"It would please Mr. Coleman if Thomas would stand in as acting head waiter?"
At Rake's Willoughby Quay, the atmosphere was saturated with attitudes of totally pleasing the customer. Not only did the menu dictate having a guest sit for hours, of course adding up the cost, but with satisfying service, also came the pleasant dining experience, meaning a hefty gratuity.
More than Theo could recall, Jordan knew of Thomas Barringer's status, having not worked more than a month at the Quay, therefore being placed somewhere on the bottom of the employee totem pole. However, what the customer wanted, they got and much to the head waiter's dismay, Thomas was promoted on the spot!
First out, Thomas was followed by two waiters, one carrying a silver-plaited pail, the other toting a towel and corkscrew.
"Champagne, compliments of the Quay?"
Theo smiled when Brad responded, "Sounds cool. Have a seat!"
Thomas and Theo exchanged looks.
With a toothy smile on his face, Theo shrugged one shoulder, as if to say, `what the hell'. Turning to the one holding the corkscrew, he says, "Want to rustle us up another chair and place setting?"
Jordan was having fifty fits, having been reported Thomas had been invited to sit down and have dinner with the two. However, stuck in his mind was the `almighty dollar sign', so allowed it, for now.
Things were going along just great, food being devoured at a slow pace, plates removed, the next course presented before each of the three, in between lively chat, mostly directed at Thomas, the twenty-one year rather enjoying the attention.
Too, Theo allowed the conversation to progress, with Brad as the anchorman, "When did you decide to come out?" Turning a fork around, he stuffed a piece of salmon in his mouth and before chewing it completely, interrupted himself, "Hmm, a little salty, but I like it!"
"Me too," Thomas replies in reverse, stating, "I came out to my folks almost at the end of my senior year of high school. It was either me or some schmuck who threatened he'd tell."
"What an ass!" Brad exclaimed.
This one time, Theo interrupts, cautioning with a shushing finger, whispers, "Gentlemen, remember `where' you are?"
This time around Theo is smiling, humored by Brad reiterating in a mousy tone, "What an ass!"
"I know," Thomas says. "What else do you want to know?" Before Brad can ask, Thomas inquires, "What about you? What's your story?"
Before Brad can respond, an older gent walks up to them, wiggling his finger at Thomas, saying with forced pleasantry, "May I have a word with you Thomas?"
Thomas, knowing it was the highest man of the eschelon of `the Quay', says, "Sure, Mr. Scanlon."
However, before Thomas can eject himself from his chair, Brad is using all the forces to his advantage, especially heightening the decibels of his voice, "Excuse me there, but do you know you rudely interrupted our conversation? Who are you anyway?"
Theo kept his reserve, trying to hold back on the laughter. From day one he didn't at all like the part owner of `the Quay', Rod Scanlon, wanting to... no, not wanting to bother even getting a hardon in order to fuck the forty-three year old. Like right now, Theo thought, Scanlon was fucking himself over, especially with confronting Brad!
"I beg your pardon?" Rod replies, like somebody caught off guard. Too, concerned with the clientele, he looks about and before responding, makes sure he closes the distance between himself and Brad. "I happen to be part-owner of `the Quay'?"
"Well, I don't know what tha fuck you think you're doing, but it sure as hell doesn't make a fuck-a sense, cutting in your guests' conversation?" Heated, standing, Brad rest his case, sat down and totally ignored Scanlon.
Feeling the cold attitude, Scanlon rest his case for now, telling Thomas, "All right for now." Again, the bear-shaped man tried being pleasant, forcing a smile as he moved away from the table.
Not intimidated, one of the waiters, filling Brad's glass, mentions, "That's okay. Later on we'll see the shit hit the fan!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Brad asks him.
"Thanks Jack," Theo says, after a fresh water is poured. "What Jack means, is after we're gone, probably Thomas here will get a heavy tongue-lashing from Scanlon and if he's lucky will be put on probation, as opposed to being fired."
"No," Thomas half-jokes, "I couldn't be `that' lucky!"
Infused with seething hate, Brad says, "I'd like to grab a hold of his balls and give them a hefty twisting!"
Finishing up on Thomas' water, Jack lingered a little, waiting for the conversation over Scanlon to unwind. He interjects, "Don't bother," and after a snicker, "he'd probably like it!"
Leaving, Brad butts his chair out from under himself, saying in a prim and proper manner, "Excuse me gents, but I've gotta take a piss!"
Theo grinned, giggled, wondering if Brad would ever make it in high society.
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"Can we back up a minute here?" Jase says.
"What? Where?" Adam replies, the nineteen year old picking his head up from Jase's pec-pillow and looking at him with question.
"I thought you said you had an apartment, then you say you need to get one. What gives?"
One thing lacked in their whole conversation, Adam finally divulging, which made him slide, then roll off of Jase's bod, "I sort of had this roommate..."
"A guy?"
"Of course! I'm 100% gay?"
"Just checking," Jase says, turning and pocketing the pillow with his elbow. Right on top of things, "So you had' or still have' a roommate?"
"Have and... don't get mad..."
Smiling, Jase replies, "I might, but go ahead."
"Fair enough," Adam says, continuing, "but the truth is, it's more `his' apartment than mine. I sort of like met him at a bar, followed him home, he liked the sex and asked me to room with him."
"Sex for rent. Interesting concept."
Admitting it, Adam replies, "Yeah, I guess if you want to get technical."
Calling it like he thought, Jase says, "So more or less you're about as well off as me?"
Adam says, "Not really. You have a toothbrush?"
Adamant and funny at the same time, Jase replies, "It's one thing I don't share!"
"After this," Adam smiles as his hand slips around Jase's flaccid 9.5, he says, "I don't care if I brush my zoobies ever again!"
"Ewe!"
"I suppose that ditches my chances for a goodnight kiss?" He slips his arm under Jase's neck and tugs him closer.
Daringly, Jase laughs as he quips, "Kiss my ass!"
"Mm-m-m, I'd love to!"
"Well I'm tired," Jase says. "And besides, after you sucked me dry twice, I doubt you have any sucking power left!"
It was an excuse to get some shuteye, not which Jase would choose as a preference over having his fuck-tool worked over for the third time. Too, "it's not night', it's morning'?"
Faking a yawn, Adam says, "You're right."
Contrary, they lay there, Adam once again taking up a position of using Jase's left pec for a pillow, his lips gently nibbling, eliciting little cooing sounds of emotion till they died out.
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Passing by a waiter he didn't know, Brad asks, "Say, have you seen Scanlon around anywhere?"
"He's usually back in his office, unless a problem arises." Maybe Brad didn't know him, but the waiter recognized Brad as the one who put Scanlon in his place. Including him, very few had respect for the man, him saying, "I liked what you did over there," he nods towards the big plate glass windows.
A toothy grin, Brad replies, "Oh yeah? I take it there's no love lost between you two?"
"Or almost anyone else," he affirms.
Brad jokes, saying, "Maybe you'd like to help me fuck him over?" He giggles.
"Oh, I'd do more than punch his ass!"
Really, his only interest in seeking out Scanlon was to make things right for Thomas later on. Now, between what Jack and this other dude were saying, he wondered something else, whether it were a cliche or, "Hey, mind if I ask kind of a.... um, kinky question?"
Knowing where Brad was headed with this, he tells, "Yeah, I often wondered about it myself. I've heard rumors, but never had the opportunity to..."
Standing there, a hand on a hip, shoulder to the wall, Brad casually stood. Trying to read the waiter's mind, he gives in, "What?"
"It might cost me my job," he throws a towel on the tray, "but I'd love to accompany you back to Scanlon's office!"
Brad welcomed the company, finding out the waiter's name, Philip Drake, and some particulars about him, a thirty-five year old clothing salesman, who moonlights at `the Quay' on two night a week and weekends to make ends meet. Something he doesn't share with Brad, his physique, Brad can tell for himself he works in some regular gym time.
"Here goes," Philip says, gulping as he leads the way, placing his hand on the doorknob.
Flinging it open, Scanlon says, "Call ya back," hanging up on his cell phone. "Problem?" he questions, standing from behind his desk.
"Yeah, `you'!"
Brad followed Philip's lead. From their chat in the hallway, he already has learned, all from hearsay on Philip's part, Scanlon has some fetishes hidden away in the closet. Though never explored, Philip has always wanted to, himself having an inkling towards the fun and rewards of kinky play.
"I beg your pardon?" Scanlon says innocently.
He was cornered, Philip coming around the right side of the desk, Brad hoping he was doing the appropriate thing, blocking off Scanlon's exit to the left.
"Have we a problem here gentlemen?" Scanlon says, looking back and forth, from Brad to Philip and back.
Right for the balls, Philip made his statement, grabbing up the two big chunks.
"Oh-h-h-h-h--h-h-h-h--h!" Scanlon shouted out in pain.
Brad asks, "Are you sure about this Philip?"
"You don't see him stopping me?" With confidence, "Put him in a full nelson."
Brad actually had to think, `full nelson', following through with weaving his arms up Scanlon's back, then engaging his arms at the pits, his own upper arms casting Scanlon's arms above his head.
"You live for it!" Philip says. Not responding fast enough, Philip gives a noticeable squeeze.
"Ak-k-k-k-k... yes, yes, yes, yes, yes..."
"What tha fuck?" Brad replies.
Backing off, Philip says in an evil voice, "You can let go now Brad. He's `mine'!"
Doing so, Scanlon immediately caves in to a hunched over, balled up position on the floor, moaning over his crushed hardware.
"You can go now Brad and don't worry, I think Mr. Scanlon can assure you there wouldn't be any confrontation with Thomas later on?"
Brad's eyes opened like saucers, voicing opinion, "Oh shit!"
When Scanlon didn't speak quick enough, Philip pulled him up by the head of his hair and while Scanlon's hands were trying to free up his scalp, Philip's toe kicked directly into the spot between Scanlon's legs!
Laughing it off, Philip makes note, "I've always wanted to do that to a man!" Turning to Brad, he says, "C'mon. I'll put him in a full nelson. You try!"
"Tempting," Brad said, but bowed out, closing the door to the scene, behind him. He whistled, cocking his head, thinking, "How weird can it get!"
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Copyright 2011 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.....