Summer - 4. We Take Care of Our Own

Before going to bed, César and Brett agreed to skip their regular morning workout and did not set the alarm clock for zero dark thirty as they did most days. It was half-past seven when César, closely followed by Brett, strolled into the kitchen. Light streaming in through the windows overlooking the back of their property, and the Potomac River at the bottom of the hill, flooded the room.

“Blessed be he who invented the automatic coffeemaker.” César filled two mugs―handing one to the Marine. “Wanna cut up some melon and pineapple? I’ll start the oatmeal while you do that.”

“Sure.” Brett reached for a knife from the magnetic strip attached to a magnetic strip on the wall. “I’d suggest doubling our normal, I learned my lesson last summer. Remember the amounts of food eaten by male teenagers in captivity―speak of the devil.”

“Morning, Dads.” CJ rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes with one hand and scratched his ass with the other one. He kissed both men on the cheek and ambled towards the coffeemaker.

“Morning, sunshine.” With CJ facing away, Brett looked at his partner, pointed at his crotch, and then at the kid. They both laughed.

CJ twirled around. “What?”

Brett just pointed to the kid’s boxers, which were still slightly tented by his morning erection. CJ turned and whined. “Come on, give me a break. It’s too early to start picking on me.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby boy, no women or tight-assed military around, so it’s all good.” César winked at his son.

“You saying I don’t have a tight ass?”

“Stop! Don’t start again. TMI, T M F I, too much FUCKING information.” CJ sounded frustrated, echoing his comment from the previous day. “I may have spent the evening under the same roof as you two pervs, but I’m still an impressionable kid, and you’re discussing unnatural acts again!” The caffeine was doing its job; CJ was more alert by the minute.

“Oh hush! Stop your whining and your quarter words. Be useful and get out some plates, glasses, cutlery and napkins, and the OJ.” Brett’s snappy retort got CJ moving.

Putting his coffee mug down, CJ did as instructed. He pulled items from one of the upper cabinets and the big drawer built into the peninsula next to the stove. It separated the kitchen proper from the remainder of the open space occupying most of the townhouse’s first floor. With seating for four, the breakfast bar was their main dining spot. The large table seating twelve was used for dinner with the gang, business associates, and during parties.

Before setting down the juice container, he opened it and took a swig, causing both his fathers to start laughing again. CJ glanced at them, then at the carton in his hand before looking further down at his feet while blushing.

“Ughhh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, your dad does the same thing all the time, I guess bad habits are genetic.” Brett lifted the juice container and took a large gulp of liquid sunshine himself.

“Hey, Papa, is that a new tattoo on the inside of your biceps? I don’t remember seeing it before. Those dates, is it in memory of somebody? What do the words in the circle mean?”

“Yeah, had it done earlier this year in honor of my grandfather.” There was a small sad smile on the marine’s face as he explained the design to CJ. “It says, min farfar min polare min hjälte―it’s Swedish. It translates to my grandfather, my pal, my hero. Those are the years of his birth and passing. A dozen years after he died, I still miss him.”

CJ’s smile, on the other hand, was broad. A sure sign he was in high spirits. He realized he liked hanging with his dads this early in the morning, all of them relaxed, wearing just boxers, and getting to know each other better. This type of attitude, and the easy conversation, would have never taken place back in Miami. His mom would have bitched up a storm, if either his brother or he walked around the house without a shirt, much less pants. His step-father always looked worried about something or other, he was rarely visibly relaxed. He was liking the move to D.C. more and more every minute.

Looking at the food being prepared, he saw breakfast was not a complicated affair, but still seemed tasty. The fresh fruit looked juicy, the cinnamon bagels had just popped out of the toaster with a delicious smell, and the stuff steaming in the pot on the range was steel-cut oatmeal, he was told. He was used to the instant stuff, but after tasting what his dads prepared, he found the nutty and crunchy combination much more appealing, and very much to his liking. The chopped dried dates his dad had thrown in while cooking provided a slight sweetness which made the stuff all the more enjoyable.

While eating, his dads discussed their tentative plans for the day with him. Brett suggested they take advantage of the beautiful weather by walking, and taking the Metro, instead of driving and having to deal with parking. Breakfast having been eaten and the kitchen picked up, all three headed upstairs to shower and dress. CJ was back in the kitchen, sipping on another cup of coffee, when his dads eventually joined him. The teen wore khaki cargo shorts, a red, Greenpeace t-shirt with Endangered Cuban Crocodile on it, and black and tan D&C shoes. The older men were similarly attired, wearing polo shirts instead of a tee, however, and hiking boots with thick socks reaching to the bottom of their calves for footwear.

Their first stop was at PNC Bank, on the corner of M Street, and Wisconsin Avenue. CJ, always interested in beautiful architecture, had admired the impressive classical style building, with the gilded cupola during his previous visits to Washington. He had discovered it once was the Georgetown location for Riggs Bank. After the troubled bank was sold in 2005, the new owners brought in Cristiano Pereira to run the branch. That was the man they were meeting with.

“It was great to hear from you guys last night and to find out CJ was back in town earlier than expected. Doc was damn excited this morning about having lunch with the three of you.” Chip Pereira stood as the three casually attired visitors were shown into his office by Dwayne, his administrative assistant.

The young, African American man, had at one point been made aware the two men were part of his boss’ close circle of friends. His daily responsibilities included monitoring accounts for selected clients who maintained a relationship with the bank. Particularly those with high balances of money in them. César and Brett were part of that small group of account holders. He was always attentive to and helpful with their needs. The two men always being pleasant and courteous, probably ensured the first-class treatment was not a hard chore for the admin.

Chip had met César after moving to the nation’s capital, during a get-acquainted reception at the bank for partners and senior managers, in large accounting and legal firms. PNC wanted to introduce the new branch manager to individuals who could refer business to the bank. When the banker began seeing Matt, a bank customer who was a friend of the accountant, Chip and César began socializing. Soon after, Brett entered the picture, and the two couples ended up going out together now and then. Eventually, all became close friends.

“Sit down, guys. Welcome back to Washington, CJ. Well, I guess with you here the Elite Eight will become the Nifty Nine for the summer?” referring to their close-knit group of friends.

“Hey, I’ve been to that website. Fucking hot stories!” CJ shook hands with the silver-haired banker. Realizing what he had said, he blushed and covered his mouth with his other hand while staring at the ground. He had met the banker the previous year while spending part of the summer vacation with his father and Brett.

“Well, I see the youngster will fit right in with you two perverts!” Chip grinned at them.

“Asshole!” His two clients spoke at the same time.

Chip received a quick summary of the previous week’s events and was promised a detailed version during their planned get-together on Sunday. He was surprised to hear the move was permanent and commented his other half would probably now start pestering him about his children living in New York, hoping to get them to D.C. more frequently. Matt loved kids and had developed a great rapport with Chip’s son, who was the same age as CJ. Over the next hour, they added the young man to his fathers’ household checking and credit card accounts, gave him a key to their safety deposit box, and finally, he was issued his first debit card ever. It would access funds in the new account opened for him, with a transfer of a thousand bucks from his fathers.

César explained in lieu of an allowance, they were authorizing transfers into his account, whenever the balance dipped below a pre-set amount. They would discuss what household chores he would be responsible for some time later. He should feel free to overspend in an emergency, the account carried overdraft protection. Smiling, he cautioned CJ in a way this was a test of his ability to handle finances, and extracted a promise to ask for help if in doubt. The adults had agreed to treat the teen as a grown-up and to trust his judgment whenever feasible.

“Hey, buddy, do you have a cell phone?” Chip reached for his laying atop the desk.

“Our next stop I think, correct, Dads?”

“Great! Here’s my card with all my numbers. The house one’s written on the back, but the mobile’s the best way to find me. I’ll have my assistant add you to my priority list so your calls will always be a priority. I’m looking forward to seeing you Sunday when we go out on the boat, and to hearing the rest of your story. I think you’re going to enjoy living in D.C. full time.

“Oh wow! Cristiano Humberto Israel Pereira, the first letters of all your names make up Chip! Sick!”

“Good looking, and smart, must take after his mother’s side of the family!” Chip‘s joke made César raise an eyebrow. “But I notice he uses that foreign language known as teen-speak, we may have problems understanding him sometimes.” The banker smiled, rose, and shook hands with all three men again, restating how much he looked forward to hanging out with them in two days.

Walking out of the bank, the perpetually horny kid noticed a hot redhead strolling in. The guy was about his height, with short rust-colored hair, and muscles all over. The polo shirt he wore was tightly stretched around his chest and biceps, offering up a nice display of his well-developed body.

“Stop drooling,” A smirking Brett nudged CJ. The kid’s face turned beet red with embarrassment once again.

César shook his head and sighed. “Come on, you two, let’s head over to Virginia. “If you can control yourselves, we’ll catch the train downtown.” The walk from Georgetown took approximately thirty minutes. The sky was clear of clouds, the sun was bright, and the Potomac, seen from Key Bridge as they strolled across it, shimmered and sparkled in the sunshine. Their next stop was the phone store. They would board the train at the Roslyn station to reach it. This was the closest place to their home where they could get on the Metro.

“How come there are no stations in Georgetown?” CJ asked. “Seems kinda silly what with all the students at the university and all the nice restaurants and stores in the area.”

The answer came from Brett, “I remember reading that back in the late sixties and early seventies, area residents opposed a station being built in the neighborhood when the system was planned. The expressed main fear was the train would bring large crowds to their quaint residential area, making it easier for criminal elements to reach their neighborhood. The commentary I read suggested there was an element of racism there. Georgetown has a very white population, unlike the rest of the District. Many of our neighbors have expressed regret over the stance taken at the time.”

During the ride, the Android vs iPhone conversation was rehashed. Even though most of CJ’s friends back in South Florida had iPhones, he was excited to get a new Samsung Galaxy S4, just like the one his dads used. He would have to get accustomed to the 202 area code, instead of the 305 he grew up with in Miami. The new phone was definitely a hit. As soon they put it in his hands, he was at the Google Play store downloading apps. He liked the unlimited everything plan just as much; his new number was added to his fathers’ account.

The morning’s final stop was the Smithsonian Museum administrative offices at The Castle. CJ was signed up as a Resident Partner, at an annual cost of twenty-five hundred dollars, to match the membership level held by both César and Brett. He was flabbergasted at the way his dads were throwing money around. His father was a partner in one of the gigantic accounting firms, but a young one, so not yet making the high salary that would come with seniority. Brett was a Captain in the Marine Corps, and CJ knew military personnel were underpaid in the United States. It was not even lunchtime and between the bank account, the phone, and the membership, they had spent almost four grand on him already. This was quite a change from his tight-fisted step-father, who watched every penny they spent. Rich was not a believer in wasting money on what he considered frivolous expenses. A top-of-the-line phone and a museum membership would qualify as such. CJ was worried.

“Hey, buddy, do you own a tux?” asked César.

“Are you kidding, Dad?” the boy replied, surprised. “I’ve never even had to wear one.”

“We’ll have to add one to the shopping list, but we’ll take care of it later. We need to go through your wardrobe. The Smithsonian membership will mean at least one black-tie event a year, and there’ll be a few more of them.”

“Dad, Papa, y’all are spending a lot of money on me. I don’t want to become a burden, considering how you guys weren’t even thinking of having me here full time.” CJ’s voice reflected the worry he was experiencing―this might all be too good to be true.

“I’ll handle this one.” Brett threw an arm over CJ’s shoulders. “Bud, I inherited some money from my grandpa when he died, we can discuss details at another time. Since what’s mine’s your dad’s, he’s also doing okay. My favorite accountant’s also very conveniently a financial wizard. He's invested wisely, making us some more money. We're both thrilled to have you with us, and I know your dad wants to try and make up for the lost time with you. You may as well get used to the idea you’re part of this family. We’re fine financially, and we take care of our own. Consider it our way of spending the money we didn't have to waste on diapers and babysitters. And a thank you for the fact you’re already housebroken. Now let’s go eat!”

Dr. Matthew Jason Calhoun strolled into the Castle Café looking more like an athlete than a physician. The rugged-looking man, with the mop of dirty blond hair, smiled when he saw his friends sitting down, and moved in their direction.

“Howdy boys, mighty fine to see y’all. Welcome back, kiddo,” drawled the southerner in his distinctive accent. On a previous trip, CJ had learned Uncle Matt had graduated from Auburn University and then gone to John Hopkins Medical School, in Baltimore. CJ had in time realized Doc was able to turn his Alabama sound off at will, but it naturally came out when he wasn’t paying attention or in a good mood. “I’ll enjoy visiting with you on a regular basis, bubba. Just had a call from Chip with the good news your move’s permanent.”

“Thanks, Uncle Matt! Like I told Chip a little earlier, I think I’m going to enjoy living in Washington, and hanging with you old farts until I can find some hotties my own age.”

“Ouch! You just placed one foot outside the closet, and you’re already vicious and thinking about sex?” Brett did not give CJ a chance to reply. “You do realize you depend on these old farts, right?

“You guys ain’t bad, Papa. Hell, for being old, you’re all in pretty good shape…”

“Asshole!” César and Brett were once again in synch.

They all picked that time to decide what they wanted to eat, as Mr. Just-Out-Of-The-Closet thought about his fathers, and their circle of friends he had met before. The Elite Eight Chip had referred to were four gay couples who seemed inseparable. Not a week went by they did not interact with each other in some way. The fact they were all smart, handsome, and in good shape, meant when together out in public, they caused the heads of men and women to constantly turn for a second look.

Add the real cool nicknames they all had, and it was like a gay boy’s wet dream. Would they call him Emperor Jr.? After all, he was named César, like his father was. He’d need to wear a jockstrap underneath his boards during their boating excursion. Getting a boner around these men would be so not cool; he would die of embarrassment.

Lunch was fun, and the food was good. César explained his son’s medical records would be available no later than the following week, and then he wanted the teen to have a complete and exhaustive physical. He and Brett were now entirely responsible for CJ’s well-being, and the exam was a way of establishing reference markers, in case of any future issues.

Doc had to get back to his office, so the four men finished their meal and headed out the door without much lingering over coffee. The Georgetown contingent retraced their steps, riding the Metro back to the station and walking across the Potomac. In front of their place, Brett asked CJ to follow him over to Yates Field House at the university for a little bit. César headed to Safeway on Wisconsin Avenue, to pick up groceries.

The teen was once again stunned at the money being spent on him; the gym membership at Yates was another grand for a year. He never lacked the basics while living with his mom and step-father, but this new lifestyle of the rich and famous was going to be a change he’d have to get used to.

Exhausted after all the running around, they took a long nap once back home. The young man was realizing walking and public transportation would be the primary ways of getting around in this town. That would be a change from the heavy reliance placed on automobiles in South Florida―his inner tree-hugger beamed.

That night they walked to Sea Catch restaurant for a great meal of hickory cured salmon as appetizers and grilled yellowfin tuna with fresh vegetables as the main dish. After dinner, they went to see Star Trek: Into Darkness; Brett was a diehard Trekkie. He insisted on seeing any new movie in the series on opening night.

As they climbed the stairs back home, CJ said good night, kissing his dads when they reached the second floor.

“Live long and prosper, young Abelló.” Brett bowed his head, as he and César headed up to their bedroom on the next floor.

“You’re mixing up your movies, Papa.”

On the way to work early Thursday, Brett smiled while twitching on the seat of his Road Glide. The tingling was a great reminder of the hot time he and César had enjoyed that morning―no wasting of morning wood at their home. They had both needed something to calm the jitters brought on by CJ’s impending arrival and by the cryptic message left by the boy’s mother. The uncut member between César’s legs was maybe not as big as the ones seen on porn actors, but it was plenty big enough. Whenever the marine played bottom boy, he’d feel the sting for the next few hours. The Latin man knew how to use his tool, which always left Brett extremely satisfied. The couple expressed their passion for each other sexually regularly. Their lovemaking was frequent and often spirited.

Tonight the roles were reversed. It was the Cuban-American’s turn to spread his legs and let his partner inside. The older man’s ass was still sensitive, long after they had disengaged, still somewhat stretched. He had been entered at a slow pace, both lying on their side. A position they enjoyed, since it allowed the passive one to be enveloped in the arms of his lover. The feeling of a hairy chest against their back was one they both enjoyed. The towel the lovers had laid down over their sheets, so that neither would have to sleep on the usual wet spot, soaked up the drips from both their softening members as César laid his head on Brett’s chest, ready to succumb to sleep.

“Not a bad day, Jarhead. Not a bad day at all. And what we just did was the cherry on top.”

“Uhhh, César? I hate to disappoint you, babe―I may have been on top but I lost my cherry a hell of a long time ago.” Brett’s whisper was delivered with a straight face.

“Duh! You’re such a blonde sometimes. But you’re my blonde, and I will always love you.”

“Thanks, Dolly. I love you too. Changing the subject for a minute, did you talk to the sex fiend?”

“The sex fiend? Is that what he is now?”

“Dude, Dragon and King spend more time fucking than a whore during Fleet Week.”

“Yeah, guess you have a point. And yes, I talked to him. He wants to explain their relationship to CJ when we get together. I said okay but reserved the right to stop it if we thought it was too much for the kid.”

“CJ’s tough. He’ll survive a few words and hopefully, he’ll learn something about how our friends are all different.”