That's the Chicago Way - 2. Chapter 2 - Breezes from the Lake

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

LSD is Lake Shore Drive, not lysergic acid diethyl amide, unless you’re talking to a drug dealer. In that case, LSD is lysergic acid diethyl amide, not Lake Shore Drive.

Chapter 2, BREEZES FROM THE LAKE

Jerry Franklin ran his fingers through his brush-cut black hair, then removed his tie and sighed as the condo elevator stopped at the 30^thfloor. Home was a double-sized condo overlooking Lake Shore Drive that he shared with his partner Bill Saunders and a lively seven-year-old Abyssinian cat.

It had been one of those days. But remembering Six Degrees of Separation he’d watched the previous evening with Bill brought on a smile. And with that separation connection in mind, Jerry recalled that some genealogist had discovered Dick Cheney was a very distant relative of President Obama. And it didn’t take too much imagination to guess where the crusty ex-VP would want Obama to plant a cousinly kiss if the opportunity arose.

‘And jeez, I could be less than six moves away from Sarah Palin. Better watch it or I’ll be saying, “You betcha, by golly,” and hanging out with the teabaggers.’ Jerry chuckled and entered the condo.

All was quiet except for a ‘meow’ in the distance. By the time he’d flicked on the hallway lighting, the feline had bounded onto the marble flooring and was rubbing against Jerry’s ankles with a guttural purr. Jerry reached down and briefly scratched Mr. Charlie’s neck.

“Hey, bub. Did you stay out of trouble today?”

While he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, Jerry marveled at his solid group of friends of all ages that had expanded since Bill and he had met those crazy four years earlier. They were exceptional and interesting guys from similar backgrounds. Jerry wasn’t a snob; he just tended to hang with bright people who had similar pedigrees. ‘In these insane times,’ he decided, ‘this nuclear family is as important as my biological one.’

Heading his Franklin Associates management consultant group provided Jerry with good exposure for attracting valuable business acquaintances. And being part of the well-known Franklin clan added unsolicited luster; his physician dad and philanthropic mom were visible within several charities and prominent boards. These factors made for easy entry into Chicago’s networking system and he was always working the crowd, be it at a must-attend theater or music event, the East Bank Club, an Art Institute opening, or a popular restaurant du jour.

The beginning of the current branch of his life journey occurred almost five years earlier when he’d run into a hot young dude, deliciously full of himself, on Michigan Avenue while they were waiting for the pedestrian light to turn white. It was a game of cat and mouse – or perhaps dog and pup? – all the way to Jerry’s converted coach house condo, his residence at the time. Nature took its randy course as soon as they were behind closed doors with shed clothing strewn in a path leading upstairs to the master bedroom.

The affairette was brief, but the end result – Freudian pun aside – was the chance meeting with Bill shortly thereafter. The courting ritual ensued and, voilà, the rest was history. In the process, Bill introduced him to an even broader mix of Chicago connections, as well as a fun group of D.C. politicos of both stripes.

On the sibling front was his younger married brother, who became friends with another physician-to-be Russ Bennett while they were attending medical school at Northwestern. Russ, originally from Minnesota, had then found love with a bright man who was later hired to work at Franklin Associates. ‘It’s a small world’ syndrome had struck again. However, Russ’s lover moved back to Memphis after Jerry had been forced to ‘downsize’ him the previous year when the consulting business went south with the economy; hunky Doctor Russ was now a single man.

At the time, there had been speculation that all had not been well in that relationship and the lover’s loss of his job was a face-saver for the two guys to split. While silently agreeing with the gossip, Jerry stayed clear of the rumor mill because Russ, Bill and he were very tight.

There was no need to turn on more lights in the kitchen because of the abundant natural light. The large open area was a result of an earlier remodeling project that involved knocking down a few walls and using a former guest bedroom for more space. Beyond the island counter was an all-purpose ‘family room’ that contained a round table and chairs for casual dining, and a den area with a large flatscreen television that hung above the fireplace.

He removed his suit jacket and rested it on the back of a kitchen bar stool, as well as the tie. Jerry untucked his Turnbull and Asser shirt, rolled up his sleeves and moved on to the den area. There was a notable sigh as he plopped his six-foot frame onto the sofa, slipped off his tassel loafers and rested his feet on the granite coffee table. ‘Gotta get serious about getting to the gym more frequently.’ Jerry patted his tummy; he knew that his waistline was expanding a little from the slight tightness of his pants. All of them. ‘Time to watch the calories and spend more time on the unforgiving elliptical trainer.’ At 34…officially in early middle-age…he wasn’t ready to give up and let the body bulge win the battle.

A touch of the clicker brought up the mid part of ABC7’s early evening news on his flatscreen TV – just in time to catch allegations concerning the Marvin Revson breaking story. All in vivid HD. The key word used was a guarded alleged and someone close to the mayor – the last thing Channel 7 or the NewWord needed was a lawsuit pissing contest. And the Revsons would avoid a potential scandal running amuck at all costs. ‘I wonder how deep the other guy is into this?’

The only name that had a possible match was Sean O’Reilly. Jerry’s firm had done some consulting work for SOR Holdings – strictly management streamlining – the previous year and casually knew the guy. He recalled O’Reilly was adament that the company’s accounting procedures weren’t to be analyzed in any report. There was a certain determined deviousness about the man that had made Jerry go into a very guarded defensive mode at the time. As a result, he had his associates document everything on the job.

He felt Rob Cooke handled the reporting well. ‘I’ll be sure and check out the NewWord website tomorrow morning first thing.’ He and Bill were close friends with the male anchor and they watched Rob whenever they tuned in to the local news.

The segue by Rob to the weather guy was timed perfectly for some much needed mixology magic – Absolut Citron, Cointreau and cranberry juice were within easy reach to whip up a cosmopolitan. The only messy part was squeezing the fresh lime. From the wetbar, Jerry casually glanced at the cityscape: the stillness of Lake Michigan, the hundreds of boats moored in Diversey Harbor, the lushness of Lincoln Park and the signature cluster of skyscrapers in the distance. The remainder of the evening rush hour traffic snaked its way northbound while an almost equal number of vehicles flowed south toward Chicago’s hub of restaurants and theaters. He combined the ingredients into a shaker, popped on the cover and shook vigorously. A taste resulted in a single pronouncement, “Delish.” He sipped one more sample of the cosmo and then poured the remainder of the cocktail makings into another stemmed glass. Bill had just called and announced he was pulling into the garage; it would be only a few minutes before the nightly ritual of unwinding began. Show and tell time.

Mr. Charlie softly purred and rubbed his golden-brown, short hair on Jerry’s ankles. He then looked up at Jerry and stared with his big round eyes. These actions were a combination of reminding the human that it was feeding time and to very briefly acknowledge thanks for providing room and board. Oh, a clean kitty litter box was probably also appreciated. And although the Aby possessed traits of a friendly personality and spontaneous playfulness in spades, a typical cat’s what-have-you-done-for-me-lately attitude always lurked in the background.

“Time for some grub?” Jerry asked. He stooped for a moment and rubbed Mr. Charlie’s neck again – this was the cat’s second-favorite petting gesture. Number one was scratching under the jaw. A reactive back arch was followed by a quick lick of Jerry’s hand. The cat then trotted over to his water dish for a couple of wet tongue laps. Jerry rinsed out the food bowl and opened a can of organic chicken and turkey mix that they ordered from PetSmart. The main meal in the evening, plus a handful of dry food in the morning, seemed to suit Mr. Charlie just fine.

With a cocked head and a twitching tail, Mr. Charlie watched as Jerry scooped the food out of the can and chopped it into looser chunks.

“There you go, pal. Dig in.” As Jerry set the food bowl next to the water, he heard the front door open. He shouted out to the hallway, “Just finished mixing your favorite cranberry juice potion and our son is busy wolfing down dinner.”

Hey, Babe.” Bill replied in a loud voice. “Gimme a sec to drop off some homework in the office. Be right there. Fix some cheese, would you? I’m famished.”

‘Fix’ meant setting out Brie, a tub of cheddar spread and whatever veined-blue cheese – Stilton, Gorgonzola or Bleu d'Auvergne headed the list – was on hand, along with Wheat Thins.

After prepping the cheese platter and adding a few slices of duck pate, Jerry turned the lighting to a dim level and placed the food on the coffee table. Next, he switched off the TV and turned on the stereo. One of their favorite iTunes downloads was the Afterplay album by jazz pianist Brian Kelly. With the wall washing lights splashing on the art and a hint of the skyline in the background beyond the windows, this room could be very romantic. On several occasions it had been, and the black leather couch always recovered. No fuss or muss that a little LTT Leather Shampoo couldn’t handle.

“Ummm, good sounds to go along with my man and a libation,” Bill said, as he entered the room. Like Jerry, he’d removed his coat and tie. “And after cocktails, maybe we can order in some Thai?”

The two men contrasted with compatibility: Jerry’s blend of central European and Irish darker features, and Bill’s Anglo-Saxon, blue-eyed waspiness; Jerry’s attention to detail and Bill’s analytical mind; Jerry’s culinary adventurousness and Bill’s quest for underrated wines. Each enjoyed being active at the Art Institute and attending CSO concerts. However, opera was where they drew the line. Bill didn’t have that gay gene and always passed during the Lyric Opera season. Likewise, Bill was an avid Bulls fan but he couldn’t drag Jerry to a basketball game – even if they were serving foie gras and Cristal in the VIP box.

Jerry opened his arms for their usual embrace after being apart for a while – a warm, strong hold that lasted several moments. It was a silent reassurance of the other’s presence, spiritually and physically, a seal of approval on their partnership.

Mr. Charlie briefly looked up, licked his lips and returned to dinner.

“I could get into Thai tonight.” Jerry nodded approvingly, picked up the cocktail glasses and offered one to Bill.

“Thanks.” Bill took a sip and asked, “Hmmm, Thai. Anyone I know?”

“Har, har, Mr. Saunders. Or should I say Seinfeld?”

“It’s the best I can do on short notice.” Bill grinned and took a small bow.

“Well, grab your ‘short notice’ and take a load off.” Jerry took Bill’s free hand and led him to the couch.

“Yes, Sir,” Bill replied with a mock military briskness. He sat down and slipped off his shoes. “So, whazzup?”

“Fresh lime in the cosmo and the Brie’s properly runny.” Jerry raised his cocktail and watched as Bill did the same. “Cheers.” He always looked forward to these personal moments when they tossed the day’s baggage aside and enjoyed each other.

“Prost.” Bill sipped and nodded his approval. “Been home for a while?”

“Got in maybe twenty minutes ago. Caught part of the news and Rob had a fascinating story involving Anthony Revson, his brother, Marv, and an unidentified person close to the mayor.”

“What’s creepy Tony done now? Isn’t he in jail?”

“Officially, he’s somewhere in protective custody…whatever that means. Until Rob mentioned it, I’d forgotten that Tony hasn’t been sentenced, even though he was convicted two years ago. No wonder people around the country just shake their heads when Chicago politics is mentioned.”

“With our ex-governor cavorting around on reality TV shows and making goofy comments to anyone who’ll listen, what makes you say that?” Bill asked with a smile.

“And Blago’s defense attorney calling him ‘not the sharpest knife in the drawer’ in summation at the trial?” Jerry shrugged and shook his head. “When the jury found him guilty of lying to the F.B.I., the only thing missing was a clown car in front of the Federal Building…”

“…With all of the local press piling out. So brother Marv’s fucked up this time?”

“Allegedly,” Jerry replied, while making the universal quote sign with his fingers. “Apparently, he’s a silent partner with an infamous Mr. X in a couple of businesses that aren’t quite kosher. The only guy I can come up with is Sean O’Reilly.”

“Sean? Isn’t that closet queen making enough big bucks without getting involved with those bozos?”

Jerry shrugged and said, “Who knows. Maybe he got sucked into the never-too-much-money syndrome. The first allegation is pretty simple. A trucking company – and one of Sean’s holdings is a trucking operation – may have gotten a sweetheart contract from the city. And this company may have been paying dummy invoices to another company they secretly own together.”

“More slippery than creepy,” Bill said with a snicker, as he sliced a couple wedges of Brie. He handed one to Jerry and munched on the other with a cracker.

“To the max.” Jerry paused to wolf down the cheese. “But there are no specific charges. I got the impression that the evidence may be pretty weak at this point.”

“But there must be something simmering for ABC and the Word to be making noises,” Bill said. “Like a very busy money laundromat.’’

“That’s attracting some unwanted attention…but who knows where the money really goes. And I suspect there’ll be fall guys who filter a direct hit to the mayor if it’s ever proven. The proverbial crap will hit the fan when the full story comes out in tomorrow’s Word. It’s the Chicago way and people just can’t seem to get enough of this stuff. Rob did a great job dangling just enough of a tease to rev up everyone’s curiosity.”

“Including City Hall. I’m sure a scandal is the last thing our mayor needs before retirement. I’ll be sure and pick up a copy of the Word in the morning at Starbuck’s.”

A natural pause allowed the guys to explore the other cheeses and enjoy a little more of the cosmo kick. In the background, Brian Kelly was going through some melodic piano riffs in the upper register.

“Ya gotta admit that life’s never dull in our town. But then, you’re never dull either.” Bill smiled and added, “Speaking of Rob, are we set for dinner this weekend? Did Russ Bennett R.S.V.P.?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. He called me at the office today and is bringing a date…a doctor friend who he works with at the hospital.”

“Anything serious?” Jerry asked.

“Naw. Maybe a fuck buddy…but that’s about it.”

“Two hot studs romping around in scrubs? That could turn me on.” Jerry shook his head and laughed.

“In your dreams,” Bill replied. “ Anyway, they’re bringing dessert. Some sort of upside down apple thing with gooey caramel…his words.”

“But it does sound yummy,” Bill replied. “And we’ve got a bottle of Dolce Late Harvest that will pair up nicely.”

“Whoa…this whole conversation is pushing my appetite button. Let’s move on to dinner.” Jerry got up and sipped his drink. “You want one more cosmo?”

“One more anything would do me in tonight. I’m going to stick with water.” Bill picked up the cheese platter and followed Jerry to the kitchen. “Shall I call Azha and put in our usual order?” Usual meant several appetizers – barbequed chicken satays with peanut sauce, veggie pot stickers, crab wontons, spring rolls – and spicy fried rice.

“How about adding one of those cucumber salads? I think I’ll make one more cosmo for myself. You want tap water or Evian?”

Bill finished his drink and said, “To hell with the water, fill me up…you twisted my arm. I’ll call the order in from the office and change into something casual.” Bill set down his glass, playfully swatted Jerry’s butt and walked to the hallway.

“Excellent. I’m doing the same thing after I make the drinks.” Casual wear in their household usually meant tee-of-the-day and shorts.

Jerry stored the cheese in the refrigerator and repeated his cocktail production with just ‘a tad’ upsizing of the ingredients. In addition to cosmopolitans, margaritas and the various versions of martinis – shaken not stirred – were the bulk of the Franklin-Saunders spirits selections. Plus they always had chardonnay or a decent-aged cabernet sauvignon handy for themselves and their wino friends, as well as several bottles of Stella Artois beer. ‘Thank God we installed two Sub-Zeros,’ he thought while sampling the latest cosmo batch, ‘or we’d never have enough room.’ The two cocktail glasses stood side by side as the pinkish liquid flowed into the vessels. ‘Perfect.’ Jerry rinsed out the cocktail shaker, grabbed his jacket and tie, and left to change into something more comfortable.

At the doorway of their master bedroom, he admired the bare backside of Bill as he pulled up a pair of cargo shorts. As his lover’s fuzzy buns disappeared, Jerry was again reminded why the physical part of their relationship worked so well. ‘Also perfect.’

~~~~~

Rob Cooke hung his dark suit coat in the locker he used and quickly brushed his teeth. The men’s facilities reserved for ‘talent’ could be more accurately described as a powder room with urinals. Applying MAC Studio Fix side by side with the macho sports guy always cracked him up. After washing off his makeup and dabbing on some moisturizer, he checked his hair and decided to ruffle it up a little. ‘No reason to be TV perfect in person after hours.’ He wanted to shed his on-air persona and come off as a regular guy. Whatever was going to happen later would be between two horny men…not a local semi-celebrity being serviced by an eager starfucker.

After hours. It still wasn’t too late to cancel and go home to his snoozing partner. Getting off could very easily be postponed until the following morning with DudeTube’s selection of the day on his laptop, a dab of Wet and a firm grip. At 35, the urge was very much still there…just not as urgently. And having a great man at home who loved him trumped taking indiscriminate action on shaving one’s horns most of the time. On and in the other hand – pun intended – a very hot dude who seemed to know what he wanted had initiated that evening’s hunt. And Kris understood the rules of this rendezvous; during the dinner break at The Frog Pond, Rob had been very clear that this would be a one-time thing to deal with each of their fantasies.

“Have a good one,” he said by rote as the guard at the security desk said, “Good night, Mr. Cooke.” These guys seemed to change frequently and Rob couldn’t remember if the guard’s name was Sam or Jamal. He made a note to find out, so he could connect with these valuable dudes on a level playing field. In addition to wanting to be friendly, this also came under the title of having a uniform – albeit rent-a-cops – ready to cover your back late at night by watching the security camera monitors when Rob departed after the broadcast.

It was 10:45 p.m. and the well-lit garage, except for a car idling several spaces away, was quiet. Nevertheless, he thanked his rising star status and contract clout for getting a reserved parking space close to the studio’s back door entrance. Rob was used to defensive urban living – taking extra precautions to avoid potential messy situations when alone at night anywhere was common sense in any major metropolis, especially in a city that doubled for Batman’s Gotham City in the movies. Dark areas and being alone were ingredients for big trouble.

The Union Square Lofts on West Hubbard were a quick five-minute drive from the studio and Rob lucked out finding street parking across the street from the converted factory building. The neighborhood had evolved from worn out industrial structures to upscale residences, restaurants and shops, now referred to as River West. ‘Pretty sweet.’ He slid out of his Prius and locked the door with his remote. He’d been inside this loft condo once or twice for parties and had been impressed with the amenities. ‘Hardly a student flophouse. Ole Kris must have some family money to afford this.’

On the intercom they exchanged scratchy audible greetings and Kris buzzed Rob into the lobby. A slow elevator brought him up to the fifth floor and his new friend was waiting at a doorway about 20 feet away, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in only a pair of white CK boxer briefs and a plump VPL bulge left very little to the imagination.

Window dude – that nickname would probably be around for a long time – turned on a broad grin for Rob and beckoned with a slight nod of his head.

Rob paused for a moment and took in the vision before him. It was a slightly different Kris, one who now bordered somewhere between a contemporary, erotic come-hither look and Partridge family wholesomeness of the 70’s. A little wisp of a treasure trail led down into the waistband and, Rob assumed, on to the bunched up package behind the cotton material. He hoped the pube area wasn’t shaved. Kris’s body was generally smooth; a natural slimness that suggested working out just enough to keep everything in shape. As he walked closer, Rob noticed that Kris had trimmed back his beard to create more of an extended five-o’clock shadow look. ‘Nice.’

“Hi, again,” Kris said when Rob stopped at the doorway. He leaned up and gave Rob a quick peck on the lips. “Had to get that out of the way. Come on in.”

One of the ground rules mentioned earlier was no kissing. Jamming tongues in mouths was considered lovemaking and Rob reserved that intimacy for only one person.

“Thanks.” Rob casually dragged his hand across Kris’s stomach as he stepped inside. He could already feel a stirring from the initial physical contact as he turned around in the small foyer. In the background was a song he didn’t recognize. ‘Is that Rihanna singing?’ he wondered. The added glimpse of Kris’s buns as he closed the door was the dealmaker. “Tasty.”

“What?” Kris asked as he turned around.

“Just commenting on the obvious, Mr. Lamacki. You look awfully good in your Calvin’s…I like.”

“That’s the idea.” Kris took Rob’s hand and led him into the living room. “Got time for a beer?”

“Absolutely. And no glass, please.” Rob watched him walk into the open kitchen – the tight butt working just enough to be flirtatious. Rob sat down on the sofa and checked out the sparsely furnished loft space. From what he saw, and guessing the size of the bedroom, it appeared that the condo was around a thousand square feet. ‘Just right for a single person.’

With a ceiling at least twelve feet in height, the living area’s size was magnified. One of the walls was raw brick with a large gold-framed mirror that hung offset to the right of an antiqued wood cabinet on which a hand-blown bowl rested. The concrete floor had an acid stain that brought out a rust hue – Rob decided it worked well with the sage fabric on the sofa and the dark brown leather easy chairs. ‘So different from our place.’ A couple of framed Art Institute posters in the dining area softened the modern starkness of the glass-topped table and Eiffel cone chairs. ‘It all works in a minimalist way.’

He also concluded that Kris was not a simple, ‘wham-bam-thank-you’ dude, and hoped this young man wouldn’t let his complex texture get in the way of a nice fuck with no strings attached. As Kris re-entered the living area, carrying two bottles of Coors Light, a new music track confirmed that the artist was Rihanna. Rob knew she was singing Rude Boy.

Come here rude boy, boy
Can you get it up
Come here rude boy, boy
Is you big enough
Take it, take it
Baby, baby
Take it, take it
Love me, love me

“Good music,” Rob said. He accepted a beer and watched Kris sit down next to him. Just close enough to invade personal space.

“You’re a fan of Rihanna’s?” Kris raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his beer. “Wouldn’t have dreamed it.”

Tonight
I’mma let you be the captain
Tonight
I’mma let you do your thing, yeah
Tonight
I’mma let you be a rider
Giddy up
Giddy up
Giddy up, babe

“Hey, buddy, ease up. I may be older…but I’m not an old fart.” Rob smiled and sipped his beer. He let out a satisfying sigh and added, “Rude Boy always cracks Rick and me up.” It was important to slip Rick’s name into the conversation…just as a reminder that he was taken. “But a little bit of this song goes a long way.”

So giddy up
Time to giddy up
You say you’re a rude boy
Show me what you got now
“Good point.” Kris used the remote, turned down the music and took a long pull of beer. “And we certainly aren’t here for the music.” He scooted a little closer, circled his finger on Rob’s knee and asked, “You think I’m being a little bold?”

“Bold? No. I’m flattered you’d find an older guy like me cougar material.” Rob laughed at the idea, and lifted his bottle in a toast. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Old? Naw. Maybe my dad is – he’s approaching fifty. With you, the age difference isn’t any big deal. I like men who are mature and sure of themselves; most of my school friends don’t cut the mustard in that department. And although you’re a few years older than my usual M.O. – the ideal guy is usually around thirty years of age – you’re a smart guy and have your act together.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rob said.

“It is. Oh, I realize that I’m sometimes full of myself…but most guys my age don’t know how to handle that. I mean…I’ve got friends who still think it’s cool to wear their cap backwards, and don’t get me started on the whole exposed butt crack thing. ”

“Ha. You haven’t seen me when I work out at the gym.”

“Hmm, the cap or your butt crack?”

“Probably both on occasion,” Rob replied.

“That I wouldn’t mind.” Kris wiggled his eyebrows. “But here’s the deal: you seem to be squared away, very successful in my proposed career and mucho sexy. In my humble opinion.” Kris brushed his hands a couple of times and shrugged. “And what I did…scoping you out for a little play time…kind of allows me to experience my little fear game.”

Rob was curious where this was going but did agree that someone Kris’s age probably wasn’t ready for him. ‘Probably for the best that this is just a fast hit and run?’ he thought. “Um, experience a little fear?”

“Oh, don’t freak out. It’s just that fear works as part of the total arousal for me. Probably goes back to rebelling against my parents in a passive way when they got divorced.”

“Whoa, rebelling and fear,” Rob said. “I don’t quite understand.”

“Nothing too deep. I sometimes enhance getting off by fantasizing about playing with fire in a sexual way. It originally was a way – in my head – at getting back at the ‘rents’ for splitting. But enough of all this Freudian crap. I’m basically a pretty normal guy and any problems I had with them have long disappeared. In fact, my dad set me up here because I came through with a great G.P.A.” Kris stood and offered his hand to Rob.

“So, if I have this right, you like to act out a fantasy of doing something that would’ve been considered a no-no when you were younger?”

“You got it, Sigmund,” Kris said with a grin. “And the bonus is there are no emotional complications. I admit it’d be nice to have a boyfriend down the road. But right now, it’s all about getting it on…or off. I’m fine that you’re totally committed and that this is just a little fun fling. But right now, I think it’s only fair that you lose a few pieces of clothing.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Rob decided to let this younger but wise guy take the lead and see where it took them. ‘But I’ve got one bull’s-eye in mind…at some point.’ At the restaurant, they’d briefly touched on each other’s turn-ons and agreed that tried and true vanilla sex was the preferred level of ‘getting it on.’ While chaps, harnesses, codpieces and the other accoutrements of the leather crowd might be hot to see on a muscled hunk, both men admitted they were pretty conservative in bed. It was agreed that neither man needed extra toys, bells or whistles to achieve a mind-blowing orgasm.

With Kris’s grip as an assist, Rob stood. Kris slowly unbuttoned the dress shirt and let Rob remove it. Next, came the first button of Rob’s 501’s. By the second button, Rob had toed off his shoes. On the third button, Kris slid down the jeans and Rob stepped out of the denim puddle. After kicking the jeans aside, Rob quickly took off his socks.

“There, now we’re even,” Rob said, with a small bow. He looked down beyond his furry, flat belly and saw that his half-hard dick was plumping and creeping to the left. ‘Like Old Faithful.’

“And this answers the all important question, boxers or briefs.”

“But the most important question is…cut or not? And there’s only one way to find out.” Rob hooked his thumbs in his white briefs waistband and pulled them down. ‘Wow, it feels good to be free,’ he thought, kicking his CK’s aside, ‘and playing out this little scene is a complete turn-on.’ He could feel himself growing. “Time to show and tell, pal.”

“This sure ain’t nothing like the show and tell in grade school,” Kris replied. “I can do that and match you.” He duplicated Rob’s move and added, “The doc got both of us…but it looks like he had more to work with on yours.” He took Rob’s cock with a firm but gentle grip and stroked it a few times. “Hmm, I love holding another dick. So alike and so different at the same time.”

Manipulating and waking up Rob’s penis was Kris’s signal that it was time to move beyond erotic turn-ons and get into some serious foreplay. Skin to skin. Kris reached down with his other hand and slowly rolled Rob’s balls around in his nut sac.

“Oh, fuck,” Rob growled, breathed deeply and thrust his groin.

Kris smiled at Rob’s guttural noises. His slight nervousness about aggressively coming on to Rob faded away. “Just for the record, I’m kind of a take-charge guy.”

“An alpha male?” Rob asked. “I can go with the flow…but I’m no pushover.”

Kris shifted gears. He knelt and let his tongue explore Rob’s full-blown erection. Several laps around Rob’s knob, focusing on the G-spot underside produced a few dribbles of natural lubricant.

Rob let out a pleasured groan as Kris went into oral mode.

‘It’s pretty obvious that Kris loves sucking cock and getting a blowjob is right on so many levels. No doubt he has a fascination about my job and me. But I’m no slouch in the looks department and my dick’s okay. Nothing humongous…but the kid seems to be enjoying it.’

A deep throat move – with Kris’s nose brushing against Rob’s trimmed pubs – produced a deep growl from Kris. Moments later, Rob put his hands on Kris’s head as a signal to stop. He put his hands under Kris’s pits and gave him an assist in getting up.

“Nice warm-up, stud. But I’m sure the concrete floor is tough on the knees.” Rob pinched Kris’s nipples and added, “And it’s time for me to have a taste.”

“For Act Two I suggest my bedroom.” Kris grabbed Rob’s hand and led him to the closed door just beyond the kitchen area. After opening the door and standing aside, he said, “Voila. Welcome to my private chamber.” The ‘chamber’, dimly lit by a lamp on the bedside table, was large enough for a queen-sized bed, the usual bedroom furniture, and a desk. Anchored on the wall was a Sony flatscreen TV.

“As long as you don’t use a chamber pot,” Rob replied, with a chuckle. He walked into the room and firmly cupped his hand on the nearest butt cheek.

“No, Sir. I’ve got all the modern conveniences should you need them. There’s a spittoon over in the corner. Joking.” Kris gave way when Rob pulled him to the bed by his butt and took the lead by jumping on it. A couple of large bath towels were spread out on the bed.

Rob noticed the bottle of Eros Silicone lube and a handful of Trojan condoms sitting on the bedside table. “You’ve been a busy boy getting this chamber ready.”

“What can I tell you…the Boy Scout motto to always be prepared is a useful guide in my young, lustful life.” Kris scooted into the middle of the bed, spread his legs and rested his arms behind his head.

After an initial return of oral favors, the two men flipped around, went through the ‘69’ ritual and brought each other to the edge a couple of times. Rob wasn’t rough and Kris seemed to enjoy the way his body was being explored and manipulated. When it came time to move on to the next and final act, Rob was concerned over Kris’s comfort at being invaded. One finger, two fingers…it was good. It was obvious Kris was not a virgin.

“You feel comfortable?” Rob asked.

“Absolutely. Depending on the mood, I’m pretty versatile.” Kris rolled a condom on Rob’s eager cock and lubed the sheathed erection.

With his legs resting on Rob’s shoulders, Kris was entered with the precision of a piston. At first, slow strokes. Then came a good, old-fashioned power fuck. Drilling, thrusting, pounding, pausing, sweating, grunting. Each man fully immersed in volleys of dirty talking. And with some direction and timing they came at the same time.

A wet cloth cleaned Rob, and they stayed in the bed for a few moments before Rob had to leave. The usual inane was-it-good-for-you banter wasn’t necessary because both men knew it was a terrific tumble. When it was time to get dressed, Kris merely wrapped a towel around his waist while Rob collected his strewn clothing in the living room.

“Kris, you rock...pardon the pun,” Rob said at the door. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, if I can be of any assistance in answering questions about my goofy profession, please call. And maybe later this fall you can meet Rick and we’ll all go out for dinner.”

“I’d like that…I mean it’d be great to get together, but the idea of us all becoming friends…well, that’s huge.”

“I run with a tight group and you’d enjoy getting to know some of them. Time for a hug and I gotta get going.” Rob pulled them together and this time he was the one to initiate a lip peck.

“Drive safely, chief.” Kris opened the door and watched Rob walk towards the elevator. “Super evening and very hot.”

Rob turned and flashed a thumbs-up. “Caliente, buddy. We’ll talk soon.”

“Fabulously terrific,” Rob said to himself as he exited the building. The idea of Rick and him getting to know Kris as a younger friend was appealing. ‘The kid is twenty-one going on forty.’

As he got closer to his Prius, something didn’t seem right. “Oh, fuck.” The tires on the driver’s side were flat, giving his car a listing effect to the port side.

He looked around and didn’t see anyone. ‘Well, it is after midnight.’ On the windshield was something under the wiper blade. ‘Certainly can’t be a ticket,’ he thought as he reached for the piece of paper. It was non-descript printer paper folded in half. Rob unfolded the paper and stared at the hand printed words:

NICE STORY ASSHOLE. KEEP IT UP AND YOU GET HURT!

Rob scanned the area again to make sure he wasn’t in danger. Time to take action. He went back to the condo lobby and buzzed Kris.

“Yes?” came a weary voice.

“Got a problem with my car. Would you mind if I came back up and made a few calls?” Rob didn’t want to alarm Kris – but he wanted a safe harbor rather than staying in the street. ‘Someone musta followed me from the station.’ He then remembered the other car – either a Honda or a Toyota – in the garage with someone in it when he left.

“Sure. I’m going to leave my door open cuz I’m showering. Okay?”

“More than fine. See you in a few.” Rob walked into the lobby as soon as he was buzzed in and started to prioritize his calls. 911 first, then information. He was sure that John Kess would also be a target, but he didn’t have his home or cell number with him.

_____________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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