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, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state 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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FoR SaLE By OwNEr 65 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"So what do you think?" Kyle asks Scotty as they head down the elevator from Chef van Oijen's lux apartment.
"I think Neil needs to get out of there, is what I think!"
He meant about the cooking class, but Kyle couldn't say he didn't have partial thoughts about what Scotty was dwelling on at the moment. "Yeah. I know, but who are we to judge when we don't know the facts, Scotty?"
"True," he seemed to settle for, then confronted Kyle, "that's why you've got to find out."
"Me? And why do we... me.. I have to find out? You suspect something foul?"
"You tell me, Kyle. It's like Neil is some kind of indentured servant. I mean, look how his uncle treated him in front of us?"
"I know."
As they crossed the lobby, one of the security guards was watching a small Tv.
"Hold it, hold it!" Kyle called out.
It's then the two realized it, Scotty calling out, "Isn't that the Coffee Bean?"
It's the security guard whom told the scene as if a Tv reporter, "Building next door had a gas leak. There was an explosion and apparently it blew out the wall next door."
There was a lump in Kyle's throat when he asked, "Anybody... um, hurt?"
"No fatalities as far as they can tell," the guard reported.
It was Scotty who took the helm, finding out from the security guard medics were transporting some injured to St. Vincent's Hospital. It didn't take long for Kyle to get there, treating every red or yellow light as if green. At least four times, Scotty called out, "Oh my God, Kyle! Didn't you see the red light?" when he breezed through it, a few times having some close calls. But when they arrived at the hospital, Kyle didn't give a damn about parking right in front of the hospital, in a yellow lined `taboo' area. He could care less if his car was towed to Timbuktu! What was deemed as an unfortunate situation for the two, the lobby packed solid with medics, police, medical personnel and shouting like it was a three-ringed circus, it was Scotty who took the lead, wrapping his arm around Kyle to form a bond in order not to lose him. They got half way through the crowd when from behind Kyle's shirt was grabbed. It was like an animal's
attack, dragging it's victim back to it's lair. Only instead of a ferocious beast, it was...
"Swifty?"
"Yeah. Come on. I know why you're here."
They didn't question, but followed Swifty's direction. For now Scotty still held onto Kyle, in case bad news was around the corner.
As soon as Swifty opened the door, Kyle made a beeline for the hospital bed. "Alex!" Scotty's leash couldn't contain Kyle, as he bolted to Alex's side. "We heard what happened! I'm so glad you are okay!"
But Alex wasn't okay, especially when he saw Scotty standing there.
He wanted to say something, but Scotty beat him to it, "Um, is Michael around... here... someplace?"
Much like himself, Alex didn't want to be the bringer of bad news. Before he said anything a lump became lodged in his throat and tears formed at his eye ducts.
"Alex?" Kyle questioned him.
In between the tears he whined, "Michael... he... he didn't get out."
"But they said..." Scotty said, wanting to believe what the security guard told them.
Kyle instead informed Alex, "They said there were no fatalities."
True to his name, Swifty was right there, paper and pencil in hand, asking, "Who is it you're looking for? They brought in like forty people on stretchers. They could be..."
But it was Kyle taking on the patriarchic role, telling Swifty, "Forget the names. You've got an in around here. Let us make the rounds!"
"Let's go," Swifty didn't hesitate.
And as Kyle thought, Swifty was their magic key, gliding right past security, acknowledging each one as if a long lost friend, some of them stepping aside with comment, "Okay but you owe me Swif!"
From room to room they toured, each one producing an identity other than that of eighteen year old Michael Coelho. They had to check charts when a man lay in bed wrapped up like a mummy. Swifty's charm wouldn't work here, the room unaccessible to anyone but hospital personal. But the chart read a woman's name and not a man's.
"Thank God!" Scotty said, even though he wasn't too keen on going to church.
For the second time, Scotty panicked, Kyle not far from it when a covered gurney was rolled down the hallway. They would have cared for the orderly to stop and them take a look, but out of the mouth of one of the orderlies came, "Poor old guy."
Neither said it, but hoped they would not come across anymore sheet-covered gurneys with shapes of a human figures underneath.
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"I didn't particularly care for your attitude in the kitchen this afternoon," Norman van Oijen said as he allowed his eighteen year old nephew unbutton the front of his shirt.
Standing there, Neil's uncle stood still as Neil pulled the shirt from the dress slacks and opend the front, revealing chest and stomach of golden hair.
"I think I've treated you rather fairly since you came to live me. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, sir," Neil replied, as he has been taught. He walked around his uncle, taking the shirt by the collar, pulling it down, allowing it to fall from his uncle's shoulders and removing it.
"Too much starch this time," Norman dictated as Neil folded it carefully and placed it on a pile of other clothing items to take to the cleaners. "So tell me. What was it you and Kyle Dryfiss talked about in the kitchen?"
"Not much," Neil replied. The uncourteous, uninformative response earned the teen an elbow to the stomach. After belching air out, he fell to his knees, holding his middle with both arms.
"When I ask a question I expect an answer young man! Do you understand?" He talked down to Neil, still trying to catch his breath. "Now get up and take your punishment like a man!"
It wouldn't be the first time Neil regretted falling victim to running with the wrong crowd during his high school years back in Maryland. Often he thought about running away from home, but before he could his father had decided to place him in a boarding school. It lasted one semester before he got into trouble again, this time with drugs and drinking. Instead of coming home for Thanksgiving, he went on a trip with some of the other seventeen and eighteen year old boys and wound up in jail. It was the fortunate thing about being the son of Senator van Oijen, but a curse for a troubled teen who felt alone all his life, alienated from a family who surrounded him with money rather than love. Now he was paying the price, sent off to live with his uncle. His father couldn't tame him, so informed Neil this was his last chance. Unknowing to what he was getting himself into, he looked upon New York City as his gateway to freedom, not to mention the parties
and more drugs. He `should' have been going to college, but for now he was confined to his uncle's apartment high above the city he longed to get lost in.
"Get up and get that shirt off!"
Neil dreaded this as he rose up off the floor, watching his uncle take the leather belt from the loops. If only his cooking school students knew what a sadist he was they would not worship the `chef god'.
"You know the position!"
It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, Neil having received whipping as a punishment before. It's was his uncle's way of making him tote the line for any infraction, big or small. In fact rarely did a week go by in which he didn't take at least three or four lashes across his back. And when he removed his shirt, it showed, some lines a blur, a beating from a month ago, fresher ones from three weeks prior, then two and concluding with last week's reminder of Neil's place in his uncle's home. All he could think of afterwards is how one day he would find a way out this hell-hole.
"Yes sir," Neil solemnly replied as he walked over to the king-sized bed, reached his hands up and out to the sides, his hands wrapping around the two stanctions which formed four columns around the corners of the ornate bed. Whenever he turned to look in the mirror, he would be reminded of the the whipping he received, vague lines, welts reminding him of how he should conduct himself.
"If your father wasn't such a wimp you wouldn't be the hooligan you are today!"
To Neil there wasn't any love lost between him and his father or mother. Only child, it's as if he didn't exist, perhaps considered a piece of furniture or a pawn to show off to his father's public. His only friend became a bottle, needle or snort of cocaine.
"Now. For you insolence," Neil's uncle, a true sadist, held the leather belt up to Neil's back, dangling it so the sides or flat leather touching his shoulders, his lower extremities, "I think twenty lashes will suit for punishment, wouldn't you agree Neil?"
He didn't agree and because he didn't repond fast enough, paid the price, "Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Every muscle in the frame of his bod became rigid, his hand clenching the thin part of the wooden columns, his teeth tightly drawn together, as he was forced to brace himself against the wooden posts.
"I asked you a question boy!"
Before he answered correctly, Neil screamed out in pain, another brilliant welt painted across his back.
However, he was bought some time when the phone rang, his uncle cautioning him, "I will be back to deliver the remainder of your punishment and you can think about your transgressions!"
Not if Neil could help it. Looking to the corner of the room, he wasn't about to spend anymore nights inside the iron-barred cage, his holding cell when his uncle wasn't at home or after his uncle was through using him for the night, putting him away' til morning. He grabbed the pile of clothing set aside for the cleaners, along with his uncle's wallet. Hearing his uncle still engaged with the phone conversation, he crawled on hands and knees behind the sofa. He hoped to hell the person on the other end was a wordy conversationalist. Oh shit!' he said to himself when he heard his uncle say, `bye'. He peeked above the sofa to see him headed back to the bedroom, wrapping the belt around his hand. It was time for Neil to make his big move. Out the door, he used the service elevator for his getaway. While it slowly chugged it's way down to the bottom floor he put his uncle's shirt on. He would have liked to have his own wardrobe, but
other than the servant's clothes he had on today there wasn't many. Once outside the building, he breathed in `fresh air'. Any air felt different than the recycled atmosphere of a stuffy environment he had been a slave to since roughly last December. With six months of an almost solitary, confining lifestyle, Neil looked upon New York City as an ocean, ready to drown in it. Passing by a blue post office box, he took out his uncle's wallet, cleaned out the cash and ditched it in the post box. He figured he wasn't going to be called a total thief. Besides, credit cards could be tracked. If he was planning on getting lost, it's one trail he didn't want to leave behind. Next on Neil's mind was where to go. He wasn't hungry, but he wasn't too familiar yet with the outlay of the city and in the dark it seemed a bit intimidating. It's then he remembered something. The piece of paper towel he had given Kyle to write his phone number down
on. He could barely read it, but it was the only piece of security he had in this vast jungle.
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"Don't let your hopes get down yet laddies," Swifty said as he now took both Kyle and Scotty literally under his wings, an arm around each of their shoulders. He knew things were looking dim, with most of the rooms checked from the forty patients brought in. He didn't want to be premature in telling them they were running out of regular hospital rooms and soon would have to scout out the burn center. Yet, as he figured it, at least there would be hope in finding his new friend's buddy. Now, with the last room checked, Swifty `had' to break the news, "Only place left to check is the burn center."
Scotty stood there a minute, his hands washing over his face, then came up with the courage to say, "Let's go."
"Swifty and I could go ahead if you want to...."
"No! I mean," Scotty changed his onery attitude to calm, "I want.. I need to go and find out for myself if Michael..."
He didn't want to think of what he would find, but his thoughts were justified when Swifty told the two, "Now don't go jumping to conclusions. You know it's always a slight possibility they aren't even in the hospital. Maybe they are at home looking for you?"
Kyle was quick to pop his cellphone open. When he did there was a missed call.
"Um, sorry," Swifty told him, "but you're not supposed to use your phone in the hospital?"
Fortunately there were only three victims brought into the burn center from the incident near the Coffee Bean. They had to don special clothing to get in, but it was no sweat, especially for Scotty who nearly grabbed the garments out of the orderly's hands. Just as they were about to go in, the door opened, almost in their faces.
"Alex?" Kyle questioned. "But you're supposed to be...."
"I know."
Swifty noticed it. He wondered if Kyle or Scotty picked up on the cheerful attitude.
"I called you on your cellphone but I guess you didn't have it on. I had a hunch, so talked the orderly into allowing me out of my bed. Actually," Alex turns to Swifty, "you owe him one?" Alex addresses him. "Anyway, no need to go in there. Michael is there, but he's doing great. He has a little burn on his arm and a broken finger, but believe me, he's going to pull through."
"Ohhhhh Alex!" Scotty shouted, throwing himself into Alex's arms.
Looking over Scotty's shoulder, Alex should have been happy, but didn't show it.
"What's wrong Alex?" Kyle questioned him.
Scotty broke his hold. Now that Michael seemed to be in the clear he was much more upbeat.
But for Alex, he was sort of bent out of shape when he reports, "It's Darryl. The relief cook who was sent up from our downtown location." Taking a deep breath, "If it wasn't for Darryl probably Michael would not have made it out. At least from Michael's account."
"Why? What happened?"
"When the explosion occured next door, the wall shuttered and everything which was against the wall came flying across the room. Seems Michael was pinned under a cabinet. And poor Darryl, the pot he was stirring jumped right off the stove and burned him from the neck down. But even though he was in intense pain he managed to free Michael and carry him out the back door. The police found both of them in the alley. Darryl had passed out before he reached the front of the building. He was found hugging Michael."
Five minutes ago Kyle and Scotty, even Swifty were cheering Alex on for finding their friend and Scotty's lover. Now they were sulking over the bad news delivered by Alex. They were interrupted when Kyle's cellphone started playing a ringtone.
He announced, "I don't recognize the number." He knew he shouldn't be taking the call, but did anyway. "It's Neil," he told the others. Starting out high-pitched, asking him how he was doing, Kyle did a 360 and came back with a somber, "You're in trouble? Where?" Then, as Scotty, Alex and Swifty eavesdropped, "Stay where you are. I'll be right there."
They all wanted details. Kyle gave what he knew, only, "Neil is in trouble and needs our help."
For sure Scotty didn't wish to leave. Alex thought somebody should stay with him. So stepping in, Swifty offered to drive. Kyle offered, but Swifty was quick to respond, "You drive a white Sebring?"
"Yeah, that's mine."
"It was towed!"
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Lying there, his head parked in the pillow, hands behind his head, Norberto flaunted his dark-haired tufts in the pocket of each arm. Way down below David Sonnemaker did his best to please, which his `master-lover' often complimented him with pangs of pleasure.
"Not in the mood?" David said as he popped his head up from Norberto's pubes.
From his vantage point, Norberto looked down over his bear bod, his chest a mass of almost black hair, the tight trail embedded in a scorched forest, hiding the deep bellyhole and over his rounded belly, not an obese one, but one which could have used a few crunches everyday. "Feel's good," he said, avoiding David's questioning. He knew he wasn't fooling his lover though as David's chin rested right on top of his cock, his 5 o'clock shadow rubbing against Norberto's tall stalk, lying on its side. "What?"
"You tell me. You've been in a daze since we left the Coffee Bean this morning," David replied.
"I suppose it's what Alex said to me."
But David knew it wasn't the reason. "Remember when we first met you mentioned how hot it would be to `own' a muscle-stud?"
"No."
"Well you did say it."
"I don't remember," Norberto denied it.
"You said it."
"Okay. So what?"
David put it, "So what? You met your dream come true this morning and have been sulking over him since that time, that's what!"
"Who? The blond? Ridiculous!" Norberto replied, then sank into his quiet mood. He did mention, "Want to get your lips back on me?"
"No," David said adamantly. "I'm not going to lie down there trying to please you when it's just not going to happen." He got up on knees and hands in protest.
Norberto tried to be tough on David, "Do I have to get rough?" but it didn't come through as such.
Even though, David took advantage of the situation, "Yeah. Please. Will you? At least maybe you will be your old self again."
"Is that so?" Norberto replied. Sitting up, he reached down with his right hand. Eyes glued to each other, David sighed when Norberto's big hand formed around one of David's ballsacs. He arched his back, letting out a low guttural tone when Norberto went ball-istic on him. As usual when Norberto did this rough type of ball massaging, pre-cum dripped down the back of his hand. "There. Happy?" he said, letting go and assuming the relaxed position he had before.
"Started out that way."
"C'mon David," he usually used the term `boy', "just get back on my cock. I'm like really horny?"
"No," David refused, this time sitting up on his knees, then taking a dive into the bed next to his lover. "Not until we've had this out."
"Had what..."
"I want you to get in touch with your blond `boy'."
"Why? I've got you. What do I need him for?"
"Maybe it's not only you who needs him?" David replied, as he rubbed his finger around Norberto's hairy nip.
"Listen. I have no idea what you're trying to pull here, but...."
Since they've been together, David Sonnemaker hasn't ever taken the upper hand in their relationship, until now, "Look, I don't think I'm enough for you, but with another added to our relationship I think we could make an honest go at it."
It's then Norberto gets wise, "Ohhhhhhhh, so it's not only `me' who was scouting out Darryl Weismantle?"
From his serious mode, David's attitude melted into a subtle disposition, a reluctant smile turning up his lips.
With purpose, Norberto turned on his side and went straight for David's balls. "I think a little confession is in order?" He was more persuasive than before.
"Okay... okay... I give!" David squealed out after the intense pleasure turned painful, driving him up the wall. "Okay... so I was checking Darryl out, but I didn't get as close to him as you did."
Norberto relaxed, falling onto his back. It's not he didn't want it, but has never been in a threeway love affair before, voicing his opinion, "I don't see how it would all fit together."
"Well," David began, all primed with his thoughts of how it could go, "from what you told me about your experience in the jon earlier, seems to me Darryl could be versatile?"
"Hmm... at first I thought that's how it was going to go," Norberto says, opinionated.
"So think of it. When you're not around, Darryl could take your place."
"And what do I do with two bottoms when I'm around?" Noberto asks.
"Oh that's the easy part. Why don't you lie back and close your eyes and while my tongue is making your cock swell and you can fantasize about it?" David was already on his way to the foot of the bed.
Norberto closed his eyes. Somewhere in his fantasy dream his finger and thumb began teasing his own right nip. Quick on the trigger, David swiped it away and began mashing both nips, "Picture a pair of lips up there and a pair down here?" which proved to be the ultimate turn-on, next to David's expert cock-tantalizing. His mouth detected Norberto would not be too long in his dream before he wanted to plug ass. He wondered though if it would be him or Darryl Norberto was thinking of.
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"Over there!" Kyle pointed through the left, front dash window.
Swiftly the driver shifted head side-to-side, then proceeded to step on the gas, coming to a whiplashing halt at the curb in front of a bodega.
For a shortened second, Neil backed up, plastering his shoulders to the plate glass window of the store.
Kyle rolled down the window and informed him, "It's me Neil. C'mon!"
Neil ran forwards and dashed into the back seat, with the words, "Thanks. Thanks a lot Kyle. You don't know how relieved I am." But then, the eyes in the rearview mirror set Neil to wondering whom sat behind the steering.
"Neil, this is Swifty."
"Hey," Neil replied, "how ya doin'?"
"Fine now," Swifty replied.
Neil wondered what that meant.
Kyle knew what it meant!
"So, where are we headed? Over to your place or mine?"
"Not funny, Swifty," Kyle replied.
For Neil, inside knowledge that he was now a fugitive from his uncle's incarceration, he wasn't picky, voicing his opinion, "Anyplace is cool with me."
Knowing there was a story behind all this, Kyle wasn't sure if Neil wanted to unload his worries in front of Swifty.
"Um, if you've got a place Shifty, it's cool with me."
Kyle and Swifty exchanged glances, Kyle saying, "The name seems to fit!"
"Yeah right," Swifty replied. Then turning to the back seat, Swifty didn't know why but it just came out, "It's not shifty... it's Swifty, but if you want you can call me `Steven'?"
"Steven?" Kyle replied, looking Swifty in the eyes. "You don't `look' like a Steven."
But Neil had differing opinion, "I think he looks like a Steven."
"See that?" Swifty knocks Kyle.
"In fact I think you look very much like a Steven."
For Kyle, he was wise.
`Steven'? He was taking Neil's attention for all it was worth.
"So," Swifty sets back in his seat from his twisted bod leaning over the seat, "where is it we're off to?"
"It's up to Neil," Kyle left it, sure he knew the answer.
"Well," Neil recalls, "since Kyle has so many guys living with him, would there be enough room for one more?"
"I don't rightly know," Swifty replies. "Would you Kyle?"
Put back in his perspective, Kyle mulled it over for only a few seconds. View from the driver's seat, he was sure Swifty would not mind taking Neil in as a border. And part of the equation, as it was pointed out, there was no more room in the townhouse, except for sacking out on the sofa. So he stated the truth of the matter, "At my place it's either sleeping on the sofa or in the bath tub!"
The two looked into the back of the car, waiting for an answer.
It was for sure Steven was getting good vibes upon hearing Neil state his feelings, "I don't sleep very well on a sofa," even though he thought a preference over the previous arrangements, an iron cage on the floor, "and a bath tub. I've never slept in a tub before. Have you?"
Very decisively Steven responds, "Oh no. I mean, who would even think of such a thing!"
"Thanks Swifty," Kyle responded. "Are you going to get us out of here before we get car-jacked?"
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Copyright 2009 T. Chase McPhee
This story 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.....