Second Chances

The motel room was nondescript. Standard chairs, standard sofa, standard king-size bed, standard industrial carpeting. An air conditioner clanked away, keeping the room cool and staving off the worst of the sweltering, unending heat that passed for Texas weather outside. The two men on the bed lay naked and asleep, their muscular bodies twined about each other and twisted within the sheets.

Lane McDevitt stirred and planted a soft kiss onto the lips of the sleeping man embracing him. He pulled him closer and nuzzled the hard line of his jaw and down his neck. The other man's stubble grated against his lips but the taste of Jesse Sommers was well worth it. Lane's lover came slowly awake and smiled into the eyes of the man embracing him.

"Good morning, darlin' ..." Lane drawled. His hand traced slow designs on his lover's back. Jesse arched in pleasure.

"Right back at you, love ..." He kissed McDevitt. "Mmmm ... you feel so good ..."

Lane was about 6 feet tall, with a deep tan that set off his cognac eyes and chestnut-brown buzzcut. He was smooth and muscular, but not overly so - more along the lines of a swimmer or gymnast, but not whipcord thin like the other ranch hands. McDevitt was a professional bronco rider and was in Austin for the Star of Texas rodeo. He was also one of the favorites slated to win.

Jesse Sommers had been his lover for over five years. Where Lane was dark, Jesse was light; hair the color of burnished gold framed a strong face, and his deep sea-blue eyes danced and sparkled in the morning light. A faint reddish stubble - courtesy of his Nordic ancestors - covered his cheeks and chin. Sommers was a tad shorter, but more powerfully built - as a bull rider, less height was a distinct advantage. He grabbed McDevitt and straddled him. He pulled the other man's arms above his head and pinned them down to the bed.

"Sweetheart, promise me something ..." Jesse's face became serious.

Lane's eyes gleamed. "Anything, hon ... you just need to ask..."

"I'm not fooling around here, Lane ... I love you more than anything in the world... if ... if ... if anything ever happens to me, swear to me that you won't just bury yourself and fade away. Promise me that you'll give yourself a second chance at happiness..."

McDevitt struggled, but Jesse held him tight. "Why are you so damn morbid all of a sudden? C'mon, let me up..."

"Not until you swear this to me, Lane. I mean it."

"Okay, okay ... I'll find another stud if anything ever happens to you..."

Sommers pushed down on the man below him. "Stop fooling around ... Swear to God, Lane ..."

"All right ... I swear to God Almighty that if anything ever happens to you, I'll look for someone else to spend my life with ... happy now?"

Jesse released his hold on him, bent down and kissed him deeply. "Thank you, honey-bear."

* * *

Lane had won the bronco championship with flying colors. Jesse's event - bull riding - was later in the rodeo schedule. During the preliminaries, Jesse outdistanced his rivals by a considerable margin. The finals were scheduled for later that Thursday afternoon.

Jesse finished his preparations up near the chutes. Still relaxed, he waited for his ride.
Finally, it was his turn.
Sommers rolled his right shirt sleeve up to the elbow before rosining his glove. He'd drawn a bull with a deceptively sweet name of Fernando. Giving one last tug to the laces of his bareback glove, Jesse eased himself onto the bull's back; the leather rig was strapped tight across the animal's chest. The bullrider locked himself down, physically and mentally.

The arena, the crowd, everything faded into a blur of white noise. There was nothing but Jesse and this bull. Even the chute was an abstraction. Legs stiff, left arm high, breathing steady and grip tight, the bullrider signaled ready. Jesse's spurs were well above the shoulder break and touching skin. A good, hard buck out. The tornado of air twisted his ear drums as they spun out and away. His spurs dug into the animal's withers. The ride was wild and hard. Every joint was pulled in sixty directions. Buck, kick, lunge - the movements tortured his muscles. Whipped around by the bull the world spun out and away from Jesse. Infinite. As he made his dismount, Fernando jinked and he fell beneath the beast. Twelve hundred pounds of enraged flesh crashed down on the inside portion of his upper leg. He heard the bone snap and a wave of pain crashed through his body. He felt himself being dragged out of the arena as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt a sticky wetness in his jeans as his lifeblood spurted out of him. Despite the broiling temperatures, he began to shiver with cold.

Lane swam into his vision. The other man held him in his arms. "Doc's comin', Jess - hold on!"

Jesse reached up for what seemed an incredible distance and stroked the other man's cheek. His vision began to darken at the edges and fade. His arm fell to the ground as blackness swallowed him whole. Lane bowed his head and wept, rocking his lover in his arms until the doctor and paramedics arrived. The doctor took one look at the supine man and shook his head. The paramedics separated the two cowboys and placed the body into the back of the ambulance - there was no rush. Not any more. The doctor took Lane aside as the ambulance pulled away.

"I'm terribly sorry - that bull shattered your friends thigh bone and that severed the femoral artery. There was nothing we could do..."

In shock, Lane stumbled away ...

* * *
It had been a terribly hard year. There were times that McDevitt sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring off his body and pooling in the crevasses of his slabbed pecs and rock-hard abs. The dreams he had were so vivid - Jesse sitting in a chair, watching him - a sad look on his sweet face - "Remember your promise ... I'll haunt you till your last breath if you break your promise to me ..." He tried to keep his word to his former lover, but he found himself spending more and more time with the ranch's horses and less and less time with people. It was only in the stable that he could hold onto their warm, strong necks and let the tears flow freely down his cheeks. His daddy had literally beat it into him: "Men don't cry. Never see a man weep." He had the whip scars on his back to prove it.

There were times he swore he saw his lover even when he was wide awake, but dismissed it as his own grief and overactive imagination. He was a practical man ... after all, he knew ghosts didn't exist.

After a hard day at the Houston Livestock Show, Lane found himself back in his motel room. He had stripped off his clothes and taken a hot shower to loosen tense and aching muscles. After toweling himself dry, he pulled on a jock and sat down on the couch. He clicked on the television and looked forward to some mindless television; he began to doze off.

A hard pounding on the motel room door woke him from his semi-sleep.

"Hey, Lane! Open up! Lane!"

He got up and unlocked the door. Standing there in the hallway were Ryan Harris and Scott Harper with huge grins on their handsome faces. The two had been together for four years and he counted them as his closest friends. They were among only a handful of men who had kept by him during his grief and gradual withdrawal from life.

Ryan gave Lane a lascivious once-over, pausing at McDevitt's crotch. He grinned and licked his lips at the huge bulge in the jockstrap.

"Hmmm ... don't seem to be any smaller from lack of exercise..." He smiled. "You're comin' out with us tonight!"

"Fellas, I really ..." 

"No excuses, Lane McDevitt! You've spent enough time by your lonesome ... it's time to get out and smell the roses again!"

Scott was the more vocal of the two cowboys and they pushed into the the other man's hotel room. Each gave the somber horserider a crushing hug.

"But I don't have anything to we-" 

"We took care of that!"

With a flourish, Ryan opened up the package he had been carrying under one arm. In it was a beautiful black shirt with embroidered red roses and a pair of slim cut black corduroy jeans. He opened the shopping bag and pulled out a black felt hat and a richly tooled black belt with a hammered silver buckle.

"Where are those boot of yours, stud? Ah, there they are!"

Scott sauntered over and picked up Lane's black boots. They had been a gift to him from Jesse - plain black leather, with a sharp toe and low slung heels. The other cowboy brought out some saddle soap and brushes from the bag he was carrying and began cleaning and polishing them. In a short while, the boots took on a deep ebon gleam.

"We're going out to a gay bar tonight and you're comin' with us - no excuses!" Ryan wrapped his arms around McDevitt. "You need to be with people, stud. I mean it. We can't let you go on like this, grieving for Jess the way you do. It ain't right. Life is for the living ..."

His hands moved lower and rested rested on Lane's muscular ass. Harris gave it a playful squeeze before he let go.

Strangely enough, Lane found he wanted to go. The feeling had come over him suddenly when he saw the outfit the two had picked up for him. Red roses had been Jesse's favorite.

Ryan shook out the shirt. "Put it on, handsome..."

Lane slid the shirt on. The cotton fabric felt like silk against his skin. He began to fasten the sleeves and do up the front. The shirt was a bit snug through the chest and arms; making his biceps, triceps and torso stretch the fabric and obscenely pattern itself to his hard and powerful physique.

"Leave half the snaps open, bud ... show off those pecs!! You don't want to rip the shirt up the back!"

Lane blushed, but complied. He sat down and began to pull on the jeans. These too, fit him like they were tailored to him. They felt good. Sinfully good. The fabric molded to his thighs and ass, making his package in front appear even more obvious. And massive.

Scott looked over from polishing the boots and whistled. "Damn, Ryan - you've got good taste! I'd like to have him mount me here and now!"

Ryan laughed. "Scotty, you try that and I'll knock you six ways to Sunday ... you're all mine, sweetheart ... and don't you ever forget it!"

Harper chuckled and continued brushing the boots.

"Here you go, bud ... all nice and shiny!" Scott handed the boots to McDevitt. Lane slipped them on and then proceeded to slip the decorative black belt through the loops of his jeans.

"These too..." Ryan handed him a small pair of gradient sunglasses and a pair of short gloves. The leathers were incredible - soft and supple - fitting themselves snugly around his hands. Lane found himself growing painfully hard. Ryan noticed the growing bulge and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Niiiice ..."

The hat followed. McDevitt pulled it onto his head and adjusted it.

"How do I look?" 

"Save a horse ... ride a cowboy!" Scott snickered.

Lane laughed along with them. He felt good. He felt alive.

He wrapped an arm around each of his friends. "Let's go!"

* * *
The three men entered the lobby. Scott had ambled out of the glass doors to bring the pickup around to the front. Lane looked at the retreating tight ass in the brown shotgun chaps and spurs and smiled to himself. Damn, that's one helluva good-looking man ...

Ryan cleared his throat. The bronco rider looked at his friend and blushed. Ryan pulled him into a close hug and smiled. "Makes no nevermind ... You know Scotty ... he's a damn fine-looking stud and knows it. Loves to show it off too, the little cock tease ... I'm glad to see that there's still some blood pumping in that body of yours, Lane - not just trail dust and tears. And ..." He grinned. "... there's plenty of eyes in this here lobby drinking you in and wanting some tall, dark and handsome for themselves!" Lane turned a deeper shade of scarlet.


McDevitt leaned on one of the lobby windowsills and looked out. He sighed and turned towards his friend. "Ryan, I'm sorry I've been such bad company ... I really don't know how you and Scott put up with me..."

Harris laid a hand on the other man's back and gently stroked the muscles visible beneath the black shirt. "Lane, you've been through a lot this year. Me 'n Scotty didn't think Jess would have wanted you to shrivel up and blow away ... so we just wore you down!"

The horseman looked shocked at the other man's remark. He had never told anyone of Jesse's promise. Events seemed to be moving of their own accord and in a direction he hadn't anticipated. Just at that moment, Scott pulled up in front of the motel. Ryan and Lane got into the truck and the three men pulled out into the Houston traffic.

* * *

The three spent a quiet dinner at Brenner's Steakhouse. The cowboys were seated in an outside gazebo and the food and service were excellent. The weather had cooled considerably and a gentle breeze caressed their faces as the late sunset turned to early evening. Lane noticed that a number of the wait staff (striking, young men all) kept looking over at them and mentioned it to his friends.

Harris chuckled. "They're ogling you, bud ... you're drop-dead handsome, despite that sad look 'round your eyes! I told them ahead of time that Ryan and I were together! You can't keep deprivin' some decent man of your companionship!"

"Where are we going tonight, guys? You mentioned a gay bar ..."


"Yep, the Brazos River Bottom. Ryan and I went to BRB for the first time last night and we had a blast! Truth to tell, this was possibly the best time we've ever had at a bar, and we've been to a lot of clubs ... It was so damned nice to see real men, and not have to deal with them candy-ass twinks! The dance floor is wonderful! If you wanna have a good time with real people, without no drama, this is the best place in Houston."

"Sounds fun!"

"Uh-huh ... we're gonna have a great time tonight!"

* * *
By the time the three got to the bar, festivities were already in full swing. The club was beginning to fill up with all types of men - tall, short, muscular, thin - all of them having a great time. The bronco rider stopped in wonder. Ryan grabbed him by the belt buckle. "C'mon, Lane - let's go to the Side Pocket ..."

The Side Pocket was a smaller bar situated between the large Main Bar and the Back Bar. It was a bit less crowded and a lot more quiet. The man behind the bar was wearing a striped shirt half open to reveal a powerfully muscled chest dark with hair. The bartender looked up, a happy grin creasing his face, his white smile framed by a razor-trimmed moustache and goatee. His eyes twinkled.

"Ryan! Scotty! Great to see you again! Who's your handsome friend?"

"David, this is Lane McDevitt - he's a bronc rider at the livestock show. We literally had to drag him out tonight - you know how these celebrities need their beauty sleep..."

"You two night owls should talk... welcome to Brazos, Lane! What can I get you?"

Lane looked over at the bottles behind the bartender glittering in the dim light. "You got Absolut?"

"Every flavor ... "

The bartender drawled.

"Let me have an Absolut vanilla with creme de cacao and some cream..."

"Comin' right up ... I know what you two drunkards want ..." David turned and began preparing the drinks.

Lane leaned against the bar and looked into the room. He actually felt happy - and the feeling surprised him. As the room began to fill, he noticed more than a few amorous glances in his direction. A smile and a pull of his hat was often rewarded by a 100-watt grin. Damn ... I have been living like a ghost ....

"Here's your drinks, fellas ... enjoy!"

Lane, Ryan and Scott moved away from the bar and over to one of the tables around the edge of the room. McDevitt took a sip. "Hell, this is good!"

Ryan took a large sip of his martini. "Yep, David doesn't water down anything. Scuttlebutt is that the owner of the bar is some big-time gangster and he doesn't look kindly on anyone cheating his customers."

Lane got up, still sipping his drink. "I'm goin' to take a look-see around ... seems like a helluva fun place!"

"We'll see you in a bit!"

McDevitt wandered around the BRB, admiring the layout, the atmosphere and the men both in front of and behind the bars. He was feeling horny as hell - and enjoying every minute of it. The dance floor looked great - just as his friends indicated. He was told that since this was Thursday night, there'd be dancing starting in about forty minutes. He continued making his rounds of the club and in every venue, drew wanton looks from the clientele.

He returned to the Side Pocket and scanned the room for Scotty and Ryan. He found them tucked into a corner, their arms tightly around each other, their mouths crushed together in deep and passionate kisses. Scott was leaning again the wall and had twined a leather-clad leg around his partner, pulling him closer. Lane found himself growing painfully hard watching his two friends and a tad embarrassed interrupting their embrace. He wandered back over to the bar and gestured for another drink.

David cleared his throat. "The gentleman at the end wants to buy it for you ..."

Lane looked over in the direction David indicated and his heart skipped a beat. Seated at the end of the bar was one of the sexiest men he had ever laid eyes on. The man tipped back his hat and smiled. He motioned McDevitt to join him. Lane moved to the far end and David put another drink in front of him.

The man was stunning. A brown shirt with lighter brown embroidery was stretched across a muscular torso and accentuated his deep golden tan. Raven black hair was buzzed short and strong, straight black brows sat atop warm brown eyes. A bright white smile was framed by sensuous lips. Snug concrete-grey jeans hugged slim hips and his muscular thighs pulled the denim deliciously tight. Chocolate-brown lizard boots perched on the bar rail. He took off his hat and sat it on the bar.

"Thanks for coming over. I couldn't help noticing you. Hell, no one could help noticing you ..." He put out his hand. "Trace Cartwright. Pleased to make your acquaintance!" His voice was a clear deep tenor.

Lane shook the outstretched hand and smiled. "Lane McDevitt." He looked at the other man's half-full glass.

"Thanks for my drink ... can I buy you another?"

Trace smiled and traced a hand lightly down Lane's thigh. He gestured to David. "Lemme have another Absolut Peach with cranberry and orange juice." Lane felt his blood begin to roar in his ears. It was surprising how that one touch inflamed him to that extent. The two men continued to talk and drink. McDevitt moved closer to the other man; Cartwright didn't object; in fact he too, moved to close the distance to the bronc rider. Trace toyed with Lane's belt buckle and gave him a bold stare. "What are you waiting for, handsome?" he whispered.

Tentatively, Lane reached up and held the other man's head in glove-clad hands; gently he pressed his lips against Trace's. Cartwright's lips were firm, yet kissably soft. He could taste the peach liqueur tingling on his tongue. Lane kissed him again. Harder. His hands slid down and started to stroke Trace's back. The other man moaned and began to massage McDevitt's tight waist with his thumbs. They continued to kiss and fondle each other. Finally breathless, the two broke apart.

"God-damn, Lane! Where have you been all my life?" Trace laughed."If you kiss like this, I can't wait to see what else you can do!" A vision of Lane McDevitt - dark, determined and probably flat-out ferocious in bed - flashed through Cartwright's mind. He found it staggeringly erotic.

Ryan appeared at Trace's shoulder. He gave a sly look back and forth at the two men. "I see you've met a new friend, bud..." I haven't seen him this happy since Jess passed on...

McDevitt grinned. His entire face lit up. "Ryan, this here's Trace Cartwright. Trace, meet Ryan Harris."

The two shook hands. Ryan's face broke into a huge smile. "See? I told you you'd have a good time! C'mon - dancin's about to start!"

* * *

The four men - Ryan, Scott, Lane and Trace - left the Side Pocket and entered the Main Bar area. The DJ was in the final stages of setting up. The room was crowded with couples ready to dance.

" 'Scuse me ... I'll be right back..." Trace scooted over to the DJ and gestured back at the other three men and then towards the center of the room. The DJ laughed and nodded; Cartwright returned, grinning. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of Lane's jeans and hugged the bronco rider close.

"I made a request..."

The DJ tapped the microphone and the clicking noise echoed throughout the bar. The crowd quieted down.

"Boys, before we start, I just got a request from one of our patrons here for a little demonstration -- so, please give a big Brazos hand for Trace Cartwright!"

Hoots, hollers and shouts of encouragement filled the air as Cartwright sauntered over to the middle of the room. He pulled his hat down low over his face so it shadowed his eyes and left only his impish grin peeking over the brim. Then, he started to undo the snaps on his shirt. First the cuffs were unfastened; there was a collective gasp from the crowd as he pulled the brown material open to display smooth, tanned expanses of powerfully sculpted muscle. He turned to Lane and his friends and tossed his shirt over to the bronco rider. Trace nodded to the DJ and "Pickin' Wildflowers" by Keith Anderson began to play through the PA system.

Hey baby whatcha doin' this evening?
Can you meet me down at the railroad tracks?
I got Tom Petty playin' in my Silverado,
And I iced down a six-pack.

Trace reached behind the his head and grabbed the pole with both hands. He began to gyrate his hips and rock-hard abs and slowly sank down to the floor. The black-haired stud then languidly raised himself up and began to spin around the pole one-handed. He stopped and began to twist from side to side and buck his hips slowly and seductively. Cartwright reached up and grabbed the pole again with both hands, spinning around and moving his hips in slow-motion once more. The wicked smile never left his face.

Hey Daisy don't you worry 'bout your mama,
Like 007 we can keep it covert.
Undercover on the ground by the water
Gonna get a little peace... on earth.

Trace held the pole with both hands behind his head. All of a sudden, he lifted himself off the floor and flipped upside down. His grey-clad legs clamped the pole and he slowly slid down the tubular metal.When his hand touched the floor, he backflipped onto his feet. Cartwright pushed his hat back firmly onto his head and ran his hands down his now-gleaming pecs and abs. His hips thrust sinfully in time to the music.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,
You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.

Lane stared slackjawed at his friend. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Trace grasped the pole again and spun around it. He held onto the metal and once more flipped himself head down. His pecs and arms vibrating with effort, Cartwright brought his legs to near horizontal as he rotated around the pole. The dancer stretched back and landed lightly on one boot, then the other.

Hey baby, Mother Nature is waitin'
And love's bloomin' like a cherry tree.
Let's buzz around, maybe do some pollenating,
Dive on in like honey bees.

Trace leaned against the pole and continued to buck his hips in a seductive motion -- moving his etched abs in and out and swinging his hips in a tight circle. A trail of sweat ran down the crevasses of his six pack and into the waistband of his jeans. Lane's mouth was dry and a hungry look glittered in his eyes as he drank in the man dancing in front of him. His blood was racing.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,

You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.Take a trail ride if you know what I mean.
Hey baby won't you come with me?

In slow motion, Trace slid down the pole and wound up on the floor with one leg out straight and the other cocked at the knee.

Baby whatcha say we go pickin' wildflowers?
Got a spot way back in the woods.
Sneak away for a couple of hours,
You and me baby, pickin' wildflowers.

As the music finished, he pulled his hat off and fanned himself. The crowd went wild. Trace stood up and made a sweeping bow. He then strolled over to the black-clad cowboy. The pole dancer wrapped sweaty arms around the other man's neck and gave him a soft kiss. Brown eyes met and the long-banked embers of lust in Lane McDevitt burst into an all-consuming flame. He pulled the half-naked man to him and brutally crushed their lips together. When the two broke for air, Cartwright gave a shaky laugh.

"I take it you liked that?"

Lane began to lick the sweat from the hollow of the other man's throat. Traced arched his back and moaned.

"What the hell do you think?" He murmured.

* * *
Lane rubbed down the sweaty torso of the other man as he finished off a large, cool sweet tea. During the interlude, McDevitt discovered that Cartwright was the new vet at the ranch. They'd have plenty of time to spend together.

Trace kissed the tip of his nose. "Thanks, Lane ... mmmm, that rubdown felt good!"

"I couldn't believe what I was seeing out there - you were amazing!"

He grinned. "I was on the gymnastics team at Texas A&M ... I knew it was good for something!" Trace grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair and began to pull it on. "Ready for some more?"

* * *

Lane and Trace spent the rest of the time at the BRB dancing together. Line dances. Two-steps. Waltzes. Lane was an excellent dancer and Trace matched him step-for-step. As the night wore on, the DJ played slower songs for closer and more romantic opportunities between the men at the club. Lane spoke briefly to the DJ and in a moment, "We Danced" by Brad Paisley began to play.

As they moved around the dance floor, Trace laid his head on his partner's shoulder.

"I've never met a finer man or a better dancer, Lane..."

"Aww ... you're just saying that." Lane pulled the other man closer to him and reveled in the feel of the muscular body in his arms. Just like old times with Jess...

"I call 'em as I see 'em, cowboy ..."

He nibbled Cartwright's ear as the other man snuggled into his embrace. With a start, Lane saw Jesse - plain as day - at the edge of the dance floor. He stopped. His former lover wore a big smile and his blue eyes twinkled unnaturally in the dim light. He heard that sweet, familiar voice echo in his head. "Goodbye, sweetheart ... you won't be seeing me no more ... I knew you'd keep your promise... you just needed a little kick in the pants... " Slowly, Jess became less and less substantial until he faded from view.

" 'Bye Jess...I love you." He whispered.

"Lane?" Trace looked up. "Everything all right?"

Lane nodded and the two began moving around the floor again. "Yep. Just thanking my guardian angel for givin' me a second chance tonight..."

* * *

I'm sometimes surprised where my stories take me. I had started this one out with the concept of "Lane Stepping Out" - okay, I got an outfit together for what I would imagine Lane would wear for a night out on the town. Fun stuff, right?

I had no idea what the surrounding story would be, but I had NO idea it would turn out like this.

A romantic ghost story.

That's one of the things that I truly love about masking - it opens up a well of creativity that would ordinarily be bottled up.I had reread my initial story of Lane and that provided some additional insight into who Lane McDevitt was and how he would behave. I have been a bit melancholy of late, so I think that did play a part of how the story turned out. Jesse's ghost just popped into my head one night as I was writing, and I found that I really liked the idea of his former lover looking out for him. The same thing happened with the pole dancing - BOOM! - the idea just came to me. I did need to do a bit of research for this - both in terms of the movements that could/would be used as well as what country and western music would be the most appropriate for a gay cowboy wrapping himself around a dance pole. Believe me, I'm sure I drew some curious looks as I was taking notes in a strip bar!

As before, I used the Greyland "Gomer" mask for Lane. The shirt was made by Ely Cattleman and the jeans were a pair of skinny cords from the Gap.

I felt an incredibly great "vibe" from Lane and I do believe that this isn't the last time that you'll be reading about my cowboy!

Restoration

My name is Jared Gardner. I used to work in advertising. Circumstances have made me a dramatically different man. I have no regrets as to who I've become or what I do now. I've never looked back ... and I never will.

* * *

The changes in my life began with a call to my manager's office the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Ad revenues at Angelus & Co. were down; cost-cutting needed to take place, etc. etc. etc. In short, I was being downsized. The company was being quite generous - I'd stay on payroll through the end of the year, I'd get 24 month's severance, plus a substantial termination bonus. The last item came a bit of a surprise; I think it was barely disguised hush money - I'd been out (or rather been outed) for the last six months and this was a way of preventing me from screaming bloody murder and starting a lawsuit.

So ... I packed my office, getting rid of fifteen years of accumulated "stuff", said my goodbyes and headed out the door for the last time. I had called my dentist after the initial shock had worn off and told him to do whatever he needed to do NOW while I was still on the company dime.

* * *

The following Monday, I came back into my apartment after spending a marathon session with Dr. Raymond. He had replaced six fillings (silver to white) with four more to go, and he had taken impressions to replace an aging crown on a molar. At least I'd have a great smile on the unemployment line. I was tired and sore and after sorting through the mail, I noticed that the message light on my phone was blinking. I pressed the "Play" button. Probably some damn pollster or one of those automated "We can get you out of debt" messages.

"Hello - this is Donovan Cook of Cook, Dayton and Lee. I'm leaving a message for Mr. Jared Gardner. If you would please call me back at your earliest convenience, I'd appreciate it. Thank you very much."

The gentle southern voice rattled off a phone number with an area code I'd never heard of. Interesting. I dialed it.

A receptionist answered. "Cook, Dayton and Lee. May I help you?"

"Hello, this is Jared Gardner. I'm returning Mr. Cook's phone call."

"Please hold."

I did. In a few moments, Cook got on the line.

"Ah, Mr. Gardner, thank you for calling me back so quickly. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Forgive me if I sound a bit funny - I just got back from the dentist."

Donovan chuckled. "Not a problem. I may have some good news for you. Tell me, do you know a Regina Martindale?"

I thought about it. "I think I had a great-aunt Regina ... she lived somewhere in Georgia ..."

"Eros, Louisiana, actually. That's wonderful news!"

"How so?"

"Well, Mrs. Martindale died recently, and you're her closest blood relative that meets some very demanding criteria. According to the terms of the will, you've just come into a substantial inheritance. Would you be able to come down to my office and we can take care of all the paperwork?"

When opportunity knocks ... "OK, where's your office?"

"Ruston, Louisiana. You can fly into Shreveport. If you let me know which flight you'll be on, I'd be happy to pick you up."

"This really is welcome news! Thanks Mr. Cook! Let me make some calls and I'll get back to you with my flight information."

"It's Donovan ... talk to you soon!"

* * *

I booked my flight to Louisiana for the week after next. Dr. Strangetooth would be finished by then. When life shuts a door, it usually opens a window. A real change of pace - I looked forward to it. I stretched out in the seat of Northwest 1845 and drifted off to sleep. It felt great to be out of the city - at least for a little while.

* * *

Shreveport is the third-largest city and the principal city of the third largest metropolitan area in Louisiana, as well as being the 108th-largest city in the United States. The population was 200,145 at the 2000 census, and the Shreveport-Bossier City Metropolitan Area population exceeds 375,000. Shreveport was founded in 1836 by the Shreve Town Company, a corporation established to develop a town at the juncture of the newly navigable Red River and the Texas Trail, an overland route into the newly independent Republic of Texas and, prior to that time, into Mexico.

The four-hour flight had been more than half-empty, so I didn't have to wait long for my bags. I had given the flight information to Donovan and the lawyer had said he'd meet me.

"How will I recognize you?"

"You can't miss me. I'm 6'2", with black hair and blue eyes."

"Mr. Gardner, I presume?"

I turned around at the sound of that deep, sultry tenor and got my first shock of the trip.

The man smiling at me was indeed 6'2" with black hair and blue eyes. But that's like saying a dog that has just won the Westminster has four legs. The black hair was styled in a faded buzz cut which highlighted Cook's striking features, perfect smile and deep golden tan. His eyes were a brilliant blue-violet. He wore a pale green polo shirt which was stretched tightly over slabbed pecs and muscular arms. An elaborate tattoo sleeve covered his entire right arm -- from what I could see, there was a 4-masted sailing ship, clouds, an azure sea and some emerald green and lapis swirls that disappeared beneath the polo's sleeve. A pair of tight faded Levi 501s wrapped around his slim waist and powerful legs with crotch buttons looking ready to burst. This wasn't a lawyer. This was a porn star.


His laugh was like a low purr. "You seem surprised ... you are Jared Gardner, aren't you?"

"I ... yes ... " I stammered. "You just don't look like any type of lawyer I've seen before..." God, that smile had me hard and leaking.

"Well, we do things a little different here than in New York ... y'all ready to go?"

I nodded. Cook and I continued talking as we left the baggage area and entered the parking lot. A wave of heat and humidity hit me like a sharp slap in the face. Within minutes, my shirt was clinging to me like a wet rag. Donovan, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed, cool and collected. We headed over to a silver BMW and he popped the trunk open and stowed my bags. I got into the passenger seat of the car. In a moment, he opened the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. Cook grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dashboard and slipped them on. He gunned the ignition and soon we were roaring along Interstate 20. The air conditioning was a welcome blessing as the car sped along the roadway.

"While you're here, you can use my gym if you like ... I can see that you take good care of yourself..."

The walk to the car had plastered my clothing to my torso. I looked down to see myself like a contestant from a wet t-shirt contest. My own hard pecs, nips and 6-pack abs peeked through the near-transparent material. I blushed scarlet.

Dayton laughed. It was deep and unforced, just like being stroked by soft fur. He laid a hand on my thigh and gave me a small, wicked smile.

"I pride myself on the thoroughness of my investigations, Mr. Gardner. The only thing I don't know about you is whether you'll like your pecan pie a la mode or not."

* * *

During the 90-minute ride from the airport to our destination, Donovan filled me in about my late great-aunt Regina. She had been an extremely canny woman, marrying the scion of a local paper mill family. Together, she and her husband had built up the plant, expanded the business vertically and owned acres of forest for raw materials as well as distribution channels for all its produced goods. Regina had lost both husband and son in the wars (World War II for Henry and Vietnam for Henry Jr.) She had been an indomitable woman and ran the businesses with an iron fist until her death at 92. She had never remarried. Cook's firm had been the company's lawyers since it's inception, and now Donovan was running the company as well as being the executor of Regina's will.

"Miz Regina's house will need some repairs ... the past couple of years she just couldn't or wouldn't keep it up. Maybe she felt the reaper's cold hand on the back of her neck and just let everything start to slide."

"Is it in really bad shape, Donovan?"

"Call me Donny. No, but it's tired. It's definitely gonna need a new roof, though. Plus a whole lot of plastering, painting, refinishing, you name it. There's also been some damage to the interior -- it looks far worse than it really is, though."

He paused. "If you don't mind, I'd like to help you out with the renovations. You being an out-of-towner, a northerner AND Miz Regina's only heir, there's gonna be a lot of people who'll be falling over themselves for the work and stealing you blind."

I laughed. "She pissed a lot of people off, didn't she?"

He chuckled. "That she did. In spades!"

Donny took the Ruston exit from the highway. In a few moments we pulled onto Roberta Avenue and up to the Fairfield Inn. Donny and I got out of the car and a porter scurried out to remove the bags from the trunk and wheel them into the building. We stood outside the port cochere of the hotel. He shook my hand and held it - a little while longer than necessary. I certainly didn't mind.

"Relax and have a good night's sleep, Jared. I'll pick you up in the morning to go over the paperwork; then we'll take a drive out to your new home and take a look around."

He wrapped his arms around me and crushed me in a bear hug. "See you around 10am!"

* * *

After a leisurely breakfast, I walked outside of the hotel and waited for Donny to arrive. Today, I was prepared for the weather - I wore a short sleeve blue plaid shirt with half the buttons undone untucked over a pair of white cargo shorts. Plus a pair of soccer shoes. I had rolled the sleeves up a bit to show off my arms and I definitely received more than a few hungry looks from several guests - men and women alike. At 10am on the dot, Donny's BMW pulled in front of the glass doors. My porn star lawyer opened the passenger door and I jumped in.

" 'Morning, Jared! Had a good rest?" His eyes traveled down my chest to my crotch. Then back up to my eyes. "You look good enough to eat!"

"I could say the same for you, Donny! You've made my estimation of the legal profession go up several notches!"

He chuckled. Cook wore a navy blue tank top which clung to his torso like it was sprayed on. I could see the rest of his tattoo sleeve now. The green and lapis swirls turned out to be the body and feathers of a peacock. It looked perfect on him. He wore cutoff jeans and running shoes. I'd stake my life on it that he didn't have any tan lines.

"I noticed your sleeve yesterday, its absolutely amazing! The detail and colors are beautiful! Where did you get it done?"

"My buddy Jeff did it. He's very popular around here ... amongst a certain group of people..." The lawyer gave me a sidelong glance and again flashed that wicked smile. Hint, hint, hint ... If he wasn't driving, I'dve mounted him on the spot.

We arrived at his offices. Cook, Dayton and Lee took up an entire block in Ruston's business district and after we parked, the two of us entered the building. Donny received numerous smiles and nods from employees as we took the elevator to the third floor.

It was quieter up here, with bigger offices and an atmosphere which seemed more in line with what I expected from a law firm. Or a funeral parlor. Mahogany wainscoting. Dark wallpaper. Heavy chairs, tables and loveseats.

We passed one older secretary that looked daggers at the two of us. Donny gave her a 100-watt smile. "Good morning, Elizabeth! My, you are looking so pretty this morning!"

She seemed taken aback by the compliment and tried to smile back - the effort was staggering. On her pinched face it looked more like a gas pain than anything else.

We kept walking.

"That's Dayton's assistant..." he whispered. "The old biddy can't stand me. For that matter, neither can Dayton. But since I'm the principal partner now, there's not much he can do about it."

"Jeez, if she moved her face any more, I thought it was going to shatter and fall on the desk."

Donny laughed and hugged me to him. "Damn, I knew I liked you from the first time I laid eyes on you!" I was glad my cargos were loose. I was achingly hard already and having that arm wrapped around me had me ready to punch a hole through concrete.

We turned a corner and entered Donny's suite of rooms. The change in decor and atmosphere was amazing.

Light wood furniture and bright colors dominated. The walls were painted a pale blue with vibrant illustrations hanging every few feet. Skylights brightened the area and the deep green plush carpet looked like grass from a meadow. Donny sauntered over to a large desk and leaned onto it. The muscles in his shoulders and back popped into obscene definition. A beautiful young woman with titian-colored hair turned around from the computer and gave him a brilliant smile.

" 'Morning, boss!"

"And a very good morning to you, beautiful!" He turned his head towards me. "Debbie, this is Mr. Gardner - would you be so kind to bring in the Martindale files for me?"

"Sure! Coffee?"

He nodded. "You want anything, Jared?"

"Coffee too, please. Black. One sugar."

Cook entered his office and gestured me to a seat in front of his glass-topped desk. In a few moments Debbie brought in a tray with the coffee and then brought in a large accordion folder and laid it on the surface. She gave us a huge smile as she left. Donny took a sip of his coffee and started pulling out documents. He laid a tome out in front of me.

"Now, that's Miz Regina's will. There are some fairly odd conditions in there for determining who inherits her estate, but enough to say that it's incontestable and the only qualified inheritee is now you."

"What are we talking about here?"

He looked serious. "Real estate. Companies. Liquid assets. Patent royalties. Cash. Rental properties."

I swallowed. "How much, Donny?"

Cook paused. "Five hundred and seventy five million dollars. Give or take a few hundred thousand."

I choked on my coffee. "WHAT???""

He grinned. "More than five hundred and seventy five million dollars. You're nearly as rich as me now!"

* * *
We spent the rest of the day taking care of all the paperwork for the estate. I still couldn't believe it. I was rich. Filthy rich. I've always wanted to tell people to go fuck themselves, and now I could. Or for that matter, I could hire someone to fuck them for me. But just the ugly ones, though.

He sat back and stretched. "I want to file these papers as soon as possible. I'm hoping we can get through probate and everything else fairly quickly." He looked at the large black Vestal watch on his wrist and picked up the phone. "Debbie, could you please have these papers brought down to the courthouse? Thanks, sweetheart !"

* * *

Donny took me out to dinner that evening. We went out to a steakhouse called Rabb's; I don't think I've ever tasted charcoal-broiled T-bone as delicious as I had that night. I found that evening had a special quality to it - the music, the food, and particularly, the company - just combined to form a perfect whole. Cook and I had finished off a bottle of shiraz with the meal and while we weren't exactly drunk, we weren't exactly sober either. He drove carefully back to the hotel and we walked unsteadily into the foyer.

"I think you'd better stay here a little while and get some of that alcohol out of your system."

He looked at me. His eyes smouldered. "You asking me up to your room, Jared?" His voice was low and husky.

I thought about it. "Yeah, I am."

He licked his lips.

* * *

I barely shut the hotel room door before my lawyer was on me. Tanned hands went up under my shirt, fingers teasing my nipples.

"God, Donny!" I moaned.

I was trying to kiss him and pull the shirt over his head at the same time. Two sets of hands, two sets of buckles and zippers; both kept getting in the way. We wove and twisted back towards the bed. Feet and legs and sleeves tripped us up but didn't take us down. Somehow we got everything undone. Falling back onto the mattress while clothes flew everywhere, I managed to never break contact with his lips.

Donovan Cook was probably the best looking thing I had ever gotten into bed. His body was an inferno. His kisses were hard and hot. They lingered over my cheek. They ran down my throat burning my skin. My pulse thundered between my legs. All the anguish I had suffered over the past few weeks boiled to the surface. I wanted Donny so bad it hurt.

Damn near panting, I managed, "Get on your knees, stud." Cook groaned and rolled over.

The warm plane of his back just begged for stroking, and he arched into my touch. First I kissed his shoulders, then down his spine. The lawyer's skin tasted so good; just a hint of salt lingered on it ... like popcorn. Every inch got licked and explored, as I worked my way down.

Finally, I nuzzled in between Donny's legs. There were probably things he would like other than this, but hell, I just wanted to be greedy tonight. Sucking and biting at that tender skin, I pushed my tongue deep inside, fucking him with a hot kiss. Not like I was ignoring Donny's cock. My fingers stroked and pulled and touched. I ran my thumb through the slit playing right at the very tip. But my mouth was wholly wrapped up in what was a few inches farther back.

Cook was growling. "Oh, God Almighty, Jared!" Butt high in the air, hands balled into the sheets, he pushed back against my mouth. "Please, darlin', now ... NOW! Don't torture me like this!"

I sat back and pulled Donny up and into my lap. That tight, hot body swallowed my cock like it was meant to be in it. Biting down on the back of a corded neck, I rocked us back and forth. Slow and easy, getting into the pace of it. Donny met me move for move.

He dropped his head onto my shoulder moaning out, "Oh, sweet Jesus!" Donny's cock was standing straight up and glistening with his own juice. Oh, he needed to be pounded.

I pushed us forward, lifting myself onto my knees. "You're gonna get the ride of your life, handsome!"

My hands slid down Donny's back until they caught his hips. I pulled back. Watching my cock slide out of that hot body was intense. Nothing in the world existed but Donovan Cook and myself. One knee resting between his legs, the other planted near his side, steadying my weight, I took a deep breath then drove in hard and fast.

My lawyer lunged beneath me, crying, "Oh, God, Jared ... more! MORE!" The sound shot through my veins. I rode him hard. Donny bucked into my thrusts. My fingers dug into his hips. Wild and hot, I slammed into Donny's channel. Again and again. The world faded away as the fire shot up my prick and down my thighs. I reached between his legs. The skin of his cock burned. Stroking that massive tool fueled chants of  "Jared, Jared! Oh dear Lord in Heaven, Jared!"

Harder and faster, I twisted the prick in my hand. "Come on, stud, cum with me!" The shudders started for both of us.

I could feel Donny thickening and tightening. "Yeah baby, come on..." The last of it was driven by the lawyer's moans of "Yes! YES!" Then I was lost in the heat rushing through my cock. Donovan shivered and shivered again as we collapsed together on the bed. Without conscious thought, I slipped from his body and pulled him close.

Warm against my chest, Donny ran his hands over the arms circling his waist. "Will you let me..." now his voice was unsure, "may I stay here with you tonight?"

"You need to ask? In fact ..." I ran my hands through his silky black hair and kissed his ear. " ... I'm trying to think how to get you to stay the rest of my life." That got me a soft, contented smile. I kissed up Donny's neck, "What's your thoughts on us, you good with it? I don't want to take advantage of the situation. Well I do, but you know, I don't want you to feel like you're obligated or anything."

"We'll worry about it when we need to." Donovan's kisses drove any lingering uncertainty out of my mind.

* * *

The next morning, we shaved and showered together. I had been right - no tan lines. The water sluicing down that tattooed sleeve was unbelievably arousing. I couldn't keep my hands off of him. Donny cradled my face in his hands and we kissed beneath the warm water cascading down our bodies. His skin was as smooth as silk. We toweled each other dry and dressed. Cook called his office and told Debbie that we were going out to the Martindale mansion for a look-see. He also asked her to see if Aidan Frasier was available and if he could meet us at the house.

"Who's Aidan?"

"He's a contractor. Runs one of the best companies here in northern Louisiana. He's also a good friend. I know you two are going to be as thick as thieves." That wicked grin flashed again. A surprised look crossed his face and he snapped his fingers.

"You know what? I almost forgot that I got you a rental car! You are a bad influence on me, Jared Gardner. I've never had my brains drilled out of me before!"

I kissed him again. "Well, I'll just have to remember not to do that before you've got a court appearance!"

* * *
We took the rental car out to Regina's mansion in Eros. What struck me first was that the house was PINK. I don't know why, but I expected something like Tara from "Gone With The Wind." The building was large, but it wasn't a plantation house by any stretch of the imagination. Aunt Regina probably wanted a house that was 'manageable' for a long time. She didn't strike me as an spendthrift woman.

"Why pink?"

"Regina had a delightful sense of humor, Jared. She said she wanted to make the house up like the Royal Hawaiian. It absolutely appalled the neighbors, which was another reason why she did it."

"Damn, I wish I had known her!"

"She was one hell of a woman .... c'mon, let's go inside..."

I could see as I walked up the drive that all of the landscaping had not had a good trimming in quite a while, and the closer I got to the house proper, I could see many missing and loose shingles on the roof. I pointed them out to Donny. "Yep, there were a number of leaks on the top floor. There's been some water damage, but I've managed to have the areas tarred up until someone could take proper care of it."

We entered the house. The rooms were large and well appointed with beautiful and elegant furniture. We walked through the house, up the large double staircase. Regina had amazing taste. Donny pointed out several original paintings - a Goya, two Picassos and a Matisse.

As we were coming down from the third floor, I heard a voice echo in the atrium.

"Hello? Anybody here? Donny?"

"Ah ... that's Aidan. Let's go down and meet him!"


There must be something in the water down here .... Aidan Frasier was as damnably handsome as Donny. The contractor wore a pair of dark denim cutoff jeans that highlighted his tanned and muscular legs and a black t-shirt with a stylized cross that was pulled across his rippling physique. A pair of work boots with slouch socks completed the outfit. A Nike cap was pulled low over his face and shaved head. He was writing on a clipboard when he we came down the stairs. His eyes were a deep blue-green and sparkled as he looked up at us.

He was pierced. He had tunnels and rings in both ears; his eyebrow and lower lip had bars through them and he wore a steel crescent in his septum. Ordinarily, I would have been taken aback by all that metal on someone's face, on Frasier, though, the effect was magnetic. No pun intended.

Donny gave the contractor a hug.

"Aidan, this is Jared Gardner. He's Miz Regina's grand-nephew. I told him I'd help him get honest help to fix up the house here."

Frasier turned to me and shook my hand. Those blue-green eyes drilled into me and I felt electricity crackle in my blood with that contact. He looked somber.

"Well, Mr. Gardner, I'm not gonna pull any punches here ... that roof needs a complete replacement and there's been some major structural damage from the leaks. Some of the wood on the main floors is in pretty poor shape and is going to require a lot of work. A lot of work ..."

Cook spoke up. "When can you start, Aidan?"

He looked at the lawyer. "I'm finishing up a job up in Shongaloo right now. Should be three more weeks. I'm gonna need all my boys working full time on this project ... last Monday in the month good for you?" He looked at me.

"Fine with me. If Donny recommends you, I'm happy to have you doing the work. I'm sure it'll be beautiful."

He beamed. His entire face changed when he smiled. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. My boys and I will do you proud."

He looked serious again. "Before I start, I want to be upfront and honest with you. I feel that's the best way to start a good relationship."

I gestured him to continue.

"My boys aren't exactly angels, sir. They've all been in trouble and have served time. Nothing violent, mind you - burglary, confidence games, grifting, a little statutory rape here and there - but all of them have been trained as master craftsmen and have learned their lessons. They give me no trouble and they won't give you none either. I guarantee it. Are you okay with that, Mr. Gardner? I'd understand if you feel otherwise..."

"Aidan, Donny's word is good enough for me. Would you be willing to take the job and fix up my house?"

Donny wrapped his arm around me and tucked his hand into my back pocket. He nuzzled my neck. I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him close.

"You've made a good choice, Jared. You're going to love Aidan's work!"

Frasier let out a deep breath. "Whew! That's always the hard part of closing the deal! Lots of folks are afraid to give my guys a second chance..." We shook on it.

His accent was slightly different from Donny's. "Are you from Louisiana, Mr. Frasier?"

He smiled. "Nope, I'm originally from Manassas. Virginia. My daddy wasn't quite as tolerant about my ... peccadilloes ... as Donny's daddy was about his. Lucky for me, my grand-daddy was a lot more understanding ... but I felt it best to leave home and set out to make my way in the world..."

His smile was intoxicating. "... and please call me Aidan ..."

* * *

News travels fast - and news like this ... a single person inheriting Regina's considerable estate ... seemed to move at lightspeed through Ruston. All of a sudden, the hotel was being deluged by phone calls, mail, visitors and press from all over northern Louisiana, all wanting to meet the newest multi-millionaire in their midst. I wasn't used to this type of publicity. I didn't know what to do - so I went to see Donny.

Debbie met me downstairs and ushered me into his office. The senior partner had a court date in Shreveport and was dressed for the occasion. His dark blue Zegna suit framed a white shirt which hugged his torso just this side of obscene. A blue, gold and green tie was knotted perfectly around his neck; gold and lapis lazuli cufflinks glittered in the bright morning sunshine.

"Damn, you look great in a suit!"

He grinned. "I'm sure you'd rather strip me out of it, darlin' ... what's going on? I've seen the coverage you've been getting in the local papers. Too much publicity?"

"I think I'm going to need to hire someone to handle all of this stuff ... look at these!" I had a five-inch stack of invitations I had received. I handed them to him. He took them and started scanning through them.

"Hanger-on. Hypocrite. Thief. Liar. Big Thief. Holy-roller. Syncophant...." the invitations flew into the wastebasket.

"N'eer-do-well. White trash. Child-molester. Oho ..." He held up a pale green invitation on marbled paper. "Nymphomaniac." We both laughed as it joined the growing pile in his trash.

"I'll get one of my associates to be your aide-de-camp ... and let me see about some more private lodging."

He looked at the Movado on his wrist. "I've gotta run ... Judge Tunney is a stickler for promptness." He pulled me into his arms and gave me a deep kiss. "See you tonight?"

"Of course!"

"Sit down and relax. I'll have Debbie take care of everything."

He was as good as his word. Within minutes, I heard a knock on the door.

"Mr. Gardner? I'm Dylan Forrester. Donny told me that you needed some help. What can I do for you?"

Forrester was my height - around 5'11" - with short, dark red hair and cornflower blue eyes. His face was all chiseled planes and had a deep cleft in his chin. He wore a pale yellow polo which was stretched over a muscular physique and a pair of extremely snug, faded blue jeans - almost white - which left no room for imagination. Yes, this was definitely an associate of Donny's.

"I need to get out of the public eye, Dylan -- once those probate papers were filed, it's been a non-stop circus at the hotel."

He looked at me with a critical eye, rubbing his chin in the process.

"Donny told me you're having Aidan do the renovation's on Miz Martindale's house, is that right?"

"Yep. Donny says he does magnificent work. I can't wait for him to start."

Dylan gave me a 100-watt smile. "All right ... two things. One, would you like to see Aidan's work up close and personal, and two, would you mind being out in the fresh air for a little while?"

I didn't know where he was going with the questions. "I'd love to see his work. And as far as being outdoors, I've literally been trapped in my hotel room. What are you thinking about?"

"Well, the best place to hide something is in plain sight. I'm thinking of having you stay at Aidan's place for the lodging and have you out with him and his boys during the day. I know he's got the room and he certainly wouldn't mind another set of hands. You game, Mr. Gardner?"

I sure was. "That's a great idea, Dylan!"

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey coz, it's Dylan. Got a favor to ask you. Actually from me and Donny. You know Mr. Gardner? ..."

Forrester winked at me. "... Yep, that's right. The drop-dead handsome Yankee ... he needs to get away from all the people buzzing around him right now because of the inheritance. I was thinking, could he stay at your place for a spell? Good! I thought you had the room ... Other thing ... I was pondering - could he come out with you and the boys at the Shongaloo site? Maybe help out a bit?"

A pause on the phone. "I don't think he'd mind that. I'll ask him... yes, coz - he's right in front of me... You mind getting a crewcut, Mr. Gardner?"

"Not at all." Hell, the weather here required a short haircut. That was on my to-do list.

"Great! We're all set! See you in a bit, coz!" He snapped the phone shut.

"You're Aidan's cousin?"

He smiled. "Got it in one. Our family up in Manassas was not exactly known for it's open-mindedness. Aidan told me about Cook, Dayton and Lee and I applied directly to Donny Cook when I was in law school. Everything worked out great for both of us."

He put his arm around me. "Okay, let's pick up your stuff at the hotel and then we'll head out to meet Aidan."

* * *

We took Dylan's car back to my hotel and pulled around the back. I gave him my room key and waited in the vehicle. About 20 minutes passed. I saw the red-haired lawyer coming out with my bags. He put them in the back seat and climbed back into the car.

"All done. Here's the plan. We'll get you your haircut and then you can come out to my place and change clothes. Then I'll drive you up to the Shongaloo site and you can stay with Aidan. He'll take you home with the boys. Sounds good?"

"Sounds perfect!"

We drove over to Hudson's Barber Shop. It was an old-fashioned brick storefront right off Shreveport Highway and Adams Street - including the rotating red pole. We entered the store and a middle-aged man looked up from reading the newspaper. He wore a nylon overshirt with the name "Fred" on it.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'd like a ... buzzcut and a shave, please."

The barber gestured me into a chair and wrapped the cloth around my neck. "I'll do the shave first." He reclined the chair. "Be right back."

Fred returned with a steaming, fluffy white towel and wrapped it around my face. The heat felt wonderful. He unwrapped it and then proceeded to spread hot lather over my cheeks and neck. This was something I had never done before and was amazingly relaxing. The barber soon finished with the straight razor and lifted the chair upright. He wiped my face with the still-hot towel and then splashed on some Bay Rum. I ran my hands down my face - it felt as smooth as a baby's ass.

"You did a great job, Fred. Thank you!"

The barber beamed. "How short do you want the buzz, mister?"

"Really short." Dylan and I had discussed this in the car on the way over.

"Okie-dokie." He plugged in a pair of clippers, adjusted the blades and started on my head. It was a bit unnerving to see clumps of brown hair landing in my lap, but it would grow back in. He worked quickly. Before I knew it, he was done. I looked at the rough-looking stud in the mirror. I smiled. He smiled back. Fred finished up with a little bit of talcum powder around my neck and wiped it off with a soft brush. He then whipped the cape off of me.

"Just what I wanted, Fred! Thank you again. How much?"

"That'll be $7.50."

I handed him a twenty. He looked shocked. "Thank you, sir! You come back when you need another cut!"

I waved as we left the shop.

"Well, Jared - you certainly look a lot different!

I smiled at Dylan. "I feel a lot different. It's amazing what a haircut can do for you." I glanced down at his crotch. "I can see you like it, too!"

He followed my eyes and blushed. I laughed. We got into the car and headed for his apartment.

* * *
"Let's see ... you're going to need some t-shirts and workboots ... what's your shoe size, Mr. Gardner?"

"I take a nine-and-a-half or ten ..."

"Perfect! We're the same size!"

We went into his bedroom; he started going through several drawers, pulling out t-shirts as he sorted through the dresser.

"These'll look great on you ... try them on."

The first one he gave me was a dark grey, with an engineering diagram in black with the words, "Mounting Instructions" on it. The fit was quite snug, but looking in the mirror, it looked perfect with the buzzcut. I pulled it off over my head and tried on several more. All of them were incredibly soft and fit me just as well. Another one had the words, "Full Service" with a winged skull and another had "Roughrider Baseball Camp" on it. The last one he pulled out had the team name of "Swallows Baseball" on the front and "Tri-City Construction" on the back.


"If you read these a certain way, they are really suggestive, Dylan..."

He grinned. "They're supposed to be! You don't mind, do you?"

"Not really ... when in Rome ..." I sniggered.

"Good! You have some denim shorts? Jocks?"

I shook my head.

Forrester gave me an evil grin. "I can take care of that..."

He opened another drawer and pulled out several jocks and a couple pairs of shorts. He also grabbed several thick pairs of white socks and tossed them on the bed.

"Put these on ... I'll get the boots."

I pulled off my soccer shoes and socks; then I stepped out of my cargo shorts and trunks. I was so hard it was painful - but in a oddly pleasurable way. I took a red jock from the pile on the bed and barely managed to stuff myself into it. Then I slipped on a pair of faded and torn denim shorts. I had a bit of difficulty buttoning them up, but I was rewarded by seeing an obscenely large bulge in the mirror. The feel of going near-commando was amazing. I sat down on the bed and pulled on the thick white socks.

Dylan came back into the room with a pair of scuffed, tan Timberlands and stopped dead in his tracks. His blue eyes widened in amazement. I gave him a wicked grin and leaned back on my elbows.

"How do I look?"

"Jesus Christ, Jared!" I swear I could see some drool in the corner of his mouth. "I think I've created a monster!"

"Let me try on the boots."

I took the Timberlands from him and laced them up. The boots were well broken in and felt as comfortable as my sneakers. They were also a perfect fit. The shorts accentuated my muscular thighs and the combination of the slouchy socks and boots highlighted my calves. I walked around the room.

"I feel great!"

"You ... you look great!" Dylan's voice was hoarse. He was trembling.

I walked over to the red-haired lawyer and cradled his face in my hands. I stroked his ears with my fingers as I gave him a soft kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arms around me and our hard, throbbing crotches ground together. The kisses grew deeper as my hands moved lower and I began stroking his back. We continued to kiss until we were breathless.

Forrester swallowed hard. "Jared, will you .... ?"

My hand traveled down to feel the hard, firm globes of his ass beneath the tight denim. I nodded and kissed him again.

He pulled the polo shirt over his head to display a smooth muscular torso with small, hard nips. Then I started to unbutton his jeans.

I licked my lips and smiled. There's a lot to be said about southern hospitality ....

* * *

After giving Dylan a rough pounding, we headed out to Shongaloo to meet up with Aidan. The job site was a huge plantation house which was being renovated from top to bottom. Workmen were crawling over the roof, replacing shingles; pumpjacks were attached like limpets to the sides of the house where old siding was being ripped off and new siding was being attached; window holes stared like eyesockets only to be replaced by new wrought iron and glass that glittered brightly in the afternoon sun.

The one thing I noticed immediately about Aidan's men was the similarity in their appearance. All of them were tall, tanned and well-built - but considering their profession, that wasn't surprising What did strike me was the fact that all of them had shaved heads and most of them had elaborate tattoo sleeves running down one or both arms. The men replacing the roof were shirtless, their bodies gleaming with sweat, making the rifts and valleys of their shredded abs and muscled arms glow like molten bronze. Oh Christ ... I'm going to have a permanent hard-on out here.

Dylan and I sauntered onto the grounds of the house, where he was given waves and smiles from the crew. I got a number of appreciative and hungry looks from the various carpenters, masons and other workmen. We found Aidan off the main foyer of the house, discussing the repair of some elaborately carved woodwork with one of his men.


Like the others I had seen outside, this man shared the same imposing physique and deep gold tan, the shaved head and the elaborate tattoos. Up close, I could see he was probably in his early thirties and his muscles bunched and danced beneath a sleeve showing angels and demons battling each other, with vibrant swirls of blue, purple and green. He was pointing out various aspects of the repair work to Frasier.

"Aidan -- up here, I think the best way to do this is using a combination of wood and auto body filler. That'll let me re-carve the detail in and then ..."

"Hey coz!"

Aidan turned to smile at his cousin. "Hey stud! Limping again, I see ... another rough ride?? Where's Jar- ..." he stopped in mid-sentence and stared at me.

"Mr. Gardner? Is that you?"

I grinned. "Dylan said the best place to hide is in plain sight ... I guess that's true!"

"God-damn ... I wouldn't have recognized you at all!" He smiled at his cousin. "Dylan's always had an twisted sense of humor ... you look like someone I just picked up from DWCC!"

He turned to the workman. "Blaine, I want you to meet Jared Gardner. We're going to be working on his house after we finish here. He's gotten a bit too much publicity lately, and we're helping him keep a low profile."

The bald man gave me a bright white grin that traveled all the way to his cognac-brown eyes and shook my hand. His grip was like iron.

"Blaine Pembroke, sir. Nice to meet you. You look like you'll fit right in here!"

"Blaine's my best refinisher. He's an absolute wizard with damaged wood. I thought you'd like to see him work since you've got so much water and insect damage at your place."

"Thanks, Aidan - I really appreciate you doing this for me. I couldn't stand being trapped in that hotel room any longer."

"Think nothing of it, Jared. It's my pleasure. I'll see you in a bit." He put his arm around his cousin and they strolled out together.

* * *

I spent most of the time with Blaine during my three weeks at the plantation house. He truly was a master craftsman when it came to wood - even better, he loved to teach. I picked up an incredible amount of knowledge from him and found that I loved fine carpentry work. I loved fixing furniture. I loved re-carving and refinishing wood. I was also amazingly good at it. I worked with Frasier's "inside boys" at Shongaloo and those were the best three weeks of my life.

Aidan's "place" was actually a small hotel he had purchased and renovated. The men stayed two to a room and generally ate commissary-style in the large dining room.

Up by 5am, out by 6am, and back by 8pm - sort of like where they were before, except there weren't any bars.

I developed the same deep gold tan as the rest of the workers - whom, compared to the sharks and cutthroats of Madison Avenue - were the most decent, caring and considerate people I've met in a very long while. They loved their work and they all had the utmost respect for Aidan Frasier. They regarded him as the father or big brother that had been missing in their lives. He had built these men into a family - and it showed.

There was always a great deal of activity going on amongst the ex-cons every night; I had more than one open-ended offer, but I usually drove out to Donny's home after dinner and spent my evenings with him. There were times, though, when Donny was traveling that I spent the night with Blaine or with Micah - one of Aidan's roofers. At 24, Micah was considered the "baby" of the group (he had not gotten his inked sleeve yet - a rite of passage for Aidan's boys) and his smoldering good looks were exceeded only by his enthusiasm with his partners. He was an insatiable little devil.

My lawyer had heartily approved of Dylan's disguise and I found our lovemaking growing more intense and aggressive each time we were together. According to Donny, I was picking up more than a few "rough trade" habits and mannerisms - I enjoyed every one of them - so did he. All the hard, manual work at the Shongaloo site had strengthened muscles I didn't even know existed; the look on my lover's face was one of surprised shock the first time I pinned him down on his own bed.

We had just finished a marathon session. Donny and I were both on our backs, trying to catch our breath. He rolled over. "You know, darlin', I think you're getting sexier every day..." He started kissing down the newly-deepened rift between my pecs, licking the sweat as he went along.

"You like being pounded by one of Aidan's boys?" I stroked his back.

"Mmmmmmm ... anytime ...." He straddled me; grabbing my hands and immobilizing them over my head. I loved seeing the tattoos stretch over his muscles. I loved struggling as he held me down. He crushed his mouth to mine. "You know, you're losing your Yankee accent?"

"I am?" He brushed his lips over my eyelids.

"Uh-huh. And you're certainly picking up a lot of bad habits from your boss."

I chuckled. It was true. In more ways than one. "By the way, Aidan's having a party to celebrate the end of the Shongaloo job - you want to come?"

He arched his brows. "Love to. Knowing Aidan, what's the dress code?"

"He said - and I quote - 'Anything that would get you arrested ' unquote."

Donny chuckled and ran his lips around the edge of my jaw. "Sounds downright sinful ... and right up my alley. When is it?"

"Next Friday." I kissed the tip of his nose.

He sat back on his knees and pulled my legs onto his shoulders. "Well, remind me to give Mr. Frasier a call in the morning ...."

* * *
"Jared, this looks really, really good..."

Blaine and I were in the room we shared at Aidan's. The master refinisher had given me a piece of a lintel he had replaced in the Shongaloo mansion and told me to repair it. I had sweated bullets over the project and he was now examining it with a critical eye.

"How did you fix this pineapple?" He pointed to the crest of the lintel. It had been its centerpiece, surrounded by scrollwork and carved acanthus leaves.

"I fastened it back in with a 3mm dowel through the center. Bored the holes a little larger and used carpenter glue to tighten it. I resculpted the pineapple with the wood filler. I didn't want to use any metal. It would weaken both pieces of wood."

He nodded appreciatively. "Nice. How'd you smooth out the repaired leaves on the left, here?"

"300 grit emery paper to start, pumice powder and a q-tip to finish."

"Beautiful job! I have a few comments, though ..."

"I'm listening..."

He brought the piece over to the window. The strong Louisiana sunshine struck the wood, making it glow. "Now, this here's cherry wood. You did a fairly decent job with the grain pen, but you were a little too cautious in rebuilding the grain here, and here ..." He pointed to some of the longer, less detailed areas. "Cherry's got a slide-slide-tap-tap pattern. It's okay to have it stand out a bit. Color blending's perfect. Varnish is a beautiful job too. Knowing your wood takes time. Nothing can change that, 'cept more experience. I'm proud of you, Jared..."

I felt ten feet tall. "Thanks, Blaine. I loved doing it."

He smiled. "I can tell ... Jared, can I ask you something?"

I nodded.

"You've really made a great impression on the boys here ... and you're one of the best assistants I've had in a while. You take my advice to heart, you learn, you do better every time. And you know I don't give out compliments easily ... would you consider becoming my journeyman? Would you like to work with Aidan and me on other jobs?"

The look on my face must have said it all. His smile transformed his face. "I take that as a 'yes' ?"

"Yes!!!"

"Great!" He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a crushing hug. I'd never felt better in my life. I reveled in that strong embrace.

He looked at his watch. "Hey, we'd best get ready for the party. What're you gonna wear?" He pulled his t-shirt over his head and slipped out of his shorts. He was commando. Blaine sauntered into the bathroom and I heard him turn on the shower.

"I don't know. Aidan said to stop by his room and he'd have something for me."

I was wearing a pair of purple jammers and some soccer shoes. No shirt. I was shaved completely smooth. The only hair I had left was my brows, lashes and some short stubble on my head. I also had on a cock ring. I'd gotten into the habit of wearing that with a jock nearly all the time. I actually felt naked without wearing that piece of metal on me now. This was one of the "bad habits" Donny had jokingly referred to - but I knew he enjoyed it.

The water turned off and Blaine came back into the room toweling himself dry. "I'm sure he'll have something that'll fit you to a tee." He opened one of the drawers of his dresser and pulled out a pair of black latex trunks and a steel contraption with a ring on one end and a ball on the other.

"What's that?"

"Asslock cockring." He picked up the item and squirted a handful of lube onto the ball end. He pulled his cock and balls through the ring, leaving the stem and ball dangling in back of him. "You pull yourself through and then push this in ..." He spread some more lube onto his pucker and started to press the sphere into himself.

"Ahhhhh...." His ass swallowed the globe, leaving the heavy cockring surrounding his package. The stem traveled under his balls and disappeared into his channel. It looked amazingly erotic. I was getting hard just looking at it.

"You want to try one, Jared? I've got an extra..."

"Sure! Does it feel as good as it looks?"

Blaine gave me a wicked grin. "Better! Having that metal up your ass while you drill someone is the most incredible feeling ... strip!"

I pulled down my jammers and eased myself out my plain steel cock ring. Blaine opened his drawer again and handed me another unit. I spread some Gun Oil over it and myself and slipped it on. The cock ring was thick, smooth and heavy; I laid the sphere against my pucker and began to press it in. Thanks to the lube, the steel sphere entered my chute without too much difficulty and my ass closed tightly around it. Blaine was right - it felt amazing. I was hard as a brick and every twitch of my cock moved the ball in my channel. The feeling and knowledge of that machined metal up my ass was mind-blowing.

"Wow ... your were right! God-damn, this feels great!" I pulled up the jammers and reveled in the sensations I was getting from both ends. My tool made an obscene statement through the thin fabric.

"I knew you'd like it!" The refinisher had pulled on a pair of thick white socks and had slicked up the black latex trunks. He slid them on and adjusted his heavy package surrounded by its steel prison into the pouch. He slipped on a pair of Corcoran jump boots polished to a mirror finish and laced them up. Finally, he pulled on a pair of tight black patrol gloves. Christ, he looked good.

"Jared, do me a favor? Lube me up?"

"Sure thing, Blaine. A lot or a little?"

"Just a little on the skin. A lot on the trunks."

"You got it." I poured some Gun Oil onto my hands and started rubbing the lube into his strong legs. I worked my way up, adding more lube to the outside of the trunks so they gleamed wetly in the afternoon sunshine. I covered his powerful torso and arms in a thin coat of lube - his looked in the mirror and smiled at his glistening body.

"You'd best get over to Aidan ... no sense in waiting!" He held my face in his leather-clad hands and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. "Thanks for helping, buddy." He gave me a pat on the ass as he sauntered out of the room.

* * *

I knocked on the door; Aidan answered. "Come on in!"

It was my turn to stare slackjawed. My now-boss was preening in front of a mirror - he looked through it at me and smiled. "Hey Jared! Thought you'd never get here ... you like it?"

I loved it. Aidan had on a tight black latex polo shirt with blue stripes at the neck and sleeves that heightened the musculature of his chest and arms. This was someone I'd never even think of arm-wrestling with. A pair of latex bleacher jeans sinfully hugged every curve of his powerful legs and a front-to-back zipper showcased his massive package and hard, tight ass. 20-eyelet boots molded themselves to his calves and were topped by a pair of blue socks folded down over the tops. White suspenders accentuated the v-shape of his torso; his eyes were partially obscured by a pair of gradient sunglasses; and a large knife was tucked into the top of one of the boots.

"Aidan, you look brutal! And sexy! It's fantastic!"

He smiled as he glided over to me. Frasier's gaze wandered down to my crotch and gave it a squeeze. He felt the thick cock ring and raised his eyebrows. He held me by the hips and stroked along my sides with gentle fingers.

He chuckled "I asked Blaine to talk to you about working for me ... and I can see that you two did a lot more than that... I take it that you wearing that asslock cockring is a 'yes' ?"

I returned the grin. "I do believe you are psychic, Mr. Frasier ..."

Aidan wrapped me in a tight embrace and our arms surrounded each other greedily. The scent of the latex was driving me mad; the way our crotches pressed up against each other twisted the sphere in my chute; I was ready to redline.

He grabbed me by the edge of my jammers. "C'mon handsome, let's get you fixed up for the party!"

He opened his closet and took out a polo shirt in the same style as his own; this one was a pique fabric with red and white stripes around the collar and sleeves. He also pulled out a pair of Levis with the same camouflage blue-and-white patterning as his own. He then opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of thick, white socks.

"That shirt's a genuine Fred Perry - I got it in the UK when I was there - it's the 'official' skinhead shirt. Those bleachers I did myself. I think they'll look great on you! Try 'em on!"

I sat down on the bed to unlace my soccer shoes, and then stood up to pull off my jammers. I was buck naked in front of Aidan with my cock at obscene attention and encircled by the steel of the ring. I tightened my asscheeks and felt the sphere grip my channel with a vengeance. Damn, it felt good!

I pulled on the socks and then slipped the shirt over my head. It was cut smaller and narrower than usual, and every hard and hard earned muscle in my arms and torso were gripped sinfully by the fabric. I slid the bleacher jeans onto my legs and then stood to pull them up. The bleachers wrapped around my legs like a second skin and I struggled to button the fly over my engorged package. (I'll admit to another "bad habit" I've picked up - I go out of my way to wear pants a size smaller now to make my cock and balls bulge out as much as possible.) The c-ring and ass plug rubbed against my skin and the jeans at the same time. Given the slightest provocation, I was ready to explode.

Aidan gave me a thick black belt. I slipped that through the loops and tightened it around my narrow waist. "Looks good, stud ... looks real good..." He handed me a pair of Corcoran jump boots. They had 12 eyelets and they were polished to a mirror sheen. I sat down and began to lace them up. He licked his lips.

He stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Jared, you should really consider getting rid of the rest of the hair on your head - you'd look so damn sexy completely bald, there wouldn't be a man under this roof who could keep his hands off of you!"

"I was going to ask Blaine tonight how he keeps his scalp so smooth ... I was also thinking of getting myself a full sleeve..."

"You are? My, my, I guess all of our good habits are rubbing off on you! I can set up the appointment with Jeff anytime you want. A full sleeve'll take about six weeks to finish."

I rolled the legs of the bleachers up to show off the boots. "Good?"

"Great! Let's head down to the celebration!"

* * *
Aidan Frasier certainly knew how to throw a party. When he said the dress code was "Anything that would get you arrested" he meant it. His boys (and now my co-workers) were in various stages of undress that would have had them hauled in front of a magistrate in the blink of an eye. In addition, some of the acts going on between the men had to be seen to be believed. There is nothing more arousing, more exciting, more cock-stirring than seeing sweaty, tattooed, hairless men fucking each other's brains out. I couldn't stop looking at Micah being drilled by Keith Henry, another one of Aidan's roofers. Keith had a pair of football pants open at the crotch and was holding the young roofer in his arms and effortlessly sliding him up and down his massive pole.

An arm wrapped lightly around my waist and pulled me back against a naked chest. Blue and green swirls stood out against my black shirt. Donny. He whispered in my ear, "You look amazing, Jared ... just amazing." I could feel his rigid manhood press against my ass. I turned around to give my partner a kiss.

Donny was wearing glove-soft black leather chaps which looked painted onto his powerful legs. He wore a black leather jock with a deep blue stripe down the middle; the shadow of his hips peeked around the overloaded pouch. Harness boots and wrist bands completed his equipage. As our tongues met each other, I wrapped my arms around him and slid my hands down to stroke his ass. He shivered in pleasure.

Donny looked around at the venue, at the other men and listened appreciatively to the band warming up on the stage.

"Hey, that guy looks familiar ..."

"That's Brad Paisley..."

Donny looked surprised. "You're pulling my leg, Jared ... Brad Paisley? Here?"

I smiled. "Brad and Aidan go back a long ways ... they've always had a very close relationship ..."

"Always the diplomat ... you should've been a lawyer ..." We kissed again.

"Mmmmm .... you're a sight for sore eyes, love... how'd the trial go??"

His eyes twinkled. "After a bit of jockeying for position .... I won! I also managed to get treble damages and all my fees paid. The defendant's ready for bankruptcy - and it looks like I can pick up his assets for pennies on the dollar."

"My hero ..." I kissed the tip of his nose. I cocked my head and grabbed onto his waistband. "Let's go."

He stopped for a moment. "Don't you ever stop, Jared?" Donny's voice was heavy.

"Not with you. Never."

The leatherman's hand slid behind my head as my arms circled around his narrow waist. We kissed deeply. Damn, his mouth tasted good. Donny's erection pressed into the flesh of my thigh - that just added to the swelling tension and the lust spiraling out of control between us. We always just seemed to know what the other needed. Wanted. I pressed my hips into his.

Grinding his leather-clad cock against a layer of denim, my lover snaked a hand into my jeans. There was a moment of surprise when he felt the heavy, hot steel encircling my tool. Now there was a hand between my prick and Donny's. Of course there was nothing between his hand and my throbbing length. I laughed to myself. Blaine wasn't the only one with a rock steady grip.

"Donny," I hissed, thrusting into his hand, "you are so good to me."

The friction was wonderful, hot and cold all at the same time. It sent little shivers along the skin of my thighs. Donny whispered against my lips, "That's because you're so good to me."

I could tell by his breathing it was wonderful as well for him. He twisted the heel of his palm against my throbbing head and I moaned. He kissed down my throat.

"I want you in me, Jared. I've missed you so much ... darlin', I want you in me now...."

I swallowed; I could barely speak. "Turn ... turn around, handsome..."

I grabbed a bottle of lube - many of which had been strategically placed around the room - and unbuttoned my jeans. I pulled out my tool - the tip was already moist and leaking. I spread the Gun Oil on both of us and slowly eased my manhood into his waiting chute. I snaked a hand into his chaps and into the pouch of his jock. I fondled him and began to rock gently in and out of his hungry hole.

I put my lips to my lover's ear. "Come for me ... Imagine you're fucking me, pounding me so hard, like that time in your office..." The thrusting was building into a fire in my hips as I picked up the tempo and pushed deeper and deeper into the leatherman.

" ... fucking me so hard I beg you stop. But you don't quit. And I am so tight and hot and..."

Donny shuddered and threw his head back. "Oh Christ, Jared!"

Cum bubbled over my fingers. I kept pulling and squeezing, making the leatherman moan again and again and again. That chiseled face, all twisted up in pleasure was too much for me. The steel sphere in my insides hit my prostate like a thunderbolt as I exploded within his burning depths. Exhausted, I leaned into his body, savoring the smell of Donny after sex. As I sucked on his earlobe, I teased him. "Weren't we discussing tort reform??"

* * *

From Blaine, I discovered the product he used to keep himself smooth. It was a depilatory that had a faint citrus scent and was extremely effective. It was far better than shaving. I loved the feel of a completely smooth head and body and only had to use it about once a month. Blaine also mentioned the longer I used it, the less hair would grow back. He only used it now about twice a year.

Aidan was as good as his word - the work on the house was done quickly and professionally. I also wanted to add some solar panels to the roof. This provided almost all the power for house and it also completely pissed off the neighbors. I figured Aunt Regina would be smiling down on me, approving of that addition and keeping up her traditions. Working alongside Blaine and Nick - another refinisher - was sheer heaven for me. Not only I was learning something I loved - seeing something take shape beneath my hands was one of the most satisfying things I've ever done. We spent about six months rebuilding Regina's house and it now felt like home.

About two weeks before I finished, Aidan arranged an appointment for me with Jeff Ensminger in Texas. Jeff was the tattoo artist who had worked nearly all the ex-cons' sleeves, and also had been responsible for Donny's peacock masterpiece. I told my lover that I had to attend to some details back in New York before moving permanently to Louisiana. It would take a few weeks before we could be together again.

Jeff and I worked back and forth on several designs and together, we came up with a concept that I loved. The entire inking process took about six weeks - two weeks for outlining, two for coloring and two for shading. I made sure that I was completely smooth before Jeff started.

Like Aidan had told me, a full sleeve is not a quick or easy process. I think Jeff worked a little slower, just to make sure the detailing was as perfect as he could get it. He worked a portion of my arm every day - that gave me (and him, for that matter) a chance to rest and recover. I made one final visit to his studio before I left for Louisiana.

"Looks perfect Jared ... I must say, I did a great job!" He grinned.

"You sure did, Jeff. I love it!" The sleeve was a biomechanical design loosely based on the workings of a chronograph. Plugs, sockets, wires and gears in silver and gold, with pistons, blocks and jeweled movements in ruby, sapphire and turquoise tones covered my arm. I flexed and watched the muscles ripple and move like sharks beneath inked waters.

"Say hello to Aidan and the boys for me ... and for that matter, give Donny a big hug!"

"Don't worry, I will!"

* * *
I arranged for Dylan to pick me up in Shreveport and Debbie to keep Donny out of the way until I could sneak into his office. My aide-de-camp was amazed at my transformation from our first meeting to the dangerous looking stud (and apparent DWCC ex-convict) I was now. We embraced at the airport. He tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon. Dylan trailed fingers down my sleeve, amazed at the detail on my skin. I was wearing a too-tight yellow t-shirt rolled up over my biceps and a pair of snug white jeans. My final appointment in Texas had been with a jeweler friend of Jeff's - diamond studs in my ears caught the light and dazzled the eyes with reflected rainbows in the Louisiana sunshine.

"Golly damn, Jared - you look incredible! Donny's gonna be so surprised!"

I could see him growing larger and harder as we walked into the parking lot. The boy needed a good drilling ... and the sooner the better ... for me and for him ...

"You know, you should really get one of these sleeves, Dylan - it's amazing how confident it makes you feel ..."

When we reached his car, I pushed him against the door. I held his arms to his sides in an iron grip. He looked at me with a combination of lust and fear.

I gave him a soft kiss. "Why don't we stop by your place before we go to see Donny?"

* * *

I heard my lover's voice outside the office. He sounded pissed off.

" ... and I don't want that fucking moron Bolton calling me again! That piece of white trash couldn't find his ass ..." he opened the door to his office, still talking to Debbie over his shoulder.

"with ... both ... hands..." he trailed off and stared. His mouth was hanging open.

I was leaning provocatively against his desk with my arms crossed over my chest. My bald head gleamed in the overhead lights and my sleeve was prominently displayed, highlighting the tight cotton t-shirt stretched over my slabbed pecs. The studs in my ears twinkled. My package was an obscene bulge in white denim and I gave him bright and wicked grin.

"Miss me?"

* * *

I had a great deal of fun actually writing this story, and I hope it showed! First off, I'd like to thank my extremely good buddy MaskedFreak (on GearFetish) for making the Aidan mask with the piercings. There's no one that can do it better than him!

My idea of a UK-style skinhead had gone through a number of different incarnations - from keeping him on the West Coast, resisting arrest from one of the SMD officers, to a similar bent of this story being a roofer who abducts one of his customers and makes him into a skinhead (supposedly) against his will.

This is perhaps one of the most autobiographical stories I have written to date. A number of the incidents described actually did happen to me, and writing about them has finally released a lot of pent-up frustrations and overall bad feelings I've carried around for several years.

Aidan - the pierced skinhead - was supposed to be the main character in the saga - but as it often happens with me, the best laid story plans go awry. As soon as I started writing, I found that Donny was moving to the forefront along with Jared. I found the story revolving around a trio of characters, rather than a couple. I got into a groove very similar to Richard and Amery and the story took off at a rapid clip.

Sometimes my secondary characters don't possess the same dimensionality as the main characters, but I found my ensemble cast - Jared, Donny, Aidan, Blaine and Dylan - all had a substance and a believability about them. I could actually see myself meeting them on the street and recognizing them.

Some details about the shoot:

Aidan was created using a Recidivist mask from Greyland. The shirt and pants I got from RubberBob in the UK. The 20-eyelet boots are TredAirs (a UK brand) and I got them Boots4All in Montreal. My buddy Reid highly recommended the TredAirs over Doc Martens and he was right - these boots are so comfortable, they feel like sneakers! The socks and braces I got from Recon Online.

Jared was created using a Gomer mask from Greyland. The Gomer and the Recidivist are both based on the "Derl" mold, and as I've said before, I find this to be my favorite Greyland "family". The Fred Perry shirt and the Corcoran boots I found on ebay for a great price.

The bleachers were hand-done by me based on some directions I found on the web. I started out with a pair of shrink-to-fit Levis 501 jeans from Sheplers. The site recommends ordering one size up (e.g. order a 31" waist if you regularly wear a 30").

The next thing I did was dampen the jeans and lay them flat in the tub. Fill a squeeze bottle (like for dishwashing liquid) with Clorox Plus Splash-Less Bleach. This stuff is a gel bleach, so it won't run off the fabric. Squirt the bleach onto the damp jeans - make a design - and let it do its work. Add more bleach if you want. Turn over the jeans, dampen them again and repeat with the procedure with the bleach on the other side.

Now - the magic. In the hottest water your washer can make, wash the bleached jeans THREE times with detergent. The third time, add liquid fabric softener. Put them in the dryer. When they come out, slip them on and button up! They will stretch to your measurements and you've got yourself a hot pair of bleachers!