1 comments/ 4080 views/ 1 favorites Between the Lines Ch. 03 By: ikhneumon February 11, 2010 From: Lawrence Ryan To: Douglas Monroe Subject: Re: Ronald Gordon's plays Dear Mr. Monroe, Thank you so much for sending the recording and your draft of the libretto. I must say, whoever you found to sing those selections has quite a beautiful voice. I have absolutely no complaints about your music, quite the opposite in fact, except that I did miss and very much look forward to hearing at least one or two of the duets that you have planned for the lovers. With regard to the libretto, however, I am puzzled as to why you elected to edit the three plays down into two. Deleting incidental characters such as Henry's parents is a typical adaptational strategy, but why meddle with the overall dramatic structure so drastically? It would be helpful, and indeed pleasant to meet face to face and work through the libretto together, but I'm afraid my schedule is rather full at present. In addition to preparing for the premiere of Queen Mab here in town shortly, I am scheduled to travel to Austin next month for the trilogy's Texas premiere there. Moreover, I have suddenly been tasked with an unexpected and somewhat delicate academic responsibility. But I suppose I needn't bore you with the details. If you can find some time available later in the year, perhaps early this summer, please let me know so that we can plan for a proper collaborator's meeting. Respectfully yours, Larry Ryan * * * * Larry * "Good morning, Larry. Terry's waiting for you," Sally greets me with her trademark practiced air of friendly efficiency from behind her well-ordered desk. The Theater department's administrative assistant for the past twenty-six years, Sally keeps us all in line with grace, humor, and infinite patience. "Thanks, Sally." I throw her a fond smile before making my way past her desk to the office marked "Theresa Brooks, Department Chair." I find Terry seated behind the wide desk in her crowded but immaculate office. As always, she is impeccably dressed in a sensible business suit, her iron gray hair perfectly coiffed. We've always gotten along well, but truth be told she frightens me just a little. I've seen her play Electra. She looks up over her glasses and spots me standing in the door. "Larry! Thank you for coming by. Could you close the door, please?" I blink and comply. "Perfect. Thank you. Please, sit." She indicates the chair across the desk from her and, once I am safely ensconced there, folds her hands deliberately across the fat blue file folder placed squarely in front of her. "I hear the Lexington premiere was an enormous success. I hope you're pleased." "It was very gratifying, yes," I cautiously allow. "Good, good. And two more productions coming this spring, I understand." "That's right. The trilogy in Austin and Queen Mab here in town." "Excellent. I'll be sure to put the local show on my calendar." "I look forward to seeing you there." Terry knows all this. Why are we going through this dance of courtesy? We sit in awkward silence for a few seconds. "Terry, what's this all about?" I finally venture. She drums flawlessly manicured fingernails across the file once, twice, three times before answering. I can't help noticing the label on the file tab reads "L. Ryan / R. Gordon." "Larry, I've been putting off bringing this up to you. I know you've had a great many things on your plate. But when I learned you'd be taking another trip this spring, to Austin this time, I knew I couldn't procrastinate any longer." "Is there a problem with my going? Jim said he was happy to cover my classes for me that week I'll be out of town in March. Is there a conflict I'm not aware of?" "Not... per se," Terry answers judiciously, "but there may be going forward." I stare at her. "Enlighten me." She opens the file and extracts a paper-clipped sheaf of documents. Before handing it across to me, though, she asks, "Have you received any sort of—push back—over the subject matter of Mr. Gordon's plays?" "Push back?" I allow myself a small, scornful smile. "You mean hate mail? I'm destroying this country, corrupting our youth, peddling filth, flouting God's law... that kind of thing? A bit, yes," I concede. I have a designated "Bigots" folder in my e-mail containing fifty or so such charming missives. My first impulse had been simply to delete the vile things, but on second thought, I decided to save them as morbid historical curiosities—or as ammunition. A suspicion creeps into my mind. "Have you?" Without answering, Terry hands me the stack of papers. I leaf through it, discovering a series of variations on the same familiar, single-minded (and simple-minded) theme: printed e-mails, typed and hand-written letters, telephone memoranda taken in Sally's careful, even handwriting. I notice with amusement that Sally has not been able to resist adding her own commentary in the margins of some of those: "Asshat!" underlined three times adorns one particularly vehement example. I had no idea Sally was even capable of swearing. "That," Terry says tightly, "is a choice selection of the dozens of communications this department—and the office of the President, you should be aware—has received in the last two and a half months. Mostly from self-proclaimed 'concerned citizens'"—her lips curl derisively—"but a substantial number of them from parents incensed at the thought of their fragile, precious darlings being made to study under 'that sodomite professor,' as I believe one of them so charmingly dubbed you. Some of the other appellations were slightly more colorful, if you can imagine. We've also had three letters from various church coalitions around the state, and calls for a federal inquiry from one of our state congressmen—who clearly needs a refresher course on the First Amendment." She removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "You've put us right in the crosshairs of the culture wars, Larry." I sit speechless, appalled. Is the college really going to cave in to this reactionary temper tantrum? Is Terry? I never would have imagined this of her. She has a lesbian daughter, for Christ's sake! Terry pauses to compose herself, her black eyes flashing, before replacing her glasses and lifting the next stack of papers, this one larger and held together with a binder clip. "And here," she continues, "is a selection from the hundreds of letters of congratulations and support I've received from members of the theatrical community, from gay and lesbian organizations, from some of our more open-minded religious congregations and clergy, and from alumni around the country—all thrilled that one of our own faculty has helped bring such an important issue to the forefront of our national conversation and, however belatedly, introduced the work of a major American talent to the public. "I have also," she goes on, her eyes unexpectedly misting over, "been so proud to receive letter after letter from gay and lesbian young people—and their parents, what's more—begging for the chance to study at this institution, in a department that they now perceive to be a safe and accepting place to nurture their talent. And you bet your ass I've shared each and every one of these with the President. He was... impressed." She drops the packet of correspondence in front of me with a soft thud. "Bravo, Larry," she says softly. My own eyes well up. We sit staring at each other, a couple of sentimental old fools at a loss for words. Terry eventually clears her throat. "Which brings me," she continues, "to my dilemma. You, no doubt, will have more productions of these plays coming up to steal you away from your teaching duties." "Um, actually," I interject sheepishly, "I suppose now would be the appropriate time to talk to you about the requests for speaking engagements I've been receiving." She closes her eyes. "I might have known. How many?" "Half a dozen so far. Baltimore, San Diego, Portland, Salt Lake City..." Terry exhales vehemently through her nose. "Larry, I'm thrilled for you. Truly. Not only is this a fantastic professional achievement for you, it's made us overnight into one of the hottest theater departments in the country. But what am I supposed to do when I have hundreds of talented young actors wanting to come here to study specifically with you, only to learn you're going to be spending half the year lecturing out of state? Jim's a fine actor and a good man, but he's not the one bringing in the applications, and he can't keep on indefinitely teaching your classes as well as his own in any case." I lift my glasses and rub the bridge of my own nose in turn, thinking. "I know. I've been worried about that myself. I didn't know about the rise in student interest, though. Are there really that many kids out there wanting to come to us?" "I expect enrollment to increase by as much as fifteen percent," she tells me bluntly. "And Larry, I've looked at every one of these kids carefully. Some of them are talents we simply can't afford to let slip through our fingers." She pauses, considering. "With those kind of numbers I may be able to convince the university to cough up enough money to add a lecturer position. That could help take some of the teaching load off you, so you could cut back to just teaching upper division courses. But it would have to be someone who's at least as big a draw as you are, and I can't imagine too many people out there like that who'd be willing to settle for a lecturer's salary." I shake my head ruefully. "Nor can I." "Well, give it some serious thought, will you? I'd prefer to have someone in my pocket before you disappear to Austin and we have to start issuing acceptance letters." "That's not very much time, Theresa." "Then think fast, Lawrence. You put us in this situation, the good as well as the bad; I expect your full participation in finding the solution." "Yes, ma'am." Terry snorts. "Don't you 'yes, ma'am' me, you old rogue. Go on, that's all I have for now. I'm glad we had this little chat." It is very clearly a dismissal. But as I have my hand on the doorknob, she says, "And Larry—congratulations again. Really. Go do us proud out there. And find me a lecturer!" I leave her office feeling three inches taller. Sally throws me a knowing, confidential smile as I pass. Not much ever gets past Sally. ————— February 14, 2010 From: Douglas Monroe To: Lawrence Ryan Subject: Re: Ronald Gordon's plays Dear Dr. Ryan, I'm so glad you enjoyed the recording. Aaron is a good friend and a fantastic singer. I had a most stimulating time making the recording with him. He'll be pleased to hear you approve of his performance. By a very strange coincidence, or maybe not such a coincidence, if you happen to believe in such a thing as fate, I recently scheduled my own trip to Austin. Wouldn't it be a funny chance for us to wind up in the same city at the same time? My stay lasts from the 13th through the 19th of next month. Please let me know when you will be in town and whether it might be possible for us to make a connection then. Best of luck—or should I say, break a leg—with Queen Mab! I shall make a point of listening to Berlioz on opening night in Her Majesty's honor. Warm regards, Doug Monroe * * * * Doug * Alex is riding me in a lazy, sultry fashion while I run my fingers lightly over his nipples, his smooth chest, his hips, his perky erection, keeping his nerves deliciously fired up and on edge while he treats my dick and his ass to a leisurely, well-deserved reunion. Defying all my expectations, he appears to have actually taken seriously my encouragement to pursue a more active social life: We haven't seen one another in almost a month. Fortunately, absence doesn't appear to have made the cock grow any softer. Alex is as enthusiastic and responsive a lover as ever. If anything, he's even more sensual and yielding tonight than in our past encounters. We've been keeping up this slow tease for nearly an hour, neither of us in any rush to bring it to a conclusion. "So did you have fun with your friend while I was studying?" he asks breathily. Yes, I told Alex about Aaron. There are no secrets between us. Details might only be provided upon request, but I never keep secrets where sex is involved. I learned that lesson the hard way years ago. "We had a great time," I answer. "He said he'd been looking forward to meeting you a lot and was sorry he didn't get the chance." Alex apparently likes hearing that I think highly enough of him to talk about him with another bedmate. I feel that oh-so-talented hole clench around my shaft, then release, causing my eyes to roll back in my head. It's his way of saying thank you. I place my hands more firmly on his hips to stop his grinding when I feel myself getting too close, pull his head down to mine for some deep and deliberate kissing. "I was sorry, too," I tell him when we come up for air. "You'd have liked getting to know him." Another kiss. "But I'm not sorry I've got you to myself right now." Not that that has stopped me from entertaining a good number of fantasies about having both men taking turns servicing me, picturing the vivid contrast of Alex's smooth brown skin next to Aaron's pale Irish complexion and abundant body hair. That image pushes my libido into the next gear, ready to pick up the pace. I pull out, roll Alex over onto his back, and slide back into his welcoming depths in missionary position where I can long dick him. He coos his appreciation at the attention, stretching his legs high toward the ceiling to give me maximum access. "Baby," I pant, between thrusts, "You feel amazing. I'm not gonna last too much longer like this." He takes the hint and gets to work on his own neglected erection, coaxing himself toward his own climax in sync with mine. "Go for it, Doug," he encourages me through gritted teeth. "Pound my ass." It isn't long before I'm right on the edge. I shift angles just a little, and Alex's cry of pleasure tells me I judged right: I've nailed his prostate. Jets of cum start spurting out of that cute little dick, spraying across his torso, adorning his nipples with ribbons of his sweet, milky seed. The sight and smell and sound of my man in full nut is all I need to set me off. I bury myself deep inside him and hold still, growling very softly in my throat while my cock twitches and kicks, filling the condom with my own seething man juice. Alex smiles wickedly beneath me. "God, you're sexy when you cum." He stretches up to kiss my nose. Flatterer. When did he become such a charmer? I pull out and collapse on top of him, my head against his chest, inadvertently smearing my cheek with his puddled sperm. He idly runs his fingers through my hair. After we've recovered and are cleaning up in the bathroom, I casually mention, "It might be a while before we have another chance to do this. I'm afraid I won't be around much next month. " Alex's "I've just been well and thoroughly fucked" smile fades just a bit. "I'm going out of town for a week in March," I explain. "I'm meeting a colleague in Austin. Aaron and Todd offered to put me up at their place." He brightens up again at that. "Austin, huh? Cool!" "You're not disappointed? I know we haven't seen much of each other lately." He shrugs. "I'll live. I can hang with Kaleigh and Richard and Nick till you're back. They're cool." Interesting. I can't remember ever hearing him mention any of his friends by name before. "But how awesome is that?" he goes on. "You'll be there for South by Southwest!" "What's that?" He rolls his eyes. "Kidding!" I'm not. I have only the vaguest idea what South by Southwest is—some annual film and music festival, I gather. But I'm not about to admit my ignorance to a man almost twenty years my junior. What? I only said I don't lie about sex. ————— * Larry * "Hey, Professor, c'mere a minute," a robe-clad Jeff beckons from a rehearsal room. He escorts me in, eyes dancing with mischievous excitement, and closes the door behind us. "Whaddya think?" he asks, drops the robe, and turns slowly to reveal his costume for the big dream sequence in Queen Mab. My eyes pop. Karine, our designer, has outdone herself. I don't know what kind of material she has found for the fringed trousers—it looks like rich brown leather, but clings to Jeff's legs and muscular buttocks like a second skin. The pants sit tantalizingly low on his hips, clearly revealing the athlete's girdle and blond treasure trail that direct one's eyes inexorably toward the bulge of his groin in front, and more than hinting at the cleft of his ass in the rear. A complicated asymmetrical harness made of artificial grape leaves and ivy wreathes around his otherwise bare torso, serving the function of suspenders and keeping everything—barely—decent. More ivy tendrils snake down his arms, held in place at the neck, biceps, and wrists by finely tooled leather bands dyed the same rich brown as his pants. The entire effect is a little bit Haight-Ashbury, a little bit haute couture, a little bit BDSM—and a whole lot of raw sexuality. "They haven't done my hair and makeup yet, but I couldn't wait. I wanted you to take a picture to send to Daniel," Jeff explains. "He'll love this!" "Who wouldn't?" I murmur, dutifully snapping a series of photos on Jeff's cell phone as he assumes various highly suggestive poses, and praying to all that is holy that my arousal is not too evident. I make it a point of pride to keep my relationships with all my students—past as well as present—platonic. Over the years I have even cultivated a slightly effete, asexual persona I think of as my "Dear Boy" character to help dissuade the hormone-addled young dears from seeing me as a possible sexual object, lest they prove too great a temptation. To find myself overwhelmed by lust like this is not only disconcerting, but highly unprofessional. Perhaps it's simply hormonal overload. I haven't had another nocturnal visit from Ron's phantom for a couple months now. I'm not sure whether I should be distressed or relieved about this apparent return to sanity, though right at this moment a certain part of my anatomy is voting emphatically in favor of the former. But God, is Jeff something! Daniel is a very lucky man indeed. "I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," Jeff tells me. A bit too late, but I'm not going to tell him that! "It's just that lately I've started to realize my time as a leading man is starting to wind down. I want to take advantage of this body while I still can." I don't even attempt to refrain from rolling my eyes. "Jeffrey, for God's sake, you're thirty-eight! You know perfectly well there are men playing sex symbols well past your age. Just wait until you're my age and then talk to me about making the transition from leading man to character actor. When did you become so vain?" He looks suitably sheepish, and mutters something I can't quite make out. When I ask him to repeat himself, he squares those broad shoulders and tells me, "Since I fell in love with a man eight years younger than me." I can't help myself. I burst out laughing and, without thinking, pull him into my arms for a rough, affectionate hug. "Oh, my dear, foolish, smitten, insecure boy!" I say in his ear, "Eight years is such a very small difference when you get down to it. If you still aren't convinced that Daniel loves you for much more than your looks, then let me assure you, those stars in his eyes aren't about to dim over a few gray hairs and wrinkles." He pulls back, still abashed. "I hope not," he says quietly, "because I can't imagine the rest of my life without him. Which reminds me..." he turns aside to rummage in a gym bag sitting on a chair nearby, "...I was hoping you could help me reserve some private time at the Madison Theater terrace on campus this spring so I can give him this." He turns and diffidently shows me a ring in a velvet box. Between the Lines Ch. 03 Oh, dear. I really did plant that idea in his mind a few months back, didn't I? Whatever was I thinking? It is a lovely ring, though, interlaced multi-colored gold and a tiny little diamond, a tasteful balance of masculine and feminine. I'm sure Daniel will love it. After all, it will be coming from Jeff. Who is looking at me anxiously, trying to gauge my response. I smile fondly at my love-struck former pupil. "You can count on me. And congratulations in advance. I have no doubt as to your young director's answer. When were you thinking of asking him?" "When he gets back from Austin, I think. That way these shows will be out of the way and we'll both have the summer ahead of us to start planning a ceremony." Proposals and rings and ceremonies. Our community has come a long way. Ron and I simply rolled into bed together one night in '71 and decided we never wanted to sleep apart again. "You don't have any roles lined up over the summer?" I ask. "That surprises me." "No, I was too preoccupied with Ron's plays to consider anything later in the year, and that was even before Daniel agreed to take on the Austin gig. If this goes as well as I hope, he'll have lots more work coming his way before we know it." Jeff hesitates, then continues confidentially. "You know, I'm actually kind of looking forward to being the homemaker for once. It's Daniel's turn to shine—and by the way, Larry, I have you to thank for making me see that. I'll have to think of some way to spend my time, though. Money's all right, I have enough set aside I can easily afford to scale back my acting gigs to a few times a year. But I'll go batshit crazy if I'm just sitting at home day after day babysitting Daniel's delinquent older brother." Ah, yes, the famous Kevin, who showed up out of the blue and has been living in Jeff and Daniel's guest room this past year. Though "delinquent" is laying it on a bit heavy. As I understand it, all the poor boy really needed was a supportive community and a meaningful vocation, something he appears to have found working in set construction right here at the theater, of all places. Wait, speaking of meaningful vocations, what was Jeff just telling me? An idea has sparked in the back of mind, a "Eureka" moment that spreads fizzing across my brain, riding a surge of adrenaline onto my tongue before I'm even fully aware of it. "Jeff, this is just a thought, but have you ever considered teaching?" I ask. ————— * Doug * "Dougie!" Todd's bellow causes heads to turn halfway across the airport baggage claim area. He hurries toward me at a shuffling run and pulls me into his thick, strong arms for a powerful bear hug. He's not tall enough to lift me entirely off the floor, but he thrashes me from side to side, growling deep in his throat. I feel my body go through its usual stiffen-then-relax process, first resisting, then yielding to Todd's familiar, exuberantly physical greeting. My cock performs the same routine, just in reverse. Todd finally releases me and I stagger back to take my first real look at him, feeling slightly dizzy and conscious of an unaccustomed silly smile tugging at my lips. He looks good, lightly tanned, his head shaved shiny smooth, his goatee still a flawless deep otter-fur brown, the ever-present silver hoop in his right ear, steel stud in the left. He certainly didn't bother to dress up for the occasion: he's wearing a bear-regulation flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off to display his massive upper arms, well worn jeans, a suspiciously new-looking pair of cowboy boots, and a Western-style belt buckle sporting, would you believe it, the bear paw pride logo. You'd never believe this man is one of the finest concert pianists in the country. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't first met him at one of his performances. "You've gone native, I see," I tease, nodding at the boots and belt buckle. "I think I overdressed for the occasion." He grins, entirely unashamed, and reaches out to pull me in for a bristly kiss. "It's nice to see you, too, Doug. C'mon, get your stuff. Aaron'll have dinner waiting." "Is it always this crowded here?" I ask, following at his heels and dodging the masses of travellers impatiently waiting to reclaim their bags from the slowly looping conveyor belts. "I thought Austin was a small town compared to Dallas or Houston!" "It is—usually," he answers. "This—" he swings his arm wide to indicate the mayhem, causing tourists to duck out of his way in consternation "—is what you get when you come here during South by Southwest." Todd ushers me out into the surprising shock of hot, humid air after the air-conditioned terminal, through the lines of cars and taxis waiting to pick up arriving passengers, and into the parking garage, where he tosses my bags into his Land Rover with unhurried efficiency. He reaches out to tousle my hair as I'm fastening my seatbelt. "God, it's good to see you!" he tells me. "Aaron and I were starting to think we'd never manage to pry you away from your apartment and your studio. You're gonna love Austin!" He relishes showing me the sights of his newly adopted part-time home, talking animatedly and waving his hands to one side or the other of his car, though I'm only able to take in a fraction of the information he has to impart. I need to get out and explore a new town on my own, on foot or by car, before I can really wrap my mind around its geography and culture. Something I haven't done in—God, has it been almost ten years? Maybe Todd's right. Maybe I have gotten too complacent with my quiet Lexington routine. "You're a bit early for bluebonnets," he is telling me, referring to Texas' legendary state flower. "Another couple weeks and there'll be blankets of 'em out there." Another wave indicates a small patch of precocious blue blossoms showing off on the side of the highway. We pull up to a small house on a quiet suburban street lined with ancient pecan trees somewhere in the heart of the city. "Home sweet home!" Todd announces. It's a pleasant little pre-war cottage boasting unmistakeable signs of recent improvements: fresh paint on the walls, newly sanded window frames and shutters waiting for their own coat of contrasting trim, flower beds recently dug and planted with pink and white azaleas and some purple-blooming shrub I don't recognize. Aaron greets us at the door in waft of mouthwatering cooking smells, wearing a stained apron over baggy shorts and little else. Todd pulls him in close for a kiss and a blatant mutual grope before releasing him so he can give me an only marginally less enthusiastic welcome. At least, my hands stay above the waistline. Aaron's don't. Being with these guys always takes some mental adjusting. Their unselfconscious physicality runs up hard against centuries of New England WASP conditioning. It is, I have to admit, a huge part of their appeal. Todd sheds his shirt and boots almost the moment he enters the air-conditioned house. I content myself with rolling up my shirt sleeves. Over a homemade meal so delicious I could forgive and even almost forget that it's vegan, Aaron peppers me with questions. "So when are you meeting with Mr. Ryan? Did he like our recording? Is he on board with the project?" "In two days, he loved it—and you, and I think he's definitely on board, assuming the two of us can get the libretto edited to his satisfaction," I answer, trying to keep up with the requests for information. Todd chimes in, "And when do they hold auditions for the premiere? Does my cub here have a shot at the lead?" He's joking, he knows a production for something like this, without a previous commission, is most likely years away, if ever. But Aaron blushes fetchingly at Todd's promotional efforts on his partner's behalf. Somewhere deep within myself I admit to a touch of envy, wishing I had someone like that to push my career forward and dote on my achievements. Just a touch. "But this visit isn't all gonna be about business, is it?" Aaron asks insistently. "You'll have time for some sight-seeing and, you know, extra-curricular activity, right?" There's no need to explain what he has in mind by "extra-curricular." The guys have not even attempted to conceal from me their intent to play matchmaker with whatever available Austinite might happen to catch my eye this week. Jealous, they are not. Voyeurs, on the other hand, most definitely. After dinner we stretch out on their comfortable oversize leather sofa, me propped between Todd's legs, back pressed against his massive chest; Aaron with his head nestled on my belly. Todd is showering me with playful affection: Stroking my sides, rubbing my shoulders, running his fingers through my hair, and occasionally bestowing a bristly kiss on my ear or the back of my neck. Aaron bestows similar attention upon my legs and feet, while I content myself with massaging his neck. After fifteen or twenty minutes of idle conversation mixed with playful petting, the mood turns seriously sexual. Todd's hard-on is pressing firmly and very noticeably against the small of my back, and his nuzzling kisses have become more lingering and insistent. Aaron's cargo shorts are visibly tented. He rolls over between my legs and reaches for my belt buckle, casting an inquiring glance upward for permission. Not from me—my permission is pretty much a given. From the man behind me. "That's right, baby," comes Todd's throaty whisper over my shoulder. "Show our Dougie how happy we are he's here." Aaron wastes no further time in getting my belt and fly open. Before I know it, my khakis and boxers have been skinned down to my knees, and my cock is standing out tall and proud to greet him. It's clearly happy to be here as well. A slick of precum is already coating the tip. Aaron grins at it, then gets right to work. My head falls back against Todd's shoulder, and he and I sigh in unison, "Aw, fuck!" Not just because Aaron's a grade-A cocksucker—though he certainly is that, too—but because he's made the simple act of giving head into a show for both me and Todd. Somehow he's managed to get his shorts unbuttoned and partially lowered as well, and the furry globes of his ass are clearly visible, flexing, rising and falling as he humps against the sofa cushions. His eyes have the heavy-lidded, meditative look of a dedicated cock worshipper, and his lips behind the masculine goatee are an almost feminine, enticing red as they stretch to accommodate my swollen girth. "Aw, yeah, baby, take that meat!" Todd growls in his best alpha male voice. He's deftly unbuttoning my shirt, pulling it back from my chest and shoulders, leaving me exposed to his exploring hands. Without losing a beat, Aaron strips off my pants and underwear, tossing them aside to join my discarded shirt. I'm helpless between the two men now, pinned between Aaron's skilled singer's mouth and Todd's nimble pianist fingers, an instrument for their duet. Before long, though, I reassert some small part of myself and rise to my knees, where I can face-fuck that skilled singer's throat. Todd rises with me in turn, holding me from behind and torturing my nipples while he avidly watches his partner at work. I reach back with my right hand and open his jeans, releasing his drooling, uncut member, and start stroking the thick, heavy length of him. It always takes me by surprise, a combination of excitement and apprehension, to discover once more how big he is. He growls and bites my neck, very gently. I lose track of how long we play like this, before I become aware that Todd's gentle but insistent hands are pushing me forward, bit by bit, forcing me to bend at the waist. Aaron opens his eyes, sees what's happening, spins around and repositions himself before me, head bowed, ass raised and receptive. If my cock could get any harder at the sight, it would. Here is my chance to lavish the attention on that hot, welcoming hole I didn't have time for during our last encounter. My hands part the hairy mounds of muscle that guard his rosebud opening, my questing tongue finds his waiting flesh and without preamble I set to with a ravenous appetite. Aaron hisses and moans his approval, pushing back onto the probing muscle and opening gladly to my loving invasion. Behind me, Todd is preparing to do the same to my own exposed pucker. He knows, though, that I am far less used to having things up there than his partner is. His touch is soft, tentative, tender. Not that it will remain that way once I've loosened up a bit. But to begin with, at least, he's going to coax me open gently and patiently. I've learned a lot about being a good top from Todd. I shudder and gasp when his bristly goatee rubs against my cheeks, followed almost immediately by the first tentative lap, barely a tease against my most sensitive, intimate spot. Todd and Aaron both chuckle; we've all three been here before. They know my reactions by heart. Todd pushes forward again, more assertively flicking the tip of his tongue against my trembling anus, teasing, pressing deep, then easing off, gradually persuading my tight ring to relax, to open for its master. Before I know it, like some sexual wizard, he has two fingers—or is it three?—buried inside me, and I'm writhing in pleasure. I'd be begging for more, if my face and tongue weren't already fully occupied with Aaron's delectable hindquarters. Finally, Todd deems me ready for him. Leaving me with my face buried in his partner's ass, he stands, shucks off his jeans—his bear paw Western belt buckle rattles against the hardwood floor—rolls on a condom, and lubes us both up. All this I experience only through what I can hear and feel; my eyes are closed in reverent appreciation of what's in front of me and meditative anticipation of what's to come behind. What's coming behind is massive, both long and thick, a blunt, powerful instrument of pleasure. Todd's cock is as burly as he is. I lose both my hard-on and my focus on what I'm doing to Aaron, all my concentration focused on the giant rod slowly invading my body. Instinctively understanding what's going on—he experiences this on a regular basis, after all, the brave lucky man—Aaron swivels around once more and slides underneath me, his face between my legs so he can watch his lover plow deep into me, their joined hands holding my hips steady from both above and below. Todd has prepared me well. After an eternal moment when I think my abused channel cannot possibly do what is being asked of it, my body opens to his gentle but insistent pressure and he slides gradually into me. Aaron cusses reverently under his breath, an obscene erotic litany of worship, as he watches me breached. Once I'm certain Todd is fully inside me, stretching and filling me to my utmost capacity, I feel able to pay attention to my surroundings once again. Like, for instance, Aaron's prick, waving just a few inches in front of my nose, waiting hopefully for my notice. It would be rude not to acknowledge it. Such a nice prick, too, fairly thick but not too long, perfectly formed for sucking, really. And that abundant stream of precum sliding from the head down into his bush looks awfully tasty. Thus I pleasantly distract myself, Aaron gladly returning the favor on my own reviving erection, until the crisis point is past and I feel that point of resistance deep within my body subtly relent and dissolve. Todd feels it too, granting him permission to move within me, and I joyfully rediscover the infrequent pleasure of being thoroughly and lovingly fucked. I abandon conscious thought altogether and surrender to the sensation. At some point in the ride, Aaron gets me suited and slicked up, and slides his own hungry ass down on my rod. It's a fun challenge for a while to get our thrusts in sync with each other. But the sensation of being simultaneously pounded by Todd's huge tool and engulfed by Aaron's hot hole is too intense to endure for long. Before I know it, I'm shooting a massive load, yelling and swearing my ecstasy just as loudly as they are. God, I hope their neighbors can't hear this going on or we're going to have one hell of an awkward time explaining it to the cops. Todd strips off the condom and takes my vacated place, pushing his raw cock effortlessly into Aaron's stretched and waiting depths. I stretch out on the floor and idly play with my spent dick, drinking in the view of my best play buds making love to each other. Particularly the moment when Aaron hits the point of no return and sprays his seed all over my chest and face. Todd isn't too far behind, blasting his hot bear spunk deep into his lover's waiting fuckhole. The three of us collapse in a laughing heap, reeking of cum, sweat, and ass, drunk on our own testosterone. More kisses, caresses, and embraces follow, bringing us gradually back down from our high, until at last we're composed enough to stumble to the bathroom and shower off. My luggage has been stowed in their guest room, where I'll probably sleep most of the rest of my visit, giving Aaron and Todd their privacy. But this first night in Austin I will spend tangled between my hosts in a sprawl of well-furred limbs and hairy torsos across their own king-size bed, sleeping safe and content in the loving embrace of dear friends.