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Click on image to enlarge.

by Eric Arvin

Category: Gay Fiction/Romance
Description: Sequel to Suburbilicious

SubSurdity: Book Three

On Jasper Lane, Cassie Bloom is gearing up for Halloween; Becky is expecting, and her father is overbearing and paranoid; Rick and James are their usual happy selves, though James has developed a porn obsession; Terrence is putting together an all drag cheer squad; and David is helping Cliff transition from adult film star to bodybuilder. Of course, that's just what's going on at the surface. This is suburbia, and its underbelly is teeming with secrets.

Like what's up with that rather odd family that moved in down the street--the family with the big cross in the front yard who look nothing alike. Like where Cassie's son, Jason, has disappeared to and why he hasn't called. Like what on Earth Nanna Hench is doing with a scooter, a megaphone, and a clown car full of religious zealots.

When Cliff suddenly disappears, Jasper Lane goes on high alert. Terrence posts fliers, and Rick and James scour the gym. David is determined to get his husband back, but when he goes missing too--and with Cassie and Melinda on a road trip to find Jason--it's up to Terrence to solve the mystery and save the day.

eBook Publisher: Dreamspinner Press/Dreamspinner Press, 2012 2012
eBookwise Release Date: August 2012


Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [271 KB]
Words: 58443
Reading time: 166-233 min.

The Chapter With the Magic Christians

* * * *

"Oh, that Terrence! I could just wring his neck!"

Melinda Gold paced furiously back and forth on the deck, her hands clenched tight, as Cassie Bloom listened. It was just the pair of them this afternoon at Cassie's magnificent home. It was late October, but a warm, glowing day. Both women were dressed casually and comfortably. Cassie had a pair of white-framed sunglasses perched atop her short golden hair. Melinda wore a trendy blue cashmere top.

"Leave it to Terrence to ruin everything! It had all been so perfect until he showed up. The park was lovely, so quiet and peaceful. Things might have even become romantic if given the chance. My date--you remember Mr. Lintrope?--he and I were sitting by the duck pond in a nice secluded spot away from the jogging paths. The flowers and trees and birds decorated the scene for us. And of course, the meal I made last night for our date today was triumphant, if I do say so."

"Mr. Lintrope?" Cassie interrupted. "The librarian?"

Melinda stopped pacing long enough to give Cassie a warning stare. "Yes, the librarian! There's nothing wrong with librarians. They're somewhat respectable, anyway. I think he would have brought some stability back into my life. Not that I'll ever know now. But he would have been good for me. Sure, there were some of his quirks that I didn't care for. We'd definitely need to work on the nose hair issue, but...."

She shook her head, regaining control of her narrative. She pinned a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "I made my barbecue chicken. Everyone loves my barbecue chicken. You remember how well it went over at the Fourth of July party. Mr. Lintrope was just about to take a bite when...."


"Terrence!" Melinda screamed. "He comes tearing out of the bushes like some carefree heathen, just ripping his clothes off. Just ripping them off and throwing them hither and dither. He didn't even see us. I nearly went epileptic. Mr. Lintrope looked at me and asked, 'Isn't that your friend?' I hadn't the time or the ability to respond, Cassie. Terrence was stark raving naked and playing around in the pond like a three-year-old in bathwater, all giggling and singing. Why does he always have to sing? It's like he's a member of that damn Sound of Music family. I'd hate to meet the rest of his family, I'll tell you that!" She crossed her arms and tightened her jaw. "It was only then that he saw Mr. Lintrope and me."

"Darling, Mr. Lintrope can't hold you accountable for a friend's quirks." Cassie was enjoying this. She was so wrapped up in the story her afternoon cocktail had hardly been sipped from.

"That's not the end of it. Oh, no. The story continues, Cassie. Oh, does it ever!" Melinda pulled out a chair from the table and sat down with a huff. "Terrence's frolicking and giggling and singing had been so loud it brought the attention of a group of joggers who were on a nearby path. And who do you think those joggers were, Cassie?"

"I have no idea. This is exciting."

"None other than Coach... Nipple and his star wrestlers."

Cassie cackled, clapping her knee. "Imagine that!"

"They thought Terrence was drowning and were coming to his rescue. I can't blame them. He definitely sounded like a creature in peril. Well, when he saw them and realized what they were thinking, he played right into it. The worm! The wrestlers jumped into the pond, stripping as they dove, and all three of them grabbed hold of our flailing Terrence. When they got him to land, he fainted. He actually fainted... or he pretended to faint so he could be revived. Then he re-fainted two more times. All three wrestlers had to give him mouth-to-mouth. And they were all nearly naked, Cassie! Naked!"

Cassie could say nothing. She could barely sit up straight.

"Well, I'm glad someone sees humor in the situation. The coach looked at me, finally taking notice I was there, and gave me a grin. Like the kind he used to give me after we had... you know. Mr. Lintrope saw that grin. Any handsome man would be intimidated by the coach's presence. He commands attention. How do you think an average man like Mr. Lintrope felt? After Terrence was dressed and I was left alone again with my date, I asked Mr. Lintrope if we could try this another time, and he said, rather unconvincingly, 'Sure. I'll give you a call.' Can you believe it?" Melinda clenched her fists again. "That Terrence!"

"Indeed. What a treasure," Cassie said. "And he seems to get on your bad side more than anybody I've known."

Melinda sat back in her chair, as if she was relieved to have told her story and now exhausted. Cassie reached across the table for her cell phone. Melinda, of course, knew what was coming.

"You can't even wait a few minutes?" Melinda asked.

"Vera," Cassie said into the phone, "get over here now. Melinda has just been through an ordeal with that dull-as-bones Mr. Lintrope, and it's hilarious."

* * * *

Just down the street from Cassie Bloom's place, Terrence--the very troublemaker Melinda was ranting about--reclined fully clothed in a lounge chair on the back patio of the Cooper-Tuckers. James sat opposite him with a laptop over his stretched-out legs. His hair was worn shaggy now and in need of a trim--a far cry from his military days.

"She completely overreacted," Terrence was saying. "It is a beautiful day and I wanted to have a dip, not be harassed by one. What a drama queen."

James, clearly unimpressed with the story Terrence was telling, even with the extravagant hand gestures and likely truth-stretching, shut his laptop, stared up at the sun from beneath his sunglasses, and prayed for deafness. "Shouldn't Rick be the one hearing all of this?" he said. "Shouldn't you wait for him to get home from work and tell him?"

"You know, James, I don't ask for much from you. Just an ear to bitch to from time to time when Rick isn't here. Is that too much to ask. Huh? A little respect. The same respect you'd give any stranger on the street!" He sipped his rum and cola dry, then shook the ice in the glass. "I need a refresher."

"Get it yourself."

"Besides," Terrence said as he mixed another drink from the cola and rum on the table, "what do you have to do that's more important than my scintillating conversation? You look at Internet porn all day while Rick is out. That requires your eyes, not your ears."

"It's addictive." James shrugged as he reopened his laptop.

Terrence sat back in the lounge once again. "Yes. I know. Me and Rick have had many a discussion about said Internet porno addiction. If I were the judgmental type--" Sip, sip, sip. "--I would say there might be something amiss in the bedroom land of Cooper-Tucker."

"And who would you say this to? Me?"

"What you need is a hobby."

"Like what? Stamp collecting?"

"Try licking. Stamp licking. And by licking I mean 'my ass.' Jesus, James! Put some thought into it. Find something new to do. You don't want Rick feeling inadequate, do you?"

James at last looked thoughtfully at Terrence. "Why would he feel inadequate?"

"Don't glisten your chesticles at me like that. You know how. Those porn sites are filled with guys who might as well wear three-legged jeans. There are guys on those sites--and I have visited them all, believe you me--there are guys who would qualify as kickstands. I hear there is a porn company in Russia that even genetically alters men on big crazy farms. They grow these huge penises the size of your leg."

James rolled his eyes. "Well, if I need a hobby, so do you. Do you hear the ridiculous shit you're spewing? It's like the plot of some gay science fiction epic."

"I have a hobby." Terrence put his drink down defiantly. "I'm getting back into cheerleading."

"You'll break a hip."

"I just need something to cheer for." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe your rugby team. There's an idea. How would you like that?"

James looked back to his laptop, interest lost. "Sure. Why not? The guys would like that." His tone was neither approving nor sarcastic.

"We'll try not to be too big of a distraction to you."

"What's your son, Christian, been up to? Does he like college?" James continued surfing the net even as he conversed.

"From what I hear, he's ecstatic about the place."

James chuckled. "Who would have thought a son of yours would ever go to Bible college?"

"It's distressing. But he loves Jesus, and I love Christian. What else can I do?"

"And Harry? Your big plaid-sportin' church-lovin' manly man. How are things with him?"

Terrence smacked his lips. "We're one big happy Christian family."

"Oh. Speaking of Christians...."

"Must we?"

"I hear tell that the new family who moved into Steve and Sandy's old place is quite devout."

Terrence looked horrified and gave a sneer. "Devout?"

James looked up from his laptop and lowered his sunglasses. "De-vout."

"Dammit," Terrence said. "And just as we've made such good progress with Melinda Gold. Those devout Christians are everywhere! Just like glitter. You can't get rid of them, can you?"

"Something tells me you're going to try."

"Well, of course. That's what I do."

* * * *

It was a lovely afternoon as Cliff jogged back through the neighborhood. His muscles, pumped and swollen from the intense training regimen he had been putting them through, rose and fell, flexed and undulated as he showed them off, nearly naked under the sun. And why shouldn't he show them off? He would soon be a competitive bodybuilder, after all. Showing off was what they did.

Behind him was his handsome piece of husband, David, driving a golf cart--the same golf cart Patrick Gold had driven into his mother's pool. Melinda had not been pleased. It had been repaired and now ran perfectly again. David had bought it from Patrick for what the boy's thieving grandmother, Nanna Hench, had paid for it. The boy was in college, after all, and needed the cash for nefarious doings.

Cliff was getting used to his new body. The bulking phase--which he had been quite familiar with all of his life--was over, and he was now as cut as he had ever been. He had mentioned to David that he wasn't sure he liked being quite so cut. A swollen muscle body had always appealed more to him than the shredded look. David didn't seem to mind, however, and truth be told, they had fun in bed either way. In fact, today being their anniversary, they planned to have quite a bit of that fun tonight.

They passed a plethora of festive scenery on the jog. The houses in the neighborhood were adorned in their finest Halloween attire. Yes, a favorite collective holiday was approaching. In just over a week, Cassie Bloom would once again be holding a massive Halloween party to rival all others. Her decorations for it had already started going up.

As they rounded the curb back onto Jasper Lane, Cliff slowed to a walk and placed his hands on his hips to take a breather. He was sweating in great drops, not so much a sign of any heat as it was of the intensity with which he trained. David pulled up beside him in the golf cart.

"You okay, baby?" David asked. "Need a drink?" He held out a bottled water.

Cliff looked around, breathing hard. "My stomach is just getting to me."

"You're going to do great. There's no sense in getting nervous this early. You've got months before your first major expo."

"I haven't placed in any of the amateur competitions yet. I'm thinking this one won't be any different."

"Don't talk like that, dummy. You'll jinx yourself. You know what I think it is? I think those judges in the amateurs were jealous of you."

"How do you figure, babe?"

"Look at you. You're a superstar! You had an amazing career in adult film, and you retired on top. Plus, you're the author of a best-selling book."

Cliff smiled and wiped his brow. "A ghostwriter wrote that, babe. I just dictated it."

"But it was your life story. Did I Shave My Ass For This? was a huge hit. There is even talk of a film version. The judges just can't stand your astonishing sexiness! They didn't want you to win because you seem to have so much already."

"Yeah," Cliff said, encouraged. "Yeah. They are jealous! That must be it." He straightened up, boobs out.

"That's my guy!" David said.

They noted Becky Ridgeworth was out for a speed walk ahead. The speed walking seemed to be doing her good. She had lost quite a bit of weight, though Becky would never be model thin. She referred to herself as "volumptuous," and it looked good on her. She waved at David and Cliff gleefully. Still, her color was pale this day, and she seemed a bit lacking in her usual oomph.

The guys waved. "Hey there, Becks," David greeted as they met in the middle of the street in front of the Jones's old place. "You're walking alone. Where's Melinda today?"

"She's up with Cassie whining about something," Becky said. "Happy anniversary, guys!" She gave them each a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, sweetie," David said.

"Are you doing okay, Becks?" Cliff asked. "You look a bit under the weather."

"I think I may be coming down with something. Maybe a cold due to the change in season." She snorted. "And just in time for the Halloween party too. Ain't them the breaks?"

She leaned in closer to speak with more discretion, gathering Cliff and David to her so that she stood between the golf cart and the strong man. "Have you two met the newbies in the neighborhood?" she asked. "The ones who bought Steve and Sandy's place?"

"Not yet," said David, copying her lowered voice and cautious mannerisms. "We've yet to even see them, and they've been here a whole week."

"Well, I wouldn't be expecting them to come and introduce themselves. Especially not to you two. They're worse than Nanna Hench was, if you get my meaning. They're biblical literalists."

The three sinners slowly turned and stared at the Jones house. There was movement behind the curtain in the large living room window.

"Literalists?" David said.

"That's what Cassie says."

"What the hell are they doing on Jasper Lane?" David asked.

"Well," Becky said, "I can only guess, but we do have a nice temperate clime here. That's good stoning weather."

"They smoke weed?" Cliff asked.

David reached over and patted his hubby on the bicep. "Excuse him," he said to Becky. "He's been juicing something crazy of late." Then, back to Cliff: "No, sweetie. Stoning. With stones. Giving people ouchies."

They stared at the house silently, as if expecting it to defend itself from some of their accusations. Or at least expecting its residents to come out and offer some sort of denial. Then, as if from a horror film with cheap special effects--like Syfy on a Saturday night--a family of four appeared in the window.

"Great Grant Wood!" David exclaimed. "American Gothic in duplicate!"

"They do look rather... plain," Becky said.

"How did they just appear like that?" Cliff asked.

"They're magic," Becky said in a hush. "Magic Christians."

Cliff grimaced. "Should we burn them?"

"They look angry," David noted.

It was then that the motherly-looking figure--if she could be called that--suddenly pointed at them and mouthed something indecipherable. The others in the family smiled with what looked like pride. Well, at least two of the others. The younger woman stood as stoic and expressionless as stone.

"What did that old bitch say to us?" David asked. "Can anyone read lips?"

"Heathen?" Becky gave it a try. "Heather? Heathcliff? Why would she call us Heathcliffs? Was that a fat joke? Like that cartoon cat?"

"I thought that was Garfield," Cliff said.

Becky turned to Cliff as if now completely involved in discussing cartoon felines. "Well, there was Garfield. But Heathcliff was another cat, and he had this big bruiser of a friend who was a dog--"

"Well, whatever she called us," David said, "that's enough of that!" He then redirected the poisoned dart back at the older woman with his own finger.

The foursome--seemingly not expecting this--looked horrified and immediately disappeared from view.

"Magic Christians!" Cliff swooned.

"What church do they go to?" David asked.

"The Church of Satan," replied Becky.

"No," said David. "I know Satan. Even he would think they were weird. Let's be the cool kids and mosey on away from here. I'm getting the creeps."

As he was speaking, Becky braced herself against the golf cart with her hand on her stomach.

"Everything okay, Becks?" Cliff asked.

"Yeah. I just need to sit down."

David and Cliff helped her into the cart.

"It's nothing," she said, trying to ease the concern on her friends' faces. "Probably a little gas. Every pregnant woman gets gas. That's the only time women get gas. Ever."

"Maybe that magic Christian lady put a curse on you when she pointed at us," David joked. "You can name the baby Rosemary."

Becky's pregnancy had been the talk of Jasper Lane for a few weeks now. Everyone wanted to know who the father was, but Becky refused to tell even Melinda. She had promised to one day give away the secret, but until then she spoke openly about how she was rather enjoying the infamy.

She sat a moment longer, letting the pain subside.

"Should we get her to a doctor?" Cliff asked David.

"No," Becky said. "I'm fine." She stood. "Look. I'm fine now."

"Still," David said, "why don't you let me drive you home in my trusty cart here?"

Becky reseated herself. "If it will make you feel better."

"Looks like we're leaving just in time," Cliff said with a nod at the new neighbors' house. The creepy younger woman was back in the window, her wiry hair the remnants of a bad perm job.

"Move over," Cliff said. "I'm coming too."

"You'll break the cart!" David protested. "I just got it fixed."

"Shut up and drive," Cliff replied. "Quick! Before someone comes out the door and starts throwing stones at us!"

Becky squealed as David sped away.

* * * *

They weren't a family. Not really. They did call each other "brother" and "sister," but only in that "my God is your God" kind of way. There wasn't one drop of blood between them.

At dinner they sat together in the sparsely decorated dining room--a simple table set from the local Big Lots and a plain wooden cross on the wall--and they prayed. The room was flooded with light from an undressed chandelier, which washed all the color away. The food was ordinary and unseasoned. They had had the very same dinner since they had moved in: brown beans, white bread, and humility.

Their dress was just as ordinary as everything else. There were no flourishes here. Not in this house. A true house of salvation did not need flourishes. This family would show everyone else on Jasper Lane the Way. Just the four of them--Mr. Scott, Sally, Michelle, and... and the other one whose name easily escaped people's minds. Oh, yes. Newt. Everyone was always forgetting Newt. Michelle was mute, but Newt was just Newt.

Mr. Scott led the prayer, his voice gathering his small flock before their small meal. "Lord," he said with a hint of a put-on Southern accent, "thank you for the great bounty we are about to receive. We know we don't deserve it. We know, too, that we deserve it perhaps more than some. Yes. We know that very well, Lord.

"We thank you, Lord, for this day of life you have seen fit to give us. A day we have tried to do your will. A day we have most probably squandered." Mr. Scott eyed Michelle and Newt.

"We thank you for the ability to see sin where others cannot, so blinded by their lust are they.

"We thank you for your permission to go forth and punish those who sin most egregiously against thou... thine... er, thee.

"We thank you for showing us to Sister Hench, a woman as close to you as we strive to be ourselves. As pure a soul as one can expect in this degenerate world. A woman without whose help and deep passion we might have never found this street full of sin."

He was spitting passion all over his beans and bread.

"This street will be cleansed by the end of the year, Lord. That is our promise to you. And it begins with that nasty movie actor. The big one, with all the obscene muscles who jogs past our new home practically nude."

Sally flushed at the mention of this man. They had just seen him that very day, looking in at them from the street. They had decided then and there he would be the first. They would climb the biggest mountain first.

"His muscles...," Sally had said to Michelle when they were alone that afternoon preparing the meal. "Oh, Lord! I say a prayer within a prayer to stop thinking of those muscles. They make me crave steak. But you wouldn't understand, would you? You're just a dumb mute girl."

"In your name, Lord," Mr. Scott continued in his prayer. "Amen."

The rest of the (speaking) congregation echoed his final word, and all four quietly ate of their meal, each with their own little worlds and personal conversations eating away at their minds.

* * * *

"I was worried I might have overdressed," Melinda said as she stood beside Terrence in a long line outside of Vera's. "But everyone looks so nice!"

They were surrounded by handsome men, beautiful women, and dazzling drag queens. Melinda wore a form-fitting black number--neither too casual nor too formal--while Terrence was dressed in something of equal standing and questionable gender.

"Of course everyone is dressed nice here," Terrence replied. "What were you expecting? This is a gay bar, not JCPenneys."

"I've never been to a gay bar," she said conspiratorially.

"Really? I couldn't tell." His sarcasm was lost on her.

"It's true. I've never been to any nightclubs at all, actually."

"Well, Vera was delighted when I told her you were coming here tonight. I would expect to be made a big deal of."

Melinda smiled politely at the others in the line. "Thank you for taking me out tonight, Terrence," she said. "I really needed this. To get out and go somewhere different."

"It's the least I could do after ruining your date with Mr. Lollipop--"

"Mr. Lintrope," she corrected him.

"Lintrope? What a ridiculous name. Honey, I did you a favor. You should buy me a drink tonight. I'll let you know when."

Melinda wasn't paying too much attention to what Terrence was saying. She was enthralled by what was happening around them. All the color. All the new slang. All the gesturing. My God! The gesturing!

"I'll tell you something else," Terrence continued. "One of those wrestlers who kindly and collectively gave me the breath of life had a little more oomph in his engine, if you know what I mean. He was definitely family."


"What? Calm down. They were all at least seventeen."

"Not that." Melinda tugged his sleeve. "I think that woman over there just winked at me."

Terrence turned to see. "Wink back. Get yourself a free drink out of it."


"Why not?"

She giggled. "I feel like a teenager at my first party."

They had reached the door, but the rope was pulled. A giant man at least a story high blocked their way. "Sorry," he said, clearly not at all sincere. "That's it for right now." He then waved a couple of younger men into the club.

"Terrence," Melinda said, "why isn't this frightening man letting us inside?"

"I don't know," Terrence answered. "Frightening man, why aren't you letting us in? We demand to be let in!"

"There's a limit," the man grumbled.

"I've seen this place packed to the strobe lights. If there's a limit, I've not been in it."

"An age limit."

Terrence was not happy. "Do you know who I am?"

The frightening man ushered another couple of young sluts inside. He even gave one of them a wink.

"Let's just go," Melinda said, hushed and embarrassed.

"We will not go!" Terrence screamed. "We will stay right here until Beefy Bottom Slut Bucket lets us in."

Vera's voice sailed over them before the bouncer had a chance to do to Terrence what his position called for. "What is all this ruckus?"

She came out dressed in red with her hair twirled up on the top of her head in a design that clearly had taken her wigmaker years.

"Melinda!" she said, indeed delightedly. "Why are you out here? Come inside this minute. Rufus, these are my friends. I told you to let them in."

"Sorry, ma'am," the bouncer said. "He looked younger in the photo."

Vera took both Terrence and Melinda by the hand and led them in through the crowd. Terrence turned and stuck out his tongue at the bouncer. The bouncer licked his lips at Terrence.

"Whore!" Terrence gasped.

Melinda was awed by the club. The lights and the ambience were brand-new to her. Everyone's heart here beat to the loud pulse of the music. She couldn't keep from showing her amazement at each new detail, at the crowded dark and the smell of sweat. Of sex. Her mouth was wide open as she looked this way and that. She was getting appreciative glances from women and even a few from some of the men. Bisexuals, she guessed.

"Now, you stay close to us," Terrence said as they split the crowd. "I don't want you to get lost on your first time here. I know it looks intimidating, but...."

"There are so many handsome men." Melinda marveled at the men in dance cages, dancing with each other. "And so much glitter!"

"Only the best at Vera's," said the club's proud owner. "Everything shines. Everything glitters."

The dance floor was filled with sweaty figures. Men gyrating on men. Women grinding on women. Drag queens doing strange things with feathered boas. And black was the signature style color.

Melinda could contain herself no longer. Before Terrence knew it, she had broken free of his grasp and sprinted off to the dance floor, where she soon found more than one dance partner of every sex and gender.

"What is she doing?" Terrence said. "She'll be eaten alive!"

"She's dancing," responded Vera in shock. "And she's... very good."

It was true. The dance floor loved Melinda Gold like the camera loved Tom Hardy. It was as if she had been dancing all her life. She was a star on the floor. Solid gold! The gays loved her.

Terrence and Vera found a table and waited for Melinda to come find them. Vera had drinks brought to the table. She was a regal queen watching over her nighttime wonderland. While they waited, Terrence summoned a posse of drag queens and told them of his cheerleading idea for James's rugby team. They ate it up, and every one of them wanted to be involved. One of them even had costumes--skirts, pom-poms, and all--from a dead drag show she had done a few years previous.

After fifteen minutes of boogying down with strangers, Melinda found Terrence and Vera again. "This is so much fun!" she said. "And look who I found."

Behind her were the resident lesbian Wiccans of Jasper Lane, Keiko and Asha. They hated being known as "the lesbian Wiccans," but they knew there was no way around it. Some people were just born to stand out.

"Hey there, ladies," Vera said.

"What did you all put in Melinda's drink to get her to come out this evening?" Asha asked.

"And dance!" Keiko said. "Girl, you can dance!"

Melinda smiled and shrugged. She pulled on Terrence's hand. "Come on, Terrence," she said. "Let's boogie."

"Moi?" he said. "Why, I'd love to!"

He rose and turned back to the queens who sat around Vera like extravagant courtiers. "Tomorrow, girls. Cheerleading tryouts begin."

Terrence, Melinda, Asha, and Keiko were soon swallowed up by the dance floor crowd.

"That's the infamous Melinda Gold?" one of the drag queens asked Vera.

"Mmmm-hmmmm," Vera said. "Terrifying, ain't she?"

* * * *

"Excuse me," said the burly man as he stood in the open garage doorway. He was dressed in a brown delivery uniform that threatened to cut off circulation to his thick arms and legs. His face had a nicely trimmed dark beard, and he wore a brown hat.

Cliff had been moving boxes in the garage. He was dressed in a tank top and tiny useless blue jean shorts. He realized this was not the weather for such attire (his nipples were deadly from the chill), but the shorts just made him feel so damn sexy. His ass ate them up.

"Can I help you?" Cliff said. "A bit late to be making deliveries, isn't it?" He looked the bearded man up and down. It was a familiar game. They were muscle men sizing each other up.

"I'm new," the man said. "I got lost a while back. I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

Cliff had seen this film before. He had been in this film before. And he loved it. "Sure. I can help." He didn't smile. He knew to keep it impersonal.

Cliff reached into the glove department of David's car and pulled out a road map. He walked to the tool table slowly, letting his mass do the talking, and spread the map over the table as he bent over and spread his legs. He looked over his shoulder and gave the deliveryman admittance.

"What's your name?" Cliff asked.

The deliveryman approached and stood just behind him. "Rock."

"Of course it is."

Cliff arched his ass slightly so that it was just past irresistible.

"Listen, man," said Rock, "I'm straight. I just want directions."

"Do you?" Cliff asked, loosening the jean cut-offs and letting them fall to the floor. Rock began breathing harder, looking angry.

Cliff backed his ass into the bulge in Rock's pants, then moved his prized possession up and down the deliveryman's package.

"I want that," Cliff said. "I want that in me."

"I told you," said Rock, "I'm straight."

"That's not what your cock is saying. Shove it inside me, bitch."

That tipped it. It made the deliveryman furious. In a frenzy, he began unbuttoning his pants. "You want this?" he said as his cock fell out and hit Cliff's ass with a smack. "Fine. I'll give it to you, you filthy whore. I'm gonna tear your goddamn ass apart."

Rock grabbed Cliff's shoulders with one hand and played around with Cliff's hole with the other, pretending more than once as if he was going to relentlessly drive his dick inside, head to balls, only to let it slide between Cliff's cheeks. Once he went as far as to get the tip of the head in the hole before ducking out. The teasing was driving Cliff crazy.

"Fuck me," Cliff said. "Just fuck me!"

Finally, Rock pried Cliff open and slowly sank inside him. Cliff's knees buckled from the force. He let out a cry as Rock--a straight man, no less--pounded his man-pussy like he was a pro in the League of Man-Pussy Pounders. If Rock had a porn name, it would have been Jack Hammer. Cliff could hardly see straight.

"Take it!" Rock said. "Take it all! Your hot man ass will never again tempt an innocent straight man."

"Yeah. Teach me a lesson!"

"I'm taking one for the team!"

"Me too!"

Rock grabbed the two globes of Cliff's ass and pulled them apart. He stuck his thumbs into the edges of Cliff's hole so he could get his dick farther in, and he rutted like a beast, roaring and drooling as he went.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

There was a pause in the fucking. Everything was still. David stood at the garage door.

"Honey," Cliff said, breathless and sweaty and unable to move from being so heavily penetrated, "I can explain."

"I don't want to hear it!" David yelled. He reached over and shut the garage door. "But I am going to teach you a lesson."

He walked toward Cliff and Rock, undoing his own pants.

"Honey, no!" cried Cliff. "Not the... doublefuck! I'll never survive!"

"Shut up, bitch!" David said.

He crawled atop the table so that he straddled Cliff. His own ass was a well-toned piece of art.

"Make room for me, deliveryman," he said. "I'm coming in! Stretch him out."

"My poor beautiful ass!" Cliff yelled as he was pounded by both men, his asshole being stretched beyond all recognition. Oh, the humanity!

The garage was nearly shaken to the ground by all the commotion happening inside of it. The hollering and savage cursing, the cries of mercy and of more! were punctuated at last by a great caterwaul that caused neighbors to look out their windows and lock their doors. Afterward, Cliff, David, and the deliveryman lay in a heap on the garage floor. There would be quite a clean-up.

Cliff wrapped his arms around David. "Thank you, baby," he said.

"Happy anniversary," said David, and he gave Cliff a kiss.

Just then came an obtrusive knock. David rose, pulled on his pants, and hit the button to the garage door. A man dressed in similar fashion as Rock but without the beard stood with a lascivious grin.

"I seem to have lost my way," this new deliveryman said.

David looked at Cliff, who was grinning.

"You got me one too?" David said. "Aw, baby! You shouldn't have."

"Happy anniversary," Cliff said. "Now, the two of you get in here. Let's have some fun."

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