Tales from the Birchfield farm

COSMO HAS TWO IDEAS

The Birchfield Farm’s irrepressible young Provider known as Cosmo thought about strutting his stuff. But, he thought the better of giving away any more of his plans before they became reality. Someone else beat him to the draw over the first one. He was miffed.

“Here’s what happened,” he confided to the single-most sympathetic person around, the Farm’s cook, Mama. They were in her private quarters, which were not monitored, brows nearly touching, confidential. “Hiram’s in a peck of trouble with his Dad. He stumbled onto (almost into) the filming of a scene at the Barn….”

“He what?”

“…and took pic-tures…hidden in the bush-es.” The sing-song delivery vanished but Cosmo’s eyes widened, his swan-thin neck let his deceptively small head bob. “Lots of pictures.” Eyes narrowed, “No one saw him. Poor kid, that’s what had him so crabby lately. He told me everything, really worried that everybody working here must be gay.”

“I’m-a not,” remembering her Italian accent, she was definite.

Cosmo ignored the obvious. Looked intent. “I dragged him to Randy-James and made him tell all. And stayed right there because I figured out what to do, and I wasn’t going to let the kid go down the tubes, and….”

“Wait. You had a so-lu-tion?” she was incredulous.

Cute as ever, he tucked thumbs under his t-shirt seams and pretended to pull non-existent suspenders with pride. The gesture came from a Charlie Chaplin skit he had seen in film class.

“Get this. Before Randy-James could throw one of his dignified fits, I said, ‘Look, Randy-James, Hiram’s pictures are fantastically good – or will be when they’re trimmed and stuff. So, we get ’em shaped up and matted and have an exhibit, only we don’t tell anybody where they came from. We just let ’em gawk. Mike’ll have to be in on it, but he will, I’m sure, want to be. If we pull it off, then everybody will accept Hiram, even though he’s thirteen, as one of the team here.’ I waited for that to sink in. I even winked at Hiram, who looked scared.”

Well, what-a happened?”

“Randy-James was trying to figure out whether there was any sense to my idea – you know how logical he is. His wheels were turning but he was sweating. So I went for the jugular and told him that ‘our beloved leader,’ Ecks, would throw Hiram out otherwise and that Hiram didn’t have anywhere to go which might mean – I mean – might really mean that Randy-James would get fired. Then what a mess we’d all be in. Hiram started to cry and said he was sorry and that he wanted to stay and wanted to understand the sex stuff even if he was too young.”

Mama, who had been gazing down, looked up, “He does have a nice butt on him.”

“Mama! Stay on the subject. This is serious.”

“He can-a squirt, you know.”

It was Cosmo’s turn to be aghast, “What?”

She whispered, “At the birthday party, he got all-a excited and came between-a my legs when I hugged him. There, Mr. Smarty.”

Her thumb relocated Cosmo’s jaw.

“Now, you were-a trying to say something?” She patted the air in his direction, “Or are-a you not staying on-a the subject?”

Before Cosmo got back on track, a deep breath was drawn and exhaled.

“Blaine got involved before Mike was brought in – and I was left out. How do you like that? They’ve been… Wait! I forgot: Hiram got a spanking and a talking to. He’s minding his Ps and Qs. Tells me things he overhears about what’s going on, only he’s not in on the planning.”

Her mouth opened for a question which he stopped, “Guess what I did?”

Both her eyebrows escalated, not knowing what to expect.

“I got the movie ‘Pecker’ for him. It was in our film series last year. Seeing the straight teen in that one having a good time taking photos in a gay bar – well, he saw for himself that it could be okay. The go-go dancers put on their best moves for the character and he snapped away to applause and became famous. Nice object lesson, I thought. Randy-James didn’t even thank me. Hiram was thinking he might become famous one day. See? Get the point?”

By way of distraction, she handed him a platter of cookies, “Taste one of these.”

“Chocolate chip with macadamias? I love those.” One bite later, he grinned, “Your best ever. Mmm. Say, what’s different?” he turned the cookie in his hand. “It’s really delicious.”

“What if I told you,” her accent having disappeared, “that, yesterday, Hiram asked me for something to do and that I gave him the recipe and that he made them?”

“You kidding me?”

“No, piccola mio. All-a by himself.” Mama was back.

“But they’re so good!” Cosmo couldn’t believe it, but finished the one and took another.

Mama’s CinemaScope smile and widespread arms for a moment threatened to engulf the Farm’s gamin. “He tossed in some cocoa powder that’s not in-a my recipe, used semi-sweet dark chocolate and-a white chocolate chips, more macadamias than-a he should, and – now get-a this crazy thing – added,” she confided, “some of my spicy paprika.”

“The real stuff, we make goulash with?” He eyed the next cookie suspiciously, mouth watering.

She nodded. “Said it would-a put lead in the guys’ pencils.”

Cosmo bit, chewed, and swallowed, his mouth filled with contrasting textures of crunchy nut meat and the smoothly melting floes of white and dark chocolate mingling with cookie content of more flavor than could be reconciled by casual accounts. “The best,” he said. “The bestest ever!” – and woofed another two before a rap on his wrist brought gluttony to its end.

***

Their confab neared the end of its second nerve-wracked hour. Blaine and Randy-James breathed more easily.

“Christ Almighty,” Blaine mopped his brow. “I think this is the closest call we’ve ever had.”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s call Mike.”

A key player in affairs of The Birchfield Farm, Mike Manleigh straddled both Provider and Trainer categories by virtue of his position in charge of matters dramatic, photographic, and cinematic. He taught acting and ancillary body movement, scenario and script writing, stage direction, makeup and costuming, and was a confederate with his two valued associates in planning what reached the attention of CEO Alan Ecks.

Popular, too, when the Sleeping Arrangements Committee considered requests. Winning personality, sturdy body, big-enough dick.

“If that’s urgency I hear in your voice, I can cut short this session with Lon. He’s almost ready.”

Blaine heard the mouthpiece being covered and the muffled question and sound of a kiss. “Says he’s okay. I’ll come over.”

To lay out the basics and their proposition took the two men about twenty minutes. All ears, Mike drew back in disbelief at some revelations, inclined forward at others, folded his arms to consider the prospects. Then, his chair against a bookshelf, he unburdened himself of something on his mind.

“Remember our interviews with the new investor, broad-banded Duane Wilderforce?”

Most certainly, they did. Unlike theirs. Mike’s interview had lasted quite long and was in parts separated by two days.

“I’ve never told you of his concern about Hiram.”

Randy-James started.

“Weren’t you cautioned as I was, and everybody else, not to divulge anything we discussed?”

They looked at each other. “Yes.”

“I’ll break my confidence now, it’s necessary. Duane has a good hold on our arrangements, on the whole operation. Business brain. Apparently truly rich. Mega-type. He appreciates Ecks’ tight reins fiscally and the profits being made and to be made after certain changes he intends. You know about the expansion right down to the northern boundary of Birnam State Park, right? All right. They’ve got the land now. Do know about the building to go in the middle of those dense woods?”

Randy-James thought he did. “A cabin of some sort was the impression I got.”

“Not.” He inclined, “A resort-fortress unlike anything – and to be completely camouflaged.”

“Khaki and brown splotches with gray, like the army?”

“Way more tech than that.” Mike relaxed, “Imagine non-reflective LED roof panels displaying a forest. Got it? There’s more. The whole, covered by some thin mesh microwave absorber stuff that’s undetectable by any type of radar.”

“Why?”

“Ecks is due to tell us why and so on at a general meeting of the entire staff. Right now, he’s up to his ears in it, so let’s be wary of him about this Hiram thing.”

“I’ll give you another ‘so.’ So, what concerns were or are on his mind about my boy?” Randy-James drummed fingers with impatience.

“A glaring omission in the screening process through which all of us went when being employed here. No one’s potential for or possible interest in children as personal sex objects was probed. Ecks’ fear, conveyed to Duane when Hassan raised the specter of Hiram’s possible profitability, was and still is that your boy will become the target of a pedophile or, now that he’s pubescent, a pederast among us.”

Struck dumb, Hiram’s Dad, stared blankly. Nothing of the sort had occurred to him.

“That’s bullshit,” Blaine spouted. “Every secret of everyone has been entrusted to me at one time or another, including yours. No one here harbors such desires.”

“Not Lon or Ahmed? They collaborated with Hiram on the photos we saw at the show.”

“No, Randy-James,” Mike shook his head, “they just like him. I worked with all three on that. I saw nothing to suggest….”

“What about Hiram’s photo session upstairs with Hassan? Did anything happen?”

“Your truant admitted the truth and you spanked his butt, I understand,” Mike said. “Say, have you seen the photos? They’re smashing. The solos of Hassan and those of the film shoot. Some are remarkable. The boy’s talented. Despite how peculiar the circumstances, he had the presence of mind to frame scenes, get close-ups, know what I mean? That quality can seed professionalism.”

“What about Cosmo’s idea? It’s not as nutty now as it was when he told me about it,” Randy-James grasped Blaine’s shoulder, “We’re thinking there’s merit to it.”

“Well gents, forget the anonymity bit. I say we openly present a show of Hiram’s pictures – including those of Hassan and you – and announce that he will be invited to make photographic studies of everyone who works here. Hear me out. We’ll line him up for supervised portraits, torsos clothed and stripped, the guys at tasks, relaxing, and in rehearsals, Mama in her kitchen and garden. I’ll let him into my class in photographing the male nude. It won’t be sexual, although it will be sensual. He’ll satisfy his juvenile curiosity and acclimate.”

Randy-James wanted to wring his hands. “I guess. Certainly, he must stay here. The risk of his being anywhere else could bring catastrophe. What are you thinking, Blaine?”

“Your late wife’s drastic behavior and the threats of harm to Hiram from some of her scuzz-bag fuckers made your son’s mental traumas form a ‘wall’ for self-protection. How was he to conclude that their behaviors weren’t those of normal intimacy? Scared the hell out of him about sex. Suddenly, the bitch is dead, he’s yours and looking for stability that’s reassuring, thinks he’s got it, but stumbles onto what seems to him like a same-sex replay of meanness. He realizes it’s make-believe and that he’s not personally threatened by it – the barn scene – yet the parallel was enough to cause that shut-down we saw before Cosmo stepped in. Even the semblance of violence, which Hiram witnessed, brought back his ‘wall.’ It confused him as did his conclusion that you’re not the only gay here, that we’re all gay. Or reasonable facsimiles thereof. Poor kid’s ballast just got heavier. Plus the fact he’s springing erections all the time. Duh! Without us to get him centered on the fact that he, like each of us, is a sexual being, the margins of his young life will blur more. He could self-destruct before reaching fourteen.”

Mike said, “Enough analysis of the gloom-and-doom, guys. Time’s on us for a plan that will put everyone at ease and be explicable – in time – to Ecks. We can capitalize upon the development of Hiram’s talent with the camera (‘Explanation to come, don’t worry.’), steer the boy’s perception at what, for a young teen, must necessarily be an accelerated pace (‘It’ll be better than his floundering between shocks and crashes.’), and direct him toward clearing his own detritus.”

“What a mouthful,” Randy-James smiled.

“Positive reinforcement. That’s the key.”

Mike scowled at Blaine, “Oh good god, how lame is that? A slogan from you?

Cut down by the rhetorical questions, Blaine waited. Randy-James as well. Mike was on a tear.

***

Cosmo, alone in his room, put down the ballpoint and read through his draft. Neat enough. He then used his laptop to type an e-mail memo addressed formally to Trainer Randy-James McLeod. It announced the presence under his office door of an envelope with a name on its front: MR. WYVIS WELLBORN. Cosmo, who deemed his capital letters impressive, requested an appointment to discuss the letter’s purpose.

By breakfast next day, Cosmo’s memo had not been read nor his envelope discovered. Randy-James, Blaine, and Mike with Hiram in tow were first through the food line for fruit, cereal, and coffee. They grouped together at a central table and ate silently as others straggled in unawares.

Mama, heading for her steamtable with a large pan of eggs into which cheddar had been lightly scrambled, eyed them askance. “Something’s a-strange,” she confided to her sausage-bearer, Konstantin.

“Them? This early?” he wondered aloud.

Others wondered, too. By eight, the room was abuzz with what Mike later called “clattery and chattery,” many heads stealing glances of the unusually quiet group. Cosmo particularly seemed interested. He confided to tablemates Charles, Wade, Ahmed, Vas, and Ben that he suspected an announcement was “in the works about Hiram’s future.”

Vas downed the last of his coffee, “You know something?”

“Not exactly, but I’m kinda scared.”

Mama’s bell dinged its call for silence. Randy-James rose, paused until no one was rattling anything, and said, “My son will address you. Listen up.”

Hiram stood, Blaine’s hand steadying the small of his back as it had the time, months before, when Hiram was introduced to the Providers and Trainers. His Dad, Blaine, and Mike left their seats to stand behind him. Studiedly stoic studs.

“Hi, everybody. I’m really sorry about, you know, seeing and photographing what I wasn’t supposed to. But, you know, seeing that was an accident. Taking pictures of it wasn’t. I didn’t really know what was happening but, in a way, I did. So, I’m asking you to let me make the best of the situation.”

A steady recitation, clearly rehearsed, it continued, “In the weeks ahead, with your permission and Trainer Manleigh’s guidance, I will make portraits of each of you and document some of your rehearsals that are… ” – he formed the term with care – “…age-appropriate.”

Past that hurdle, he showed more confidence, accelerating, “When all are properly edited, they will be mounted for a special exhibit.” A few snickered when he crossed his index fingers. “X and the other investors will be invited to attend, not knowing my identity. If you will help me, I’ll be able to stay here with my Dad, and I will learn a lot and earn my keep. And, if you see me about to make a mistake, you will please correct me. I promise not to cause any more problems. Thank you.”

A couple of seconds elapsed as the stunned audience waited for a cue from someone. A bang from the kitchen’s swinging doors announced Mama with one of her rolling carts. “Every-a-body get a fresh cup-a coffee and one of-a these special cookies.”

“I know what those are,” Cosmo blurted. He practically shouted, “They’re the best cookies in the world!” His smug boast, “I sampled them.”

Mama whirled around, pointing a plump finger in his direction, “You want-a yo’ butt beat? You shut-a yo’ mouth. This is-a surprise, dummy-dummy.”

Ahmed mocked bopping Cosmo’s ever-cute head with his fist. There was a rush to the coffee urn. Hands flew to grab cookies, admonished by Mama, “Two apiece. That’s-a it!”

***

Headache-free, Randy-James headed for his office, all the others happily to appointed tasks. The deal’s seal, Hiram’s cookies. Although adjusting schedules would be a chore, the immediate agony was over. Idly, he unlocked his door and pushed it open, sweeping aside an envelope which did not catch his eye. Protocol was followed as he logged past his computer’s first level of security to reach his e-mails.

One from Cosmo !

He read it, looked on the floor, spotted the envelope, noted the name on the front, turned it over, extracted the letter, flattened the sheet, and read the handwritten text:

Dear Papa,

Will you come to see me? Lulu never comes to play with me.

I am alone. All alone. A boy in an upper class wants to play with me

but I need my Papa to make me feel good again.

You know how. I do not want to do something bad.

Please, Papa, come and take care of your boy.

Love,

Cosmo

P.S. I have not sassed my teachers.

Clever scamp! He’s rolling with ideas. Wants to drum up business – in a role he played so well. Clever scamp indeed! Mulling over the implied principle, Randy-James decided to alert Ecks.

Swift greetings disposed of, he approached the large, new idea by way of Cosmo’s propositional letter to Wyvis Wellborn. “We’ve been passive so far in our operation, waiting always for men to come forward through references.” He rushed, “We’ve never thought to re-contact any of our clients to suggest possible fantasies based on ideas which might stem from our Providers who have played scenes with them. If this example were to work – and I believe it will, you remembering Wellborn’s financial wherewithal and huge satisfaction with his experience here – if, I repeat, then we can increase our overall corporate income and, dare I say, our output. What do you say?”

Ecks’ heavy breathing conjured the sound of some distant bank vault’s tumblers falling as the combination to a safe opened the door on further income potential. “Send me that letter in its original envelope and I’ll see what I can do.” Further moments of those deep breaths brought, “O’Keefe, you know, might be up for another rape if your team can think of another a sizzling situation. Trouble is, we’d likely need a new venue.”

“One just came to me!” Genuine excitement ramped Randy-James’ voice, “Listen to this. The new land. No one’s been there, not even the staff. Construction won’t start for months. What if….” The rapidly conceived outline was approved for development with not one moment’s hesitation.

“I may ask him whether he’s ever thought of a camping trip. Hmm…and Mendez might go for something if I sent him a letter from Ting. Get Ting working on some ideas with Blaine. You might ask Mike and Konstantin about their scenes with Duval. It’s about time he reappeared.”

“Remember, Ting did a tennis star routine early on with Duval.”

“Focus Ting on Mendez, who’s got far more money, although, now that I think of Duval’s last date here, he’s had time to accumulate enough for something. Three fantasies, weren’t they? He may have run out. They may have been all he had. See whether that trio can think of something for him, and an approach.”

“Wasn’t Duval our link to Duane? How about asking Duane if he knows any secret desire of Duval’s that never been realized.”

Ecks let out an uncharacteristic whoop. “Brilliant – and a chance to let him in on the rough idea!”

***

Cosmo, bangs and freckles in place, tightly dressed in his sailor’s outfit, waited antsily on the Farmhouse porch. Air hung heavy as evening’s dark set in. Papa Wellborn was late.

This setup was a rush job, Wyvis Wellborn having jumped at the prospect of another tryst, one of such promise as Cosmo’s letter suggested. Nurse Rockwell’s exam of Cosmo’s charms produced the caution to keep himself tight, not to reveal his recent accomplishment of moving from a six rating to a seven, nor his slightly lower-pitched voice, and “certainly not what you’ve learned from Konstantin.” Trainer McLeod contributed advice on trusting his improv skills to keep Papa from straying off the tryst’s sketchy outline.

Cosmo jolted. If nobody turned on the lights or the spring, Papa could be lost on the footpath from the Shellman! He bolted from the creaky glider into the woods, stopping only to locate switches inside a fake log. Garden lights lit the path and distant sound of gurgling water reached his ears. “Papa,” he called. “Papa are you out here?”

Sure enough, from a dense patch off to his left, came, “Cosmo, is that my boy? I couldn’t find you.”

The jaunty five-foot-two-inch sailor bounded through the brush, a hand on his wig. “I’m coming, Papa, I’m coming.”

Their reunion was happy indeed. Hugs and kisses preempted the brushing away of leaves and twigs. They strolled, hand in hand, to The Hotel Shellman. Front desk clerk Charles, watching their approach, thought Cosmo overdid his skipping but noted how, when Cosmo broke away, Wellborn’s eyes bulged at the boyish backside bouncing obscenely. A delightfully errant sailor boy waved to Wade the waiter who was watching from the Shellmanlobby’s adjacent Restaurant.

Wade hissed to Charles at the front desk, “Sneak a peek. Cosmo’s really asking for it.”

Be-dimpled Cosmo banged open the lobby door with a wink to Charles declaring. “Look, Papa’s safe! I found him in the woods.”

“Oh, Mr. Wellborn, are you all right?” Charles solicited.

“Now I am. Light was dim out there. I couldn’t find my way.”

“All our lights work, sir,” Charles pointed up and about. “Would you like to take supper in the Restaurant or in your room?”

“My room, please. Same order as before. We need to clean up.”

“When you’re ready, just phone down. Wade is at your service.”

***

With a flick of his wrist, Cosmo grabbed and donned the only shower cap in the stall. Stripped, elfin in manner as ever (if a little larger), he adjusted the taps for a warm temperature as Papa Wellborn emerged from his three-piece suit.

“Remember the garment sack. If you put our things in it and leave it outside the door, Wade will see to everything being refreshed. And hurry, Papa. I’m all alone over here.”

He stepped face in, a hand extended behind to beckon the man.

Wyvis Wellborn’s eyes stood on stalks at the curvaceous line from Cosmo’s sleek nape, over his rounded shoulders, down the sloped back to sink at the indented waist and flare around his never-tanned, gleaming white buttocks. Vision could take him no further. Verging on unseemly ventilation, he turned on and chubbed up. Sporting his rare, instant erection, he tried to walk but, instead, charged to the shower. A man in lust.

From his first encounter on the Farm echoed the thought: God, I’m hard.

“Rescue me, Papa. I could drown in here.” Innocence crying out for aid – as only a flirt’s can.

He splashed into the spray, almost skidding on wet tiles. Cosmo was grabbed so desperately his bar of Ivory soap squirted straight up. It landed where Papa had to kneel for it. Cosmo turned. Four firm inches of boy meat went directly into Papa’s gaping mouth. In the shock, Papa’s cock deflated half-way.

Cosmo instantly burst out, “Oh Papa, you’re better than Lulu!” He rode an improvised slide over Wellborn’s surprised tongue, “Thank you, thank you. I knew you loved me.”

Fellation of his son was not on any planned agenda. Cosmo’s enthusiasm, however, overcame hesitancy. Appreciative squeals at paternal slurps, awkward though they were, kept Wellborn going. Unaccustomed huffing and puffing resulted in water up the Wellborn nostrils, ending Cosmo’s fun.

It was back to work for the distracted Provider as a flustered Papa stood to clear his sinuses and throat. Cosmo’s hand closed around the nearby projection of re-plumping flesh. In apparent astonishment, the boy’s most childlike voice exclaimed, “Ooh, Papa, you feel bigger. Have you grown down here?” Both hands explored, one the throbbing shaft, the other what hung below.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be touching your Papa like that”

“Don’t be annoyed,” said high-voiced Cosmo, careful to keep the spray on his shower cap and not on his face. My freckles might run! “I’m just curious, the way Lulu was about my parts. I always let her.”

“Well, that’s naughty – but it does teach you what a man’s parts are like, I guess. You can do it some more.” He spat, closed his eyes, and let fresh water rinse his mouth. Cosmo’s diminutive fingers tickled his Papa’s balls. Papa sputtered. And got harder.

Cosmo smirked, “Papa, you look so cute, dancing around like that. I like it.” He diddled further.

“Stop that, you brat,” Papa shot, and slapped at provocative hands. “They’re called privates for a reason.”

“But Papa, they’re so nice to hold.”

“Out! Now! Get me a towel and dry yourself. You must be dealt with.”

Little time passed before Papa had his squirmy, naked son dry-butt-up over his legs and was applying the palm of one hand swiftly, loudly, repeatedly. Cosmo howled, squirmed some more, and wriggled his own private bits into the Wellborn parts. Such was the distraction, the spanking slowed. Coordination troubled Papa Wellborn’s efforts.

A lull enabled the savvy sufferer to stretch out an arm, slide open the bedside cabinet’s drawer, root around for a certain ointment tube, and hand it back, saying, “Use this, Papa, all over, and you-know-where.”

That worked. Now here comes the finger. Ooh!

Cosmo almost thrust back in pleasure but restrained himself. Papa’s thick knuckles had to be taken in sequence as if progressive punishment. “Ow! Have pity, Papa,” he squawked.

It feels so good.

Wellborn – his finger surrounded by yielding, flexing, hot tissue – thought the same: It feels so good. Dedicated to his task, he reamed the boy. That is, until Cosmo’s erection got the better of him. “What’s going on, son?”

“Can I tell?”

“I want you to, because your excitement’s poking mine.”

“Okay, I know what that feels like because I’ve done it with Lulu. Now don’t get mad.”

Circular frigs, which surprised even Wellborn, grazed Cosmo’s prostate. “Oh, wow.”

“So?”

“Well – uh – Lulu got into some stuff with an older boy and she let him – you know – do that to her, and liked it because his finger’s bigger than mine, and then she told him I’d like it, too. He was the one that….”

“That what?” The finger frigged directly on Cosmo’s firm spot.

“That I wrote you about. He wants to play with us both, but I wasn’t sure if that was all right, Papa.”

Out came the finger – for scrutinization – while Wellborn considered what to say.

Might say.

Should say.

What he did was to reinsert straightaway.

An absentminded, “Yes,” caught Cosmo’s attention.

“You mean it’s okay if I let him?”

“No!” Papa practically shouted, prodding deeply. “He’s not your twin. He’s not even family. I don’t want him touching you, and I certainly intend to put a stop to his taking advantage of my little girl.”

“Lulu’s a woman, don’t you remember?” asked Cosmo rather brashly. “You made her one last time. She told me.”

Silent, Wellborn added lubricant to his middle finger and pressed it together with his index finger into the boy’s by-now hungry hole, a few moments of respite allowing him to catch his breath.

Shenanigans by Cosmo – that boy just could not keep still – included ripping his butt away, bolting upright, flopping face down on the bed, and calling out, “Papa, please, give me what I need – the way you would if I was Lulu.”

His brain blown apart by what he saw and heard, Wyvis Wellborn stroked himself to the brink, noted Cosmo’s hiked up charms, squeezed himself, bestrode (on knobby knees) the offering, said a silent, hasty prayer of thanksgiving to Providence, aimed at the reddened roundness, and sank the driving force of his inches dead-center – heard bells ringing and angels singing and Cosmo’s screech. That failed to deter this Papa’s out-of-his-mind determinism to fuck the daylights out of this substitute for his daughter, her twin.

And fuck he did.

***

Surveillers Randy-James McLeod and Blaine Rockwell scrutinized the closed-circuit screen’s action. Eyebrows aloft together, they guffawed.

“Mr. Wellborn’s ‘fatherliness’ seems quite to have gotten the better of our Cosmo, wouldn’t you say?” asked the one.

Replied the other, “Indubitably.”

“Seriously, this event’s not going the way it was sketched. They’re both losing control.”

“Funny, yes. They’ve locked bodies like animals rutting. Look at Papa go.”

“Cosmo’s going, too – nuts.”

“Let’s make sure they don’t wander too far off-track. Wade’s waiting in the wings in case. Iced tea and Boodle’s gin-and-tonic. That we can count on.”

***

Wellborn’s tunneling of Cosmo resulted in arching experiences for both. Papa’s fluids collected in his condom; the bed received and absorbed Cosmo’s.

In recovery, Papa Wellborn wanted to know who the boy was, the boy “playing around” with Lulu and wanting to do so with Cosmo. A dire subject, not foreseen.

Whirs of thought sufficed for improvisation. “Mmm, he’s, mmm, older than we are and nice.”

Papa’s palm, firmly on the backside recently vacated, threatened. “What does that mean? What’s he been doing with my daughter?”

Eek! A facial grimace, unseen by Papa, went directly toward one of the room’s monitor cameras. Randy-James and Blaine noticed, ears alert for a coming clue. “Mmm, his name is, mmm, Konstantin. His family came from Russia. Mmm, he’s two years ahead of us….”

***

“Get hold of Konstantin and Mike as fast as you can,” Randy-James poked Blaine. “Have Mike put him in some student-like clothes, prep him with youthful makeup if there’s time, and tell him to be ready to head over to the Hotel. He can wing it for dialogue based on whatever leads Cosmo will give him. Wellborn’s about to demand to see his darlings’ diddler.”

***

“…and real friendly. Lulu, Papa, you know, is the one who, like, made the first move.”

“She what?”

“Well, she saw him in his gym clothes. She couldn’t resist. His legs are strong.” Cosmo, grateful Papa wasn’t looking at him but only listening and feeling his butt, talked almost at the monitor.

“His stomach is flat and his chest is nice. But his ‘stuff,’ you know, sticks out like it wants to be touched. It’s because he wears a jock strap.”

***

Cell phone at the ready, Randy-James called Blaine. “Important – Konstantin must be in a supporter.”

“Guess what? It’s our lucky day,” a relieved Blaine chuckled. “Konstantin’s in the gym as we speak. Mike’s with him. I’ll be there in a minute. Stall as long as you can, okay?”

***

Cosmo struggled with, “Lulu liked what she felt. She even took one of his hands and looked at his fingers. Now don’t get mad, but they started sneaking off. She wanted him to play with her because he’s good looking and bigger than me. Mmm, and she says he kisses way better than I do.”

A knock on the door prevented apoplexy. Angrily, Wellborn threw on a bathrobe and tossed a towel to Cosmo as the second set of soft raps drummed.

It was Wade, all smiles. “Compliments of the Restaurant, sir. Here’s your gin and tonic and an iced tea for your boy. We haven’t had your order for dinner yet and the chef’s worried.”

Wellborn glowered, “I told Charles the same order as before.”

“You did? He must have forgotten. I’ll see to it right away. I’m at your service.”

“Indeed. Do see to it. And, there’s a service you people can do for me.”

“Sir?”

“Get ahold of some student named – what did you say his name is?”

“Kon-stan-teen,” Cosmo’s voice almost gave away his recognition of what was going on. Its slight crack (to stifle laughter) struck his Papa as a product of fright.

“As quickly as possible,” Wade assured. “Meanwhile,” he flourished, “here’s a bowl of pretzels.” He zipped out, shutting the door before Wellborn could come up with anything else.

***

Shoulders squared, Konstantin collected himself before knocking. Confident his opening salvo was well-rehearsed, he used knuckles harder than intended.

Cosmo greeted him, wearing his towel and staring intently. “Hi. This is my Papa. Papa, this is Konstantin.”

“Close the door.”

“Yes sir.”

“I understand you’ve been ‘playing’ with my Lulu. Care to explain?”

“Sure!” With that enthusiastic utterance – which raised startled looks – he moved directly in front of his interlocutor and said, “Lulu’s the hottest girl in the world. Her bottom needs a lot of attention.” Extending the middle finger of his right hand, he added, “I give it to her and I want to give it to Cosmo because I know he needs it, too. He’s hot, I know. Lulu’s told me so. And you aren’t around to give either one regular play.”

Konstantin spoke softly, confidently, without swagger or braggadocio. His fluty tone and slight Russian accent both disarmed and attracted.

Time passed – less than it seemed – while Wellborn’s florid, crimson cheeks faded. An idea formed. The man eyed, then studied the boy – Handsome – in his closely fitted white cotton

v-neck t-shirt, high-waisted blue microfiber workout shorts, white athletic socks and sneakers – posed provocatively hands-on-hips, an eager look on his face. “What do you think Cosmo needs?”

“I can show you.” Without waiting for approval, Konstantin turned to a very innocent-looking, genuinely taken-aback Cosmo, caressed and patted one side of his face, stuck out his middle finger, put it to Cosmo’s lips, and said sweetly, “Lick this. Lick it well.”

Papa Wellborn swallowed and crossed legs beneath his Hotel Shellman’s terrycloth robe.

“That’s good. Now suck on it.”

Cosmo complied, using his tongue in ways Papa could not see.

Konstantin’s composure nearly crumbled. Bastard! He’s testing me!Thinking fast, he regarded the wet finger and turned to Papa, “If you show me how you would like Cosmo played with, I can take care of him really well.”

It was Cosmo’s turn to glow red in the face. Papa had jumped to his feet, an index finger aimed his way. “Drop the towel. And you,” he looked Konstantin’s way, “drop those shorts. I’m going to take stock of you.” It was most authoritative.

The room’s balance of power shifted back to Wellborn. His erection, dripping, sprang through the robe’s flowing flaps. It caught Konstantin’s eye. Konstantin’s packed jock strap caught Wellborn’s eye.

Nice lump up front. Just right. Not obscene. And not turned on – yet.

Giddy at the prospect, feeling himself quite in charge of two boys with attractive bottoms, Papa sidled up to Cosmo and told him, “Wet my finger. Just like you did his.”

‘The better part of wisdom is to keep it simple,’ Mike had advised about improv. So Cosmo thought: Mustn’t overdo. Just wet it enough so it’ll slip in. Cosmo did, with the idea that Papa’s finger soon would be where it had been before.

Wrong.

“So you’ll know how it feels, I’ll play a little with your butt,” Wellborn said, and stood behind Konstantin. Strap frames the area like a picture. He felt for, rubbed, and began to enter the young man’s astonishingly pretty, coin-slot muscle.

Like a shot, Konstantin reflexively bent forward; his resistance gave way to the spit-slicked, knuckled-knobbed digit. An uncontrollable sigh escaped the Russian’s mouth. Cosmo took advantage. A step-and-a-half’s move pushed his hard cock into the gape.

We’ve skewered smart-ass Konstantin!

Konstantin realized, I’m fucked, as he relished both penetrations. Subjugation was his thing. They sawed back and forth, an unwitting team, for whole seconds of pleasure to the middle, in front, and in back. Cosmo’s past included fewer blowjobs than he had performed, so he was in heaven. Wellborn’s index finger had never been in any ass but Cosmo’s – and this one seemed to be gobbling at him. Heaven was for him, literally, at hand. A finger’s worth.

He went for two.

It broke the rhythm. Konstantin clamped on Cosmo’s cock at the sudden invasion. Cosmo let out a yell. Of pain or something else. Wellborn pulled out. The first to organize his thoughts, he said, “That’s that. You take Cosmo to bed and show me how you’d treat him – if I let you.” He sniffed the finger.

Before the presumed-child star-of-the-evening could react, Konstantin moved to rescue the scene’s wavering fantasy. He pulled completely naked Cosmo into an embrace, groins tenderly together. “Come, little one,” he crooned, “I’m your new playmate,” and danced their way to the spotted bedspread. Sprawled behind his charge, one arm under Cosmo’s neck, he began caresses to the exposed shoulder. “You are as lovely as your sister. You need what I give her. Don’t you, baby?”

Cosmo, back in character, nodded and in reward received kisses to his neck. He shivered at the hand which slid down his back and cupped his bottom ever so gently. Its middle finger pulsed at the moist port, tantalizing it to the point of craziness.

Mesmerized, Wellborn envied Konstantin’s delicate moves of torment. The more when Konstantin’s instinct told him to double up and push two fingers through together – Just like I did – to a groan of welcome. Damn! – he didn’t react to me that way. Envy turned to jealousy, with anger just around the corner. Is that kid putting me down? Taunting me?

Decision time.

Wellborn climbed behind his boy’s assailant, took Konstantin’s balls in hand. “You want him. Now’s your chance. Get in there,” and he pushed hurtfully as the cooperative Russian withdrew his fingers and slipped cock first – with a gasp – into the readied boyish treasure. So easy, so thrilling, the sight of Konstantin beginning to grind into Cosmo cued a strange feeling that crept from the man’s chest, up his sternum, through his clavicle, to lodge in his larynx. There were no words to be spoken. Only action to be taken – by fingers in the Russian lad’s rectum. Relieved of fingery probes, Cosmo pushed back happily. Konstantin’s tummy settled into the concavity of his friend’s back, his dick roving in commitment to Wellborn’s demand, his ass dancing to the splendid agitation of the demanding man’s bare-knuckled probes.

***

Mike Manleigh joined the scrutinizers. “Damned marvelous, if you ask me. Look at the trio go!”

“Our trust in Konstantin’s saved the day,” Blaine said with a handshake.

Randy-James would have interjected a comment of his own had not Wyvis Wellborn exceeded their expectations.

***

“I want my Papa’s rights,” the man blurted, titillation at conquest driving his nerve center wild. The three threshed and thrashed, voices at various pitches and qualities exerted incoherencies of transport. Wellborn fired into Konstantin who discharged into Cosmo who, again, saturated the bed.

***

“Sensational,” croaked Randy-James.

“Spectacular,” Blaine followed.

Mike broke up, “Over-the-top and into-the-bottoms! When this is edited, Wellborn’ll have the DVD of his lifetime.”

“Wait,” Blaine pointed.

***

They basked in the afterglow of their discharges. Private thoughts labored silently along with audible breathing. Moments of return witnessed ideas in the works. That is, until there came a knock at the door.

“Mr. Wellborn, I have your dinner.” Ward’s muffled voice sent them scrambling for white terrycloth articles.

Closest to the knob was Cosmo. Gleefully, he made sure everyone was decent before he twisted it.

“At your service,” Wade proclaimed. With aplomb, he wheeled in a serving cart with three covered plates of Crispy Duck Confit accompanied by mushroom fricassee and spinach soufflé, two glasses of iced tea, sweeteners, and another gin-and-tonic made with Boodle’s. “Just the way you like it,” he grinned at Wellborn. Turning toward Konstantin without batting an eyelash and looking back, he remarked in his most professional voice, “We knew you had company.”

Konstantin got one over on Cosmo by broadcasting his love for spinach.

Under Papa’s glare, remembering their previous dispute over the same dish, Cosmo was piqued. I’ll eat it no matter what. Who does Konstantin think he is, horning in on my territory?

Two attractively bare torsos sat before Papa Wellborn, in his robe, through the meal. Everything was consumed smoothly, with gusto and relish, since all were hungry and the food “excellently prepared,” as Papa said, dabbing a napkin to his mouth. He had kept an eye on Konstantin, whose utensils were employed less daintily than Cosmo’s although with civility.

“Tell me, young man, do you come from a good family like ours?”

Flummoxed for a second, Konstantin lowered his head and looked up just under his eyebrows to improvise, “Sir, my parents are in Russia. I’m a scholarship student doing my best.” He did not acknowledge Cosmo’s foot strike his under the table.

“Papa,” Cosmo fluttered his considerable eyelashes, “can we have dessert?”

“May we have dessert,” he corrected. “A good idea. How about chocolate cake?” he asked of Konstantin, who smiled innocently.

Charles answered the call. “Oh, Mr. Wellborn, I’m so sorry, but we’re out of chocolate cake. What we do have,” he stressed, “are fresh, crisp, chocolate chip cookies made by our new sous-chef Hiram. Let me send up a dish of those and some ice cream – vanilla, it is, I recall – and some fresh coffee, so de-licious a combination.”

Cosmo coughed and nodded at Konstantin, who coughed, too.

With ice cream, Hiram’s cookies were a hit.

Papa stood. “It was a good thing to get to know you. Now, no hands on my Lulu but do look after Cosmo’s little needs as they arise, all right?”

Hands were shaken, “And next time I’m here, you can join Cosmo, Lulu, and me for a family gathering.”

Cosmo boggled.

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Here please find my stories: DOUGLAS IN RESIDENCE; and another series: THE ALEXIA CHRONICLES.

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