Wow, another interlude that ended up being far longer than I had hope. The intro to Chapter 15 has a brief character list if you're new (or have a memory as short as my own).
The boys make their way back to the resort. Randy and Kent try to sort out what, if anything, they have between them. And Glenna considers going into the bakery business.
Oh, and there's some fucking as well.
Thanks for your patience and thanks to LarryInSeattle for editing.
Enjoy. Helpful comments, even non-snarky negative ones, are not only welcome but very much appreciated.
=======
"Was that weird?" Between the radio and the rattle of his beat up old car, Liam's voice is almost inaudible.
"Was what weird?" Matt asks. He's been watching abandoned industrial sites roll past the window. Rusty chain link fences, festooned with old plastic bags and other airborne debris, guard empty weed choked parking lots and shuttered buildings from the homeless and kids looking for a place to fuck. He's glad of Liam's distraction; the view is totally depressing.
"What we did at the motel, sharing, uh, you know, me letting cum fall from my mouth into yours?"
Matt smiles at the growing redness of Liam's neck and face. He rubs the back of Liam's head.
"No, brah. That was fucking hot, that's what that was." He shrugs. Liam's eyes are glued to the road. Matt continues to rub his friend's neck. "I like your tongue in my mouth; that includes spit. I like eating your cum. What's so weird about what we did?"
It's Liam's turn to shrug. "I think some people would think it was gross."
"Yeah, probably. So, what, bro? Some people think us kissing is gross. Fuck 'em. All I care about is whether you think it was gross. Did you?"
Liam's blush deepens. He shakes his head.
"So, no problem, right?"
Liam nods but with obvious reluctance.
"I didn't want you to suck my dick," Matt continues. "Not after I pulled it out of your ass. It was, you know, a little messy, not bad, just a little, enough I didn't want you to put my dick in your mouth. To me that would have been gross."
Liam nods. "I was so fucking turned on, out of control, I wasn't even paying attention." He checks the mirror and shifts lanes. His car is no condition for anything other than the slowest lane. "Thanks, that would have been gross."
Matt turns in his seat, wincing at the catch in his back. "You know, I have, like two days more experience, at most, at this than you. We'll figure out what we like. Your dad mentioned using an enema, if you were really planning on a lot of fucking and sucking. Brah, I got to tell you that using an enema, that sounds pretty bizarre to me."
"I've done it."
"No way, dude!"
"I didn't have a roommate last semester. I played around with dildos and toys. A couple of times it was pretty, what you said, messy. Somehow you don't care until you're lying there with cum all over you and shit on the towel and your fingers. I started using one to clean up a little before a play session, unless I was too fucking horny to take the time."
"Dude, was it totally gross?"
"No, not really. I mean the taking a dump part was as gross as taking a dump usually is. That part's kind of icky." Liam checks his mirror. There's no reason to. He's not changing lanes. "Some of it was kind of baller, actually."
"Brah, did you just say 'icky'?" Matt teases. "What was baller about it?"
"The water makes you feel full inside or something, like a dildo," he turns and smiles at Matt for the first time since they'd been driving, "or a dick, but more so. It made my belly cramp. I totally had a boner during that part. I'd hold it until I couldn't stand it and then bolt for the john." He snorts. "Once, Jack, one to the dudes from the other suite was totally hogging the bathroom. I thought everyone was gone that weekend. I didn't fuck with an enema if John and Bill were around. I had to use the visitor's toilet in the lobby. Dude, I didn't think I was going to make it. I was sure I was going to shit my pants running down the stairs. I barely got my jeans down and -- sploosh -- I don't think the bathroom door had even closed all the way yet. Fuck knows what the guys crashing in the lobby thought. Probably, that I'd just got back from the Chinese place everyone says uses stray dogs and cats instead of chicken.
"Sometimes I'd do it again, once even three times, until it was, you know, only water coming out. Shower. Stretch out on a towel. Toys. Lube. Porn. A Saturday in paradise for the closeted young gay college freshman. I should have started a fucking blog."
"Brah, that sounds fucking intense," Matt offers, still rubbing the back of Liam's neck. "I don't know if I could do that with you around though, the enema part I mean. I'd want a little privacy if I was going to be shitting my brains out."
"Totally, dude. Private prep time, then fuck our brains out."
"Next time you see a CVS or Target or something, get off the highway."
"Seriously," Liam asks, glancing over. "The cabin is tiny and only one bathroom."
"Yeah but you can go chill with Leon or Glenna, while I take care of business."
"I don't fucking want to chill with Leon."
"Liam, dude, let it go. I kinda deserved a punch in the face for pushing him; the rest was just an accident." His hand tightens on Liam's neck and he shakes it. "Besides, from what I hear Leon is not the only one with anger issues."
He sees Liam's face tighten, feels him tense beneath his fingers. He waits, wondering if he's pushed too hard. Fuck it, it's gotta be dealt with sooner or later. The tension disappears. Liam pushes his head back into Matt's cupped hand.
"Yeah," he sighs.
***
I'm not sure what to say to Kent. The fact he's still here, still here and sharing a cinnamon roll, calmly, with Glenna, seems to me a good sign. On the other hand, maybe he's just being polite, waiting to tell me good-bye.
"You weren't kidding about these rolls," he tells me.
That doesn't really help me very much. I want to ask him if he's leaving. Leaving to go back to work? Leaving but planning on calling? Leaving never to be seen again? But I don't.
"They're out of this world, aren't they?"
"Sit down, Randy. Join us," Glenna orders.
I shake my head. "I'm wet. Unless you're in a hurry, give me 15 minutes to clean up and get dressed."
"No hurry," Kent replies. Glenna shrugs.
"Nena, you got an extra towel I can buy?"
"Sure, in the little gift nook by the front desk." She glances at Kent. "Take two, I think we should have a BOGO day."
Kent smiles at her. "You telling me I got BO? Need a shower?"
"No," she smiles.
"Can you hold off on your shower until after breakfast?" Kent asks.
I look down at my wet suit.
"Oh, for Christ's sakes," Glenna snaps and stands up. She ducks around the corner and returns with two towels. She sets one on the counter and holds the other one out to me. "Drop the trunks and wrap this around you and have a goddamn roll and coffee with us."
Her tone makes it clear it would be unwise to trifle with her. I'm embarrassed at how my balls and cock are all contracted up from the cold trunks but what can I do?
Glenna disappears into the kitchen while I drape my trunks over the back of a wobbly looking plastic chair parked in front of a Ms. Pacman machine with a black screen. The roll keeps my mouth busy for a few minutes. When I've polished off half of it I force myself to slow down.
"I need to swim twice as many laps to burn off just half this roll," I sigh. "How far is it out to the swimming platform?"
"You'll no doubt be surprised to know that Lee measured, very carefully measured, and positioned it so that from the ladder off the dock to the ladder on the swim platform is 25 meters. I'm surprised he didn't calculate the cotangent of the angle theta induced by the wave action and correct for wind speed," she says rolling her eyes.
"Nothing wrong with being precise and careful," a drool voice intones as Leon saunters around the corner. I remember how, in college, even when he was running, he seemed in no hurry.
I offer him the half a roll on my plate. He takes it and sits down beside his wife.
"Kent, you got a look at downtown yesterday. What did you think?" I ask.
He takes a moment. "It was nice enough, quaint. Needs a little pizzazz or something."
I turn to Leon. "How many of the restaurants serve breakfast?"
"Two, 'Meg's Diner' and 'The Rustic Café'. Stupid name," he mutters under his breath.
"Do either of them offer baked good, muffins, that kind of thing?"
"Or cinnamon rolls?" Kent asks, looking at me.
"Exactly," I nod, "or cinnamon rolls?"
Leon shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't had breakfast at either place. But," he continues. "If they do, they buy them. I
do
know their kitchens and they aren't set up for baking."
"How much would it cost to set up the kitchen here for baking?"
"Hang on a damn minute," Glenna snaps. "I'm the one that would have to do the damn baking and I haven't said 'yes', 'no' or 'go fuck yourself' yet."
"Sweetheart, you've always wanted to run a bakery," Leon tells her.
"I've never..."
"Yes, you have," he interrupts her.
"Well, we're all old enough to know thinking and doing are two different things."
Leon ignore her. "We need a bigger mixer and a least one oven, two depending on how they sell."
"Rough estimate?"
"Depends," he answers. "If you buy new and pay retail, a really top of the line oven, one with multiple baking compartments, that would fit in our space and should be more than adequate for an enterprise of this size, will run around $20K, maybe a bit more. A 30-quart mixer, anywhere from 5-10 thousand. But, restaurants fail all the time. You could probably fine quality stuff on the re-sale market for two-thirds of that, less if you're lucky. The other option is to hit the going out of business or foreclosure auctions."
"I don't want to take advantage of someone else's misfortune," Glenna whispers.
"Not buying something at auction doesn't prevent the misfortune," Kent tells her. "If things have made it to auction, misfortune is already a done deal. In fact, paying them a decent price may be all they can hope for at that point. Someone will take advantage, that's for sure."
"I'd still feel like a vulture fighting over scraps of roadkill," she insisted.
"So, don't buy at an auction. There are plenty of places that deal in used or refurbished restaurant supplies." Leon offers mildly.
"Why are we even talking about this?" Glenna snaps. "I don't have the time and we don't have the money. End of story."
"Have you ever considered a partner?"
They all stare at me.
"I have a bit of money saved. I live cheap. I own my house. I've been thinking of selling it anyway. I'm tired of driving a forklift." I try not to let their stares intimidate me. "I'm not trying to push my way in or anything like that but I think you could do well with this. One, I'm sure you can make money selling your rolls to the local restaurants. Two, if the tourist like them, and they will, you can parlay that into a write-up in the
Post-Gazette
food or weekend section. Three, you use that exposure to offer yourself as more than just a family resort but as a family retreat that's okay with gay families, maybe update a few of the more distant cabins, hot tubs, romantic couple retreats, boom, you're off to the races."
"Don't forget a spa, massages, stuff like that."
It's our turn to stare at Kent. He shrugs. "People like to be pampered. Tell 'em it's a hot stone, detox, organic banana mash wrap and charge them a hundred bucks to let you rub your too ripe bananas from the kitchen all over their bodies."
