The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 18
 

“I was somewhat suspicious from his letters and the pictures I’d received, something had changed in Johnny’s life. I just didn’t expect the decision he made and the path ahead! He did know, no matter what, I’d love him and support him and the decisions he made. Lives change when circumstances change and must be met with love, honor, strength, and a certain depth of humility.”

******* 

Hardy and I were busy; handling our investments, growing our business ventures, and definitely our financial and business acumen. There were various short courses offered by the Extension Service and seminars by business groups we belonged to which assisted us in gathering our stockpile of information. Using all of this to supplement what we’d learned from Uncle Lou, we were able to increase our assets and make improvements to “Uncle Lou’s Restaurant and Pub” (notice the slight name change).

We added on a substantial addition containing a large room we could use as a community room for receptions, meetings, large gatherings, or, as we found out, an overflow for our dining room. Fish Fry Friday’s, Pizza Night on Saturday’s, Sunday Breakfast Brunch, and a new Sunday Buffet often necessitated the use of the room since the crowds were so large.

Sunday Brunch now included a special “build your own omelet” station in addition to the selection of the regular offerings. The new omelet station was on a portable stand holding a stove top type gas range, cold storage for sides to go into the omelets, and was manned by two high school boys dressed in “chefs” uniforms, including the tall white hats. Guests would select the items (by voicing their choices) and the “chefs” would prepare a three-egg omelet including them. After platting the omelet, guests were also free to partake of the breakfast brunch buffet. It was a fantastic success!

Pizza night was open to high school age and up with underage now served and seated in the Community Room. We added extra security, off duty county and city officers, to make certain there was no trouble and to keep it legal as far as booze was concerned.

Honest to god, we never had a problem! The younger crowd knew we’d permit no bullshit and respected our decision. We, in turn, tried our best to show them respect and support as well. It was mutually benefit to all concerned.

We held three banquets every year- one for sports, one for fine arts, and one for academics at the high school level. To make certain we weren’t violating any athletic conference rules or school rules, we charged every participant in the events one dollar. For those who didn’t have it or forgot it, an “anonymous” donor covered their cost.

Expensive? Yes! Profitable in the long run? Immensely!

We toyed with doing the same for St. Bart’s, the Community College, and Hartman, but decided against it. The risk of problems, with the older crowd eager to have a “drink or two” was too great and we really didn’t want to have to deal with it. Instead, we offered scholarships and gifts, in the amounts we spend on the high school events, to students in attendance there.

The “Sunday Liquor Sales Law” changed permitting bars, which also served food, to sell alcoholic beverages on Sundays. (Didn’t change the church attendance one bit as some of the opponents argued) There were certain conditions the businesses had to meet, which we did, so we opened the bar on Sundays. People could now enjoy a drink with their meals on Sunday.

The change also meant we had to hire more help, especially on weekends. By happen-chance, I asked Buzz if he’d be interested in working part-time tending bar, but most importantly, supervising my bartender crew. Buzz was one hell of a bartender when he worked for Uncle Lou and could do an excellent job. We had four full-time bartenders working various shifts during the week and some weekends, but had a larger part-time crew. Buzz agreed since his shops would be closed evenings and part of the weekend. He admitted when Mooch worked the four to twelve and the twelve to eight shifts, it got pretty lonely at home.  I tossed in a profit share incentive similar to the one Skeeter and his Mom got, albeit not as substantial, and he took it.

We transitioned our “Sunday Dinner” into a “Sunday Buffet,” featuring an All You Can Eat buffet featuring roast beef, chicken, and ham with sides, salad, and dessert. It started at noon and ran until five in the afternoon. There was some overlap with the “Sunday Brunch” but we now had sufficient room to allow it. It did cause more work in the kitchen, so we added more help. Skeeter worked a deal with the Community College to allow students to gain experience, gain college credit, and make some money doing a practicum or internship, depending on how one wanted to define it, at “Uncle Lou’s” the last part of their course work.

“Uncle Lou’s” slowly moved from a bar with burgers, to a restaurant with a bar. Popcorn and smoked fish were still offered as appetizers to those who came in for a drink or two and not for a meal.

Although we didn’t try to sort gay from straight hires, it was an open secret in the gay community, “Uncle Lou’s” was a friendly place to work. The part-time staff was a mix of gay and straight, but by-in-large, the majority were gay.

Skip and Skeeter decided to seek a place of their own. Skip wanted a room devoted to his music and piano and to double as a studio for teaching, practice, and composing. His real estate sales and business was excellent, Skeeter’s profit share, plus wages, were very good, and their investments were doing magnificently. They could well afford purchasing and then remodeling their own home.

Skip located a place for sale in Frenchtown with a large lot and double garage. They bought it, remodeled it, and constructed a substantial addition with two rooms; one for Skip’s music studio and the other as a family room or spare bedroom if needed. There was a crawl space under the home, no basement, so they raised the structure up about three or four feet, hoping to lessen any flood damage should one occur, insulated it well, and used the space for storage. It worked for them, even put a nice deck on it. They had a great place when completed.

Invariably one or two of Skeeter’s helpers would be invite over for a drink or music. One thing would lead to another and eventually one or both would take a ride on the “raging stallion.” More than one found out Skip’s cock really was as big as rumored and would leave a fellow well stretched.

I happened to overhear two young men, one a recent “guest” of Skeeter and Skip’s, comparing their experiences and impressions. Both were young college lads, freshmen, aged eighteen or nineteen I think, although the one claiming to eighteen looked closer to being fifteen or sixteen, good looking, although one was more attractive than the other and more submissive, I thought (actually, more effeminate and eager to please). Comparatively, they were average in height, weight (the more attractive one seemed to be lighter than the other), slim waisted, nice asses, and, I assume, average cocks. Neither had an athletic build or, from the sounds of their conversation, never participated in any such activities, apparently enjoying other “activities” of the carnal nature more. Both were gay as a day and open to a tryst.

“Well, how was it?” the obvious older, wiser, and experienced young man asked the other, the more submissive, somewhat shy, and effeminate one.

With a satisfied, seductive, cute smile, he replied,

“I can’t believe how big Skip’s cock is. Never seen one that size before and I’ve glimpsed more than my share of cocks in restrooms and showers in my few years.”

“Been fucked before?”

“Nope, this was my first time and it won’t be the last!”

“Hurt at all?”

“At first, when he popped that fat cock head into my butt-hole, but Skip lubed me up well and himself, stretched me with his fingers, and when he nudged my asshole with that massive knob, he told me to push like I was taking a shit; he pushed forward just enough to part the anal muscles, and I clamped around his cock. That’s the only time it pained me, but not much!”

“Feels different, doesn’t it? One that big?”

“Nothing to compare it to so I can’t really say. Only know I felt full and as he moved deeper in, I thought I could feel him sort of rearrange my insides! All I could think was WOW, especially when he started to fuck and slid past my prostate with each back and forth. When that fat fucker slid over it with each pass, it sent a shock to my balls, my cock, and my brain. Made me cum twice without jacking my own cock. Once he was buried deep enough for me to feel his crotch hairs on my butt, it felt like his cock-head was pushing on my belly button from the insides. Man, I never expected Skeeter to back up to my cock, grab it and maneuver it so I was buried deep in his ass and fucked him as Skip fucked me.”

“How about when he shot his wad? I thought he’d never quit!”

“Me neither! I couldn’t feel the actual cum shoot insides like some people say they can, but there was no mistaking it was happening feeling his cock swell and spasm with each spurt and him pushing as deep as he could each time he shot part of his load. When he pulled out, I could feel and later saw, the thick white cum of his leak out from my asshole. I never came as much as I did, ever!”

“Me neither or had anyone else fill me like he did!”

The lad who was the most recent guest, asked the other,

“Did Skeeter fuck you too?”

I left before the other answered and returned to my office. I figured Skip and Skeeter found a relatively eager and frequent visitor to their home and maybe “Uncle Lou’s” got a new kitchen assistant. It was fairly obvious we’d have the start of a new member to our “Sunday Club.”  Ernie Olsen and Walt Phillips both succumbed to various infirmities due to age and how they’d lived their lives in their earlier days. All of the original members of the “Sunday Club” were gone leaving only “the Heirs” remaining.

Johnny ended up in a small village mission church somewhere on the Coast of the Gulf of Thailand. I wasn’t certain where exactly it was since I couldn’t pronounce it or find it on the map. I do know the nearest large city was Bangkok.

Originally, the first six months or so I mailed all correspondence with him through an address provided by the Order he belonged to. From there, I assumed, it was forwarded to him. As explained to me when I questioned it with a person of high authority within the hierarchy of the Order, it was “because mail is not secure in that country and we want to make certain your mail and his to you remain secure, confidential, and actually delivered.”

Wrong, as I later found out!

I received a letter from Johnny in an envelope mailed from an address in Bangkok. Inside was his letter, unopened, explaining he’d located a friend within the American Embassy he’d met while in the military and whom he trusted explicitly! He asked his friend to send all letters to him care of the address and name he provided.  Come to find out, Johnny’s mail to and from me and anyone else was being opened and read before sending it on to the addressee. He just couldn’t abide this invasion of privacy and so relied on his friend to assist.

From his correspondence, I sensed Johnny was having some doubts concerning his choice of vocation. Nothing overt understand, but just a feeling I had. For example, there became frequent mention of his “housekeeper,” employed to keep his residence clean, prepare his meals, and assist him with language and other needs. He mentioned she was young, around fifteen or so, quite small, lovely to look at, and most accommodating.

Most interesting, I thought at the time.

Johnny often spoke of the seemingly pervasive poverty present in the area, the sparsity of available cash money, food, clothing, and other necessities of life. H mentioned little of the political situation or that his religion, Christianity, was a definite minority religion compared the Buddhism, the predominate religion. Yet, he spoke in positive terms of the population’s deep faith, never denigrating them or their theology, or diminishing that faith.

Since it was a coastal village, he was living in, the villagers were somewhat linked to the sea and what it could provide in terms of income and protein in their diet. Rice was a staple as well, but with the recent war and large population, not to even mention the supply chain, there were shortages. He spoke of his housekeepers uncanny ability to locate enough for them as well as feeding those who came to their door hungry.

From what I gathered, his housekeeper was orphaned by either internal strife (revolution), through the war, or other circumstances not mentioned in his letters.  No matter how they died, she had no family left which Johnny spoke of.

He spoke highly, in his letters, of the population and their acceptance of him. The climate was warm to hot and humid at times, so heavy clothing wasn’t necessary. In fact, he commented, many of the young during the hottest times and wettest, wore little or nothing.

Johnny had access to his personal funds through a credit card, with me paying the bill each month and hence monitoring the account, and through transfer of funds to a reliable bank in Bangkok. It was one used by his friend at the Embassy. I also had access to all of his accounts and investments so I could monitor those and make the transfers as he needed. In addition, I would often slip some cash into the envelope when I corresponded with him. I know you’re not supposed to do that, but I trusted the friend of Johnny’s.

Time seemed to go swiftly. In 1978, a letter I received from him contained several photos. Hardy and I were sorting through them noting the identification of places or persons on the back. We raised our eyebrows as we read; my housekeeper and son. She was a beautiful young woman holding an adorable little boy. Another was the boy, perhaps a year old or older, standing in a basin, naked, having a wash. God, he was cute as hell. Another picture was without caption, only of Johnny holding the boy with his housekeeper standing, smiling, beside him.

Skeeter and Ken just happened to pop in at that particular moment.

You remember the young lad I mentioned earlier? The youngest of the two discussing their experience with Skip?

Well, that’s Ken Nolan; now a member of Skip and Skeeter’s household. Still just as slim, good looking, effeminate acting, and devoted to Skip and Skeeter.

Ken was a freshman when I overheard their conversation discussing the size of Skip’s cock and its delightful effects on the interior of their lower intestines, their balls, and the eruption of their own turgid penises in fountains of cum. He was a very young freshman I discovered later. Smarter than smart, graduating at the top of his class at a very early ages having been promoted, jumping grades, and stupefying most teachers. Ken was now in his last year at Hartford College and anticipating going on, somewhere, for advanced degrees. It would have to be somewhere relatively close since he had no desire to move, although Skip and Skeeter were insisting he develop his mind. Ken would rather develop his cock and asshole (so it could be used with impunity and his delight).

I remember when he moved in with Skip and Skeeter. I questioned whether it was a wise idea since he was so young and perhaps would find “greener pastures” elsewhere.

“Age really don’t make much difference,” Skeeter allowed. “I told him he don’t fuck anyone else but us, unless we give him permission. Don’t want any fucking diseases coming home to roost on our cocks. If he wanders and takes strange cocks, then he’s out on his ass!”

Well, the pronouncement had a definite effect on Kenny. He cried and cried, fearful if he made any mistake, such as starching someone’s underwear, wearing his silk panties when they wanted “disgusting” boxers, or some other infraction, he’d be tossed out naked into the street where any stray dog could fuck him at will. He loved it so much at their house and loved them to a fault, he just couldn’t see living or fucking anyone else and so pledged! They loved him too and never would do such a thing!

Ken was more than their lover; he was their housekeeper, their loving skeptic, their cook, their household manager; he was the one who kept the house in order and them well managed and organized. He fussed over those two like a mother hen only in his case, a wanton one, since with a smile and a wink, he’d drop his drawers and bare his buns for a proper breeding!

Kenny was so fun to have around and not just for his sexual proclivities; always able to brighten everyone’s day, including Skip and Skeeter. In their house, he could live without facing incrimination, discrimination, reprisal, or outright hostility he often faced when living in his original home or as young men such as he faced in the general community. He could be himself, living the life he felt he was meant to live. He could act as effeminate as he wished, wear his silk panties, walk around naked when just the three of them were home, and snuggle with Skeeter and Skip at night or on the couch or anywhere they or he wanted. Talk about devoted to Skeeter and Skip; they couldn’t have anyone better!

Evidently, it wasn’t like that in his previous home and community he grew up in. If I heard him correctly, he came so close to leaving this life by his own hand on more than one occasion. Only some serious convincing by fellow gay lads, halted him. His parent’s disparity with him culminated, you know, out of sight, out of mind, with them sending him away to college once he completed high school. He got the job at “Uncle Lou’s,” met Skeeter and Skip, and his life changed for the better.

Be that as it may, Kenny spotted the photo of the housekeeper and he little boy and the little boy in the basin.

“What a cutey!” he remarked.

I mistakenly thought he was referring the housekeeper since it appeared he was looking at her.

“No, you silly goose!” he giggled and pointed at the picture of the boy in the basin.

“Him; the naked boy with his little wiener pointing straight out in front of him, with a seductive smile on his face.”

Kenny picked up the picture, lay it back down, picked up the picture of Johnny holding the boy and the housekeeper, Ken smiled, gave a nod of his head, and commented,

“Looks just like his daddy.”

Neither Hardy or I said a word!

My arms around Hardy in bed that night, he kissed me goodnight and murmured,

“Perhaps our Johnny’s not as celibate as we thought or hoped!”

To be continued...

Posted: 07/15/2022