CHAPTER  ONE

[This chapter is totally new and has never been posted before.]

Marc phoned Wendell and Bruno, the owners of the ‘friendly’ little motel where he frequently stayed in Palm Springs.  Once a ‘desert rat,’ always a ‘desert rat,’ so they say. 

As luck would have it, the motel was booked to capacity – No Vacancy for at least the next two months.  It was a popular weekend and vacation spot, drawing clientele primarily from Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco, but also from as far away as Australia, Austria, Canada, Egypt, England, France, Germany, Holland, Jordan, New Zealand, Peru, and Saudi Arabia.

“However,” Bruno said in his deep Baritone voice, “we still have one of the ‘honeymoon’ cottages available, if your friend would like that, hon.  How long would he be staying with us?”

“Oh, I think it’d be safe to say that he’ll be there for at least a month;  maybe two, maybe even longer.  But, Bruno, I, personally, will guarantee you at least the first month if he changes his mind.”

“OOOOOoooooOOOooo!  Someone special, Markie?”

“Not that way, bitch,” Mark teased.  “Gerry’s a good friend who has … uhhh … just … lost … someone very, very dear to both of us.”  The resonance of his voice betrayed the depth of his feelings;  whether for one or the other of the people he was talking about, it was doubtful that Bruno could determine.

“Ohhhhhhh, I’m so sorry, Babe.  Now, you just get Gerry on down here, and we’ll take reeeeeal good care of him.”

“Yeah;  I know what kinda ‘reeeeeal good care’ you’re talking about, you ol’ fart,” Marc teased again.  “You two are like a coupla ol’ mother hens … and everybody loves you for it;  don’t get me wrong.”

“Aren’t you sweet!”

“Well … give my love to Wendell, and tell him I said for him to give my love to you.”

“Ummmmmmm.”  He chuckled.  “That should take all night.”

“At your age, you’re right.”

“Assmite!”

“You know me too well, you wonderful, huggable ol’ bear.”

“Hey!  Stop using the word, ‘old’.”

<><><> 

Early the next morning, Gerry left Las Vegas and drove to Death Valley, quite an out-of-the-way route to his destination.  He didn’t do much sightseeing, but decided to spend the night there.  This was an area of the country he had longed to visit.  Seeing it but briefly, he promised himself that someday, he would return and spend more time.

He found that he loved the desert.  Acquiring a free road map from an Amoco service station, he left the main roads and drove the rocky, pitted, sometimes-washed-out-by-flash-floods unpaved back-roads leading toward Palm Springs.

Later that evening, he arrived at the Rendezvous Motel.  If Las Vegas was hot in the summer, Palm Springs was scorching!  Even at 8:30 in the evening!  And the southern desert was only 2.3 degrees Latitude closer to the equator than the nation’s gambling capital!

As he approached the seven-foot tall, bright red bougainvillea-covered wall in back of the parking area, he saw what looked like a heavy, sand-blasted, stressed wood gate with a brass plaque engraved with the words, “Authorized Personnel Only.”  Not until that moment had he realized that there was no sign anywhere announcing the name of the motel.  The mailbox at the curb indicated only the numbers of the street address – 2-4-6-9.  Two-four-sixty-nine Rendezvous Place, that is!

He looked to the left and saw nothing but a solitary wrought-iron bench in front of another wall, espaliered in oranges, lemons, kumquats, and pink and yellow grapefruit.  Then he looked to the right, but saw no other gate or doorway. 

As he was about to turn away, he caught the glimmer of a shiny button on the stucco wall, nearly hidden by the lush greenery.  He pressed it and waited for but a moment when, from somewhere behind the luxuriant verdant foliage came a very formal, deep-throated vocal request:  “State your name, please.”

“Gerry Young.”

The voice quickly became seductive … enticing … sultry.  “Good evening, Mr. Young.  We’ve been expecting you.  Remove all of your clothing, fold each piece neatly, place them on the bench to your left, and step back three paces, please.  One of our ssssslavesssss will retrieve them and your luggage, as soon as you have entered.”

Gerry was shocked.  “What the hell is going on here?” he said aloud to no one in particular.  I’m gonna kill you, Marc, he mentally sent a message to his ex-Shift Boss in Vegas.

An irritating electrical buzzing noise issued from somewhere as the lock was released and the gate swung slowly open.  “Just kidding,” a different, jovial voice announced from the wall.  “Please come in, Gerry, and welcome to ‘Our Secret Rendezvous’.”

Just as he passed through the gateway, a ‘Little Person’ … a very hunky Munchkin … a Body-Builder-in-miniature, no more than three-and-a-half feet tall, whizzed past, pulling behind him a Red Rider wagon.  Soon, he and the wagon returned with the one piece of luggage that Gerry had brought with him.  The little man was wearing nothing but little black motorcycle boots, a tiny but very protruding black leather codpiece snapped over a black jock strap, and a tight, black leather harness with silver pyramidal studs. 

As he scampered back toward the direction from which he had come, his deep, raspy little voice called over his muscular shoulder, “Gerry, please to follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

Gerry had to stifle his laughter, for he knew that he was laughing at him rather than with him!  In an instant, the little stud-muffin was gone – disappeared – vanished – poof!

Within his first two minutes at the motel, Gerry simply could not believe his impressions.  He looked around and discovered that the wooden gate had mysteriously closed, apparently by itself, and that he was surrounded on two sides by interior walls made entirely of seemingly thick blocks of glass which diffused the rippling, shimmering soft-blue light coming from the opposite side.

Both the exterior and interior walls formed an enclosed hallway, lit only by overhead ultraviolet (black) lights and the soft luminescence coming through the glass.  Beneath his feet, the floor was indeed made of yellow bricks in a herringbone pattern.  And over the open doorway at the end of the hall was a sign with a single word upon it:  OFFICE.

As he approached the far end of the entry hall, the lyrics, ‘We’re off to see the wizard – the wonderful wizard of Oz’ ran through his head, and he almost allowed his feet to begin skipping along – ALMOST!  Instead of being … straight, if ‘the Yellow Brick Road’ had only been a little … crooked … surely Gerry might have begun his own little dance.  But such was not the case.  It was too soon after learning of Tony’s brutal demise, for Gerry to be enjoying himself in any sense of the word.

On entering the office, Gerry was engulfed by hugs from Bruno, as if he were a long-lost friend. 

Bruno was wearing nothing but a brilliant turquoise-blue silk sarong, patterned in huge, brightly colored Hibiscus blossoms.  His lengthy endowment could in no way be concealed beneath the sensuous fabric, and it seemed to be growing!  But something seemed peculiar about it.  Gerry simply could not put his finger on it.

Bruno’s chest was covered in sexy, salt-and-peppered fur, highlighting his half-dollar-sized reddish-brown areolas with their pointy, pencil-eraser-sized nipples;  and the snow-white hair on his head was coifed immaculately.  For a man in his senior years, he looked to be quite toned and fit.

Snow on the mountain;  fire down below, Gerry immediately thought. 

Again, his thoughts and emotions had wandered away from his beloved.  What’s wrong with me? he wondered.  Why did I even agree to come down here?  It’s not fair to Tony.

“… and this is Wendell, my business partner and lover of thirty-five wonderful years,” Bruno said, interrupting Gerry’s melancholy, which had prevented him from hearing a single word that had been spoken, up to that point.

It was then that Gerry noticed the little hunk was seated, cross-legged, on top of the counter, a devilish grin on his face, his shaved head cocked to one side, his eyebrows wriggling up and down, his arms outstretched awaiting a hug.  “What you see, is what you get,” he rasped, and then giggled.

In spite of himself, Gerry had to chuckle.

“Now come on, stud,” Wendell said, silently begging with his fingers for Gerry to move closer, “make yourself useful and help me down from here, and I’ll take you to your cottage.  You can fill out the registration card later.”

As Gerry hesitantly lifted him off the counter and lowered him to the floor, Wendell turned his attention back to Bruno.  “Don’t wait up for me hon;  I’m gonna make Gerry feel riiiiight at home.”  Then he giggled again.  Ohhhhh, he was adorable;  that’s for sure.

But Gerry’s eyes grew large as saucers as they darted back and forth between his hosts.

“You … wouldn’t … dare, you little pip-squeak!”  Bruno jokingly glared at his lover.

“Oh … yes … I … would,” the deep, raspy little voice retorted in mock seriousness.

Once again, Gerry was shocked.  “Uhhh … what’s going on here, guys?”

Wendell wrapped an arm through Gerry’s legs and around one of his thighs as his adorable face looked up at their new guest with his child-like innocence. 

Bruno smiled and explained.  “Gerry, we talked with Marc a couple of hours ago.  He’s worried about you, and wondered if you’d gotten here, yet.  And while we were talking, he told us how badly you’re taking … your … loss.” 

A friendlier, more compassionate tone in Bruno’s voice, Gerry couldn’t have asked for.  Once again, his eyes began to glisten with emotion.

“It’s all right, Gerry;  let it all out.  We’re here for you, and Marc wants us to take care of you until he gets here in a few weeks.”

Bruno had reached out to hug him again, but Gerry stopped him.  “Marc’s coming down here in a few weeks?”

“Yeah.  He’s gonna try to rearrange his vacation so he can come down and show you around the area.”

“Oh, my God!”

“You don’t want him to?” a surprised Wendell now jumped into the conversation.

“No, it’s not that, Wendell … Bruno.  You see … I worked for Marc.  He was my Shift Boss.  But I never felt that he was a friend … a real friend.  I never felt that he really cared.  And now … now, I find out that … oh, God.  I can’t believe it.”

“He loved Tony, too, ya know,” Bruno blurted out.

“What?”

“Oops.”

“Oops.”

Their conversation was cut short by the ringing of the phone.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about all this, Gerry.  Now, let Wendell take you over to the cottage, and we’ll talk later.  OK?”

<><><> 

The little red wagon with Gerry’s suitcase in it was near the open glass sliding doors leading to the courtyard.  Wendell led the way, pulling the wagon, with Gerry following behind.  They didn’t go far.

“Here we go, Gerry!”  he announced as he stopped next to a beautiful red and gold-leafed jinricksha with it’s canopy down.  His taut muscular little arms barely struggled at all to move the suitcase from the wagon to the ornate Oriental vehicle.  He turned to face Gerry as he moved his arm, ushering the guest to climb aboard.

“I’m supposed to get in that thing?”

“Yes, Master,” Wendell answered, with a greatly affected bow, and every word was spoken with cut-and-dry seriousness;  “… unless Master requires humble slave to pick esteemed Master up and place Master in humble carriage.”

No matter what degree of grief or emotional pain Gerry was in, he could not hold back the roar of laughter that burst from his guts.  Finally, gaining some small measure of control, he laughingly said, “You’re crazy!”

Slowly interlocking his little fingers across his harness-covered abdomen, and without batting an eyelash, like a wise old sage, Wendell said, “It is good for Master to laugh.”

Gerry roared again, knelt onto his knees and grabbed and hugged Wendell.  “You crazy, funny little man – I love you.”  He paused, and then continued after a deep sigh.  “I know I’m gonna have some rough times ahead, getting over …” he couldn’t even say Tony’s name without fear of totally going to pieces.  He swallowed back his tears and went on;  “… but with people like you and Bruno around, I’ll make it.  I know I’ll make it, ‘cause I gotta get on with my life.”

Just before Gerry stepped into the rickshaw, Wendell hurriedly grabbed something from the footwell.  In the pale light of evening, it looked like some strange African flail, or instrument of self-flagellation, or even a reddish-brown horse’s tail.  “Would you help me, and do the honors?” he asked, handing it to Gerry.

“What is this, and what’s it for?” Gerry asked, studying the thing.

“It’s a horse-tail-butt-plug,” Wendell replied, turning his back to Gerry and bending over and spreading his own ass cheeks.  “Just shove it in … but gently, please.”

“Wha…?  I can’t do that, Wendell.”  He shook his head in disgust.

“Ohhh, come on, Gerry.  It doesn’t hurt.  I wear it every time I pull a guest around in the rickshaw.”

“Why?”

Wendell stood up and turned to face Gerry.  “The guests like it, that’s why,” he answered, giggling again with his raspy little voice.  “I’m the rickshaw ‘pony’ around here, and the guys love it.  They get a bang out of it!  Now, come on … be a good sport.  Help me out by helping it in.”  He giggled again as he turned around and resumed his position once more.

“Well … I don’t know,” Gerry hesitated, but the images in his head were intriguing.  “You sure it won’t hurt?”

Without looking back, Wendell extended his arm back toward Gerry and said, “Give it to me for just a minute.”

Gingerly, Gerry handed it back.

Wendell put the hard plastic butt-plug part of it in his own mouth, coating it with his saliva, and then handed it back to Gerry.  “There!  Nice and slick and juicy.  Just shove it in, nice and easy.”

“You sure?”

Before Wendell could answer, from about twenty feet away, one of the three guys dangling their feet in the pool as they sat on the coping watching this whole scene, yelled, “Just shove it in.  He loves it!”  All three broke into wild laughter.

For the first time, Gerry looked toward them, and then took a double take.  All three were nude, and all three were sporting erections.

Oh, my God! Gerry thought as he hung his head and covered his eyes with one hand.  A flash of memory flew through his head – nine nude men … standing around the perimeter of a room … stroking themselves … in Dr. B’s basement.

He felt nauseous and his head seemed to be spinning.  He fell to his knees, crushing Wendell beneath himself.

<><><> 

With a rush, Gerry regained consciousness.  He coughed, jerked his head from side to side, and batted away the obnoxious, foul-smelling … something … being held under his nose.  He looked around, confused at not knowing where he was.

A young Judy Garland and Toto and the Tin Man and the Lion and the Scarecrow were staring at him from across the room.  Beneath him was something soft and silky, and then he realized he was lying in the middle of a huge bed. 

Wendell was kneeling beside him, on the bed, wiping his head with a cool, damp cloth.  Another Wendell was piggyback riding on the Lion’s shoulders, and also looking down on Gerry.  Yet another Wendell was sitting on top of the dresser.

Bruno was sitting on the bed, holding Gerry’s hand.  Three bare-chested men with towels wrapped around their waists were standing nearby.  All displayed worry and concern on their faces.

Fluffy white clouds floated against the cerulean sky above, but in the farthest corner of the room, Gerry saw the dark funnel of a tornado with a house and a cow and chickens and a pitchfork caught up in the whirlwind.

Near the opposite corner, the Wicked Witch of the West rode sidesaddle on her wicked broomstick.

Pushing his head deeper into the pillow, Gerry rolled his eyes up and looked at the wall behind the headboard of the bed.  There, upside-down in his present vision, he saw the Good Witch of the North smiling down on him.

“What is this place?  Where am I?  What happened?”  The questions poured out.

As Bruno explained about what had happened during the past several minutes, Wendell hopped down off the bed and hurried out of his and Bruno’s Master Bedroom.  The three men also left after determining there was nothing else for them to do.

Soon, Wendell returned with a cup of steaming chamomile tea.  “A touch of brandy might be good in this, if you’d like, Gerry,” he inquired.  Gerry nodded, and Wendell poured just a little from the accompanying decanter into the calming herbal drink.

To their concern and questions, Gerry told them about the experience in the ‘playroom’, some seven years prior.  He thought he’d gone beyond the fear and pain originally brought on by what the doctor in Maine had called his ‘rape.’  Seeing the three guys nude, with erections, had brought it all back … well … in so far as he could remember.  And with his grief over Tony, it was all just too much.  He didn’t know whether to stay at the Rendezvous, as a recluse, or leave and go somewhere else.

“Didn’t Marc tell you that we’re a ‘clothing optional’ resort, Gerry, and that behind our privacy walls, most of our guests …” Bruno was asking as Wendell interjected.

“AND the two of us!”

With a grin and wriggling eyebrows, Bruno glanced at his partner, and then corrected himself and continued.  “… most of our little family are usually nude until a new guest arrives?”

Gerry slowly shook his head side-to-side in response.

A moment of silence passed as the hoteliers gazed into each other’s eyes.  Then Bruno sighed heavily, looked at their guest who was now sitting up and resting against the ornate, gold-leafed rococo headboard, sipping his tea and brandy.  Bruno said, “Gerry … the choice to stay or leave is, of course, your own, but we …”  His words, familiar as they were, seemed to fade into no sound as Gerry saw something on the wall that he had missed entirely.

Faintly superimposed into the trees of the forest, through which the Yellow Brick Road meandered, was the smiling, gray-haired face of the Wizard himself.

And then he could have sworn that he saw the lips moving as he heard the words in his head, The choice is yours, Gerry.  You alone must make it;  I cannot make it for you;  but know that I will always be with you.  The words and the voice were, of course, Michael’s, and then the Wizard’s face also became Michael’s.

For the first time since he had learned of Tony’s death, while he, Gerry, was yet in Paradise, he felt the heavy sadness leave, and tears welled up in his eyes again – tears, this time, of joy – joy at hearing Michael’s dream-like voice.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bruno’s neck and pulled him into a powerful embrace.  “I’m staying,” he said to the tall, lanky man.

Then, after their release, he pulled Wendell to himself and gave him the same powerful hug.  “How about a ride in your gorgeous rickshaw, pony-boy?”

Wendell then jumped up and down on the bed like a little kid.

Soon, all three men were outside by the rickshaw.  Gerry climbed aboard as Wendell once again retrieved the horse-tail-butt-plug, handed it to Bruno, and said, “Do it to me, honey.”

“ASS-ume position, ‘Pony’,” Bruno ordered and then began moistening the butt-plug in his own mouth as Wendell bent over once again and spread his cheeks.  With ease and depth, Bruno seated it inside Wendell’s ass.

Looking over his shoulder, Wendell said to Gerry, “I just love it when he does that.”  All Gerry could do was roll his eyes and shake his head.  Silently, he did, however, motion for Wendell to take his place between the two shaves.

Wendell stepped across the nearest shaft, and as he bent over to grip the crossbar joining the ends of the two shaves, he wiggled his ass, probably knowing that Gerry could not miss seeing it.  The little wiggles sent waves of ripples down the rufous-colored genuine horsehair.  The ‘pony’ straightened up, and while yet holding onto the crossbar with both hands, leaned into it with his harnessed chest, and off they went, at a munchkin’s gallop.

Gerry noticed that the pool and Jacuzzi were lit for nighttime swimming … and other sensuous activities … and that the rippling waters cast a soft-blue light about the courtyard, including the glass block wall concealing the front entrance of the motel.

So THAT’s what caused the shimmering blue light I saw when I came in, he thought.

They passed a porticoed hacienda-style building that housed about twenty motel rooms with easy access to the communal pools.  The landscaping was gorgeous and beautifully manicured.  Fragrances of citrus trees, gardenias, and night-blooming jasmine subtly wafted through the evening air.

Two guys were making-out in the Jacuzzi.  Four others were obviously playing a card game at one of the patio tables.  A few were seated around a fire-pit, engaged in lively conversation as they sipped their drinks.  And couples and trios of guys were getting moon-tans on the lounges around and in the pool. 

Everyone spoke to the ‘pony’ as he and Gerry headed to the cottages;  some were cordial greetings, while others were raunchy remarks as the ‘pony’ swished his hind-quarters, but all was said in good fun.

It was good to laugh and smile again – be they ever so restrained – but pangs of unwarranted guilt at being a little bit happy, welled up within.  Suddenly, Gerry found himself praying.

Oh, Tony … Tony, Tony, Tony … why can’t this be our own little island hideaway in the desert?  It’s so perfect.

<><><> 

The next two weeks found Gerry relaxing and succumbing to the easy life of a desert vacationer.  Since that momentous evening with Tony, he had kept his head and the rest of his body shaved, and with the sunbathing and swimming, he was turning a beautiful golden brown – all over!  When in Palm Springs, do as the natives do … so long as I can say ‘No,’ he thought.  Of course, with his fair skin, he had to use a lot of Coppertone Sun Tan Lotion**.  And there always seemed to be someone who offered to help by rubbing it on his back and legs … and other places. 

Yes … Yes … No. 

People – guys – were friendly, especially to the only “apparently single” guest at the motel.  Sexual innuendoes were frequent and jovial, but not obnoxious, and not forceful or threatening.  It seemed that everyone, couples included, were open to extracurricular activities during their stay in the HOT desert – night OR day – right in front of God and whomever!

Gerry even overheard one guy pleadingly arguing with his partner/lover:  “There’s no need to get pissed-off, sweetheart!  It’s only for the weekend, I promise.  We’ll never see them again.  We need a little variety to spice up our love-life together;  don’t you agree?” 

Occasionally, Gerry was asked to join a couple or a group of guys for dinner and then to the Party Room (a gropy, gay beer bar) or Aunt Charlie’s (a liquor bar that allowed dancing – all gay clientele, of course, with the greater majority being male).  Both bars were on Highway 111 in Cathedral City, right next door to Palm Springs.

He was beginning to have fun again – and with no feelings of guilt about it.  Certainly, he had his moments – moments of ecstatic memories and moments filled with gut-wrenching sadness at his loss, but he knew that he had to release and let go and get on with his life.  I can’t live in the past, or with ‘what if’s’ for the rest of my life, he finally realized.  Life is for the living, and most poor suckers are starving to death, he continued his thoughts, paraphrasing Auntie Mame.

The very next day, Marc arrived from Las Vegas.

<><><> 

Gerry met him upon his arrival at the Palm Springs Airport.

“How was your flight?” Gerry asked, after they had greeted each other.

“It was all right.  That ‘puddle-jumper’ sure was cramped, though,” Marc replied, “but damn!  You’re lookin’ good … and only after a coupla weeks here in the land of Fun in the Sun!*  Gorgeous tan, too!”

Gerry blushed.

After retrieving Marc’s luggage and then getting into Gerry’s shiny red pickup, they talked while on the way to the Rendezvous.

“Sooooo, how do ya like it here in the desert?  Been getting’ around to see the sights much?  Been up to Tahquitz Falls yet?”  Marc’s questions seemed to project his genuine interest in Gerry’s doing things that would help him move beyond the grief of Tony’s murder.

“From the little of it I’ve seen, I have to say, ‘I love it!’  But to answer your other question, no, I haven’t been up to the Falls.  What’s up there that’s interesting?”

“We’ll have to take a hike up there … that is … if you’re into hiking;  it’s easy.”

Gerry shrugged his shoulders and gave a non-committal nod.

“Well, I can see you’re not terribly thrilled about that idea.”

Gerry shrugged again.

“But let me share a bit of movie trivia with ya,” Marc continued.  “Did you ever see the 1937 Frank Capra movie, Lost Horizons?”

“Sure!  One of my favorites!”

“Well, one of the scenes was shot up at Tahquitz Falls.”

Gerry thought for a moment and then turned his attention to Marc and asked, “The one where Jane Wyatt dived off a huge boulder into a pool of water right at the bottom of the falls?”

“Hey, keep your eyes on the road, smart ass!  I wanna get back to Vegas in one piece!”

Gerry had drifted into the on-coming lane and at Marc’s alarm, had jerked the truck back to the right side of the road.  “Sorry about that.  But what were you gonna say about Jane Wyatt and the Falls?”

“Just keep lookin’ straight ahead while I talk, will ya, huh?”

Gerry nodded.

“Well, yes, that’s the scene, and rumor has it that Capra, himself, dared her to do the dive in the nude …”

“Nooooo!?!?!” Gerry interrupted.

“Yesssss! … and keep your eyes on the road, fucker!” Marc shot back.  After Gerry was looking straight ahead again, he continued.  “She flatly refused until Capra told her that he’d pull the cameras as far back as possible, and the scene would be so quick, no one would see any thing.”

“Did she do it?”

“I guess so.  Every time I watch the movie, I sure as hell can’t see that she’s wearing anything at all when she dove in the water.”

“Damn!  I gotta see that movie again.”

<><><> 

It wasn’t long until they were back at ‘Two Four Sixty-nine’ Rendezvous Place.  Gerry had already arranged with Wendell and Bruno that Marc would stay in the same cottage that he, himself, had.

“There’s no sense in two single guys taking up two rentals, when I’ve got plenty of room in the cottage,” he reasoned with them.  The friendly duo thought it was a good idea, too, since business was booming, and they could always rent-out another room.

Early that evening, Wendell and Bruno had a catered barbecue picnic/dinner for all the guests.  The catering truck arrived, and five young men, all apparently in their early twenties, began setting up serving tables and portable grills and even a wet bar.  Each of the hunks was wearing nothing but white.  White canvas deck shoes.  White butt-and-crotch-hugging short-shorts.  And white muscle-pecs-and-abs-defining tee shirts.  On the back of the shirts was stenciled  ‘Had a piece lately?’, and on the front of each was written “Best meat in town.”

Like the 50’s TV show, Omnibus, the caterers personified the meaning of the show’s name – ‘Something for Everyone’.  Red skin, Yellow skin, Black skin, White skin, Brown skin … all were erogenously represented by the five.

Nothing, but absolutely nothing, can keep a bunch of cock-sucking butt-fuckers in their motel rooms when five more, new, gorgeous pieces of ‘eye candy’ strut their stuff for all to see.  Word spread like wild fire from room to room, about the ‘bearers of fresh meat’ in the courtyard/patio/pool area.

Soon, all the other fifty-or-so guests were scampering around, trying their hardest to suck up to or ass-ist the hired help.  If not completely aroused by the time they left their rooms, they were at least standing at half-mast!

Having visited the Rendezvous many times, Marc was more than comfortable ‘letting his hair down’ and joining the naked revelry.  “All good things cum to those who wait,” he had knowingly smirked many times during his visits.  He, too, had joined the gaiety of the horny throng … but Gerry had remained in the cottage, a little uncomfortable at seeing all the wild, naked carryings-on of the crowd, through the sitting-room window.

“So few for so many,” cried one guest.  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” wailed another, limp-wristedly fanning himself.

Except for the ‘boys in white’, everyone was nude, -- everyone, that is, with the exceptions of Bruno and Wendell.  Bruno was busy in the office, attending to the books and the phone.  He would later join the catered affair for dinner.

As nearly always, Wendell was again in his little black-leather ‘Master’s’ outfit, but this time he was wielding a six-foot-long bullwhip, gently swatting the asses of those guests who were interfering with the work of the five.  It was all done in the spirit of fun and games.  Everyone loved his cute little shenanigans.  AND his cute little butt.

Three of the guests grabbed him, over-powered him, and carried him to one of the poolside lounges.  He fought and flailed (in jest), but to no avail.  There, they unbuckled, unfastened, unsnapped, and untied the little guy, laying him bare for everyone to see.

“Hooo-leee shiiit,” exclaimed several of the amazed crowd around him.  “Fuuuck,” said a number of others.  His captors released and slowly stepped away from him.

Wendell lay there, spread-eagled, sporting the most beautiful, most perfect, most enviable six-inch uncircumcised penis any one could ever hope to see ... much less to ever feel, taste, or be fucked with!  No wonder that his little cod-piece-covered jock strap was always so humongously tented!  And he was sixty-seven years old – most of the regular guests already knew that bit of information from past visits or rumors!

There must have been a good three-quarters-of-an-inch of foreskin dangling from his saliva-inducing shaft and glans.  And it was flaccid!  Not even a hint of any arousal – yet!  What was average on a fully developed adult male, appeared monstrous on the Little Man.

Slowly, silently, Wendell looked around with a devilish little grin.  “What you see, is what you get!” he shouted as he jumped up and began running around the courtyard, dodging hands and arms, darting between and through a forest of naked legs, and avoiding another capture. 

Suddenly, he became the Rendezvous’ ‘Deep Diver’ as he jumped on the small, circular trampoline, sprang into the air, took a very deep breath, did a graceful swan dive, and sank into the greatest depth of the pool – fifteen feet!  There, he sat, in that silent depth -- cross-legged, eyes closed, seemingly at peace, the backs of his hands resting on his knees, palms up, with thumbs and index fingers forming circles -- oblivious to the hoards of naked men trying, but failing, to reach him.

One minute.  Two minutes.  Three minutes.  Everyone grew silent with concern.

Having heard the boisterous noise resounding from the courtyard, followed by the sudden silence, Bruno had dashed outside from the Managers’ Quarters, again wearing only his sarong.

Several guests pointed to the bottom of the pool and simultaneously uttered a single word – “Wendell.”

Three-and-a-half minutes, and Wendell finally changed his posture and gently pushed himself upward. 

Just as Bruno jumped in ‘to save’ his long-time lover and business partner, Wendell surfaced;  his smooth, shaved head sparkled with the water as it dripped off.  His eyes glistened as he looked about, and that devilish grin appeared again. 

“Eat your hearts out!” his raspy little voice shouted.  Applause and gleeful shouts thundered from the guests.  Immediately, he was being pulled or pushed through the crowd in the pool from one guest to another, toward the shallow end.

Soon, Bruno appeared from the depths, choking, coughing, spluttering, clumsily fighting the water to stay atop.  Guests, likewise, helped him to where he could stand on his on.

When he finally reached his lover, he hugged him and kissed him, hugged him and kissed him, again and again.  He picked him up and put him on his shoulders -- Wendell’s legs straddling Bruno’s neck, his cock resting against the back of Bruno’s head … and growing.

Bruno walked up the three steps, exiting the pool with Wendell still sitting on his shoulders.  Something was strange, though.

The guests had suddenly become quiet again;  many of the first-timers were pointing toward Bruno’s crotch.  He looked down and discovered that he’d lost his sarong when he dived in and was totally naked.  AND … there was no hiding the fact that he had, what was for him, a rip-roaring hard-on.  It was, in truth, pointing straight out, due east.  Circumcised, there was no extra skin flapping in the warm desert-evening breeze or dripping chlorinated water.  The remarkable thing was that it was nearly twelve inches long … but only about as thick as his own slender thumb!

Noticing the crowd’s reaction and the direction of their gazing, Wendell looked down, and on seeing the mighty probe, began gyrating his hips and humping his still-growing normal sized love-tool against the back of Bruno’s sopping wet head.

“Want some … home-made … Wildroot Cream Oil*** … in your … gorgeous … white … hair … lover?” Wendell struggled to ask as he approached and entered the exquisite throes of passion.

Bruno said nothing, but looked back and up beyond Wendell’s pointy little nipples into his adorable face, and simply smiled.  At the same time, his own foot-long spear bounced and bobbed up and down, echoing Wendell’s movements above.

“Uuuuummmmmmpfffffff, Uuuuummmmmmpfffffff, Uuuuummmmmmpfffffff,” voiced the spurting, climaxing little man, gripping Bruno’s forehead, apparently, with every ounce of strength he had, and pulling it back into his own throbbing, pulsing, ejaculating, humping crotch.

Once more, thunderous applause and screams and yells of approval, abounded around them.  Bruno blushed, and hung his head.  Wendell fisted the air in triumph.

Regaining their composure, Bruno again looked up and asked, “Wanna show’em what you do best?”  Wendell looked around.

Boisterous shouts of encouragement came from everywhere!  “What is it, Wendell?”  “Show us, Baby!”  “Do it to it, ya little hunk!”  “Come-on, do it!”  “Do it!”  “Yeah, just do it!”

In an instant … it had commenced.  Few, if any, had seen how Wendell had so easily flipped himself over Bruno’s head and slid down the furry salt-and-peppered chest beneath him.  Bruno held him by his ankles as Wendell impaled his mouth onto the entire length of Bruno’s pole of throbbing flesh!

Guests quickly gathered ‘round, watching the slender cock appear and disappear again and again between mouth and graying pubic short hairs.  They urged him on, louder and louder.  Other hands grabbed other leaking tools and weapons – their own, or someone else’s, it mattered not.

Bruno’s legs began to shake, his breathing became spasmodic, his eyes squinted shut, and his head flew back, facing the first sparkling diamonds that had appeared in the black velvety canopy of the clear desert nighttime sky.  His cry sounded like the baying of a wolf at the full moon.  His knees began to buckle.

Two guests rushed to prevent the erotic pair from falling onto the submerged steps in the pool.

Wendell drew his head away from the now flaccid impaler, licking his lips.

Another ‘impossible’ move, and Bruno had tossed him into the air.  Wendell did a one-eighty airborne cartwheel, and as he came down, Bruno grabbed him in a hug – face to face, chest to chest, cock to stomach, and feet to thighs.  They kissed, exchanging Bruno’s hot mixture of semen and baby-makers.

The crowd went wild.  Among the cat-calls and wolf-whistles, Marc yelled, “How does a Little Person take such a long cock?

Once more, Wendell was sitting on Bruno’s shoulders.  He held up his hands to quiet the raucous noise of the throng.  In his raspy little voice, he answered, “My lover, here,” he patted Bruno on the top of his head, “can tickle the inside of my tummy … from either end!”

Cheers and laughter exploded once more, until Bruno signaled for quiet.  Then he proudly announced, “It doesn’t hurt that my little buddy up here,” he thumbed up toward Wendell, “was a professional sword-swallower with Wringling Brothers when we met!”

Then, as if they had rehearsed it, together they said, “We fit together like hand in glove.”

Wendell jumped down to the pool decking, and together, they bowed, first, to each other, and then, to one and all.

The response shook the desert floor … well … almost!

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“Dinner is served,” announced the white-clad five in unison.  “Come and get your spicy, juicy meat here,” called one of them.  “Get it while it’s hot!” called another. 

As the rush of naked males descended on the serving tables and tubs of iced beer, Marc headed toward the cottage.  When he was about half-way there, he spotted Gerry walking toward him, nude, but with a large beach towel draped across one shoulder but yet concealing his own equipment.

“I don’t believe it – you miss all the fun and excitement, and now you’re coming out for food,” he teased, his fists on his hips.  As they came closer to each other, he looked into Gerry’s eyes and said with deep concern in his voice, “You’ve been crying.”

“Yes,” he replied with no emotion.  “We’ll talk more about it later, if you want, but right now, I’m starved, and I wanna rejoin the living.”  He winked at his ex-boss.

“I don’t know what happened, but I think I’m beginning to like the new ‘OLD’ Gerry.”  He reached out to embrace his friend, but stopped and asked, “Is it all right to give you a hug?”

“Well … I guess so, Marc.”  His towel began to slip off his shoulder.  He grabbed it and threw it behind his neck, letting an end hang down each side of his chest, exposing his shaved torso and crotch.  Marc’s eyes immediately left Gerry’s, and gobbled up the vision, particularly the lower one which seemed to be rising ever-so-slightly to the occasion.

“The hug’s up here, big guy,” Gerry tapped his chest with his thumbs, also checking-out Marc’s thick equipment which wasn’t hanging true perpendicular.

“Sorry.  Didn’t know you were so … so appealing.”  His eyes were darting back and forth between Gerry’s eyes and Gerry’s nakedness.  He held out his arms, and Gerry walked into them, wrapping his own around Marc’s furry back.

They hugged.  And hugged some more.  Surely, they both must have felt the other’s rising tumescence, for they quickly backed away with silly grins on their faces.

“Let’s get something to eat.  I’m starved,” Gerry repeated himself.

“How’d you like to nibble on some hot, juicy tube steak?” Marc asked.

“I think I’d like something a little more nourishing, first.  But maybe after a few drinks … who knows?”

“That’s my man, Ger.  That’s my man.”

With Marc’s arm around Gerry’s shoulders, and with Gerry’s arm around Marc’s waist, they walked toward the festive, fun-loving, campy, gropy, well-on-their-way-to-being-drunk crowd. 

Seeing them approach, one of the guests, who had been at the motel all week, started chanting, and was soon joined by many of the others.  “Ger-ry!  Ger-ry!  Ger-ry!  Ger-ry!”

It wasn’t long before everyone had been served – at least once. 

Wendell and Bruno had made arrangements for the five, rather than clean up all the mess and leave, that they could relax and even join in the fun if they liked.  There was a dormitory-style room with a dozen bunk beds if they wanted to stay for the rest of the night. The room was ordinarily used by local day-visitors, for a nominal fee, of course, who just wanted a little sun and … whatever!  After meeting the guests and getting over the shock of seeing the nakedness of the revelry, they decided to ‘cum and stay’.

The noise had mellowed down quite a bit.  No one was in the pool, and then, as if on cue, the five marched in precision to the decking at the far end of the pool and faced the guests.  Like a drill-team, each lifted his right foot, removed his white deck shoe, tossed it over his right shoulder, and returned his bare foot to the ground.  Then … same movements … left foot.

By this time, they had attracted everyone’s attention.

Next … identical movements and precision timing as they removed their white tee-shirts.

The cat-calls, wolf-whistles, screams, and yells began to intensify and build.

Each of the five stuck their thumbs into the tops of their white short-shorts … paused for a moment and slowly looked around seductively. 

“Take’em off!  Take’em off!  Take’em off!” the lecherous men (old and young, alike!) shouted!  “A hundred dollars to each of you, if you’ll all take’em off,” yelled one hairy, pot-bellied guy.

The five turned slightly, so that they were all facing him across the pool, and in one simultaneous movement, they all JERKED their ‘break-away’ white shorts from their sexy bodies!

A split-second of silence fell upon the audience, and then the roar began again. “Take’em off!  Take’em off!  Take’em off!”  Beneath the tight white short-shorts, the five had been wearing neon orange bikini briefs.

With perfect synchronized movements which would give any gay guy a hard-on, or for that matter … any woman, wet panties … they very slowly turned their backs to the on-lookers;  their shoulders shimmied in unison, left and right, as their hands erotically inched down the outsides of their legs until they grasped their ankles;  the separate cheeks of each ass likewise shimmied in chorus-line timing with the other four – first the right, then the left, again the right, and again the left. 

This went on for about a minute, bringing ooo’s and ahhh’s and moans and groans and groping and stoking and humping and leaking and even a few full, gigantic, climactic spurtings.

More teasingly, more slowly than ever, the five began to slide the orange bikini briefs down.  The sounds and actions across the pool grew more intense.  And finally, the dancers kicked their last garments away.

Suddenly they yanked themselves up and flew through the air in perfect backward swan dives into the pool with barely a splash.

Needless to say, they were instantly joined in the pool and seized upon by nearly all the guests.

Even Gerry joined the frolicking mass of testosterone-crazed horn-toads.

<><><> 

NOTES:

·       * “Fun In The Sun”, the official motto/slogan for the City of Palm Springs.

·       ** Coppertone Sun Tan Lotion, formulated for the soldiers of WWII in 1944.

·       *** Wildroot Cream Oil, a popular BarberShop hair tonic in the 1940’s and 50’s.

<><><> 

To be continued.

Comments welcome, please drop the author a note: 

Posted: 08/17/07