By: Gerry Young

[To DREW in Yorkshire, England, my LOVE for his continued inspiration, encouragement, ceaseless instructions over my hardheadedness, and his determination to help me make this the best that I think it can be, even though I may not have followed all his suggestions to the letter.]

[I lovingly dedicate this chapter to the memory of REV. DON TORRES, a dear, dear friend and metaphysical teacher who left this earth in the early 90’s, assisted by A.I.D.S.  He was, to me, what MICHAEL is to Gerry, and sometimes I feel that he is urging and inspiring me to finish this tale.  God!  How I loved that man from afar!]

CHAPTER THREE

As they left the cave, the boulder, and the Falls behind, conversation was difficult.  Gerry’s feelings for Marc had blossomed into love, and now he had just been informed that Marc wanted no more than friendship.  It was a bittersweet moment as they hiked back down the mountain to Gerry’s truck.  The blazing August sun was directly overhead, and the straw hats did little to protect their heads. 

The desert summer was indeed brutal for one not acclimated to the extremes.  But even the shimmering mirage caused by the reflected heat dancing above the burning sand, off in the distance and beyond the oasis that was Palm Springs, was beautiful in its own unique way.

For Gerry, the only saving grace was that the hike down to where he’d parked his truck was much easier and quicker than the hike up to the Falls had been.

He was pondering the things that Marc had said in the silence of the cave.  And then, inside his head, he heard the words of his beloved friend, Michael, once again saying:  Seek your destiny!  But this time, Michael added a few more words.  IN … joy …  the journey!  You’re much closer now.

‘IN joy?’ he wondered.  Or … ‘enJOY’?  Damn!  You’re getting cryptic, Michael!  He imagined seeing Michael’s smiling face before him.

He thought more on those words, and then suddenly stopped, a smile creeping across his face, and he looked at Marc.

“What?  What’s that shit-eatin’ grin for?”

“Oh, nothing … just a memory.”  He reached out and pulled Marc to himself and hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.  “Thanks, Marc.  Thanks for being here to help me.” 

Gerry was content, under Michael’s influence … for the moment, at least.

When Gerry released him, Marc backed away and studied him for a minute.

“Don’t ask,” Gerry said.

Marc just shrugged.  “Okay, buddy.”  Then he added, “Now, let’s get back to the truck.”

“It’s gonna be like an oven, ya know?”

“Yeah!  I’ll pull the blanket outta the backpack and cover the seat and back.”

<><><> 

No sooner had they entered the grounds of the Rendezvous, than they ran to the pool, dropped the backpacks, yanked off their hiking boots and socks, and dived into the water, clothes and all.

It was bath-water warm!  This time of the year, pool heaters were turned off since the sun heated the water to a tolerable warmth, but it was refreshing in comparison to the exposure and the heat inside the truck … even with the air conditioning!  With their straw hats floating on the surface, they quickly shed wife-beaters and shorts.  The longer they stayed in, the more uncomfortable the tepid water became.

Sitting on the top step with their asses and legs underwater, and their limp cocks floating on the surface, Marc suddenly turned his direct attention to Gerry.  “Ever since you told me, in the cave, that you think you’d like to live here, I’ve been wanting to ask you a personal … a very personal … question.  And there’s just no polite way to ask it.”

Hardly anyone was around the pool area at that time of day.  Nevertheless, they began talking in hushed tones.

“What?  Whatdaya want to know, Marc?  If it’s too personal, I’ll tell ya.”

“Fair enough.”  After a brief pause, he blurted out, “How much money do ya have, Babe?”

“Huh?” Gerry asked, shocked.  “What business do …”

“I don’t want you to tell me an exact figure … just a ball-park figure, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got an idea for ya, and I think you’ll like it.”

“Well … all right …” Gerry tentatively began, “… with the exorbitant money I made when I was in Paradise, and the money I’ve been fortunate enough to win on the Slot Machines … which, I will say, is considerable … I’d have to say that I’m pretty well set.  I mean, I wouldn’t have to work for quite a few years, if I watch my P’s and Q’s.”

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic!”

“So what’s your idea?”  Gerry was still leery of Marc’s first question along these lines.

“One more question, first!”

Gerry nodded.

“How are you with your hands?”

“Huh?”

“I mean … how are you at hammering, sawing, painting, plumbing, electrical repairs … any of that stuff?”

“Ohhhhhhh!” Gerry drew out his exclamation.  “I think I see where you’re heading.  Well, when I was in high school, I sorta knew my way around a workshop.  Whatcha got up your sleeve?”

Marc raised his head back and scratched under his chin.  And his grin was growing bigger by the second.  “I think we’re gonna buy you a house,” he then stated as a matter-of-fact with a know-it-all attitude.

“Oh, no!  I can’t afford that!” came the firm rebuttal.

“Yes, you can!  If you don’t mind roughing-it for just a few months.”

“Roughing-it?”

“Yeah.  I’ll talk Wendell and Bruno into letting you stay in the cottage for a few months … and I’ll even pay for it as an early house-warming gift … and then you can move into the house.”

“You sound as if you’ve already got a place picked out for me.  But how could you?  We haven’t been away from each other since you got here, and we haven’t been house-hunting.”

“Listen, Ger, buddy-o’-mine;  I know the desert;  I know it’s starting to grow and take-off by leaps and bounds.  There’s lots of old homes around here … even some haciendas … that have been abandoned and vandalized.  Homes that, with a lot of elbow grease and a little time and money, can be returned to their former glory, and even updated, and then, sometime in the future, you’ll be a rich man.  A home here is the best investment you can ever make.”

“But how much would they cost?”

“Pennies on the dollar!  I guarantee it!  And some for just the back-taxes on the property.”

“Sounds great.  So, how do I find one of these jewels of the desert?”

“Just leave it to good ol’ Marc.  Tomorrow, we’ll go see the right people in Riverside, check the county records for what’s available here, and before I leave … five days from now … you’ll be a proud homeowner.  And who knows?  In a few years, you could end up being a millionaire!”

“Don’t I wish!”

<><><> 

Four days later, deposits were paid, forms were signed and notarized, deals were made, and Title to a property in Cathedral City was handed over to Gerald Arthur Young.  For the first time in his thirty-one years, he was a homeowner!  Paid in full.  And now the work began.

Marc went through the business listings in the phone book, and Gerry wrote down the names of companies he should contact.  He called Builders Supply Co., and Lumberman’s Inc.;  he called electricians, and plumbers, and set up appointments for the following week at the property.  It didn’t take long before Gerry was completely overwhelmed by thoughts of the task that lay ahead.

While Gerry was phoning the different people, Marc had taken care of the four “S’s:” Shit, Shower, Shampoo, and Shave.  Wearing nothing but plain white FTL boxer shorts, he had stretched out on the bed, his fingers interlocked behind his head.

“You’ll do fine, Babe, and it’ll keep ya off the streets,” Marc teased.

“Yeah, right!” Gerry groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned in the desk chair toward his … friend. 

Until that moment, he hadn’t been aware of Marc’s … freshening-up … but now, he gazed at the nearly naked body before him.  His dirty-blond hair, slightly graying at the temples, was combed but still had that ‘just dried’ fuzziness to it.  The relaxed rising and falling of his chest accentuated his dark brown nipples which appeared to be getting larger.

Down the light ‘treasure trail’ Gerry’s eyes continued.  He unconsciously licked his lips and sighed a great sigh when he noticed Marc’s boxers gaping open as the mound beneath pulsed and grew larger.

“Com’ere.”

“Huh?” Gerry replied, jerking his eyes back to Marc’s and automatically rising from the chair.

“Com’ere.”  Marc patted the bed next to himself.

Gerry frowned an unspoken question.

“Come on.”  He patted the bed once again and rolled onto his side, facing Gerry as he sat down and lay back.  Marc reached across him and pulled him onto his side so that they were facing each other.

Suddenly the pain of unattainable desire and anticipated loneliness bit into Gerry’s gut;  his eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

It was Friday afternoon, and Marc would be returning to Las Vegas, early the following morning.  Ever since Marc’s revelation on Monday’s hiking trip to the Falls, Gerry had painfully refrained from expressing his true feelings for Marc.  But with the clean, fresh scent of the man … with his arm resting on Gerry’s side, and his hand gently, tenderly rubbing Gerry’s back, the dam of pent-up emotions was about to burst.

Marc moved forward and lightly kissed Gerry on the lips.  And the flood gates opened wide.  He buried his head in Marc’s neck and shoulder, and bawled.

“What is it, Babe?  What’s wrong?”  He wrapped his arms around Gerry and tried to console him.

“I don’t want you to go.  I want you to stay,” he cried his heart out.

“Oh, Babe … we talked about this, before.”  Gerry nodded his head and sniffled.  “It just wouldn’t work out.  You’ve got your life;  I’ve got mine.  I’ll be back for visits … we’ll see each other and spend time together.  Vegas isn’t too far away”

“I know;  I know.”

After a time, Gerry took hold of his emotions, sat up, and went to wash his face.

They each showered – separately – then dressed, and went out to eat, stumbling across a new, small, authentic Mexican restaurant, Olga’s El Besame Mucho.  The food was wonderful, the ambiance – beautiful, and Olga – the absolute, perfect hostess.  It would not be the last time that either of them would eat there.

Back at the motel, Bruno and Wendell invited them for after-dinner cordials as they sat outside by the pool – since it was Marc’s last night before returning to Sin City.

The conversation was mainly between the three old friends.  Gerry was more quiet than usual – talking little, biting his nails, chewing on his lower lip, looking only occasionally at their hosts, but most of his attention was on Marc.  Gerry’s face had pain and longing written all over it.

“Let’s take a short swim,” Bruno said to the others as he stood, unfastened his ever-present sarong, and let it drop to the decking.

Wendell took the hint, jumped off the patio-chair, and moved over to Gerry, asking for his assistance in removing his ever-present black leather harness.

With much conniving and pleading from the others, Gerry and Marc were soon naked and all four dived into the pool.  They swam a little, fooled around very little, and talked a little.

Finally they said their ‘good-nights’, gave hugs all around, and Marc and Gerry returned to the cottage, arms around each other’s waist, naked and carrying their clothes.  Not a word was spoken during the short, slow walk.

The night was balmy, the sky was clear with it’s myriad of sparkling pin-points of light, and the air -- imbued with the mixed fragrances of night-blooming Jasmine and Cereus Cactus.  Under other conditions, lovers would have said that it was a perfect, romantic evening. 

“I’ve got to finish packing,” Marc said on entering.  “That 5:30 flight’s gonna be awfully early in the morning.”

“Yeah, it is,” Gerry agreed with a somber tone.  “Anything I can do to help?”  His voice sounded a little hoarse.

Marc laid the open suitcase on the queen-sized bed they’d been sharing for the past two weeks.  “No thanks, Babe,” he replied, his back to Gerry;  “I’m okay.  I can do it.”

“Well,” Gerry remarked, not wanting to just sit around, watching Marc ‘do his thing,’ “I’ve already had two showers today, but I think I’ll take another to get rid of the chlorine before hittin’ the sack.”

“Good idea.”

Gerry went in the bathroom and turned on the shower.  When the temperature was right, he stepped in and closed the glass door.

Soon, the door opened, and Marc asked, “Want some company?”

Gerry was leaning against the shower wall – his arms crossed against the white ceramic tiles, and his head resting on his arms, letting the steaming water cascade down his back.  On hearing Marc’s question, he spun around and seeing his love’s nakedness and rising arousal, uttered only, “Uhhhhhhh … sure.”

Marc stepped in and closed the door behind him.  Gerry backed away a step, but Marc reached out to him and pulled their bodies together, their faces only inches apart, looking into each other’s eyes.  Marc smiled and tilted his head to the right;  Gerry did likewise.  Slowly, their lips met.  The kiss was gentle and long, and soon, they both began to respond to the need and the hunger and the arousal of the other.  Arms clinched around the other;  hands gripped hard, then relaxed and soothed wherever they could touch or reach;  groins ground into each other, and as if on cue, Gerry and Marc, each, grabbed his own throbbing erection, guided it to beneath the other’s scrotum, and shoved with a mighty thrust.  They began frotting each other’s upper thighs and groins.

A slight pain shot through both as each grunted from the unexpected torture of pounding balls against pelvic bones, and balls against balls!  But they continued.  Gerry had no recollection of this exquisite torture.

Their tongues battled with each other, seeking deeper entrance.  Their breathing became labored as their exertions became more pronounced and their urges neared the edge of release.  Each mirrored the other, and as one right hand slid down and across an ass-cheek, so did the other right hand.  And as one, still thrusting, still painfully pounding together, each eased a wet finger into the anus of the other, and began their rapid finger-fucks until their mouths crashed into each other and they screamed into each other’s lungs as they both climaxed, again and again.  Together.  One last time.  And it was beautiful.  And they would never forget each other.

<><><> 

As Gerry watched Marc’s flight climb into the eastern sky and into the morning sun over the desert, he heard a voice he recognized.

Your destiny awaits you.

He smiled, got into his truck, and drove to the property which would soon become his home.

<><><> 

The old, abandoned and vandalized house that Gerry purchased was in the shape of a squared-off, opened ‘U’, allowing entrance to any room via an interior courtyard.

For three months, plumbers re-plumbed, and electricians re-wired the house, to code.  Carpenters closed off all windows and all but the rear door on the outer perimeter of the building;  then they replaced all the windows and doors leading to the courtyard, with ceiling-to-floor sliding glass doors.

Also, in the courtyard, a pool builder put in a lily-pond, a twelve-seater Jacuzzi, and a long, skinny reflection pool, which could also be used for swimming laps.  Then, the carpenters came back, built a roof-high privacy wall across the front, except for the arched entryway, where they installed custom-built wrought-iron gates.  Plasterers came and re-stuccoed all exterior walls.  Tile layers put down Mexican pavers in every room and in designated areas in the courtyard. 

Then it was time for Gerry’s work to begin.  He painted all the ceilings and all the walls, interior and exterior.  He had new fixtures and appliances installed in the kitchen and the master bath.

And finally, after three long months, Gerry took his leave from Wendell and Bruno’s Rendezvous, and moved into his own home.  The house was still a long way from finished, but the master suite was livable, and the largest open area in the house was furnished and comfortable.  Not only was there the kitchen, but also a breakfast bar, a formal dining area, the family room with wood-burning fireplace, and a large entertainment area – in essence, the day-room.

Their next-door neighbors, Joe and Pete, were both retired from their own related businesses – Joe from interior design, and Pete from paperhanging.  One day in early October, the couple invited Gerry over for cocktails and a soak in the hot jacuzzi.

“We’re so glad that someone has finally started doing something with that old eye-sore of the neighborhood,” Joe said as he set a couple of Bloody Mary’s on the coping behind Pete and Gerry.  Then he stepped down into the jacuzzi and sat near his partner.

“Yeah, you must really be exhausted with everything that’s going on,” added Pete.

“Well, truthfully,” Gerry replied, “I bought it on the spur of the moment, under the strong influence of a friend from Las Vegas, and after he left, I wondered if I’d gotten in over my head.  I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“From the trucks we’ve seen, you’ve had some of the best in the area working for you,” Joe commented.

“What’s next on the agenda?” Pete asked.  “We’ve walked through … like the nosey neighbors we are … and you’ve still got those four guest bedrooms and baths to tackle.  Hope you don’t mind our wandering about.”

Nah, that’s okay;  I don’t mind.  But now that I’ve got some furniture and stuff, I’m gonna keep the place locked when I’m not there.”

“Good idea,” both neighbors said.

Then Gerry continued.  “I’ve been thinking that I’d like some really sharp looking, masculine wallpaper in the master bath.”

Pete and Joe looked at each other and smiled.

“What?  What’re you guys thinkin’?”

“You ever hung wallpaper before?” Pete tossed out the question.

“No.  Why?”  Gerry sensed something was up.

“We’ve got a garage-full of left-over papers from some of Pete’s jobs …” Joe began.

“… and you’re welcome to any and as much as you want,” Pete continued.  “I won’t hang it for you, but you provide the cocktails and a place to sit and observe, and I’ll tell you how to do it.”  He winked at Gerry.

Thus, without him even knowing it, began Gerry’s new profession.

<><><> 

He was a natural when it came to papering.  He applied the time-efficient techniques he had learned as a Surgical Technician.  As the song lyric says, ‘Every little movement has a meaning all its own.”  He was able to plot out his moves before he began, and he had an eye for detail.  His work was beautiful.

When he finished the master bath, he began on the day-room.  When it was finished, he threw an Open House party.  He invited Wendell and Bruno, Pete and Joe, several of the cuter tradesmen he had hired earlier, the owners and managers of the few paint and wallpaper stores in the desert, and even some of his ‘tricks’ from the Party Room and Aunt Charlie’s. 

In a manner of speaking, this was to be his ‘Coming Out’ party, and he hoped that he could get business referrals as the newest paperhanger in the area. 

And so he did.

Two years later, Joe was complaining of chest pains somewhere around 1:30 in the morning.  Gerry was with them, in their pool, when it happened, having a little three-way fun.  He ran in the house and got their robes for them, and shooed them off to the hospital.  Gerry would see that the house was locked up, then get dressed, and join them there.

As Pete was rushing Joe to the Emergency Room, he ran a red light at the corner of Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope Drives, in Rancho Mirage, and a speeding drunk driver hit them.  All three were instantly killed.

For weeks, Gerry couldn’t do a lick of work.  He accused himself of causing Joe’s apparent heart attack by more or less instigating the three-some in the pool.

Then the Coroner’s Report was released – cause of death – hemorrhaging of an Aorta Aneurysm – a small, weakened, dilated section of the Aorta artery that had burst.  Even the simple act of getting up out of a chair could have brought it on!  That knowledge didn’t help much, but it did help some, at least enough to start pulling Gerry out of his self-imposed guilt and grief.

Soon, he went back to work;  his professionalism was spreading by word-of-mouth.  He was in demand.  Customers loved his work-ethics, always saying that it would take several days longer than what it would actually take.  Finishing early, the customers were ecstatic!  And he never charged the rich and famous more than he did the hard-working young couple who pinched pennies in order to have a little beauty in their modest homes.

The only time he had to work on his own home, was on weekends and holidays, and five years after he purchased it, Casa Cielo far bypassed his earliest expectations for the abandoned, vandalized house that was now a showpiece!

<><><> 

August, 1965. -- 2:30 pm. -- Indian Wells. -- The southern California desert. -- Hot. -- Damn hot. -- Stinking sweaty hot! -- 124 sweltering degrees hot!

Leaving a completed wallpapering job, Gerry had just finished packing all his stuff in his new, red Ford Pickup with white camper shell.  Ladders, buckets of paste, two tackle-boxes of assorted tools, smoothing brushes made with genuine horsehair, a collapsible wallpapering table, other sundry items, and his constant friend while on the job -- a paint- and paste-splattered portable radio.

He closed and locked both the upper and lower tailgates and smiled at the new magnetic sign on the back of the truck: HUNG RIGHT WALLCOVERING SERVICES.  Below that -- his phone and contractor’s license numbers.  That should attract some clients, he thought, as he started around to the driver’s door.

It felt like a furnace in the cab as soon as he opened the door.  He hopped in, both legs jerked up, and his knees hit the hot black plastic of the steering column as the backs of his thighs below his short denim cut-offs touched the fiery hot leather of the seat.  The leather-covered steering wheel was too hot to touch, even with the silver sun-shield sitting in the window.

He gingerly turned the key in the ignition to avoid touching the little bit of metal on the steering column.  As soon as the motor started, he immediately turned on the air conditioning to the coldest level, and the fan to the highest speed, then jumped back out of the truck.  Quickly closing the door, his fingers went to the cloth on top of his tits, and pulled his sweat-drenched wife-beater away from his chest, then repeatedly blew down inside, hoping for a little relief.  Soon, he pulled the bottom of the undershirt out of his shorts and flapped the bottom of it, trying to cool off just a bit more.

While the inside of the truck was cooling off, he walked across the street to the common green-belt area and to the shade of a Pepper Tree.  Sitting on the somewhat cooler, just recently sprinklered grass and leaning against the tree, he reached inside his left sock and retrieved a pack of smokes -- a little trick he learned in the Navy some fifteen years earlier.  Tapping out a fag (a British term for a cigarette -- something to suck on!) and lighting it with his trusty ol’ Zippo, he drew in a lung-full of the mentholated smoke, held it for a moment, then slowly blew it out in upward-floating rings.  After returning the pack to his sock, he stretched, allowing the backs of his legs to luxuriate in the cool, damp softness of the grass, and leaned back into the rough, strong comfort of the tree.  He loved hugging and resting against trees;  they seemed, somehow, to understand his need, and they always returned that comfort and love.

Looking up and down the street, he marveled once again at the manicured beauty of the country club grounds.  Gerry had lived in the desert since 1960 and never ceased to appreciate both the natural and the man-made beauty there.

About a block away, he saw a white van.  Squinting, he could just make out some large lettering on the side -- TED’S PAINTING & WALLPAPERING.  Ted was new in town.  Gerry had seen his truck in the posh country clubs, but the two men had not yet had the opportunity to meet.

Stubbing out the fag on the bottom of his old black motorcycle boot, stained and streaked with paint and wallpaper paste, Gerry got up and carried the butt to put in the ashtray in the truck.  He cared about the environment … and the grounds maintenance crews.  Oh, yeah!  Some were definitely hunks!

With the air conditioning running for a few minutes, it was considerably cooler in the cab.  He drove up the street and stopped at the driveway where the white van was parked.  He was gonna go and try to meet Ted.

As he walked through the entry patio, he noticed there were no potted plants, no patio furniture and no overhead sun-screen, so he assumed this was one of the new condos, unoccupied as yet.  The front door was open.

Figuring that only workers would be there, he walked in -- without even knocking or ringing the door chime.  No floor coverings had been installed yet, bits of trash lay about the concrete slab of the floor, a few saw-horses were scattered about the entry hall and living room, a few tool boxes lay about, and a radio was on, somewhere in the house, playing country music.

He could smell the musty odor of fresh plaster wafting in the hallway, which he supposed, led to the sleeping wing of the condo.  Nice floor plan, he thought.  Must be about four thousand square feet.

Looking into each empty room as he walked down the hallway, Gerry finally entered what must have been the Master Bedroom Suite.  There, on a twelve-foot ladder, applying a long strip of beige Oriental Grass Cloth, was the hunkiest, most gorgeous paperhanger he had ever seen in his life … TOTALLY NUDE … except for the boots and tool belt … and an absolutely magnificent, average-sized tool below the belt!

Gerry's open mouth began to salivate!  He immediately felt a stirring in his tight Levi cut-offs.

Closing his lips and swallowing his spit with some difficulty, he managed to say, “Hi … uhhh … you must be Ted.”  Gerry's face turned red, and all of a sudden he found it difficult to breathe.  He also reached down and adjusted his rapidly growing bulge.

“Uhhh…” the man on the ladder uttered, almost dropping the strip of wallpaper.  “Uhhh … Hi,” he stammered.  “Can I … uhhh … help you with something?”

Oh, yeah, baby, Gerry thought.  Methinks we could both help each other … with SOMETHING.  Then he blurted out, “You must be Ted’s Painting & Wallpapering, right?”

“Yesssssss … and you are … ?”

“Oh … me!” Gerry exclaimed, giving a nervous chuckle and tapping the center of his chest a few times with his right-hand finger-tips.  “I’m … uh … I’m Gerry Young … Hung Right Wallcovering Services … ‘service is my business’ … uhhh as a paperhanger, that is."  Now why'd I say that … he rebuked himself.  "Been wantin’ to meetcha, seein’ your van around town an’ all,” he said, trying to be a little more comfortable.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to meet you, too, Gerry.  You’ve got quite a good reputation here in the desert.  Don’t know if I’ll be able to build up a clientele with you around.”  Ted chuckled and appeared a little more relaxed, then continued working with the paper before the paste dried to the point that it wouldn’t adhere to the wall. “Excuse the way I’m dressed … uhhh … undressed, rather.”

“No problemo, amigo,” Gerry replied with an exaggerated Mexican accent, smiling.  Ted turned to look at him, and Gerry winked.  “You always work … uh … like this?”  He gestured toward Ted's man-tool, which seemed to be thicker and more upright than just a few seconds before.

“Oh, no,” Ted shot back with a stupid, shit-eating grin on his face and gave a nervous little chuckle.  “The electricity hasn’t been turned on yet, so there’s no air conditioning in here.  It seems nobody else wants to work in this damned heat, so … while I’m here by myself … not expecting any visitors, mind you …” he looked at Gerry with raised eyebrows, then continued smoothing his strip of paper; “… well … uh … I’ve been working like this the last couple of days.  It’s so fuckin’ hot, that, between strips of paper, I go in there,” he thumbed toward the bathroom, “and stand in the shower to cool off a bit.”

“Makes sense to me,” Gerry retorted.  “I’ve worked without AC;  yeah, I can dig it, man, just never had the guts to be as bold as you.”

He panned Ted's muscular arms, broad furry chest, and his very nice waist (with no love handles, even!).  Short light brown hair. 

He must be in his early thirty’s;  thirty-two, probably.  God, he’d look hot in a black leather harness. Bet he’s got a Harley, Gerry thought to himself.  And those gorgeous hiker’s legs -- must have climbed a bunch of ladders to get those.  He could wrap’em around my ears any day -- ’till I couldn’t hear myself think!

His thoughts had reflected some of the more exciting hunks he’d met at the Party Room during the past few years.

Without thinking, Gerry licked his dry lips, even though he was drooling, wickedly.  Be still, my heart!  His eyes devoured the sensuous living sculpture before him … all the way up, from its lickable toes to its kissable lips and … Oops! … and Ted was looking back at him, almost studying him. Gerry had been caught, perving out, unaware that he was gently rubbing his own crotch.

Cautiously, Ted turned his head and continued working. Gerry went back to panning; and drooling.  Nice cock, he thought.  About six inches now.  Wonder how big it does get?  Not too much bigger I think.  Just a good mouth-full.  I could handle that easily.  And that ass!  Not a bubble-butt, but not sunken cheeks either.  Yeah.  Real nice.  Kissable, lickable cheeks.  Maybe I should climb up the ladder behind him and lick off that sweat that’s dripping down his back into that hot ass-crack.  Oh, yeah; sweet, he cooed to himself, taking a deep breath, imagining the intoxicating aroma of man-sweat, pheromones, and anal juices he’d find, given the chance.  His cock ached in its tight enclosure.  He quickly slid his hand down inside his shorts and white jockeys and re-arranged himself, laying it against his belly and almost out the tops of the waistbands.

Again, he noticed that Ted had caught him dreamily devouring his naked derriere.

Ted stepped down a few rungs on the ladder as he continued professionally to lay the grass cloth to the wall.  “Like whatcha see?” he asked, looking back at Gerry again.

What does he mean?  Him?  Or his work?  Gerry wondered.  Jerking his eyes back to Ted's face, Gerry truthfully replied, “Yeah.  Hope you don’t mind?”  Brazen hussy that I am.  “And your work looks great, too,” he hurriedly added with a chuckle.

“View’s not bad from here, either, man.  You’ve got a nice build.  You a swimmer?” Ted asked as he stepped down another couple of rungs and began the finishing touches on the strip.  As he stepped off the ladder onto the floor, he grabbed an old rag, wiped his brow and face and then wiped his hairy chest, then both pits and the dark trail leading down to his neatly trimmed pubes.  Lifting up his not-so-flaccid member, he wiped under his clean-shaven balls.

Ummmmm.  Wish I had done that for him, Gerry thought.  All he had to do was ask.  But in answer to Ted's question, Gerry said, “Oh, I do about fifty laps in the pool each morning as it’s getting light, before this damned summer sun comes up.”

As Ted then knelt down, brushing the final inches of the paper, trimming off the excess, and sponging the paste off the base-board, Gerry asked, “How late ya gonna work today?”

“I’ve fuckin’ had it.”  He looked totally exhausted from climbing ladders, kneeling on the hard concrete floor, and sweating his ass off trying to apply the delicate wallcovering before the fuckin’ paste dried out.  “Think I’ll get another quick cooling-off in the shower, close up shop, and go home.”

“Home to the wife and kids,” Gerry queried, hoping against hope.

“No kids, that’s for sure.  And the wife’s gone to the Blue Whale for a couple of days.”  He removed his tool belt and put it on the pasting table, then kicked off his untied boots.  Totally nude -- walking around as if it were as normal as American homemade apple pie.  "Nope.  I'm by myself until she gets back."

Oh, my God!  Another jerk inside his shorts.  DOWN, Omar, Gerry mentally commanded, using his pet name for little junior.  “Blue Whale?” he asked, mystified.

Ted laughed and scratched his balls as he headed to the shower.  “Oh, sorry; thought you would have known, you being a paperhanger and, I’d imagine, working closely with decorators and interior designers.” 

Gerry shook his head in the negative.

Ted continued, “That’s the local nick-name for the Los Angeles Design Center on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood.  It’s a monstrosity of a building completely covered in blue-tinted glass.  A couple hundred wholesale decorator shops under the same roof,” he explained.  “Beckie -- that’s my wife -- she’s an A.S.I.D. Interior Designer, and she went into town to do some buying for a couple of clients.”

Interesting, Gerry thought.  Maybe this time I’ll get lucky … “You got a pool at the house to relax and cool off in,” he innocently asked.

“Well, not really,” Ted started hemming and hawing.  “It’s not really a house we live in.  Just a little three room bungalow, they call it, down in Bermuda Dunes, about fifteen miles from here.”  He sighed disappointedly.  “We’ve only been here a month and a half, and it’s the only thing we could find right away.  There IS a pool, a small pool, but it’s always crowded with all the neighbors’ screaming little kids.”

Gerry just wanted to throw his arms around Ted and hug him to death.  He really needs a friend;  a helping hand … and I know just where to find one … or two!

Knowing the business, Gerry started closing the paste buckets for Ted, and picking up scraps of paper on the floor, tying off the trash bags, and tidying up the work area.

“Thanks, man,” Ted offered as he stepped out of the shower and started drying off, using a towel he must have brought from home.  “I appreciate the help.”

“My pleasure,” Gerry countered.  “Say, listen … If you’re not doing anything this afternoon or evening, whatdaya say we stop, get some take-out, and some beer … You do drink beer, don’tcha?”  Ted nodded as Gerry continued, “… and come on up to the house?  I’ve got a little place up in the Cove…”

“The Cove?” Ted interjected. “That’s up the hill in Cathedral City, right?”

“Yeah.  ‘Cat City’ the locals call it.  I’ve got a lap-pool and a hot-tub with Jacuzzi … It’s even cooled, for this time of year …”

Kinda shocked, Ted responded by raising his eyebrows, and Gerry seemed to imagine his thought, Really? THAT’s impressive!  Gerry nodded in the positive and continued, “… and I’ve got a misting system that really does cool the courtyard off.”

“Sounds great, man.”  Then after a moment, he added, “Gerry … we’ve just met.  I don’t wanna put you out, man.  I really appreciate it, but …”

“But, NOTHING,” Gerry interrupted.  “I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, and you look like you really need some nice quiet relaxation. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.  And besides, since we’re both in the same business, it’d be nice to get to know each other a little better … Oh, yeah! … so maybe we can refer business to each other when we’re busy and can’t take on another client right away.”

“O.K.  You’re right.  It really sounds nice,” Ted, seemingly, appreciatively, replied as he slipped into some VERY tight white short-shorts and a black cut-off T-shirt, revealing his tight abs -- not a six-pack, not even a four-pack, but tight and tanned, as was the rest of him!

Gerry was beginning to twitch and itch all over, and thought, Maybe he'd be willin’ to scratch that itch in my git-along.

“You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” began playing on the radio, and Gerry just sorta quietly snickered to himself at the coincidence, as Ted, oblivious to it all, walked over to turn the music off.  He gathered what he needed to take with him, and as the two walked out, Ted turned, and locked the front door.

“What do you like?” Gerry asked.  “American?  Mexican?  Italian?  German?  French?  We got’em all, here.”

“How about Mexican?”

“The best,” Gerry grinned and replied.  “On our way out, let’s stop at the Sales Office and I’ll call ahead and it’ll be ready when we get there.  Oh!  Have you and Beckie eaten at Olga’s El Besame Mucho yet?”  Ted shook his head.  “Best Mexican food this side of the border.  Olga’s Swedish, but she came to the desert and married a Mexican guy who had been chef to the President of Mexico years ago.  Then her husband taught her how to cook REAL authentic Mexican food.  Delicious!  Been eatin’ there for five years now;  at least once a week … sometimes, more.”

They stopped, went in the County Club Sales Office, and after a few pleasantries with one of the salesmen, Gerry called El Besame Mucho.  Soon, Olga answered.

“Hi, darlin’,” he began.  “It’s Gerry.”  After a little chitchat, he ordered the usual take-out -- for two this time.  Quesadillas, Frijoles, Chiles Rellenos, Enchiladas con Pollo, her own delicious recipe of Spanish Rice, Soft Tacos, and the most mouth-watering Flan that ever crossed Gringo lips, with her “secret” ingredient.  It was “secret” to everyone except Gerry, because it had been his suggestion, two or three years earlier -- Grand Marnier Liqueur.

Returning to their trucks, he asked Ted, “What’s your poison?  I’ve got plenty of Corona, XX, Heineken and Michelob;  anything else and we’ll have to stop off and pick some up.”

“Corona for me,” Ted said as he got to his van.

“Great.  Me, too.  I’ll pull on out, you just follow me over to Olga’s, and we’ll pick up the food.  Stay close;  the traffic’s a bitch today, even with the heat.”

“I’m on your tail.”

Hmmmmm. Really?   Gerry didn’t know whether to shit or to grope him.  He decided against either.  Another little jerk in the bulge down below.

Ted got in his van and Gerry continued to the pickup.  When he knew Ted couldn’t see him, he did a quick fist-jerk in the air.  Yeaaah!  Jumping up into the … once-again … hot oven of the cab, he thought, Screw the hot leather!  My sweet back-side’s gonna burn more’n this by nightfall!  Ride’em cowboy!  Yah-hooooo!  Yee-haaaaaa!

It took about twenty-five minutes to drive out of ritzy Indian Wells, then through Palm Desert and into Rancho Mirage and Olga’s El Besame Mucho.

As Ted promised, he stayed right on Gerry's tail, and in the parking lot, backed in and parked close enough for the two vehicles to kiss.  How romantic!  And even tail pipe to hood for both vehicles!

Olga’s usually wasn’t open early in the afternoon, but knowing they were coming over, she unlocked the front door for them. 

They entered the quaint little restaurant and Gerry once again immediately felt that he had stepped into Guadalajara;  all the décor was authentic and had been purchased from Mexico's beautiful "garden city."

“Buenos dias, Señor Gerry,” she said, extending her arms out, as she came to greet them.

“Buenos dias, Olga,” he replied, giving her a friendly hug and a kiss on the cheek.  “I’d like ya to meet a friend of mine, Ted, a new paperhanger here in the desert, and I hope to bring him and his wife in for dinner in the very near future.”

Ted threw a quick glance to Gerry.  A gentle smile crossed his lips.

Olga graciously extended her hand in greeting, and as Ted took it she said, “Buenos dias, Señor Ted.  Any amigo of Señor Gerry es mi amigo, and is welcome here anytime.  Mi casa es su casa.”  As a true gentleman, he lifted Olga’s hand and kissed the back of it.  She genuinely smiled at his charm and winked at Gerry.

The food was ready as promised and carefully packed in take-out containers.  Gerry paid her, gave her a little extra, stole another little kiss as they said their good-byes, and then left.

“Another ten or fifteen minutes and we’ll be up at the house,” Gerry said as they walked to their vehicles.  “Just follow me again and pull in the driveway behind me.”

He led.  And Ted followed.  Oh, yeah.  Signs of things to come, Gerry hoped.  And got that twitch again.  Without thinking, and to himself, he began whistling a tune from West Side Story -- “Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night.”

Gerry was truly happy for the first time … in too many … long … empty years.