How I Became A Fairy Godperson: A True Love Story by Auntie Em by Tagsit

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Another chapter to tide you over until I get through the two finals I have later this week.  Enjoy!  TAG



Chapter 4

Justin was pleased with his first foray into fagdom. Together we’d expanded his wardrobe, expanded his toy collection and even expanded his range of experiences. I was pleased with how readily the boy had taken to the rarified atmosphere of the Avenue. We both eagerly began to make plans for additional adventures.


Michael had become an enthusiastic ally after Justin's original outing. This avid and ambitious advisor was still flushed with pride at how well his prior attempt to acclimate the beautiful blond bombshell into gay society had worked. He wanted to teach the timid teen more and so did I, so we spent a lot of time at the Diner over the next week discussing and planning our next devious designs.


While we both agreed that Justin had admittedly proven to be a quick learner, there was no sense in overwhelming the boy. After much debate, with Debbie pulled into the discussion to provide some motherly advice, it was decided that an evening at Woody's would probably be a satisfactory second step in the shy-boy's studies.


This plan proved slightly problematic, however. It had been one thing to get Justin out of purgatory for a Sunday afternoon stroll. It was going to take a little more effort, though, to get his release for an entire evening, especially on a Friday or Saturday, which was what Michael wanted. Perhaps we needed another perfect plan.


To everyone's relief, the optimal opportunity occurred soon afterwards. After much hemming and hawing, Beastly-Brenda had finally narrowed down her options for the rehearsal dinner to two restaurants: Casa des Temerarios or Chez des Gaffeurs*. I, therefore, arranged for the whole family, minus Justin of course, who they really didn't include as part of the family anyways, to try both restaurants one Saturday evening. First, they would have drinks, tapas and a light, early Spanish-style supper and then move on to a more complete dinner and dessert a la France. That should be enough for them to make a fully informed decision about their final choice.


By my calculations, the entire tour should take the Nellah-Taylor crew at least eight hours total and keep them occupied until well after midnight. To ensure they'd be kept busy by the solicitous serving staff, I sealed the deal with an expert blowjob for Miguel, the head waiter at the Casa, and a promise to the owner of the Chez that Michael would go on a date with him (he really wasn't MY type, you know, so I had to offer up my co-conspirator, and Michael kind of goes for those pushy older tops, right?). This way, we could get Justin a free pass from prison at least from 6:00 pm or so till after 12:00 am - plenty of time to see the sights at the local watering hole.


Our plan worked like a dream, too. Brenda and her spawn were busy from lunchtime on discussing what each would wear while Daddy Dreadful was laying low trying to stay out of their way. Justin was even able to escape a little early and managed to meet me at the shop around 5:30 pm. It's a good thing he was early, too, because once again his wardrobe was woefully wrong and wouldn't cut it at Woody's. Another trip to Torso was tactfully suggested and eventually the toy-boy was tastefully attired in some terrific togs. Then, we wandered over to Woody's in good time to meet up with my gang.


Young Taylor and I were ensconced in a booth at the bar, beers in hand, when the guys started trickling in. First to arrive was Michael and his new beau, Dr. Ben Bruckner (PhD, not MD, pul-leeze). Michael introduced his protege to the prof and they piled into the booth with us. About a half-hour later, Teddy and his latest twink toddled in and took up their seats as well.


Everyone was getting along great with my gorgeous guest and generally giving the boy good tips on how to survive the mean gay streets. As usual though, the conversation devolved from such philosophical heights down to the typical dross of gossip, rumor and downright character assassination. Why do all our conversations end up as rumor-mongering? Probably because gossip is the main currency of queens and we always need to keep stocking up on the latest scandals. Anyway, while we pointed and laughed and pried into other's lives, our wide-eyed wunderkind whiled away his time, hiding behind those beer-bottle lenses of his as well as behind the growing line of empty beer bottles themselves, and he drank it all in without a whisper.


Without a word, that is, until one Brian Kinney arrived. All eyes in the bar were, of course, drawn to the man as soon as he entered the room - pretty standard for the tall, sexy brunet. Justin was no exception to his spell.


"What about that guy, over at the pool tables," Justin pointed towards Kinney, interrupting our discussion over who was seen last night at "No-Towel Night" at the Liberty Baths.


"That's Brian. He's my best friend. He's a complete asshole, but he's also my best friend," was Michael's biased explanation.


"You just stay away from Brian Kinney, Sugar," I warned the lad. "He's way out of your league - he's out of just about everyone's league, I guess - but you definitely don't want to get hung up on the King of Liberty Avenue."


"Why do they call him "The King of Liberty Avenue?" Justin couldn't help asking. His eyes hadn't strayed from the striking silhouette of the sultry, sexy, stud since Brian had sauntered into the bar.


"Well," began Teddy, "it's probably because he's fucked more guys than anyone else in Pittsburgh, and done it in the most elegant fashion.  That's why everyone wants the man. Even if he is a bit of a jerk, most of the time."


"How does anybody know how many guys he's fucked," queried the kid.


"Well, it's not like Brian hides his escapades," I explained. "He's basically redefined the term ‘promiscuous'. Legend even has it that one night in the backroom of Babylon, he fucked more than 100 guys in under 8 hours. He would have been in the Guiness Book of World Records even, except they were running out of guys he hadn't yet fucked by around 2:00 am and so the Guiness representative volunteered to get in line and Brian fucked him so hard he passed out and therefore couldn't verify the end count."


One of the queens sitting at the table next to ours overheard this statement and leaned in to add his two cents. "You know that Brian Kinney has the most beautiful cock in the entire world, too. In fact, it's so gorgeous that most people can't even really remember how wonderful it is after they see it - it's beauty is just so strong that a mere human mind can't hold its image."


"It's true," his tablemate added, "Brian let me blow him one time at the Baths, but to this day, I still can't remember what his dick looked like. It was so amazing that I kinda passed out just from blowing him and all I can remember is this hazy image of this huge schlong, it was sooo thick and smooth, and . . . ." and the man's voice faded off into fond memories of HIS one night with the King.


"That's one of the reasons that Kinney has his one-fuck only rule, you know," added another passing fag who wanted in on the tale telling. "Back before he had the rule, he sometimes would stay with one guy or another for a while, but so many of them were dying of heart attacks, loss of fluids and sheer bliss, that eventually, when the body count was reaching the double digits, all the doctors at Allegheny General started a petition to ask Brian to only ever fuck a guy one time so that all the beautiful men wouldn't be dying - it was such a waste, really. Everyone signed the petition - even the governor, I heard - and Brian had to agree because he didn't want to use up all the most beautiful guys in the city."


A fourth participant, who didn't want to be left out, added, "and, you want to talk about kinky? Kinney is the King of Kink. I've heard that the orgies at the Baths are magnificent - it's not unheard of for Kinney to initiate a group of twenty to thirty guys at a time. And, he's pretty well known in the BDSM circles too. In fact, I've even heard that one time, on a dare, he agreed to fuck this huge black ox, named BABE, and he fucked that animal so hard for so long the ox turned blue from lack of oxygen. . ."


"HOLD ON A SECOND. THAT'S GOING A BIT TOO FAR!" yelled Michael, in an attempt to stick up for his friend. I mean, kink is one thing, but I don't think even Brian is into beastiality. ‘Where do these rumors get started,' I thought to myself.


As he listened to these stories, a jovial Justin just jiggled in the corner, a little hint of drool occasionally escaping his juicy lips. I could tell that the boy was not heeding our warnings about the 'King'. He was intrigued, to say the least. The sweet, shy, saucy little scamp was really not ready for the big-bad Brian, but, as my Aunt Lula would have said, his eyes were bigger than his dick, and so Justin just kept hankerin' after a hunk of that hunk.



That was when the hunk in question calmly sauntered over to our booth after one brief trip to the bathroom with a lanky, sandy-haired, swimmer-type, who by the way emerged after Brian with touselled hair, crushed red lips and cum stains on the front of his previously pristine white tee.  Brian slipped into the booth next to Mikey and I thought Justin might just swoon. The boy slid down even farther on his seat, so that only his shiny golden hair and those thick horn-rimmed glasses were visible. Brian didn't appear to even notice the wall-flower.


"Comparing more stories about my dick, boys?" The King asked as he gestured to the waiter to bring him a drink. "Don't let me stop you. You know that with every story, my dick grows at least another half inch. Pretty soon they'll have to give my cock it's own ZIP code if it keeps growing like the stories say," laughed the legend himself.


Brian sat with us for quite a while, getting caught up on all the gossip, including the most recent gossip about himself, which he seemed to savour, laughing harder than anyone else at the tales of his tricking. It wasn't too long though before The King was distracted by a pair of gleaming green eyes, which just happened to be attached to a handsome face, a well-muscled body and a scrumptious looking ass. And, before you could say, ‘I done been there', the hunter was off after his chosen prey.


We'd all been settin' for such a spell by this time, that I figgered it was time to shake a tail feather or two before my hiney fell asleep permanent-like. So, I talked my twinkle-toed twinkie teen into taking a turn with me on the dance floor for a few songs. Turns out, Taylor's got rhythm! The boy can certainly boogie. We busted a few moves till we were both beat and the boy begged off to bounce towards the bathroom while I planted my butt back in the booth.


Now, from what I understand, it seems that juicy Justin happened to be in the facilities at just about the same time that Brian and the green-eyed gent were finishing with their games. The boy was trying to freshen up a bit and had removed his offensive ocular aids to splash some cold water on his sweaty face. And that's when Brian exited the stall behind the boy and got his first glimpse of the beaming blue eyes and that bounteous blond-boy bubble butt that are all part and parcel of our pal Justin.


No one really knows what happened that night to The King. Even his closest friends would have told you that prior to this epiphany, Brian Kinney could be cold, calculating, concerned only with his own cares and completely unfit for any long term companionship. People said that maybe it was because those fancy Italian shoes were too tight. Maybe he was so distant because his head wasn't screwed on just right. But I always maintained that the most likely reason of all, could have been that his heart was two sizes too small (due, of course, to his shitty childhood and the fact that his parents had never allowed him to read any Dr. Seuss books)! But, whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes, he stood in that crapper and knew exactly who next to choose!


The renowned chicken hawk was hungry for chicken and the tasty morsel in front of him was a tender treat that his tastebuds thought couldn't be beat. And, poor unsuspecting, uninitiated, unwise Justin had no idea that he'd just been sighted as hawk food! If he wasn't careful, Justin was going to be the next item on Brian Kinney's trick menu.


Providence smiled on the poor boy, though, for at that exact moment, Michael came bumbling into the bathroom, still bouncing to the boisterous beat from the dance floor, and bumped into Brian, temporarily distracting the beautiful brunet from his boy-toy prey.


"Bri, come dance with me! Please. I love this song," Michael demanded.


And, while Brian was busy fending off the extremely excited advances of his best buddy, Justin dried off his brow with a wad of paper towels, replaced the ridiculous specs and scampered off back to the dance floor.


"Where'd he go?" groused the foiled hunter when he'd finally extricated himself from Mikey's embraces.


"Who," Mikey intoned.


"Who do you think? That prime piece of chicken with the tempting tush who was just in here! Damn it, Mikey, you made me look away and now he's gone," Brian complained. "Come on, you're gonna help me find him again!"


Thereafter ensued quite the hullaballoo as the whole gang scrambled to follow Brian's directions in order to locate the lost bird. The search was only slightly hampered by the fact that Brian's glimpse of this perfection had been exceedingly brief (so brief that he didn't recognize the bookish boy from back at the booth) and his description was scanty. As soon as we'd determined conclusively that the chicken in question was nowhere to be found inside the bar, Brian shoved us out the door to continue our searches on the sidewalks.


"What's up, Doc?" Professor Bruckner, having been drafted into the quest by Mikey, heard from behind him as he headed down the street. Looking around, he discovered just-little-ol-Justin regarding the scurrying crew with a bemused look.


"Sshhhh! Be vewy, vewy qwiet. We're hunting wabbit! . . . . I mean chicken. . . .Well, Brian-the-chicken-hawk is, at least. I'm not sure why I'm helping, though," was Ben's bewildered reply.


"Okayyyyy. . . . .Whatever," said Justin, the unknowing chicken himself.


"Hey, Em. It's getting really late and I need to get home before the Beast. Can you give me a ride?" Justin posed to me.


Thankfully giving up the chicken hunt, I acquiesced and the two of us motored away, leaving Brian and his assistants still scouring the streets.





* Roughly translated, both restaurants are the "House of Fools".

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