Chapter 51 - All Dicks, All The Time! (Sunday, August 7th).

“Hey, Brian? Have you seen my sketchbook?” Justin came up to Brian, who was out on the patio using the weight set, interrupting his early morning upper body workout.

“Which one? The one with all the pictures of my cock? Or the one full of pictures of my ass?” Brian snarked, not bothering to stop his current set of biceps curls.

“Ha, ha,” Justin grimaced. “You know you’re really funny, Brian. You should consider giving up advertising and become a stand up comedian . . . You know I DO draw stuff other than your body parts, right?”

“That’s right. I think I did see a picture of MAL’s ass in one of your books too . . .”

“Hey, what can I say? I like cock! I like ass! And I’m an eighteen year old gay boy trapped for the summer in a house full of naked men. What the fuck do you want me to draw?”

Brian loved teasing the boy but didn’t want him getting pissed off so he quickly decided not to push the joke too far. “Sorry, Sunshine. I haven’t seen your books. Did you look up in the bedroom?”

“No. I figured I’d just wander around asking random people if they’d seen all my stuff . . . Duh! Of course I looked for it up there. I’ve looked everywhere I can think of, but still no sketchbook. It’s weird.”  

*Hmmmm* “I don’t know what to tell you, Sunshine,” Brian replied, dropping the small biceps curl bar onto the rubberized mat at his feet. “I don’t think I’ve seen your book since yesterday. You’d better find it though, because I think you’re going to need those drawings for your big show . . .”

“I know. And I wanted to work on those Picasso-like sketches I was working on so I could show them to Sidney Bloom . . .” Then it dawned on Justin exactly what Brian had just said. “Wait . . . you said ‘big show’? Did you hear something? I haven’t heard back from Bloom yet, but . . . Brian! Tell me!” Justin had enthusiastically jumped into Brian’s lap, straddling both the man and the weight bench in his excitement. “Tell me!”

“Well, I might have heard that the gallery just finished up the details from the auction to sell off all our artwork from a few weeks ago, and a certain gallery owner was rather pleased with how much Cum Art sells for these days . . .” Brian teased, wrapping his arms affectionately around the happy little blond artist.

“It sold? That’s so fucking cool. It’s the first thing I’ve ever sold! Did it . . . did it do well?” Justin asked shyly, avidly wanting to know but also afraid he’d be disappointed once he heard what the painting finally went for.

“Did it sell? You silly little twat! Of course it sold. It was gorgeous. There was a fucking bidding war over the damn thing, even. Lindsey said she was inundated with calls and emails and at one point they had trouble keeping track of who was the last bid. I think it’s safe to say you have a very devoted fan base, Sunshine.” Brian replied, with a proud gleam in his eye as he looked over at the bouncing ball of excitement that had invaded his lap.

“I can’t believe it! Someone BOUGHT one of my paintings! How cool is that!”

“Well, someone even bought MY painting, Sunshine, so I don’t think that’s the real point here,” Brian couldn’t help razzing the little artist just a little. “Apparently, a dick painted with MY dick was a pretty hot ticket too. Lindsey said the winning bidder paid $800!”

“Way to go Brian! I knew you had a talented dick but who knew it was good for something outside of bed too!” Justin always gave back as good as he got - which was just one of the things Brian liked about the kid!

“That’s enough out of you, young man. If you keep teasing me I won’t tell you what YOUR painting sold for,” Brian tickled the boy to get one of those addictive little giggles out of him.

“Stop, Brian. Stop! Fine. Fine. I’ll be nice. Now tell me what my painting sold for . . . Oooooo, do I get to keep any of the money or does it all go to Ted?”

“Of course you get the money! Well, the gallery gets a commission, of course, but the rest goes to you. Ted’s getting rich enough off his website and this stupid game. He doesn’t need to milk you for your income too.”

“Wow! That’s so great! I mean, seeing as I AM technically homeless and jobless and broke . . . I could really use even a couple hundred bucks.” Justin’s eyes lit up at the prospect of having any actual income at all. “Anything at all would really help. I think I only had about $125 in my pocket when I walked in here a couple months ago. It would be nice to walk out with at least enough to buy dinner and get myself a room for a few nights.”

When Brian realized that Justin was only expecting a meager couple hundred bucks off the sale of his painting, he smiled even wider. This was going to be fun. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, now, Sunshine. It’s not THAT much and the commission is fifteen percent, so you know you probably will only get maybe  . . . well, let’s see . . .” Brian pretended to run a calculation in his head, while Justin waited impatiently, trying not to show his disappointment that Brian thought his cut would be miniscule. “Well, hmmmm, let’s see, after fifteen percent commission, that would leave you with only . . . about eight thousand dollars.”

“GET OUT!” Justin jumped backward off Brian’s lap and pushed against his shoulders so hard Brian almost fell off the weight bench.

“I’ve BEEN out for years, Sunshine,” Brian joked, thoroughly enjoying the joyous disbelief on the kid’s face.

“You’re serious? Eight THOUSAND dollars? FUCK! That’s . . . that’s . . . that’s fucking amazing, Brian!” Justin was pacing and waving his arms in the air and acting pretty much hilarious as far as Brian was concerned. “I’ve never even sold so much as a sketch before and you’re telling me my very first sale is in the THOUSANDS? I’m . . . I’m . . . Fuck!” Justin finally collapsed on the bench next to Brian as he ran out of words.

“Yep! Like I said, your fans seemed to be pretty impressed with your work, Sunshine,” Brian slung his arm around the slender shoulders and gave a celebratory squeeze. “And so were Lindsey and Sydney. They’re salivating over the thought of having a whole show with your work. Sydney is so blinded by all the dollar signs he’s seeing already that he can barely walk straight. Lindsey said that they’d take pretty much anything you have ready and they want as many Cum Paintings as your dick can pump out. They’ve already got a tentative date in December set aside for you.”

“A date? You mean my own show? Fuck! That would be so . . . cool,” Justin seemed overwhelmed - Brian couldn’t remember the last time his boy was so lost for words.

“Exactly. So, I wouldn’t worry about being broke for too much longer, Sunshine. You, my young Picasso, are the hottest ticket in town right now. If you play your cards right, you are going to walk out of here a rich - or at least potentially rich - man!” Brian squeezed the speechless youngling one more time and then released his hold, moving to pick up his forgotten weight in the other hand so he could continue his workout. “So, you’d better go find that sketchpad and get back to work. I’m planning on letting you take me out to a VERY expensive restaurant for a celebratory dinner as soon as we get out of here, so you better get busy.”

“Cool! It’s a DATE! Of course, you DO know I’ll expect you to put out if I’m paying, Brian . . .”

“I think that could be arranged, Sunshine,” Brian snickered and shot him a sexy look that - very obviously - went directly to Justin’s dick.   

“Okaaaaaayyyyyy . . . Hold that thought, Big Guy. I have to actually have some art to show first. And I’d better get started right away if I’m going to have enough to sell to be able to afford your dinner . . . assuming I can find my sketchpad, of course.” Justin started to back away from Brian, so caught up in his excitement - as well as his lust - that he wasn’t really looking where he was going.

“Ouch! Watch the fuck where you’re going, fairy boy!” Daniel snarled as Justin accidentally bumped into him while the big jock was on his way to the weight set himself, knocking rather hard against Daniel’s hip. “I know you’re fucking young, but I figured you were at least old enough to walk upright by yourself, Cupcake.” Daniel sneered at the younger man and resumed his trek towards the Bowflex machine, still rubbing at his hip even though Justin didn’t think he could possibly have hit him that hard.

Daniel ignored the eye rolling and head shaking as Justin continued his retreat from the workout area. Stupid fucking little twink. Leave it to that careless idiot to knock into his hip right at the spot that had been bothering him for days. Daniel rubbed at his hip again, not at all reassured by the lumpy, painful feeling of the sore spot. It wasn’t good. He thought he might be developing an abscess, but didn’t know what the fuck he could do about it under the circumstances. It’s not like he could even walk around with a bandaid on it all day without raising questions - let alone ask for medical attention to have it drained and get some antibiotics. Normally, he was meticulous about taking care of any injuries while he was in the middle of a cycle - he’d been told often enough that long-term steroid use actually suppressed the body’s ability to fight off infections - but right now he didn’t really have that option unless he was willing to cop to the drug use which would get him kicked out of the Summer of Sin. So he’d tried to just ignore the festering ache in his hip.

Thankfully, this was the last week of his current ten-week cycle. Only one more week and he’d give his body a well-needed break. He was happy with the muscle tone he’d been building up over the past several weeks. Going off the juice now, though, would give him just the right amount of time to get all traces of the toxins out of his system before his next big competition in September, but not so long that he would begin to lose muscle mass.

And, hopefully, it would take care of the little ED problem he’d been experiencing lately too. He was more than ready to get past THAT particular side effect of his juice use. He hadn’t fucking bottomed this much ever in his life. But, again, he didn’t really have many options considering the fact that The Master really had upped the level of his Challenges over the past week. Since he’d begun having so much trouble getting hard, the others had pretty much demanded that he just give up and bottom whenever a challenge called for fucking, since none of them were willing to wait for him to get it up. It was bad enough bottoming for Kinney, but having to submit to those two fucking twinks was just plain humiliating. Hopefully, that would all be a thing of the past starting next week. Then he’d be back on top and would show these wimps just what topping was all about.

He had it all planned out, too. He’d start with that little fucking blond twink and then move on to the Groid. Fuck!. He couldn’t wait to show them. Then he wouldn’t have to resort to any more clandestine retribution - like taking and destroying the stupid twink’s sketchbooks - he’d be able to do something real.

Apparently this Sunday in the Sun was actually going to be a Sundae in the Sun. It was looking like there would be a lot of food involved. Brian was already eyeing the tables set up under an awning on the patio with horror - there were bowls of chocolates, maraschino cherries, chocolate sprinkles, canisters of whipped cream on ice, caramel, marshmallow and chocolate sauce and more. All of it full of sugar and carbs and other nasty scary things that Brian couldn’t bear the thought of. The only thing on the table that he thought he could stomach was the large bowl of sliced fruit. But all the rest - shit, he really hoped he wasn’t going to have to actually EAT all that . . .

“Yum! I can’t wait to dig in! I hope we get to eat all of that,” Justin voiced the exact opposite of what Brian was thinking. “Preferably after I’ve drizzled it all over you, Big Guy!”

“Fuck that! I’m not letting you near me with anything that drizzles other than your cock, Sunshine,” Brian asserted, trying to back warily away from the table of sweets.

“I don’t think you’re going to have that option,” Justin said, pointing over Brian’s shoulder to where the servants were bringing out four large silver platters - each of which bore a life-sized replica of a man’s genitals, seemingly made out of dark chocolate.

The day before, each of the remaining contestants at the Residence had been subjected to an interesting process involving sticking their erect cocks into a tube of liquid latex. The servants administering this strange contraption didn’t explain what exactly they were doing, but the label on the tube had read ‘Clone a Willy’, which really said all that needed to be said, right? Well, maybe not. Brian had expected to see his dick immortalized as the latest vibrating dildo - sold at $35 a pop through Ted’s website, of course - or put to some other, erotic and pleasurable use. NOT this . . . abomination! To defile the image of Brian’s cock with . . . chocolate. That was unforgivable.

Once the chocococks were situated on the table and the cock’s owners were assembled, the preparations for the day’s first challenge were allowed to start. Each man was directed to decorate the cock that had been crafted using the mold from his own dick. They weren’t told yet what use these carb-laden monstrosities were going to be put to, but Brian had a very bad feeling that Justin was right and he would have to somehow ingest a massive quantity of this sugary muck. He was therefore very sparring with his own ‘decorations’. He used a little of the dark chocolate shavings to create a lovely nest of pubes around the base of his cock, added some sliced kiwi rounds for balls, drizzled a bit of the marshmallow sauce artistically over the tip and used a sprinkle of coconut shavings around the edge of the platter to symbolize additional cum splatters. That was plenty as far as Brian was concerned.

Meanwhile, both Justin and Malik were going insane with their own chocococks. There were mounds of whipped cream, chocolate and caramel sauces glopped everywhere and so many candy sprinkles that it was hard to actually see the cock inside the decorations. Justin had even placed a maraschino cherry right at the very tip of his cock - quite symbolic, Brian thought - and garnished the entire thing with a rimming of sliced strawberries. It was a nightmare as far as Brian was concerned.

Once everyone’s cock was fully adorned, The Master announced the purpose of this exercise. They were going to have a good, old-fashioned, cock eating competition! They would play musical chairs - or was that musical cocks - to see which cock each man would get as his challenge, and then the first man done with his cock would be the winner. Brian’s groan at this announcement was so loud and agonized that everyone, including the servants, broke out laughing.

“Stop whining, Brian,” Malik ordered with an indulgent look. “You’re skinny as fuck, so you really don’t need to worry about the fucking calories. And really, what’s the big issue? I mean, you’ll eat someone’s ass for hours. You guzzle down cum like it was ambrosia. But, you have a problem eating actual food? What is your problem, man?”

“Well, I won’t be ‘skinny as fuck’ if I eat all that! I’ll be a fucking blimp. Not everyone has a bubble butt they can use to effectively store their excess calories, like a camel stores water in his hump, you know,” Brian shot back, slapping Mal’s plump posterior as an example.

“Children, children . . . enough.” The Master’s voice admonished them, interrupting Malik’s come back. “Some of the Challenges you’ve met here at the Residence are more difficult for one boy than they are for the others. That is just the nature of these tasks. We shouldn’t judge - if this is the most difficult task Brian has yet to meet, so be it.” The Master’s jab only encouraged another round of laughter at Brian’s expense, eliciting another smirk from the carb-wary man.

The Master went on to explain that the molds themselves were going to be auctioned off on the website after today and thanking the boys for using their incredible attributes to further the pleasure of their fans for years to cum. “Now, my children, it’s time to start. Go, eat a cock, like the bold cock worshipers you are, and enjoy yourselves!”

Just to make the task a little more interesting - or, as Brian suspected, to piss him off even more - the contestants’ hands were cuffed behind their backs for this Challenge. Then the cocks were placed in a circle around one of the patio tables and the men were lined up behind ‘their’ cock. When everyone was set, one of the servants hit the ‘Play’ button on the stereo and the sultry tones of Isaac Hayes crooning about his ‘Chocolate Salty Balls’ belted out while the House Boys shambled around the table behind the cock selections. About halfway through the song, the music stopped, leaving each boy standing in front of the cock they’d be eating. To Brian’s horror, he ended up standing in front of Justin’s chocolate confection masterpiece which probably contained more calories on that one platter than he ate in an entire week. He whimpered pathetically.

“Buck up, Brian. You can do this!” Justin patted the cringing man on the shoulder affectionately. “And, see . . . as an extra bonus, you get my cherry!” Justin winked and pointed to the big sweet ripe red cherry sitting on top of the thick chocolate cock.

Brian leaned over and whispered into the insolent blond’s ear, “I’ve already had your cherry, Sunshine!”

*Ahem* The servant in charge cleared his throat meaningfully and prevented them from engaging in further verbal foreplay. “If you’re ready, gentlemen. On your mark. Get set. Eat cock!”

Brian sighed but bent over his cock-late confection just like the other three. He knew there was no way in hell he was going to win this competition, though, so he didn’t even try. He did use his tongue to lap up the sweet cherry on top and took one nice sized bite out of the tip of the cock. It really wasn’t all that bad. The dark chocolate was rich and not as sweet as milk chocolate would have been. But, even then, there was no way Brian was indulging in all that additional shit Justin had ladled on top. He’d just have to suffer through whatever punishment he got for finishing last in this particular race - it had to be less onerous than eating the pile of crap he was looking at.

On either side of Brian, however, Justin and Malik had already dived into their servings with gusto. Mal had lucked out with Brian’s minimalist cock-fection. He looked like the obvious winner. But Justin, even though he had a bigger platterful to start with, was actually gaining on Mal as he gobbled up all the decorations and additions surrounding Daniel’s cock at an alarming rate. Then, once he’d cleaned up the majority of the other stuff, Brian was shocked to watch as the boy engulfed the entire chococock in his mouth, stood up with the thing protruding upwards, held in place between his skillful lips and then proceeded to gnaw and nip at the entirety of the shaft as rapidly as he could bite and swallow. It was probably the scariest thing Brian had ever seen. The entire cock shook and wobbled in the air as it was devoured, disappearing at an appalling rate down that perfectly formed throat, as the boy just gobbled away. When he was almost to the base, a particularly vicious bite broke through the outer chocolate shell of a space that had been left inside the chocolate mold, leading to an unexpected explosion of creamy cum filling that erupted all over and dripped down the sides of Justin’s face just like a nice big shot of real cum would have. Despite Brian’s abhorrence with what the kid was stuffing into his face, that was still one of the most erotic sights he’d ever seen.

As soon as Justin had swallowed the last bite of chocolate, he stood up and danced around his chair in a silent show of victory. Malik finished his last bite about ten seconds later, but the contest was already over. Justin, the garbage gut with the terrifyingly talented lips, was the clear winner.

“Fuck, Sunshine,” Brian took a big step back when the cream and sugar coated boy hopped near him. “After watching that, I’m never letting you near my dick again. You’re fucking dangerous.”

The House Boys were given a little bit of time to rest up after the Chococock Challenge - which was probably a good thing because Justin confessed that he was a little too full after his feat of gustatory prowess and threatened to puke if he had to fuck anything anytime soon. While the poor boy was lolling like a beached whale on a patio lounge chair in the shade, with Malik sitting nearby so he could harass and relentlessly tease his overfed friend, Ted showed up to check in and see how the day was going so far. He made sure that Brian knew there had already been about 25 bids on his cock mold. Ted was too busy crowing over the the potential profits he’d be making off this little side project to care about the ongoing accountant jokes Brian kept throwing his way.

When they’d finally worn that topic out, Ted’s countenance got more serious and he launched into a much less amusing topic. “I figure I better give you a head’s up, Brian - Michael’s pretty upset with you these days. He’s been so pissed off since that day he talked to Justin on the phone that he’s been driving all of us crazy. It’s not helping much that you aren’t answering any of his emails. I guess, since he can’t get ahold of you, he’s venting at all of us. But just be warned. Whenever he does finally get through to you, you’re going to get an earful.”

“Fucking, Mikey . . .” Brian frowned and shook his head. “Tell me, Ted, why the fuck does Michael even CARE? He’s never taken this much interest in who I was fucking before, why the hell is he so hung up on me and who I’m fucking this summer?”

“Well, Brian you gotta understand, Michael still thinks of you as his hero. He lives vicariously through you. You’re like his own personal, private porn star. Which is why he was so excited at the start of the game. He could watch you doing all the stuff he would never be brave enough to try. He’s got this image of you set in his mind as some heroic, legendary, macho top - which is everything he isn’t. Michael’s just not ready for you to move on past that image. Michael’s . . .” Ted’s dissertation on Michael Novotny died out suddenly, causing Brian to turn and look over his shoulder at the far corner of the yard where Ted’s stare was now fixed. “. . . here?”

“Fuck! I do not need Mikey’s drama today, Ted. What the hell is he doing here?” Brian swore in a hiss and then turned around just in time to face the onslaught of the Novotny storm with an insincere smile. “Mikey. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your presence today?”

“How the hell did you find this place, Michael,” Ted intervened angrily. “If Lindsey blabbed I’ll fucking kill her and sue her boss.”

“No, Lindsey didn’t blab - you have her completely paranoid about losing her job, Ted. But I didn’t need Lindsey. I just followed YOU.” Michael proudly explained, smiling at Ted in triumph before turning all his attention back to Brian. “Hey, Brian! Shit, it’s so great to see you. I’ve fucking missed you this summer. Woody’s and Babylon just aren’t the same without you.”

“Michael, you can’t be here. Nobody’s allowed in the Residence except the contestants and my employees. You need to leave. Now,” Ted tried to step between Michael and Brian, but Michael wasn’t having it.

“Fuck off, Ted. I’m not leaving until I get a chance to talk to Brian. I’ve been trying to call but I think there’s something wrong with that phone you’ve got, Brian, cause it says my calls are blocked. And you haven’t answered any of my emails either. What the hell’s going on? Why are you ignoring me, Brian?”

“It’s probably because I don’t want to talk to you, Mikey,” Brian answered with his usual blunt honesty. “After all that shit you screamed at me when we did talk last week, can you blame me? Oh, and, by the way, there’s nothing wrong with my phone - I blocked your number so I wouldn’t have to deal with your drama. You don’t seem to get the fact that I’m busy here, Michael. I don’t have time to explain the same shit over and over to you a hundred times. Whatever you’ve got to say, it can wait the three weeks or so till the summer’s over.”

“How busy can you be? All you’ve been doing is fucking all summer. You’re telling me that you can’t take five lousy fucking minutes out of your day and email me? Fuck you, Brian!” Michael was red-faced and getting angrier by the minute. Ted was pulling on Michael’s arm and trying to head him back in the direction of the rear gate through which Michael had entered but the interloper had planted himself in place and wasn’t budging. “Hell, Brian, I’ve seen you take work calls on your cell phone while you were getting a blow job in the backroom at Babylon and that didn’t phase you at all. But now you can’t even talk to me for five minutes because you’re so busy playing with your rude little blond boy toy? What the hell is going on with you, Brian? Seriously, what the fuck is going on? I’d really like to know because this just isn’t like you."

“Would you just listen to yourself for a minute, Mikey? You sound like a jealous housewife. Freaking out about where I am and who I’m fucking and complaining that I don’t call you? Do you realize how fucked this is?” Brian was losing his own temper now too and his voice had risen to the point that their little group was attracting a lot of attention.

Both Mal and Justin were now standing right behind Brian, both glaring at this unexpected and unwelcome newcomer. Justin had one hand resting on Brian’s upper arm to let the beleaguered man know he was there without interrupting. Malik was standing there with his legs spread and his arms crossed, looking dangerous in spite of his relatively small stature. Ted had let go of Michael’s arm but was glaring at him just as steadily as Malik now. And, across the patio, one of the big muscular servants who doubled as security had also noted the disturbance and started to move in their direction.

“Right. So, just because I’m worried about my Best Friend, I’M the bad guy now? If you ask me, that’s fucked!” Michael was hurt as well as angry at this point. “I just don’t understand, Brian. Why the hell are you doing this? I thought it was all for fun at first - just more of Brian Fucking Kinney being his usual outrageous self, you know. But then I saw what you were doing and . . . it’s just not YOU, Brian. You don’t bottom! Especially not for some inexperienced little twink. And you don’t cuddle or joke about getting married to him or make plans to see him later . . . Shit, Brian, you don’t even let a guy stay in your bed overnight! But look at you! Ever since you’ve been here you’re doing all this crap and acting like someone YOU would have made fun of. And I’m not buying any shit about how you HAD to do this stuff for the game, cause that’s just not true. So why? Why, Brian? I just don’t fucking understand.”

All the fight had gone out of Brian as he listened to his oldest friend’s complaints. His shoulders had slumped and he somehow even looked physically smaller. Michael was right. Brian realized that, seen in that light, he had changed. While it was happening, none of his actions seemed all that radical or out of character, but taken as a whole . . . What had happened to all his rules? Was he turning into just as much of a laughing stock as those lesbianic breeder-wannabes that he’d always laughed at? Granted, a lot of the impetus behind what he’d done had been because of the game - because he was committed to winning that money so he could pursue his dream of owning his own agency - but not all of it . . . Mikey was right that some of what he’d done had just been because of his own weakness. Had he compromised too much of himself? Was he just another hypocrite who betrayed all of his own morals? For what? A few fleeting and probably ephemeral moments of . . . well, he didn’t even know what the fuck it was he’d call the feelings he’d been having. Brian Kinney wasn’t the introspective type. He avoided all emotion, especially his own, so he really didn’t have a word for the need behind his actions lately. And he definitely didn’t have a name for some of these happy, satisfied, content feelings that he had previously had NO experience with at all over the course of his mostly solitary life. But maybe Michael was right that he’d changed too much, too fast. What the fuck had he been thinking . . .

“That is the biggest fucking crock of SHIT I’ve ever heard!” Justin couldn’t take it anymore - he couldn’t just stand there and listen to this shithead emotionally blackmail and undermine the man he loved. “I’m not sure if you’re just incredibly stupid and actually believe what you’re saying or if you’re some devious maniacal genius who’s hell bent on making Brian’s life permanently miserable. But, since I’m an optimist, I’m going to assume you’re just fucking stupid and explain it to you.” 

Justin had moved around so that he was now standing in front of Brian - between the now desolate man and the little asshole who was trying to destroy someone he cared about.

“Have you actually listened to what you’re saying? Are you really trying to say that Brian isn’t ALLOWED to cuddle or share his bed with another person? Who the fuck made up these ridiculous rules? So what, he’s only allowed to fuck guys but not touch them in any other way? Or let them touch him? And exactly how do you plan to enforce these rules? Are you going to follow him around for the rest of his life making sure that he doesn’t touch anyone with anything other than his dick?” This earned Justin several humorless chuckles from those standing around listening to the argument, including the servant who’d been waved off by Ted but who was still standing ready nearby.

“Who the hell made you the Fucking Police?“ Justin’s rant went on, so loudly and surely that even Michael didn’t stand a chance of getting in a stray word. “Who says that Brian can ONLY top? He’s a gay man, right? I may not have been out for all that long, but I was under the impression that one of the privileges of being a gay man was that you got to enjoy the experience of having a cock up your ass pounding into your prostate. That’s kinda the best part of the whole thing, am I right? So Brian’s going to give up that pleasure just because it somehow offends your sensibilities that he would want to bottom? Because, why? Because that makes him less of a man in your eyes? How narrow-minded and bigoted is that? You sound just like those homophobic bullies at my old high-school. What, it’s OKAY to be gay as long as you only top but if you let yourself get fucked then you’re somehow less? Fuck that! And fuck you! It’s just that kind of drivel that keeps some gay men emotionally stunted and ashamed of their own nature for years. How dare you try to impose your stupid little heteronormative morals on someone else, let alone someone you call your friend. I can’t believe that Brian would be friends with such a close-minded, homophobic bigot! But I won’t let you foist that shit off onto Brian any more. Not as long as I’m around. I didn’t put up with that shit from the bullies at school or even my parents and I’m not going to let you get away with it either.”

Michael was sputtering after this little diatribe, almost completely tongue tied. Nobody had ever called HIM a homophobic bigot before. He was gay himself, for fuck’s sake. His uncle was gay. His mother was the president of the local PFLAG chapter! How dare this kid call HIM a bigot?

“You know, he has a point, Michael,” Ted interrupted before Michael had a chance to begin defending himself. The accountant had a contemplative look on his face and was nodding with understanding. “I've never really thought about it that way, but Justin’s right. I guess even I have always kind of thought of the guys who were exclusive tops as being somehow set apart from the rest of us. But that’s really stupid. I mean, we’re all gay. You’re pretty much an exclusive bottom and I go both ways. Why the fuck shouldn’t Brian enjoy getting fucked as much as the rest of us . . . Huh. I never thought I was less of a gay man when I bottomed, but by saying Brian should only top, I see how that would follow logically. It’s like having a double standard for the tops. I guess that even those of us who consider ourselves open-minded have let a little bit of bias from the hets creep in without really thinking about it. That’s really an interesting way of looking at things, Justin.”

Then Ted turned towards Brian and with a new understanding. “Brian, I think I owe you an apology. I hope I never made you think that you wouldn’t be just as studly if you weren’t an exclusive top, but if I did, I’m sorry. If it helps at all, I think you’re even more studly today than you were two months ago,” Ted added, trying to lighten up the mood even while he was offering a sincere apology.

“Thank you, Theodore,” Brian replied, his mood buoyed already, merely from Justin’s willingness to stand up and defend him. “And I think you’re just as boring today as I always knew you to be,” Brian teased this friend who was proving to be more supportive of him than he ever would have suspected.

“But, Brian . . . You’re not going to just stand there and let this twink talk to me like this are you? What the fuck does he know? I’m not a fucking BIGOT!” Michael had moved into all out whining mode now.

“Look up the definition of the word if you don’t understand what I’m saying, Michael,” Justin again interceded. “A bigot is anyone who’s intolerant of another’s creed, beliefs or opinions. And that, according to what you just said, would be YOU! It’s one thing if a guy prefers to top because it’s his nature or because he feels he needs that sense of control, but to just across the board imply that bottoming is somehow BAD . . . well, that’s all kinds of wrong and if you can’t see that then you really are stupid. So, why don’t you run out, buy yourself that dictionary you apparently need, and leave us the fuck alone so we can get on with our day.”

“But . . . But . . . But, Brian . . .” Michael was, for once, at a complete loss for words.

“But what, Michael? Justin’s right,” Brian felt buoyed by the way not only Justin but Ted also was now standing up for him. All the worries that Michael’s initial words had raised were fading fast. Maybe it was okay for him to change. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy these new experiences after all. “I might have had my reasons for only topping in the past but that doesn’t mean that I ONLY top for the rest of my life, does it? And, I ask again, what the hell business is it of yours anyway, Mikey? Why would you even care who I was fucking or how? I don’t see you stalking Ted and demanding to know what positions he used when he fucked his last trick.” Michael was looking decidedly confused and a little ashamed by this point. “Just go home, Mikey . . . Go home and give it up, okay. I’m a big boy and I can look after myself. I don’t need you regulating my sex life. And don’t come back here or call or even fucking email. I’m not sure I want to talk to you for awhile.”

Brian turned away, more than ready to be done with this conversation and Mikey. Both Justin and Malik flanked him as they walked away. Brian found the thought of his twinkie bodyguards the only amusing thing about this particular scene. Behind him he could hear Michael still calling out his name, but Ted and his stalwart servants must have a hold of him because he wasn’t following. When Brian did dare to look over his shoulder, he saw that the two burly masked servants were forcibly leading Michael across the yard towards the outer gate. He hoped they’d fucking lock the thing this time cause he really did not want to deal with Michael Novotny for a long, long time.

“Come on, Brian,” Justin slipped his arm around the taller man’s waist and led him over to a shady part of the patio. “Since I haven’t found my old sketchbooks yet, I guess I’ll just have to start over and redo all those pictures of your cock. Think I’ve got time to do a whole new series of dick pics before the end of August?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine,” Brian smiled, welcoming Justin’s attempt to distract him from the confrontation with Michael. “I promise to lay around naked as much as possible for the next three weeks. How about you, Mal? Wanna pose WITH me so Sunshine can do two dicks at once?”