Danny's Choice Ch. 01: 2nd Chances

Ken gasped and swallowed air. "God, your body is even more beautiful than it was before. I knew you couldn't—"

"Don't speak. Don't say a word, or, I swear, I'll be out of here in a flash."

Ken barely had the opportunity to lay the Baldwin book on the small table next to the wing chair before Chris was above him, encircling Ken's head with his arms, and bringing the older man's lips down to Chris' chest to provide nipple play. Chris positioned his hole on Ken's erect cockhead and slid down the pole. Then rising and falling, rising and falling, as Ken groaned and sucked on a nipple.

Ken wasn't one to give up control, though. He pushed Chris down on the thick-pile rug in front of the hearth, bringing the pillow he'd had at his back in the wing chair with him. He stuffed the pillow under the small of Chris' back, which lifted Chris' pelvis. Chris lay there, legs spread and bent, his feet flat on the rug, as Ken knelt between the younger man's thighs, and entered his ass in one long, to-the-hilt slide. Chris winced at the invasion and total possession, but he fought hard not to cry out, to contain himself to groans, grunts, and low moans. No sighing, he screamed to himself in his mind, although he was totally lost to having Ken's cock inside him again.

Chris raised his arms, clutching Ken's biceps, and Ken grabbed Chris' slim waist with his hands. He fucked Chris in long, slow, deep strokes, with occasional visits to Chris' lips and nipples with his mouth. If he caught the dullness in Chris' eyes or the quiet surrender of Chris' body, he revealed nothing in the discovery.

With a shudder, he collapsed on top of Chris and started the series of spurts of cum deep inside Chris that the younger man remembered so well. Chris raked his fingernails over Ken's shoulder blades and jerked each time he felt the release of seed—once, twice, thrice, four times—in the only indication that he was part of the fuck.

He knew Ken well, though—oh so well. And, sure enough, after a brief period of hand work from Ken and kisses initiated and controlled by Ken as they lay there, plastered to each other's breasts, Ken turned Chris over on his belly, mounted his ass, and drove, harder this time, to another ejaculation.

In neither case had Chris himself come—just as in the afternoon. It had been really tough for him to hold off, but he had managed it.

At the door, as Chris was pulling the dressing gown around his shoulders again, Ken spoke for the first time.

"I knew you'd come back to me."

"I haven't come back to you, Ken. That was a no-regrets, no bad feelings good-bye. I still want you to leave after breakfast in the morning."

"You need it. You can't do without it," Ken spat back with a vehemence that suggested he hadn't been blind to Chris' placidity during the fucks. "You wouldn't have come for it tonight if you didn't want it. And if you didn't want it from me. It's time for you to wake up, get off your high horse, and accept reality. Earl's almost dead. You need to move on."

Chris didn't respond. He just turned away and stood in the doorway for several seconds—long enough for Ken to feel the triumph of believing Chris would turn and come back to him. But then Chris was gone, racing back to his own room, needing badly to masturbate himself for relief from what had been, as he knew it would be, a really good fuck.

* * * *

Kenton Walsh's idea of breakfast was most other people's idea of lunch. He was surprised, but shouldn't have been, to find himself alone in the kitchen when he appeared for his first meal of the day. He'd already made a run at getting into the master bedroom to see just how sick Earl Youngblood was, but the nurse who answered his light knock at the door could have played as a linesman on a pro football team. She obviously had been told that access to Mr. Youngblood was taboo to the overnight guest.

There were muffins on the kitchen table and coffee warming in a coffee maker. The refrigerator revealed his choice of juices. As he ate, he schemed. He had almost had Chris last night. He, of course, had realized that the young man was purposely not ejaculating—and having a hard time not to. The message wasn't lost on Ken. But if he'd had just one more go at him, he was sure Chris would have folded. Chris had let him fuck him yesterday. He just needed to give up the fight. Ken had won him from Earl Youngblood when Youngblood was strong and vigorous. Ken could win Chris when the old man was on his death bed.

Where was Chris going to go when the old man died? Ken wanted to make sure that it was to him. He had miscalculated by not keeping the young man with him three years earlier. But Ken was four years wiser now.

After he'd finished his breakfast, he decided to find Chris. The young man had said he didn't want to see Ken today before he left. To Ken that meant Chris was vulnerable to him and knew he was vulnerable. It had been dead easy in the shadowed hallway when he'd first arrived. Chris couldn't be getting what he needed. Chris wouldn't have come back to him last night if anyone else was taking care of him. If Ken could track him down, he could put him in that vulnerable position again.

When Ken stepped out onto the front portico, he saw what had been the result of the lightning strike close to the house the night before. A large, old oak tree over by the garages and other outbuildings had been struck and split right down the middle. It was likely that Chris was over in that direction, inspecting the damage if he wasn't in the house.

Ken drew near to the tree without seeing Chris in the vicinity. But he heard him. Chris was very vocal normally during sex. There was little doubt that Chris was having sex somewhere nearby. But who in the hell with, Ken wondered as he sought the origin of the sounds of taking. He already felt deflated. He had been sure that Chris wasn't getting any. He had been counting on that.

He saw them through the window of a garden shed—a very well-appointed one, with shelves and counters and probably everything the garden crew of a large Long Island estate needed.

Chris was naked, on the small of his back at the edge of a counter, across the room from the window Ken peered in. He was stiff-arming the palm of one hand into the surface of the wooden counter to prop his torso up and the other hand was cupping the back of the neck of the older of the black gardeners. Thadeus, bare-chested, the fly of his work pants unzipped, his torso heavily muscled and glistening with sweat, was fisting Chris' left ankle, holding the leg of the still-limber dancer up his torso, with the ankle on Thadeus' shoulder. He was concentrating hard, with a fist around the root of his big, hard cock, to get the shaft deeper in Chris' channel.

Jeremiah, the son, was standing on the other side of Chris, holding Chris' other leg up and spread wide. Jeremiah too was stripped to the waist—and further—as the open fly of his work trousers were flared wide and the trousers were riding very low on the young man's bulbous buttocks. His torso was even more muscular than his father's was, and the cock jutting out of his groin in an upward curve that he was holding in his hand and stroking was longer and much thicker than the father's.

Ken had arrived in time to see the father turn in between Chris' wide-stretched thighs, take his hand away from the root of his half-lodged cock, grab Chris by the waist, and slam the cock home to the root. Chris' hand fell away from the back of Thadeus' neck and he was propped up on both elbows, his back arched, his head thrown back. Thadeus' head dipped down to Chris' chest and his teeth latched onto a nipple. Chris roared his surrender to the cock to the ceiling of the shed while Thadeus pumped him slow and deep. Ken couldn't take his eyes off the action.

The cock head came to the surface of the hole, Thadeus jerked and grunted, and his white cum creamed Chris' crack and dribbled down the young man's thighs. The cock went back in for several more strokes, and then the father was relinquishing position to the son.

Thadeus dropped back a couple of steps, and Jeremiah moved into position, taking Chris' legs and running them up his muscular chest. Chris lay his torso prone on the countertop, an arm thrown over his face, and moaned deeply. The bigger, thicker cock slid in through the added lubricant Thadeus' prodigious cum had provided. The big black set his muscular legs, encircled Chris' slim waist with his bulging arms, and started pistoning Chris' channel hard and fast in long, strong, deep strokes.

Chris' body was bouncing up and down on the table with the strength of the thrusts. His arms went over his head, grabbing for anything that would steady him against the assault. His eyes were slitted and had a wild aspect to them. Ken realized that Chris was looking directly at him.

Chris knew he was there—he possibly even had assumed that Ken would be there and wanted Ken to see what was happening in the garden shed.

There went Ken's theory. Chris wasn't being deprived of sex. The black gardeners were probably servicing the little slut twice a day.

He didn't wait for Jeremiah's finish. He'd read the trashy novels on the black stereotype. The father had spouted like Niagara Falls. The larger, more virile son, probably had the reserves of Victoria Falls in his nuts. Ken did know how much Chris liked to be filled to the brim with cum.

Quietly and resigned to at least temporary defeat, Ken returned to the house, packed his bags, and got on the road.

* * * *

The movie producer, Ted Atkins, was laying on his back in the center of the bed in the master bedroom of the Long Island estate, his head resting on one arm bent behind him, and smoking a cigarette with the other one. Straddling his hips, facing him, palms of his hands on Atkins' pecs, Chris was slowly riding Atkins' cock.

To Atkins this was just one of many auditions he gave. But he did like the way the young man rode him and he really liked the look of the man who once had been a lithe dancer and who had only improved his looks as he grew older with added mass. He was uncommonly handsome in the classic blond sense. Atkins was sure he could use him in one of several movie parts.

He was pleased enough with the sample that he stubbed out his cigarette in an ash tray on the night stand, pushed Chris over onto his side on the bed, lifted the young man's upper leg, zeroed in on the exposed puckered hole with his cock, and thrust inside. With a cry of welcome, Chris arched his back. Atkins' free arm snaked around Chris' neck, arching Chris back and pulling the young man's head close into Atkins' face. Atkins tongue fucked inside Chris' ear before latching on to an earlobe with his teeth, as, down below, he was thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

Chris was sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over, and cleaning Atkins' cock with his mouth when he heard the honk of the car horn from the gravel drive of the turning circle below the windows of the bedroom.

"Expecting company?" Atkins asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and blowing a couple of very satisfied smoke rings toward the ceiling.

"No. I'm sure it's Kenton Walsh. But he wasn't invited." He rose from the bed and went to the window. "Yes, it's him." Ken's Jaguar was parked beside—and being overshadowed—by Atkins' red 1956 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. Ken was cantilevering his body out of his roadster without opening the door. He had turned and was examining the Eldorado, apparently trying to locate its owner in his mind. It wasn't really Earl Youngblood's style.

"I'll get rid of him."

"Quickly, please. I'm not finished with you." Atkins was playing with his cock which appeared to be on the rise again.

Atkins had come to Earl's funeral at Forest Lawn. So had Ken, but Ken had backed off when he saw Atkins take Chris in tow at the graveside after the ceremony.

Chris had wasted no time in asking for a part in one of the producer's coming films. He wanted to go to Hollywood. He grieved over Earl, of course, but there had been months of preparing for the inevitable. And the best he could do, he thought, was to forge ahead on setting up work. It wasn't really about ambition to become a movie star, he told himself.

Atkins had wasted even less time in telling Chris what he could do to be put in consideration for a Hollywood film.

"When can we arrange to meet?" Chris asked.

"I can come out to Long Island tomorrow," Atkins had said. Earl had just been buried. He'd been dead less than a week. But how often do chances to be in a Hollywood movie come along?

Chris met Ken at the front door. All he was wearing was a sashed robe. The shock of seeing him thus took Ken aback. But he looked around and spied the black gardeners at work mowing the vast front lawn in the distance. So, he hadn't interrupted anything between Chris and them.

"Yes, Ken? What do you want? We're in mourning here. Not receiving visitors."

"I thought you would need consolation."

"What I need is a bath. I was about to have one." He, in fact, did feel like he needed a shower. Atkins' cum was dribbling down his leg.

"Can I come in?"

"No, Ken. I'm mourning Earl. Perhaps we'll see each other in New York. But maybe not; I'm contemplating making another go at Hollywood."

"Ah," he said, now remembering where he'd seen the red Eldorado. At the funeral yesterday. He hadn't stayed around to see, but he bet Ted Atkins was the one who got into the car. Bastard couldn't even wait a day before zeroing in on Chris. It didn't occur to Ken, of course, that he hadn't waited any longer than that either.

"Where will you go now, though? Can you afford to get out to Hollywood on your own? I would take you."

"You told me that once before and didn't do it. And I'm quite well fixed to take care of myself now, thank you. Earl left everything to me. He had no natural heirs. He formally adopted me when I went back to him."

"I don't think you are doing that much mourning for him. I saw those two black studs working you over in that garden shed. You found a diversion even while Earl was on his death bed."

"Earl provided those two black studs," Chris said, his voice full of ice. "When he knew he was on the way out, he brought in Thadeus and Jeremiah to keep me satisfied. And I, in turn, kept Earl satisfied to the end. We cared for each other and took care of each other—something that you're incapable of doing. You have only taken care of yourself."

"Is Ted Atkins upstairs? Was he fucking you when I drove up."

"Yes, Ken. Ted Atkins was fucking me, and now I want to go back to bed so he can fuck me some more and so he'll give me parts in his movies. You had your chance. There are no second chances for you. I want to be in the movies. In getting that done a movie producer trumps a fading actor in every respect."

Chris turned and slammed the front door behind him.

Resigned again—if only temporarily again—Ken climbed back into his Jaguar and drove off. Ted Atkins fucked them and left them more often than not, he was thinking. He'd hang around. He'd get a second chance at Chris one of these days.

Chris returned to the bedroom to find Atkins, naked, sitting at the desk by the window. He was reading Chris' manuscript—the crumpled yellow, lined legal pads Chris was reviewing over and over again, tentatively titled Danny's Choice. No way he'd let the story be identified close enough to himself to be called Christopher's Choice.

"Hey, this stuff isn't half bad. In fact, it's real good," Atkins said. "It's about time to try an underground film like this. Time to rip society open on homosexuality. I might be able to film this, given the right investors. Might take a few years. Did you write this?"

Chris' heart was racing so much that he could do no more than mumble a "Yes, I wrote it." A second chance at Hollywood. Maybe this was his unexpected second chance at Hollywood.

"Come here," Atkins said with a low growl. Chris stepped over to him, and Atkins pulled the sash off the young man's robe and spread the robe apart. "Nice, very nice," he said. "I think we need to get you out to Hollywood."

"I would like that," Chris whispered.

"We'll get back to that," Atkins said in a gravelly voice. "Now, go down on your knees between my thighs. Finish cleaning my cock with your mouth. Then show me you can give a great blow job."