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AND ONE MAKES THREE . . .
By Mickey Fleming
(HIM Magazine.April.1975.)
Smoke lay in bluish folds over the tables, as the fat industrialist from
Nevada moved his counters carelessly round the board. Like all
professionals Paul hated a sloppy game. People may try to tell you that
Backgammon's more than half luck. "Well, if it is," thought Paul, "I've
been living mighty high on luck for the past five years." With smooth,
economy of motion the dice slipped from his hand — the resulting
double-six wiping the obscene grin from the fat punters face.
Across the room, above the bobbing heads of the wealthy and the
desperate, a single spotlight picked out the white Steinway. There was a
murmur of approval as Earl Joseph, singer, songwriter and symbol of
black manhood to thousands of pink middle aged women, slid onto the
stool. The arena of bored faces at the $50 cover charge tables unfolded
towards him, as he crooned a Brenda Lee standard in the gritty black
tones that had destined him for plush venues and second rate star
billing.
Paul's attention lifted briefly from his game and caught the steady
glance aimed from the stage. The look meant "this one's for you, baby."
Without a flicker of recognition he returned his gamblers face to the
table, in time to see the pudgy hand slide the betting dice to him, its
highest challenge — 64 — upturned.
Driving hard for home, the dawn gave the shanty Las Vegas real estate
with its dead neon signs a nightmare grayness. Earl's hand closed on his
mates’. They both knew that they were returning for another frustrating
night of tossing and hassling in the ruins of the bedroom — trying to
resolve their total sexual incompatibility. It was as a spurned tart had
once yelled, "two super-studs, neither one willing to be a mare." Yet
beyond sex there were ties that held strong, needs and a shared past
that might have added up to love — if either one could have let it.
The Buick turned into the hilltop drive around six AM, just as Bobby
from "Prestige Pool Services" was shucking off his Levi's for a nude
dip. Paul, half asleep, didn't get Earl's view of the lithe tanned
youth, pointing skyward as he prepared to dive. Neither did he see the
black guy leap out of the car and caper across the lawn — stripping as
he ran — to join their visitor in the icy blue water. When Paul did
wake, brilliant sunshine tearing at his unprotected eyes through the
windshield, the game was in its final stages. He stumbled into the
bedroom to discover Earl's familiar lithe muscular chocolate brown body
entwined with the honey colored nudity of a stranger; a stranger who had
dived into their lives by accident.
Bobby, the pool boy, wasn't the first casual trick to come between them,
in fact there was no reason for him to cause a division. As they had
often agreed, "it wasn't that kind of a relationship". It wasn't
jealousy that stopped Paul in his tracks inside the bedroom door, more
like surprise that the memory filled bedroom and the pattern of
frustrated nights should be broken by a third person. Bobby's reaction
to the black guy's advance had been youthful and immediate. Earl Joseph
was a star, and every inch of his good looking manhood spelled S-E-X.
When 6 foot 3 inches of black beauty strips and launches itself at you
in the water you don't hesitate to get your feet wet. Bobby, at just
turned 18, was smooth, tanned and wholesome. He couldn't know how good
his naked body looked to the tired singer — or how good it was now
looking to a backgammon professional standing over them as they lay —
entwined black and tan on the bed.
Earl's massive hard on was still awaiting it's reward as Bobby's hands
wandered over the firm black nudity at his side. Neither man showed any
awareness of Paul's approach, so he swiftly peeled his tuxedo and
stripped silently before them. The boy's attention was caught by the
other man's superb and firm muscularity. Paul's proudness stood erect as
the youngster’s hands reached towards him — inviting his nude body to
press between those already locked together on the coverlet. The boy's
touch was electric — a stimulation both men had time to forget. They
were given no time to forget this night or as morning crawled across the
shuttered window, unheeded until late afternoon, when three bodies
replete fell once again into the clean sharp water of the pool.
"That'll be fifteen dollars," said Bobby, reaching a money pouch out of
his blue jeans. The receipt said, "Prestige Pool Service — The Best In
The West" — and it was. But as every gambling man knows, luck always
comes in threes.
-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
By Mickey Fleming
(HIM Magazine.April.1975.)
Smoke lay in bluish folds over the tables, as the fat industrialist from
Nevada moved his counters carelessly round the board. Like all
professionals Paul hated a sloppy game. People may try to tell you that
Backgammon's more than half luck. "Well, if it is," thought Paul, "I've
been living mighty high on luck for the past five years." With smooth,
economy of motion the dice slipped from his hand — the resulting
double-six wiping the obscene grin from the fat punters face.
Across the room, above the bobbing heads of the wealthy and the
desperate, a single spotlight picked out the white Steinway. There was a
murmur of approval as Earl Joseph, singer, songwriter and symbol of
black manhood to thousands of pink middle aged women, slid onto the
stool. The arena of bored faces at the $50 cover charge tables unfolded
towards him, as he crooned a Brenda Lee standard in the gritty black
tones that had destined him for plush venues and second rate star
billing.
Paul's attention lifted briefly from his game and caught the steady
glance aimed from the stage. The look meant "this one's for you, baby."
Without a flicker of recognition he returned his gamblers face to the
table, in time to see the pudgy hand slide the betting dice to him, its
highest challenge — 64 — upturned.
Driving hard for home, the dawn gave the shanty Las Vegas real estate
with its dead neon signs a nightmare grayness. Earl's hand closed on his
mates’. They both knew that they were returning for another frustrating
night of tossing and hassling in the ruins of the bedroom — trying to
resolve their total sexual incompatibility. It was as a spurned tart had
once yelled, "two super-studs, neither one willing to be a mare." Yet
beyond sex there were ties that held strong, needs and a shared past
that might have added up to love — if either one could have let it.
The Buick turned into the hilltop drive around six AM, just as Bobby
from "Prestige Pool Services" was shucking off his Levi's for a nude
dip. Paul, half asleep, didn't get Earl's view of the lithe tanned
youth, pointing skyward as he prepared to dive. Neither did he see the
black guy leap out of the car and caper across the lawn — stripping as
he ran — to join their visitor in the icy blue water. When Paul did
wake, brilliant sunshine tearing at his unprotected eyes through the
windshield, the game was in its final stages. He stumbled into the
bedroom to discover Earl's familiar lithe muscular chocolate brown body
entwined with the honey colored nudity of a stranger; a stranger who had
dived into their lives by accident.
Bobby, the pool boy, wasn't the first casual trick to come between them,
in fact there was no reason for him to cause a division. As they had
often agreed, "it wasn't that kind of a relationship". It wasn't
jealousy that stopped Paul in his tracks inside the bedroom door, more
like surprise that the memory filled bedroom and the pattern of
frustrated nights should be broken by a third person. Bobby's reaction
to the black guy's advance had been youthful and immediate. Earl Joseph
was a star, and every inch of his good looking manhood spelled S-E-X.
When 6 foot 3 inches of black beauty strips and launches itself at you
in the water you don't hesitate to get your feet wet. Bobby, at just
turned 18, was smooth, tanned and wholesome. He couldn't know how good
his naked body looked to the tired singer — or how good it was now
looking to a backgammon professional standing over them as they lay —
entwined black and tan on the bed.
Earl's massive hard on was still awaiting it's reward as Bobby's hands
wandered over the firm black nudity at his side. Neither man showed any
awareness of Paul's approach, so he swiftly peeled his tuxedo and
stripped silently before them. The boy's attention was caught by the
other man's superb and firm muscularity. Paul's proudness stood erect as
the youngster’s hands reached towards him — inviting his nude body to
press between those already locked together on the coverlet. The boy's
touch was electric — a stimulation both men had time to forget. They
were given no time to forget this night or as morning crawled across the
shuttered window, unheeded until late afternoon, when three bodies
replete fell once again into the clean sharp water of the pool.
"That'll be fifteen dollars," said Bobby, reaching a money pouch out of
his blue jeans. The receipt said, "Prestige Pool Service — The Best In
The West" — and it was. But as every gambling man knows, luck always
comes in threes.
-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
