MATTHEW AND ME (M/m)

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MATTHEW AND ME (M/m)

Post by Xtc »

OK. Ho, ho, bloody ho, Merry Christmas. That's the goodwill to all (wo)men out of the way for another year.

Xtc
(pp Ebenezer Scrooge)


Here's the first part of this year's seasonal tale. Please enjoy it. The conclusion will be posted on Christmas Day.

Have a Good Yule.
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MATTHEW AND ME


Editorial Deadline


Look, I love my grandson. Let’s face it I must. Ever since his parents died in that appalling road accident he’s lived with me and, initially, his grandmother and we’ve always got on well. Of course there have been clashes; he’s sixteen and I’m sixty. I’m a widower and he’s playing the market. I’m still trying to supplement my income by writing and he’s doing his best to succeed in his GCSE’s. I think I’ve been really lucky with the way he’s turned out over the past ten years.

But there are times . . . .

“Pops, can you have a look at this, please?” There’s a tradition in our family: the elder grandfather is always known as Granddad Pops and the younger one as Granddad Son. If I hated Percy, I might have resented his more youthful title. But, back to the story.

“Pops, can you have a look at this, please?” Matthew had spent the last three nights on a complicated history project. He’d looked up sources on the internet and made a careful comparison of them and drawn his own conclusions. He is in no way a plagiarist.

“Sorry Matthew, I need to get a story written tonight, my editor’s so close on by back you’d think he was trying to occupy the same space.

“You don’t care. Do you? It’s taken me days to do this and all I want is for you to look it over before I hand it in. If it’s crap, I’ve got tomorrow to try to improve it. I need you to see it now!”

“Hey, look, who puts food on this table . . . . “ and the argument could have got worse and even less constructive so I adopted the obvious tactic.

Matthew is blondish, slim but with good broad shoulders and reasonable muscles. He was on as many school sports teams as the schedules (and I) would allow him to be. I can’t always take him down in play-wrestling these days and I suspect that he sometimes allows me to win.

But tonight it mattered. As quickly as I could move, I grabbed a belt that had just been left lying around my office – don’t ask – and wrapped it around his body clamping his arms very tightly to his sides. Even as I did so, strangely, his anger started to subside; he always relished the challenge.

“Who’s the Daddy?”

“Oh, come on Pops, you haven’t won yet.

A quick trip left him on his face and on the floor. Once I had sat myself on his shoulders, there are some advantages to being a “big” guy, I took each of his hands in turn and forced them between his belt and his jeans. Shifting my weight down further limited his arm movement even more and I told him to bend his knees. For some reason he declined to do so.

“Oh, come on, you know what’s going to happen if I start tickling you almost anywhere. Now bend your knees.” With a whimper, he did so. It’s remarkably difficult to unlace the trainers of someone upon whom one is sitting but it becomes surprisingly easier the more the victim is tickled. Once I had removed one lace, Matthew’s thumbs were quickly tied together and, thanks to the silly length of the lace, so were his wrists.

“Who’s the Daddy?”

“You are.”

“Sorry, Matthew, I’ve got to get this story written. Jason’s on my back big time and I’ve got to write a TUG story for his magazine tonight. At the minute, I’ve got no ideas.”

Then, suddenly, it dawned on me.

I even had time to read Matt’s history project afterwards.
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Post by MaxRoper »

You'd think Jason would ease up a bit for the holidays, but once a taskmaster...

Looking forward to the conclusion.
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An old man has to earn a crust!
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Post by Johnsnow »

What a great and suspenseful start, I can't wait for the ending.

Also, I adjusted the title a bit for you 😉
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Post by Xtc »

Oh BUM! Thanks [mention]Johnsnow[/mention] I always forget that. Put it down to old age.

Yes, I thought a seasonal one was called for.
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Post by Xtc »

OK. Quite a long post to finish this. The tie-up is, I think you will agree, essential.

Wassail!
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MATTHEW AND ME


Coming Up To Christmas


Life went on with all its usual trials and triumphs and it was less than two years before the most significant family development occurred. Matthew and I were engaged in one of our frequent mature family discussions.

"Alright then, I'm going to ring my social worker."

"You're eighteen, you haven't got one any more."

"In that case, I'm going to live with Granddad Son."

"Number's on the fridge door."

Following much door slamming and mutual recriminations, we both went to bed. It often happened: I was over-worked and, when Matthew needed me, I wasn't always 'there for him'. I knew he'd just had a hard time at VI Form College and I really should have given him more time but I was sure that one of our detailed philosophical discussions would sort things out in the morning.

= = = = = 0 0 0 0 0 = = = = =

The sun was often allowed to go down on our wrath but it never rose on it again the next morning. It was Tuesday morning and I could tell that we were a long way towards reconciliation by the fact that, by the time I had got downstairs, Matthew had made the tea and had the breakfast on the table. It was time for that discussion.

"Awright, Matthew?"

"'Right, Pops."

"D'y' want me to go into the college?"

"Nah, I'll sort it out."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. . . . .Pops . . . .?"

"OK, . . .give."

"You know Christmas is coming up?

"A'Yeess?"

"You know Leon?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, can he come to us for Christmas?" That was when I had to judge my reaction carefully. "You must know he's my boyfriend." This was becoming difficult; of course I knew but it was up to him to tell me.
.
"What about Grandma and Granddad Son? They're coming to us as well." Matthew shuffled the feet he seemed to be inspecting so carefully. He must have been feeling even more awkward than when I caught him on that porn site the other week.

"Look, Pops, I'm sorry, they already know." He could see that look on my face. Obviously it was hardly a surprise but I wished that he had told me before he told his other grandparents. He wouldn't want to hurt me, it's just that, apparently, Percy had asked him directly and so he had to tell the truth.

"OK, let's talk about it this evening. Bring Leon round. I'll order a Chinese, OK?" Matthew nodded, half smiled and sort of grunted. I took that as an affirmative. "You sure you don't want me to come to college with you?"

Matthew finally looked up, pulled on his sweat-shirt, grabbed his backpack and made for the door. "Nah, 's awright. I can handle it."

As he left, I was still unsure what I ought to do - well, in one respect at least.

= = = = = 0 0 0 0 0 = = = = =

The evening came, along with Matthew and Leon. Leon was in Matthew's year in college and was slightly older than he. He was dark, quite short like Matthew with a sportsman's build and a mop of straight hair. It was obvious that the news of the boys' relationship had not gone down well with Leon's folks and he was obviously far from happy. It seemed to me that there was an obvious solution but I thought it was up to the lads to suggest it and the suggestion never surfaced.

The Chinese take-away was hoovered up and beers taken (rather than green tea) and it was agreed that Leon wouldn't have to wait too long before Christmas Eve when he should come to stay for a few days. The two lads went up to Matthew's loft conversion to mind their own business until it was time for Leon to go home. Having an unoccupied floor between the ground floor and Matthew's large studio flat often provided the privacy that both of us needed at times.

There were two more days until the end of term for Matthew and the black mood was well past before I risked asking if "that little problem" had sorted itself out. Matt smiled and nodded. By going behind his back, I knew it wasn't an academic concern so I assumed - wrongly - that it was because the Leon situation had been addressed and Matt said nothing about it for some months. He knew I didn't approve of violence but I would have made an exception in that case. I'm still surprised that I didn't notice the bruising on his right hand.

= = = = = 0 0 0 0 0 = = = = =

College broke up and Matthew and I had just Friday and the weekend to find the house under our customary piles of rubbish before our Christmas guests started arriving. Matthew looked quite cute shirtless with a piny protecting his rather battered old rugby shorts and with his "marrigolds" on as he took the cleaning bucket to the bathroom but the look on his face, as I opened my mouth to speak, spoke volumes itself and I thought better of it. It would save! At least until after he had done the downstairs loo, the bathroom and both en-suites.

By a process of stowing things in the first available concealed space and throwing out most of our carefully hoarded supplies of rubbish, we eventually managed to identify the furniture. When Matthew swapped his bucket for the Dyson, the cat disappeared until the next day. It was close but by Sunday evening we were sitting on the big sofa in the living room doing damage to a bottle of Tesco's finest "Half the normal price" French reds and complimenting one another on our supreme act of deception.

The self-congratulations ran out and we sat silently in front of the tele for a good ten minutes before Matthew, who was still in his old shorts and trainers but without his apron, spoke again.

"Pops?"

"Ye-e-e-s."

"Do us a favour?"

"What?" In the next hour the plot was hatched.


Christmas Eve

Right, what could go wrong? My sister, Sally, (the one with the bawdy sense of humour and disgusting language) wasn't due to arrive until about mid-day on Christmas Day itself to stop her trying to take over in the kitchen, and Grandma and Granddad Son should wander round at about the same time. That left us Christmas Eve to get everything ready to go for Christmas Dinner before Leon arrived. He even seemed to have bought the story about his not being able to come over earlier because Matt had pulled an extra shift in the restaurant where he worked as KP.

We spent the day decorating for the season and doing just about as much as we could to ensure that we wouldn't have to spend too much time in the kitchen the next day and to leave Sally no scope for taking over. Mission Accomplished.

We reckoned we had just enough time to neck a couple of cans before putting "Operation Secret Santa" into action.

"Look, if I go and get changed, do you promise you're not going to laugh?"

I smiled. "Yes, of course," I lied.

"OK, give us five minutes then I'll be ready."

"Awright then, go on up. I'll be there in about two swallers."

Matthew took his beer and left for his loft conversion. He climbed the stairs to the first floor, passed the two small bedrooms that often accommodated guests and the corridor to the two main bedrooms and bathroom, and carried on up the next staircase to his studio flat. I'd had the loft converted for him to use about four years ago. Its huge bed-sit occupies most of the useable roof space of our Victorian detached house and there was a large storage room and an en-suite at one end.

I thought I'd give my grandson about ten minutes to get ready before I headed up after him. Unlike me, Matthew is handy when it comes to making things and was certainly better than I when it came to looking after my dilapidated old Volvo. When I got to the room, I was quite impressed by what he had constructed since we'd hatched the plan.

-----00000-----

The plywood crate certainly looked quite substantial and had been painted gold before having baubles and holly leaves stencilled on it. It looked a bit small though, and I thought I ought to ask him about that once I'd stopped smirking.

"You promised you wouldn't laugh!"

"I'm not laughing, just smiling." Matthew had done exactly what he said he would. The little shiny gold Speedos, which were all he wore, certainly didn't hide much but they seemed to suit his physique perfectly.

"OK, Now. You promise to do only what I ask you to?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, come on Pops don't spoil it now."

"OK, cross my heart. Trust me, I'm a writer." He still didn't look as if he was quite convinced.

He had laid out what he thought he would need and prepared himself to be decorated and parcelled up. "Pops, please . . ."

"If you don't trust me, it's not too late to call it off, you know. Trust me?” Matthew nodded silently with a half-smile.

-----00000-----

Matthew picked up a large gold bow that he had fastened to a sturdy loop of elastic and slipped it over his right hand and up his arm till it was lodged near the top of his bicep. By the time he had repeated the operation on not only his left arm but also both legs, I was chuckling like our ancient heating system when it comes on in the morning.

"Oh, come on, Pops, you promised not to laugh."

"Oh Mate, I know all about you and Leon but that is the gayest thing I've ever seen."

Matt couldn't help giggling; he put his arms akimbo, wiggled his hips and raised an eyebrow. "You want some, big boy?" I gave him a little back-hander to the gut. Now we were both laughing out loud. How I managed to stop myself from suggesting that he facilitate later proceedings by swapping the glittery posing pouch for another bow, I still don't know to this day. The finishing touch was another, even larger bow threaded onto what looked like the cut down belt from a gold lamé dress and lodged under his chin after the belt had been buckled behind his neck.

"OK, you ready? Oh, and Pops I really do appreciate this, you know?" I nodded silently. Matthew lifted the lid from the golden crate and the sides fell away from each other at the top while remaining hinged together at the base like flower opening (If it wasn't for the crash as the "Petals" hit the floor.). Matthew stepped onto the gold-painted base and sat down. He knew from the practice session that we'd managed to fit in a few days previously, while he was fully dressed, that what he had asked me to do would make me feel uneasy but he also knew that there wasn't much that I wouldn't do for him.

Prior to positioning himself, Matthew had picked up one of the ropes that he had laid out . He sat on the base of the box, crossed his ankles and started tying them together. When he had finished, his knees stayed within the base (just!) and he was left with quite a length of unused rope as planned. Now it was my turn. I took the rope that he had doubled and into which he had tied a figure of eight knot near what he referred to as the bight leaving a loop for later use.

During our practice, Matthew had shown me a video of the way Chinese police treat their convicts before leading them out to be executed and asked me to tie his arms like that. I hung the rope over his shoulders leaving the loop hanging about eight inches down his back and one end of it hanging down each side in front of him. "Make sure you wrap up Leon's present well, Old Man." Sitting like that, he couldn't manage to duck the light clip round the back of his head.

"You know, you've got no consideration for old age, making me kneel down like this."

"OK, Pops, stop moaning and get on with it, and don't be afraid to do it tightly, you know, like the second time you tried." I wrapped each of his arms spirally and tied the ends of the rope round his wrists.

"Too tight?"

Matthew raised his hands up his back and I noticed the rope biting into his muscles. "Nah, it'll do, carry on."

"Right, let me know when to stop." I gathered the ends of the rope and fed them up though the hanging loop and pulled. When I heard a slight grunt, I stopped.

"Bit more." I was a bit reluctant but, from the practice session I knew that there would be some give once the knots were secured. I brought the rope ends down again and wrapped them round his forearms just above his wrists before tying them off.

"Too tight?"

"Nah. Got enough left to finish off the way I showed you?"

"You sure?"

"You don't want Leon's parcel to get damaged in the post, do you?" Indeed, there was plenty of rope left, so much so that it had been very inconvenient when I was trying to bind his forearms. I sort of sigh/snorted and set about doing as Matthew expected. It probably wasn't the tidiest of jobs but Matt soon had his arms drawn a little higher after I had returned the ends back down through the loop and wrapped them tightly round the vertical strands before tying them off securely. Looking down, and seeing Matthew's costume, I couldn't help noticing that it wasn't only the rope that seemed to have become tighter.

"You good?"

Matt bent forwards and told me to stop fussing and get on with it. This was the bit I'd have to think about. Matthew wanted to be tied so that he couldn't sit up; that would also ensure that the lid would fit on the crate without his being able to push it off. For obvious reasons, I couldn't just tie a loop round his neck, although there had been times in the past twelve years or so when I might have thought that would have been a good idea, and we had previously spent quite a bit of time figuring out what I should do.

Our solution was, perhaps, not elegant but it did seem to work. One end of the rope securing the present's ankles was passed up past the right side of his neck, across his shoulders and under his left armpit so that it came out behind him. With a symmetrical arrangement with the other free end of the rope, I put my knee on his back and forced him as low as I thought feasible. He didn't complain. I pulled the ropes firmly but as gently as I could to avoid any rope burns and secured them with a reef knot. A few turns round the bound vertical rope finished the job.

"You good?" I took the grunt as an affirmative. I left him for a few seconds to get used to his predicament. He shuffled a bit to get himself settled.

"Thanks, Pops. Finish off now. Leon should be here soon."

I clapped him on the shoulder and went for the length of red ribbon that he had instructed me to wrap round his arms rather like the ropes that were holding them in place. That was a fiddly job and resulted in a certain amount of grunting on both parts. A final spiral wrapping that took the ribbon up between his shoulder blades was finished off with one of my finest double bows.

"Nearly there." I collected the final two items that he had laid out. He had already folded the large red silk scarf several times ready to have it bound over his eyes. I couldn't really object to blindfolding him but . . . "Are you sure about this?" Matthew tried to control his breathing.

"You know when I was little . . ."

"Ye'."

". . . and you called me 'a little tickle-bomb'?"
"Erh."

"Well, you don't want me disturbing you, do you? And I reckon Leon's going to find my detonator." I couldn't see his eyes but I could see his dimples. He was obviously grinning.

"OK, open wide." The final 'decoration' was one of his old football scarves with a large knot in the middle.

"Tight, remember. You know it's going to stretch." I obliged. I didn't hear any complaints.

-----00000-----

I stood back examining my handiwork. I had considerable reservations but Matthew seemed to be more than content with his lot. I couldn't resist just spinning the large bow round from under his chin and lodging it behind his neck so that it faced upwards.

"Ready for me to close the parcel?" I wouldn't have thought he'd have still been capable of nodding like that while grunting his assent but he was obviously more than ready.

I collected a roll of packing tape and raised two of the sides of the crate. I taped them so that they would not fall while I raised the other sides. Once all four sides were vertical again, I slid the top over the crate with a cheery, "Nigh' night." and removed the packing tape.

"Test your toys." Inside the crate, Matt had fitted one of those really annoying Father Christmas effigies that 'speaks" when it is jolted. It was big enough for him to be able to guarantee reaching it with his right shoulder. On the opposite side he had fitted one of those cards on which you record your own short message. The addition of a hinged flap of wood to act as a pressure plate completed the job. That worked as well.

I gave the plywood parcel a couple of knocks and departed to receive Leon. I just hoped he wouldn't be too long.

-----00000-----

By the time I got downstairs it was about five minutes before Leon was due. I found out later that he'd been waiting outside for some time and was reticent to arrive too early. The doorbell rang at precisely the pre-arranged time.

I invited Leon to bring his bag up and explained that Matt hadn't returned from the restaurant yet. We climbed the stairs to the first floor and Leon asked which of the two small bedrooms he was to be in. I laughed. He blushed even worse than Matthew does when I made it clear that I thought he'd prefer to share my grandson's double bed. That broke the ice and avoided most potentially awkward moments

His look changed slowly from concern to contentment as we mounted the stars to the bed-sit. "Just drop your bag down there. You know where the loo is. Make yourself at home until Matt comes. Shouldn't be long now, he's just rung to say he's on the way. Oh, I think that's for you." Indicating the large box in the middle of the floor I made myself scarce.

-----00000-----


Perhaps I'd better explain how I know what happened next. Bear with me, please, it's not as creepy as it might seem at first.

As I said, Matthew is quite handy and he didn't want to miss out on seeing Leon's reaction to his surprise Christmas present so he rigged up a web-cam unobtrusively on a high shelf at the end of the room. He covered the little light that might have given it away and hid his laptop well away from where Leon would be able to see it. I saw some of what it captured.

Leon stood looking lost for some seconds before approaching the parcel. He thought he might wait until his boyfriend came home before opening it. He collapsed onto the sofa and started searching for the remote. Then he heard it: Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, merry Christmas!

Immediately, Leon figured out that the noise came from the crate. "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, merry Christmas!" He got up and approached the package when there was what sounded like something banging against the side. "Leon, Leon, Help me." said the tinny little voice from inside the parcel.

To say that Leon was intrigued would be an understatement. He stood, transfixed, as Father Christmas repeated his seasonal greeting more often than was necessary, immediately followed by a further entreaty for his assistance. A cursory examination of the object quickly revealed that the lid was not fastened down. He slipped it upwards and three of the sides crashed to the ground and one of them propped itself against his legs.

I watched the video for a little longer until it became obvious that Leon wasn't going to bother completely unwrapping his present before starting to play with it. At that point, delicacy required that your reporter made his excuses and left.


Christmas Day

I didn't see the lads for the rest of the evening but that was no more than I expected so I spent the time watching crappy Christmas T.V. programmes, ringing the relatives (straight laced ones first) and doing serious damage to a bottle of Speyside single malt. By the time I went to bed, there were no noticeable sounds from the room above me. Maybe that football scarf worked.

-----00000-----

All three of us were up early the next morning. The two youngsters came down, all freshly laundered but attired in only their boxers. Matthew was always complaining that I kept the place too warm. We ate breakfast in the kitchen. I was quite surprised to see how much Leon could stoke away, but there, I don't think he quite understood the assault course that awaited him once the rest of our visitors arrived. Everyone rinsed their dishes and put them in the dishwasher. At my insistence, the two lads retired to the sitting room while I finished off the washing up. Leon was initially reluctant, and felt awkward about my being left to it until Matt assured him that he needn't worry because "'the old guy' will probably leave the dinner stuff for us later".

In spite of being an unconventional household, we are in many respects a traditional family and, once I had joined the youngsters again, the next order of service was presents. Leon looked a bit apprehensive but I still couldn't resist it, "Matt tells me you've been a naughty boy and that you've already opened one of your presents." I was used to Matthew's blushing but, dressed as he was, poor Leon darkened to an almost purple colour as he sat there. Matthew put his arms around him and kissed him shamelessly.

Between Matthew, me, the friends whom Matt had tipped off and his other grandparents, we had made sure that Leon would have gifts to unwrap so that he would feel more included. The living room was soon knee deep in crumpled wrapping paper and corrugated cardboard just as if at least twelve five-year-olds had been present. After a festive glass of something red, Matt and I left Leon to gather the rubbish into black bin bags and re-cycling bags while I went into the kitchen and Matt went to lay the table.

The next few hours left Leon rather overwhelmed but with no time to worry about anything. We took another glass to celebrate being ready to repel boarders and then Sally arrived. Matthew kissed her as his Great Aunt would expect but Leon stood back. Sally did as Sally does and took things into her own hands or, at least, her arms. Yep, Leon really blushes a treat.

-----00000-----

The rest of Christmas day was a fairly run of the mill family Christmas Dinner, except that there was no family fight, and, after dinner all present (except Leon, who seemed to be fairly abstemious) seemed to be intent on ensuring that there were no wet bottles remaining to be addressed.

Eventually, Granddad Son and Grandma (Ellen; or "Nellie", since you ask) tottered off down the road to their home and Sally headed up to one of the small guest rooms. Leon, Matthew and myself remained together with the last dregs of a good Scotch or, in Leon's case, a Coke, before deciding it was time to turn in.

Leon made a clumsy and incipiently tearful attempt to express his gratitude for being included in the family but Matt had the good sense to put his arm round his shoulders and sweep him off to bed.

"Oh, boys," they turned round and Leon tried surreptitiously to wipe away a treacherous tear. "Just a few words: breakfast, Great Aunt Sally, clothes. OK?" Both boys had the decency to blush slightly and to adopt shy grins.

As I tried to squeeze a last glass out of the port decanter, (Yes, alright, we can be posh as times.) I had this sort of warm glow. Now, should I go upstairs or should I just go to sleep down here?


Boxing Day

Morning came. I must have decided to go up to bed the previous night because, when I came down to breakfast, Sally was already in residence in the kitchen. Visions of carbonised sausages came irresistibly to mind. I couldn't help thinking that it was a good job that I'd brought Matthew up to be polite but I thought I'd wait until Sally had left to make that remark about charcoal being good for the digestion.

Eventually, the chef thought that it was time to call her victims to the table and she went up to the first floor and stood at the foot of the staircase up to the lad's room. "Oi, you two, come on, hands off cocks - on socks" and, happy with having done her duty, returned to the scene of her crimes.

The boys had obviously been up (behave yourselves!) for some time because, within five minutes, the freshly laundered pair appeared, dressed but still barefoot, at table. Sally dished up.

"Looks like it's a good job you put that big shower in, mate, doesn't it? Reckon you could get two people in there easily." I should have known it: Sally had been on her best behaviour since she arrived. I suppose it was too much to ask that she could maintain it. Religious holiday I suppose.

We were soon addressing what passed for breakfast with the attitude that the application of enough tomato ketchup (We're not always posh.) might even be able to make a carpet edible.

Sally sort of hogged the conversation. "Did you hear that banging last night?" all eyes turned towards my sister who was doing her best to look like the innocent little old lady that she sometimes liked people to believe that she was. Matt and I knew better. So would Leon soon. "Sounded like it was coming from over my bedroom." Two people tried to shrink into the floor. "No, it was more like two ***** knocking, really. Can't think what it might have been."

Even with the lads fully dressed, the pink face glowed and the purple one seemed almost to disappear in the dim light of the kitchen.

"Oh, come on boys, only joking. I'm as deaf as a post without these"; Sally indicated her hearing aids, "I wouldn't have heard you if you'd used a power drill. You look after one another. You moved in yet, Leon? . . . . . . . . ."

The blushing was at least now moderated by idiotic grins.


THE END
They all say boxer shorts are cool,
but little Speedos always rule.
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