Musing # 563 – All Hail the Earl (part 1)

 

8:05 am the night before King Charles’ Coronation

 

If someone had told me that I would be staying in a tent at St. James’s Park waiting in the tent for King’s gold carriage to pass and Camilia can wave at no one in particular, I would have shot them.  Right now, I just want to shoot myself.  No, I think I’d shoot Angus first.  

My husband, the 12^th Earl of Glamorgan, distinguished MP in the Welsh Senedd, venture capitalist, and one of the richest men in the world you'd never heard of, with the face and body from the cover of your last bodice ripper, chose to enjoy the making of history from a park full of strangers instead at one of the 15 different Coronation galas available to the well-heeled of all types.  Don’t get me wrong, I hate those things too but at least there I could find someplace quiet and one thousand fewer Legos in the grass.

“Da?” called my son David as he dragged his tired body up my leg.  Kneeling, he plopped his cheek against my thigh.  “Da?  I’m sleepy.  Will you put me to bed?  I don’t think I’ll need a story.  We have to be up anyway to see Uncle Chuckles.”  My five-year-old rocked his tiny body against me as a bit of extra encouragement.

I smiled at this boy who was the spitting image of Angus.  I ran my fingers through his mop of big auburn curls, his baby brown eyelashes flittered like the best silent film actress.  “Sure, Reb,” I replied as I pulled him over my shoulder and stood, "although I'm still down for the book if you are." 

“No, I'm really tired," he said shaking his head against my neck.  The family started calling him Reb (short for Rabbi) after he ascended the synagogue platform during my sermon, pulled on my pants leg, and said, “Da, I’m going to help you be a good rabbi.”  The congregation erupted in laughter, much to the boy's puzzlement, and the nickname stuck ever since. 

The children’s tent was only a few feet away and David entered it on his own after forgetting his neediness.  I peaked inside and took stock of what the adults in the family jokingly called “the Glamorgan Progeny”, nine children of various shades, races, and origins – a mixed multitude of ages 5 to 17 – trying to figure out sleeping bag arrangements.   I said nothing, just watched and grinned.  Their playful tussling and jabbing at one another ended up in a big pile in the centre of the tent all facing the holographic TV – Harry Potter always wins out.  I put a few water bottles and a couple of bags of crisps inside the flap and said, “Sleep tight!  And don’t say up late as the King arrives promptly at 10:02 am and expects our attendance!”  I heard scampering so I assumed they at least knew I’d been there.

We had a total of 6 tents directly in front of the steel temporary guardrails, ample tent space for each of the couples and our throuple along with space for supplies.  Angus was smart enough to plan for the hostility we could have experienced.  The 180-year-old family business, Reese Industries brought ribs and sausages that Angus BBQed for everyone parked there awaiting a glimpse of history.  That, some free merch, and two cans each of IPA paid for a great deal of goodwill.   

Standing again, I noted the cold drizzle and pulled my jersey's hoodie over my head.  All around people had also noted the increased rainfall and were packing up for the night, even though it was only 9 pm.  I looked for Angus and caught sight of him passing out 2-person pop-up tents and sleeping bags to those he saw needed them.  Toni was helping with extra small toys and figit spinners for the small children.  By the time they were done, the park looked like a homeless encampment.  But it was going to be peaceful and likely quiet all night in most of those tents.  Reese Industries has a chain of marijuana dispensaries across America and growers were always sending him “samples” somehow.  Now I saw him pass a few bags of gummies to folx I think he assumed would appreciate them, like the elderly couple who met at the Queen's Coronation.  Loosen the joints with Prosecco and maybe they could bring back some of that old magic.

Which gave me ideas . . .

I needed to prep the scene.  I stopped at the tent of provisions and grabbed a couple of packs of pretzels, some crisps, two bottles of sparkling water, grapefruit juice, and three plastic cups.  The pretzels were for Angus, his favourite snack, only these were handmade by me.  And they were infused . . .    I thought I had a bandana around to stuff in someone's mouth as a last or first resort.

I stumbled into our tent, managing not to drop the items I carried.  Toni sat in the middle of the king-size air mattress pressed against a cushy seat back built into the mattress itself.  She was engaging in her favourite hobby – sewing – by bedazzling our daughter Sarah’s costume for the school's end-of-the-year play.  My wife, Toni, was beautiful, like a 1970s Pam Grier, only with should-length dreads.  She looked up at me and smiled.  She was once my best friend.  How we got here, a polyamory relationship with my husband, is a complicated story.   And looking at those light brown eyes refocused me. “I’m almost done,” she said.  “Ugh, it’s barely 8:30 pm!  Maybe we can catch a quick movie or something before we go to bed."  She finished a bangle and examined her work.  Satisfied, she dropped the fabric in a wicker basket and plied the rest of her tools atop.  "I know we have to be up before 10 am but I can’t see myself falling asleep just yet.” 

Neither did I.  “Angus is right behind me.”

“Cool,” her American accent so lovely drifting into my ears.  “I’m thinking we should stay an extra day.  Everyone’s kiddos have Monday off.  We bring them to London so infrequently . . .  well, they should at least get to a museum or two, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied while handing her a thermos.

She looked at me queerly but Angus came in and distracted her.  “Done saving the park?”

Dishevelled and breathing heavily, "Right, well I think everyone is settled for the night.”  Angus held out his few remaining bags of gummies.  “Or about to be, I’d say.”  He opened a bag and popped two in his mouth.  I handed him his thermos.  “Cheers, Mate!” he said before opening it, sniffing it, and taking a big gulp with a satisfied expression.  “Wow, you’re seriously getting good with the mocktails.  This is refreshing as all get out!”  He stopped drinking when Toni got pregnant, at first to support her absence and it became a habit.

“Right, well, I was thinking . . . “was all I got out before Toni interrupted.

“Ah, well, ah, . . . “she started, “maybe this is a good time to . . . to talk.”

Angus is not fond of clothes.  So, he removed his pants, pulled his tee-shirt over his head, and dropped the items on the floor.  You see he missed those prep school classes on cleaning up after yourself.  I retrieved them like a good co-dependent – I am the son of a valet after all.  But that's complicated and part of another story.  Angus nonchalantly stood in front of the bed, scratching his horse-size balls, and asked, “Okayyyy, I'm all ears, I guess."  He climbed into the bed and plopped down to Toni's left.   And this is Britain’s elite?

Toni didn't continue immediately but seemed to be waiting for me to sit down as well.  I shrugged, thinking my opportunity for some noogie had passed me by.   I got into bed too but on her right.  I sensed her tension as if she wasn't certain how we were going to feel about her news.   I wondered if I should have brought more marijuana-infused stuff.  Was she going to break things off?  The sex and the pregnancy were unexpected on our part.  But she wanted the babies and said that she'd give it until our kiddos were ready for regular school before deciding if she would stay.  We still played around together, making it a rule that if there was going to be intimacy of any kind, we'd all have to be together.  This was difficult to coordinate at first – there were many hurt feelings and wasted sperm in the shower.  But COVID changed things and helping the locals and our servants survive and thrive during the height of the pandemic, became our priority.  Soon we had projects to avoid many of the woes of lockdown and found the entire household, particularly us as Angus is head of the house, worked together, nearly always drama-free – Toni, who is a psychologist, wouldn’t have it.  And we shared a lot – from tremendous joy to debilitating devastation.  I'd thought sharing all of that and co-parenting had solidified our intimacy.  Many polyfamilies stayed together supportive by a whole lot less.  But maybe I was wrong. 

"Stop looking so serious!" quipped Toni.  "It's not bad, just, life-changing, I guess."

Angus lay flat on his back, staring at the small built-in LED lights across the tent roof.  Toni had them twinkling.  “Spit it out woman!” he grumbled.

She frowned at him then looked at me and lost her nerve.  But she inhaled deeply then let out in one exhale, “I’m pregnant.  But just one baby this time, Dr. Randolph double-checked.”  Angus said nothing and moved very little.  His eyes were closed and his breaths were very shallow.  Toni looked at him, slightly unnerved by his calmness.  “You’re not excited?” she asked him.

“Not yet,” he said turning on his side toward her.  “You know what I want and if you are still unwilling, I think we should start making other arrangements.  You came here initially just to tell us, not sure if you wanted us involved, if my memory serves me.”  Toni nodded, tears forming.  “Right, and the only reason you're still here is COVID.  COVID is over.  Please don't drag this on any longer.  It will be hard enough to accept that I may only see my current two children a few times a year, and I will have very little relationship with a third.  I have always felt you would leave us considering the number of times you have complained about how backward Wales is and Britain’s systemic racism.”  Toni was disgusted with the concept of the Commonwealth, the Crown, and British history which clashed with my Earl’s pride.  A nasty argument had me sleeping alone for several weeks.

Angus rolled back onto his back.  I knew he was going to start crying too.  They didn't hate one another.  But they are two alphas, and despite a quite equitable division of labour at Morganwg, they argued over every decision even when they didn't disagree.  Once in a while, you’d see one of them trying to hide a grin.

I started to reach over to him, but Toni stopped me when she replied, “Shut up silly!  Of course, I’ll marry you two.  It was just the pandemic; I mean who’s coming to any kind of wedding during a pandemic?”  She sighed then crawled atop Angus.  She just had to add a bit of control by pressing down on his hands.  “Yes, Angus Mc Innes-Reese, I will marry you and your husband.”  She looked over at me and gave me a big smile.  She touched a piece of jewellery from her neck and then took it off.  It was her engagement ring – his mother's ring – and she put it on her finger.  Admiring the sparkling diamonds surrounding a blue Saffire, she said, "I guess we've been doing this a long time anyway.  I know we bicker but, Angus you have to know how I feel about you and Deetz."

Angus sat up on his elbows, his hazel eyes sharp and commanding.  “It has never been about love, you have to know that by now.”  He reached behind him to adjust the back section.  He returned to her, “I know I was less than thrilled when you came to us pregnant with the twins.  I thought you were a gold digger – there have been enough of those, especially once Deetz and I got married."  He took her hand, and looked at the fingers, kissing each one in obligation.  “I did not expect this but then again, I didn’t expect him.”

“Pardon me,” I interrupted, “all this warm and fuzzy is quite fine but,” I pointed at my hardening cock, “this fellow has something to say as well, and he is quite urgent.”  I grinned at my assertiveness, particularly considering my typical submissive stance within our relationship.  I often feel like the secret story of our lives being driven by the constant jive for power between those two.  Me?  I’m a simpler creature.  A few good orgasms and a bit of a cuddle and this queen is just fine.  These two were the ones with standards.  I rested my body on my right elbow and rested my head in my hand.  The fingers of my left tranced long, light caresses between Toni’s bent knee and the top of her thigh.  “You already know how I feel.  And you being pregnant is got to the very best."  I rolled over slightly and pressed a chastised kiss on her arm.  "And right now, I feel deeply honoured to be the father of your children."

“Me too!” added Angus.

Toni looked between both of us, tears of relief falling steadily.  "I still don't understand how this poly thing is legal.  I mean you two are already married."

Angus started mimicking my touches.  Once our timing began to synchronize, Toni’s body started to hum, vibrating against my fingers.  “We’re rich.  Money buys the way with just about everything except a happy home, equity, nor a healthy climate for all.”  He pressed his lips against the top of her shoulder.  Through a long groan, he finished, “The attorneys have a legal plan that makes this throuple more ironclad than any Hollywood pre-nup.  A druid ceremony held in the Celtic Hills in the traditional ways will be honoured throughout Cyrumu and other aboriginal cultures throughout the Commonwealth.”

"Right, we'll have plenty of time for all of that later, won't we?"  I pulled myself up and pushed her back seat down so she lay below me. 

Big natural lashes fanned warm brown eyes.  “I’m sure,” Toni said.  She took his hand and grinned at him.  “You didn’t ask how many months I was!”

Angus beamed, “How many months?”

It roared and lightning flashed outside our cozy magic world, reminding me of the other momentous occasion happening around us.  A few kids and a security team walk past the obtuse front flap mesh.  “Are you sure no one can see threw this screen?” I asked him.

“Of course.  I tested its effectiveness personally.”

“I’m 25 months.”

“With whom?” I recoiled at the possibility of infidelity better than any silent-era actress.

Angus frowned at my over-overreacting.  “With myself and a camera  - and the AI it says it feels no attraction toward humans." 

“I’m 25 months, damnit!” Toni cackled.  We shut up and she sighed, “You two are such children sometimes!  I’m 3 months.”  She grinned and rubbed her belly.

I smiled sheepishly, accepting responsibility for my foolishness.  Another flash then a wave of heavy, cold rain.  I shivered slightly and pulled the warming blanket further up on my chest.  I pulled my body close to her so that I could inhale her perfume shamelessly.  Lightening shot through my body as my cock  skin on her thigh.  "My love,” I said in a low groan as my left hand began massaging her belly from underneath the covers, “you’ve got the kind of skin that makes shea butter covertness.”

While firmly kneading Toni’s soft belly while I watch the changes in her expression in favour of each tension or lightness.  Suddenly, she arched her back and let out a loud gasp.  Angus had his fingers between her legs.  He and I locked eyes, simultaneously acknowledging the need for further sound reduction.  "Spotify.  Playlist #823 with buffer."  The mini speakers sowed in the tent pools ensured that the only sound your neighbours heard from your spot will be Chopin's Nortune quietly drifting up and away within the next breeze, according to the manufacturer seeking investment from Reese Capital.  It’s no wonder we stay rich – people keep giving us shit we don’t have to spend our own money.

"Stop thinking, you!" Angus demands.  "I swear you'd live in that head of yours if I didn't plough that ass regularly!”

“As you wish, your Grace.”  I gave him a deferential nod then got the handcuffs and the ballgag from the duffle.

END OF PART I

First Chapter of Project Iceworm: a human marriage in three parts

 

From my biographer . . . .

Thank you fans of Deetz and Angus!  You've been waiting for so long for the second book and it is coming together, albeit slowly just like everything else in this pandemic!  My travels to home of the Glamorgan Progeny, Wales, UK, has been limited and interviewing these two on Zoom is not that easy - Angus is kind and a bit flirty while Deetz is the king of one word sentences.  But a flight in late March is looking quite likely as the variant numbers seem to be dropping.  Keep your fingers crossed.  I'd say I'd cross my legs too but that sounds constricting.  Meanwhile, I could use your help.  Here is a link to a draft of chapter one of Project Iceworm: a human marriage in three parts.  It is five years later and Deetz Mac Innes-Reese is about to graduate from rabbinical school.  Hubby Angus is anxious for them to start a family but Deetz has other ideas.  Meanwhile, Deetz's best friend, La Tonya "Toni" Hoffman has come for a visit and Miss Sassy needs a favor.  And, of course, the aliens never stop - this time something is killing members of an Inuit village in Greenland but do deities have such unusual teeth?  As always, there are government shennagins, passionate sex, and, of course, things are complicated - in the 21st century, what does marriage look like?  You know the boys will have unique answers, some of which will piss off the "woke" in Project Iceworm: a human marriage in three parts.

Felix Tempts Jack Harkness - Part VI: Is this wise?

I've been keeping my biographer busy with research, so I apologize this took this crafty writer so long.  Here is her next chapter in this Torchwood fanfiction.  Enjoy!

Part VI – Is this wise?

And you make me talk

And you make me feel

And you make me show

What I'm trying to conceal

If I trust in you

Would you let me down?

Would you laugh at me

If I said I care for you?

Could you feel the same way too, I wanna know

The name of the game

·       Name of the Game, as sung by ABBA

Under normal circumstances, Ianto would be fully engaged in movie watching, the older the movie the better – the silents were his favourite.  But now was not that time.  Now, both of them were semi-dressed again and sitting in the living room.   Additionally, To Have and Have Not was on the tellie and just past the part where Lauren Bacall asks if Bogart knows how to use his lips.  That scene revealed the heat growing between the actors that would bloom into a happy marriage lasting until Bogart’s death.   Watching it now made Ianto a bit sad.  He’d wanted such passion between Lisa and him but it never got there.  And as Ianto thought about it more, he started to accept the possibility – no, the reality – that Lisa did not love him as he loved her.   And he wondered if she would have gone to the same lengths he had to save him from turning into a monster.

“Penny for your thoughts!” Jack asked.  He’d noted Ianto’s face and didn’t like it.  “You look like you’ve come to some unhappy conclusion.”

Ianto shook his head, dismissing the older man.  “No, eh, nothing,” he waved off.  “Right, cup of tea?”

“Sure, should we pause the movie?”

“That’s okay, I can hear from the kitchen.  I put a second screen and speakers in there a few months ago.”   Ianto stood up.  “Snacks?  My sister made me some fabulous,  They should still be fresh.”

“Sure,” said Jack.  “Are you and your sister close?”

“Do you mean does she know about Torchwood?  No, but otherwise we are close.  She’s married with a couple of kids.  I visit when I can.”  Ianto looked off longingly, wondering if he too would ever have a family.  “Visiting them is a nice change.”

Jack chuckled.  He recalled the families he had created over the decades, some successful, others not so much but each long gone and visits became awkward over time as folx aged and he did not.  Yet, Jack had forgotten how much he liked being married, despite its difficulties and struggles.  “Have you thought about having a family?  I mean, to hear Gwen and Reese . .  . well, that’s all they talk about when I go to their house for dinner.”  Jack wasn’t sure he should or could talk about that part of his past, especially after his last marriage – it was all so painful, and he’d done things for which there was no forgiveness – no coming back from.  Immortality just gave you more time to fuck up.

Ianto didn’t answer.  He was already in the kitchen wondering how he could convince Jack to return to bed and finish Ianto’s education.  Jack heard the young man moving around, the clink of items being loaded on a tray.  It took Felix to remind Jack why he should not get any crazy ideas.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harkness!” sneered Ianto’s pet.  “You have little to offer other than your sex skills.  We both know this.”

Jack leaned into the animal who lay on a fluffy grey bed on the floor near Ianto’s recliner.  “Now you shut up, you scraggly feline!  I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you, Harkness?”  Felix sat up in the bed, looking imposing.  “I love that man, you know!”

“I love him too!” The words fell from Jack’s mouth before he could stop them.  He would have retracted it, but the creature would have known he was lying.  Nevertheless, saying it aloud stunned Jack.  “I’d never hurt him”, he whispered.

Felix came closer to him then said, “I know you wouldn’t hurt him intentionally – that lovemaking from before was not something out of a Tinder fling.”  The cat’s face was less accusatory as he was feeling sorry for Jack all of a sudden.  “Listen, I know you care for him.  I know you have kept it to yourself for quite some time.  I know you will protect him with your life, if necessary.  But, I also know that your lifestyle, your world is what kills those who love you.  The longer he is with you, the higher the risk . . .”

“I know,” growled Jack.  “Do you think I like this?”  He clinched his lips and sneered, “I’ve tried, I really have.  But . . . he follows me and his . . . smell . . . is intoxicating.”

“He says the same thing about you.  Do you know he sniffs your coat at night before going home?”

“So that’s why he always ‘straightens my office’ before he leaves.”

Felix turned twice and curled back into his bed.  He sighed, “I suppose then there is nothing I can do.  You’re both hooked.  Just promise me, promise me you’ll be good to him . . . good to him until the end.”

“I promise nothing will happen to him.  I will protect him, I said!”

“Jack Harkness,” the cat sighed again and closed his eyes, “I know you will protect him whatever way you can.  But Ianto Jones will die on your watch . . . it is the fate of everyone who tangles with you.  I just want you make sure Ianto knows until the end that you love him and will not forget him as you have the others.”

“What?  I have forgotten none of them.  Each one is like a deep scar on my heart!” groaned Jack.  “What do you know, you . . ,” but Ianto returned with a tray of tea and small white pastries.

“Are you two talking?  It would be nice if you got along,” said Ianto as he set the tray on the coffee table. “I mean, if you come by sometime again.”

Jack reached up and grabbed Ianto’s hand, palm-side up.  He looked deep into Ianto’s eyes before he kissed the sensitive skin at the pulse point.  “Ianto Jones, I plan to come here often.”  Jack waited for the image to reach Ianto’s cerebral cortex and for the shiver to roll down the man’s arm.  He waited a few heartbeats more to let sexual images float in the young man’s mind like an erotic dream on acid.  “However, right now, let’s have tea and some of these delightful treats.”  Now Ianto blushed then shook a little while serving Jack.

Jack noted how Felix shook his head like a strict schoolteacher.  He also knew that the disapproval pointed to Jack’s overreliance on sex and sexuality.  “Why do you serve me?  You’re a Dom by nature.  If anything I should be serving you.”  In the back of his mind, Jack wondered if he had anything to offer this man whose eyes betrayed his deepest feelings.  There was sexual curiosity along with care so intense, it stunned Jack and he wondered what he did to deserve it.

Ianto finished serving them both and returned to his recliner opposite Jack before answering.  “I’ve never thought of myself in such terms, but your suppositions have some merit.  However, there is much power in submission.  Someone once told me that it is the sub who controls the relationship.  By serving you, I make you dependent on me – ‘need’ has a strong allure and service can be very intimate.”

“Sounds like an advert for Downton Abbey!” Jack teased.  It reminded him of something Angelo would say –a statement that was erotic and sensible at the same time.  They both fell silent and found themselves awkwardly staring inside their cups, unable to determine next steps. 

Ianto summoned up the bravery to speak first, “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s take the tea into the bedroom.”

Jack smiled sheepishly then replied, “Yes, that sounds like a good idea, Ianto Jones.”

They brought their nervousness with them.  They sat next to each other in the bed, as if locking eyes would cause the next tear in the rift.  Instead both studed the saltwater fish tank across the room.  Jack couldn’t help but think of how that was just so Ianto – every imaginable gadget and formula to have a colony of aquatic life swim one way and back again like a meme.  And for some reason, this made Jack smile for he found the idea of it “How do you British say it, ‘brilliant’?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.  I’m Welsh.” 

Jack looked at him queerly which led both of them to break out in laughter and made moving forward less daunting.  Ianto kissed Jack tentatively at the corner of his mouth, almost like what your Nana gave you when the family came for holiday.  But for Jack it was searing like a steak touching a hot cast iron pan.  Jack closed his eyes and let go, releasing all his fears about the future and the guilt from the past.  Jack turned his body toward him, cupped Ianto’s face and pushed his tongue inside the other man’s mouth.  He was rewarded with a deep satisfying groan. 

Suddenly, Ianto pulled back.  He looked at Jack then said, “Be gentle with me.”

Jack offered one of his famous sidelong glances.  “Are you kidding me?” he said as Ianto got up to straddle Jack’s legs.  “I’m afraid I’m the prey here!”

Ianto removed Jack’s undershirt.  He returned to slowly caressing Jack’s chest.  He liked the goosebumps this was creating.  Jack’s skin felt alive, like each cell was a cornel of popcorn and Ianto’s hand was the heating element – pop, pop, pop.  When he raised his pointer finger and traced Jack’s lips, Jack let it happen, breathing deeper to control his growing arousal.  “Amazing,” slipped from Ianto’s mouth.  Ianto took Jack’s wrists and crossed them over his head.  He pressed them firmly against the wall, and instructed, “Keep them here.”   

Ianto had that strict schoolteacher voice down.  The baritone flair made Jack grin but held back as such was an inappropriate reaction in such circumstances – just plain bad form.  “Yes, . . . sir?”

“Yes is enough,” Ianto confirmed.  But now what?   Ianto had never gotten much farther than this in his fantasies.  Usually, he’d blown his load by this point.  At least once a day, especially during the work week, he had to wank off about Jack  – preferably in the shower before dressing for work (to get him through the day otherwise he’d spend all the day trying to hide his erratic erection) and before bed (Ianto did this on the couch; he didn’t know why).  Then he had an idea.  He bounced up, finished removing his clothes then said, “Get up.  Finish undressing and get up.”  He moved frantically and didn’t know why Jack didn’t understand the urgency of the moment.  Then Ianto realized that Jack was staring at him; no, Jack was admiring him or, more accurately, admiring Ianto’s body.  It was as if Jack saw something that Ianto couldn’t.  No one looked at me with desire before, not even . . . what’s her name? was inside Ianto’s thought bubble.  He realized then that he’d reflectively grabbed his cock, stroking it distracted as if its pleasure in it all was superfluous. 

Jack noted Ianto’s hand slowly moving up and down his red beast.  He didn’t move his arms despite an ache to reach out and put that tasty lollipop in his mouth.  But Jack held back, determined to help this man walk through the door and explore who he was.  “Should I release my own wrists?”

“What?  Oh, right.”  He walked over and leaned in front of Jack, then acted like he was removing the binding.  Unfortunately, Ianto didn’t initially realize the disturbance he was causing Jack until he watched Jack’s eyes move back and forth as Ianto’s prick swung like a pendulum in front of the seated man’s nose.  “Oh, terribly sorry,” he said while quickly getting back off the bed and covering his jewels with his hands.

“Doms never apologize.  They only adjust direction.”  Jack got up to follow orders.  He discharged his clothes on the floor and while Ianto was diverted by that mess, Jack added, “You are beautiful, and I can’t wait for you to sink that rock hard pole in my ass.  But I think a high-back chair would work better this first time.”

Ianto grabbed a wayward towel from the bed then followed Jack back to the living room.  “What do you mean?”

Jack looked around and chose a dark brown chair near the window.  He started to sit when Ianto jolted forward and dropped the towel on the seat just before Jack’s ball sack hit the cushion.  “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

“What?” asked Jack, his hands dramatizing his question. 

“I don’t think my neighbours need to see this,” Ianto replied.  He walked over to the picture frame window and lifted a switch.  “Several seniors are living across the street and I don’t want to be the cause of their demise,” Ianto added as the vertical blinds closed.

“Are you sure they wouldn’t be taking notes?”

Ianto shook his head then checked that the binds were secure.  “Get up,” he said in a slight growl.  

Jack sensed that the young man was no longer joking.  He stood up and watched Ianto take his place in the chair, leaning back a bit to push his waist forward.  He took a hold of his cock again, this time with mindfulness, as if it was a holy offering.  “Didn’t you say something about riding this?”

“Oh yes, that I did!

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Enjoy 

TORCHWOOD: Felix Tempts Jack - Part II

 

Surprise, Surprise

You can build a mansion, but you just can't live in it

You're the fastest runner but you're not allowed to win

Some break the rules, and let you count the cost

The insecurity is the thing that won't get lost

-         No One is to Blame, by Howard Jones

Ianto emerged from his flat. He was excited and apprehensive at the same time, walking quickly and with some determination down the small street. The pub wasn’t far from his flat, but the harsh breeze and misty rain made him move a bit faster. Inside the pub were a fair number of Friday night post-workday folks. They had a few hours of drinking on him. He found an elevated two-top table that also offered a nice view of the street. Thus, he could evaluate folx who came in, note their appearance and thus whether or not he would strike up a conversation.  Who am I fooling? he thought to himself. A perky red-haired waitress came to the table and took his order – one shot of scotch and a pint along with a bag of crisps. If he wasn’t chatting up some cutie by the end of his first, no second pint, he’d go home, Ianto promised himself. He didn’t want to get so drunk that he would perform badly or forget what happened.

When the waitress brought over his drinks, she smiled broadly.  “Haven’t seen you here before”! she flirted.

Ah yes, a chance to practice! he thought. “I live around the corner. I saw this place about a week ago when I was walking my . . . dog.” He handed her a few bills then added, “Keep the change.”

She saw the denomination and her eyes lit up. “Wow, thanks!” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Most folx around here are soooo cheap!” She smelled like sweet lilac and eagerness. “I’ll be right back with your crisps. You get a free bag with your order before 7.”  Never mind that it was already 7:23 pm. As he watched her walk back to the bar, he along with several other men (and two ladies as well) watched as her ass cheeks seemed to know it was showtime. 

Ah, competition! Ianto looked around more.  The pub was extra modern, with hanging plants dotting the window by his seat. The hardwood floor was clearly new and a bit slippery due to the excess waxing. The tall wood tables and booths were non-descript and the hanging pictures were stills of Cardiff scenery. The crowd was switching now with the just-off-work folx, were likely stumbling to the tube station two blocks away, the less inebriated supporting the bladdered.  That was fine for Ianto. That wasn’t his crowd.  But what is my crowd? Maybe I should be looking for friends instead of a one-night shag?

The waitress sauntered back, hips moving like they were pushing something out of the way.  Ianto noted that she was big breasted and petite. He like short, stocky girls – at least he thought he did. She dropped two bags of crisps on his table. “I hope you like these. This crowd has eaten us out of house and home tonight!” She locked eyes with him then added, “My name is Sandra, my friends call me Sandi.”

He blushed but responded immediately. “I’m Ianto, Ianto Jones.”  He thought to extend his hand but realized she had a tray in her hand.

Sandi looked to see if anyone was watching, then whispered, “I get off in an hour, if you’d like to chat a bit.”

Ianto couldn’t believe his luck – success on the first try.  The stars must be aligned, he thought. “I had planned to stay for at least another drink after this,” he looked at his watch then added, “And it is almost 8 . . .”

Sandi started to reply when a familiar figure dropped seemingly from space and interrupted with, “Ow, terribly sorry sweetie but he’s with me this evening!”  Jack Harkness offered one of his signature grins and asked, “But, if you play your cards right,” Jack put his arm around her waist and tugged, “you could make it a party of three.”

Sandi looked at him horrified at the proposition, “Ah sorry, but I didn’t know he was taken.” She gave Ianto a dirty look. “I take my men in singles.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the bar.

“You don’t know what you are missing!” Jack hollered back at her loud enough that a few patrons turned to look. Jack shrugged.

Ianto’s cheeks were flush and his mood shifted to irritation. “Really? I live around here you know!”

“Ah, afraid you’ll get a reputation?”

“Seriously?” Ianto sighed then downed his scotch. The last thing he needed tonight was work, “What’s up Jack? Has something come through the rift? You could have just phoned or texted my mobile. I thought you wanted me to take some time off – the salary budget line item and wanting to be more fiscally responsible I believe were your words.”

Jack took off his signature coat and tossed it on a ledge against the window. “Not work, not this time.” Suddenly, Jack realized he’d made it all the way here without a back story to explain his presence. “Listen Ianto, I am tired of the acrimony between us. I figured we could hash things out over a pint or two. Whaddya say?”

Ianto was trying to recover from Jack’s scent. Unlike Sandi, Ianto didn’t have the words to describe that alluring smell of the man that wasn’t like any other human he knew. It drew you in and stirred the groin. Ianto shifted in his stool then sighed again. “Sure. I guess this evening can’t get any weirder.”

Jack turned to wave to one of the waiters. A tall blond came over and took his drink order – a triple shot of vodka and a water. “Don’t want to drink too much. You could take advantage of my good nature.” Teasing Ianto was a habit he found terribly enjoyable and something that he’d engage in frequently before the whole Lisa thing.  Jack was falling back in quickly and this mad him a bit uneasy. He had a million reasons to leave this alone including the fact that Ianto was inexperienced, exposed, and Jack was an asshole who could only offer this fine human being a good fuck.  Jack had dated, hell even married, too many partners with the same fresh face and loyal heart. He just couldn’t take hurting another one particularly someone so sincere as Ianto Jones.  And yet, as in the past he was drawn to people with warm souls and fascinating vulnerabilities.  Thus, he couldn’t be mad at Ianto too long – never had, even when he pestered Jack into hiring him. He wondered how much of that was desperation to save his girlfriend and how much of it was . . . something different.  Jack tried to distract his mind from how nice the young man looked in his blue dress shirt and jeans but only then found himself envisioning Ianto naked and sweaty with . . .. The waiter returned with Jack’s drink order and Jack downed the vodka in a quick slurp.

“If you knock ‘em back like that, you’ll be drunk sooner than later. You won’t be able to drive the SUV back to the Hub.” Not that drink mattered as Jack was one of the most reckless drivers Ianto had ever seen. Ianto rubbed his cheeks, hoping to get the visible signs of fluster off his face.

Jack sat up and wondered to himself, What am I doing here and now that I’m here, what do I want to happen? Suddenly it was Jack who felt awkward. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was chasing a couple of renegade Oberhaberman’s?  Nasty creatures, with long, blue talons and horrible bad breath. That last part came from their regular consumption of what we call concrete.” His story relaxed them by taking the pressure off deciding why they were there - together.  Ianto liked Jack’s fantastical tales. They always had interesting characters from history or other worlds, places beyond where Ianto thought he’d ever see. It was like listening to someone tell a myth, but Ianto knew it was all real . . . well, likely everything but all of Jack’s heroics. Nevertheless, the young man found himself envisioning travelling the universe with this wilding, saving Earth, hell even the galaxy between bouts of . . . Ianto found himself wondering again how two men have sex.

A few hours went by and Ianto was up to four shots and feeling a bit giddy. Jack noticed the slight changes and wondered again if it was fair to entangle Ianto in the mess of Jack’s life. But Jack Harkness was not one to be distracted by some silly guilt trip. He watched Ianto’s hands as he shifted them on then off the table, representing the excitement he was feeling. At one point, their hands nearly touched, the sharp spark as if they’d just rolled in carpet. Ianto and Jack fell silent for a few moments, both looking out the window lost in their anxiety. 

Abruptly Jack asked, “I actually have a bottle of Glenlivet in the SUV. “Why don’t we go to your flat and see how much of a dent we can make in it?” He said it like they were two blokes hanging out.

They both knew it was more than that.

Ianto was flustered and his face turned red again. Jack found it charming and smiled at him which made things worse for Ianto. “You’ve never been to my place before.”

Jack realized he had had dinner at everyone’s flat, even Owen’s. But he’d never inserted himself when it came to Ianto. He wasn’t sure what he’d do until now – he was about to do something foolish. “Well, there is a first time for everything! Don’t worry if your place isn’t tidy. You know how I keep my pod area.”

“Yes, I do,” chuckled Ianto, recalling how he’d tried cleaning it before only to find it in the same condition the very next morning. “No, it isn’t that. It’s just, is this really proper? I mean a boss coming to your house intending on intoxication. I’m sure Torchwood has HR rules around that.”

Jack stood up and grabbed his coat. “Do we ever play by the rules, Ianto Jones?” He started to put the long coat on and Ianto got dizzy. Jack looked so hot with that coat on. Ianto had masturbated many nights to the thought of rubbing it all over his body, Jack’s smell plastered against his skin . . .   Jack turned to go but realized that Ianto hadn’t moved. “Well? The bottle won’t drink itself! You live around the corner from here, right?”

A "lost" chapter

 I cut this out of "The Roswell Discrepancy" but I think it is still kinda cute:

I was helping him put on his dinner jacket.  “Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us, Deetz?” Angus Reese asked.

Standing behind him, just to his right, my hands lightly dropping the dinner jacket over his broad shoulders, just like my father, the valet to Angus’s dad, had showed me; one of the few things I tolerated my father teaching me about his vaulted profession – how to dress a man; undressing was something I already had down pat.  “No, those society functions are not my cup of tea,” I said while brushing imaginary lint off his arms and back – an excuse to touch him just a little longer.   “Those were always your friends.”  I put the brush down, looking for some other way to maintain the ruse that I was helping him dress, like what was going here was a throwback, a reflection of our old times playing at valet and Earl – as preparation for some future posting – like when Alfred prepared Batman to play Bruce Wayne.  Only Angus was only four years my senior and I was much more interested in him as a lover than my employer.

“Still, you would know some of the people there,” Angus said.  True – we grew up together on Morganwg just outside of Cardiff, the ancestral estate of the Glamorgan clan.  The males of my family were servants of some close capacity to the Earls of that land since the Boxer Rebellion, when Tison Reese and Jakob Mac Innes secured trade with China to fill the family’s coffers and Hong Kong to add another jewel to the Crown.  Because we were close in age, Angus and I were allowed to play until early adolescence when it was time for us to be groomed for our respective roles.  He went to Eton and I would have trained at one of the top butler schools then him at college had this not been the 21st Century and the dedication to service hadn’t degenerated into an overly romanticized component of a BBC television series.   

“Your hair tie is off-center,” I said to change the subject.  “If you’re going to have long hair, at least tie it properly,” I teased.  It was just another excuse to touch him.  He had taken to wearing it long and binding it like someone out of a Jane Austen novel – said it made him look dashing and dangerous, all at the same time.  I dislodged the shiny black ribbon, and his thick auburn strains fell effortlessly just past his shoulders.  I gathered a batch of it in my hand, for just a moment, combing it through my fingertips to release the echo of sandalwood conditioner lingering therein.  I had to brace myself, maintain the needed self-control to keep from rubbing the soft, silkiness against my cheek.

“You have a point,” he said, startling me out of my moment of fancy, “the ladies do like it when it’s tied up and when I take it down.”  He smiled at his reflection.  He had every reason to be slightly vain for he had grown from a cherub-face, cute kid into a hard-bodied, handsome statue – from an awkward teen living in his daddy’s shadow to a well-known playboy, minted in his own right.  He was, in every way, the leading man, with 5:30 pm shadow that looked like it came straight out of a casting call for Miami Vice.  One would have to see behind the lush lashes that draped casually over his eyes to glimpse the sweet, kind human underneath.  My clairsentience abilities told me that despite the long list of models, movie stars, heiresses, and titled whores decorating his arm in the tabloid photos, there was a longing for someone to bring out the emerald hue of his eyes.  “Still, I’d have more fun if you were there,” he said, pleading again.

“I’m sorry mate,” I replied, quickly retying his ponytail then turning him around to straighten his bow tie.  “This skinny body of mine looks silly in one of your monkey suits.”  I became frustrated and wondered (hoped?) he’d screwed this stuff up on purpose just to tease me.  We hadn’t seen each other in many years however my reputation for rather leisurely, unspeakable sexual exploits had to have reached him.  The world of the ridiculously rich and its hangers on was a small one and I had run into many of his Eton buddies while I lived in Thailand studying Mu Tay and they tasted the Lady Bois I’d just tossed off.  “Anyway, I’ve got a new biography of the Baal Shem Tov I want to finish tonight.”

“Argh!  More philosophy?”

“16th century Jewish mysticism actually.” I smiled at him noticing that he was smiling back and not mocking me; Angus was one of the few people who knew and respected my desire to join the rabbinate.  For just a moment, his eyes sparkled with encouragement and his lips, parted ever so slightly, made me wonder how his moustache would feel against my shaven face.

“By the way, mate,” he added, “you’re not scrawny.  You’ve got that Bruce Lee thing going.  You know, lean and tight all around.”

If only he knew.  I looked down to hide my blush – somehow around him I was just that young boy again, hanging on to a torch that got heavier with each passing season.  “Right.  You’d better get off or Linus will be asleep at the wheel.”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his trench coat.  I started walking toward the door before he did but his hand on my shoulder stopped me.  Angus asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to come.  I feel sorta bad just leaving you here.  I mean, we haven’t seen one another is a while.  We should hang out together.”

I shook my head.  “You haven’t been home in a while.  I’ll be here for another week.  We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”  I didn’t give him a chance to say anything more as I exited the room hastily.  I quickly made my way through a set of hidden back steps often used by servants to exit quietly from the master suits.  It was rumored that many of the Glamorgan earls and their valets were lovers.  Considering the lusty thoughts in my mind, such an escape route seemed appropriate.  When I got to my old room near the attic, I was ready to bust a nut and was dying for some sort of release.

I dropped my pants and left them atop of my shoes and got into the bed.  I grabbed at the lube on the nightstand at my left and squirted a glob on my hand, I imagined its warm creaminess was his fingers.  Which fantasy was I going to use this time?  Sometimes Angus would be fucking me, sometimes it was he fucking one of the mindless belles that kept throwing themselves at him.  “I didn’t want his money but forever would be nice,” I thought aloud as I ran my right hand slowly up and down my cock.  This was the third time since I’d been back that I found myself doing this and each time it less and less fulfilling.  My dick was hard but frankly unconvinced.  I thought of giving up when there was a knock and my door opened with Angus’s head peeped around.

“Oi!  Sorry Mate!” He said as his eyes lingered just a moment longer than proper.  “I thought you were reading.”

Embarrassed, I quickly got under the covers and tried wiping the goop on the sheet.  Faking a nonchalant stance, I responded, “No problem.  Was Linus already asleep down for the count?”  I sat up as if I was a child who’d just been tucked in and was waiting for his bedtime story.  “No need to hide.  I’m decent now.”

He came around the door and slowly entered the room, I noted an odd pallor on Angus’s face.  He definitely knew what I was doing and had to realize that it came quite close to our previous conversation; he was no fool.  So, did that red on his cheek mean he was just embarrassed or did he like what he saw?   

How a Dom feels about his Sub

Oh my! Now this is something Angus would say. It is the sweetest!

New video!

📘    🌈    💕💕    (●'◡'●)(●'◡'●)    ✡✡✡✡    

3rd Installment of COVID-19 and the Submissive

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine – Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 2 – Deetz, Angus, and Toni

I undressed him like a King, slowly, ensuring each item was precisely folded or hung as if each item were also human.  I am the son of the 11th Earl’s valet.  I learned servitude from my father as he was part of a dynasty – a Mac Innes male had worked for an Earl of Glamorgan since the 1800s.  Da wasn’t bi like me but he greatly admired his earl.  I love my earl too, but I do it on my knees atop of a ketubah, a marriage contract.  I’ve spent much time wondering what my queerphobic father, dead now almost six years, would think of how I was fulfilling my duty.

2ND INSTALLMENT OF COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE

COVID-19 & THE SUBMISSIVE - Musing # 1348: Family Quarantine – Day 1 minus 2

Chapter 1 – Deetz and Angus

Some background, eh?  My name is Desmond Mac Innes-Reese.  Most folks call me Deetz.  I’m married to the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Mac Innes-Reese, a descendent of Welsh royalty and one of the richest men in the world (yeah, just like the fairy tales).  My sister Ciara says I look like Bruce Lee’s brother from another mother.  Angus looks like he just left the cover of some corner store bodice ripper, kilt and all.  We’ve been married for nearly six years and things are changing. 

Higher Society - Pt.4

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 4

a fanfiction based on the George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry. I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

Chapter Ten

Mmm yeah! (Woo, woo)

Women think I'm tasty, but they're always tryin' to waste me

Make me burn the candle right down

But, baby, baby, don't need no jewels in my crown

-“Tumbling Dice”, Rolling Stones

Present time

The pool itself was only Olympic size while the entertainment portion of the patio's layout was what one would anticipate at a seaside hotel. There was a full-outdoor kitchen on the west side and a full bar with a temperature-controlled snack station on the east. Toni hung her clothes in one of the five cabanas, also largess with its individual bathroom with forest themed walk-in shower. A decanter of scotch, bucket of ice, and two glasses were on a side table between two white reclining lawn chairs. When she came out, towel across her shoulders, Toni said, “Geeze, this is beautiful!”

Angus scanned her like a drunk john at a strip club. 

“Yes. It sure is.” He put a store-bought pretzel in his mouth and immediately regretted it.  

“Compliments will get you nowhere, Earl Glamorgan!  But thank you anyway,” she replied. 

The surrounding garden foliage caught her attention. Toni walked up to a flowering bush to sniff the pedals. “Attar of Roses, Sweet bay, Cotton lavender,” she said as she pointed to the well-curated collection of foliage. “Your grandmother’s work I suppose? She has excellent taste.” Toni ran her hands across the petals and leaves. “My mother owned a greenhouse and flower shop. I worked there every summer until I left for college.”

Higher Society - Pt3

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 3

a fanfiction based on the George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry. I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

Chapter Nine

There's a girl across the bar
I get the message she's sendin'
Mmm she ain't lookin' to married
And me well honey I'm pretending
Last night I dreamed I held you in my arms
The music was never-ending
We danced as the evening sky faded to black
One step up and two steps back

- “One Step Up”, Bruce Springsteen

Present time . . .

Angus stood in front of the full-length mirror while his valet, Roman, helped him dress. The older man, nondescript as all good English servants should be, had been with Angus since his split from Deetz.  He knew what I liked without me saying. He could hear the start of the party and from the window of his spacious bedroom, he could see the royal motorcade winding toward Morganwg. 

Tonight was a big deal so why did he feel like shit? “Roman, I said I wanted the red tie, not the maroon!” he barked at the man. 

Immediately, Angus felt bad.  I’m not like that, I’m not that kind of earl, Angus thought. “I must apologize, Roman. It’s not you and this tie is fine.”

“I’m sorry Your grace is of ill-mood.” Roman finished and bowed before leaving without any acknowledgement of the apology.

Toni took advantage of the servant’s exit to gain entry. 

“I hope this isn’t a bad time, er… or place.”

“For?”

“I was hoping to ask you some questions on background – nothing we’ll publish, just to give me an idea of who you are, how you think.”

Angus waved her in. He finished the Glenlivet in his glass and pour another double shot. 

Toni walked around identifying various angles to reflect the surprisingly austere look of the room. 

The furnishings looked stolen from the last fantasy novel you read and seemed to be there because they had nowhere else to put it. However, despite the dubious placement, the owner was low to depart with any piece of family history. Even the hygiene products on the dresser had an old-timey flare too them. Toni took a few shots for background then put her camera away and sat on a nearby armchair far from the bed. She took out her legal pad. “I must say, your Grace, you look rather handsome tonight.”

Higher Society-Part 2

HIGHER SOCIETY – Part 2

a fanfiction based on George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story (1940) and the musical High Society (1956), both of which were based on the Broadway play, The Philadelphia Story (1939) by Philip Barry.  I don’t own the story, but I own the characters in this adaptation.

∞∞∞∞

Chapter Eight 

What really was important

Coming up close

Everything sounds like welcome home

Come home, and oh, by the way

·                “Coming Up Close”, as sung by Til Tuesday

http://www.ynyogaposes.com/yogalessons.html

Four and a half years ago…

Deetz rose at dawn, did a Tai Chi workout, and ate some oatmeal. Two days ago, Angus had ordered a truck and food from a broker in town.  It was delivered to the cottage - a four-passenger Ford F-250 loaded with nonperishable foodstuff from a prepper supply company called My Patriot Supply, and a box of miscellaneous tools.   A note was taped to the passenger side: I have to run into town for a couple of hours. Business. I should be back before 1 pm – Angus. Initially, Deetz wondered if Angus had changed his mind, chickened out. Even so, I can drive to Cousin Scarlett’s myself, he said as a self-distraction. Meanwhile, he concentrated on loading Sugar, focusing primarily on organizing the kitchen stuff and checking the satellite service. 

Ciara and family found him shortly afterwards on the caravan’s roof. “Wow, big brother! It’s brilliant! I didn’t know you were this handy.” 

Tom and she walked around the motorhome. Tom asked, “And you say we all could sleep comfortably? I believe it! This thing is huge.” 

FOR ANGUS . . . 

Psst - He's a sensitive Dom after all!!!  But you didn't hear that from me.  👄👬👬👬👬👽💖💖😅😅

Dom Vulnerability from the Podcast "The Ascension"

YOU, ME, AND YOU MAKE THREE

This is a draft of an excerpt from the upcoming second in the Glamorgan Progeny series.  Let me know what you think in the comments section.  Thanks for reading!

I was sitting on the wicker chair with a few papers, books, and mobile scattered across the matching coffee table.  It was a damp, early winter day and I could sense the greenhouse’s residents breathing and talking to one another – I am psychically sensitive like that.  I had been working on a drash, a biblical interpretation, to justify critical points in my article for Tikkun magazine.  I am Desmond Mac Innes-Reese, 1^st Viscount of Glamorgan.  Close friends call me Deetz.  I am a rabbi over a small but growing Welsh congregation that was gaining some international statue because of its unapologetically progressive politics.  We were a welcoming space for Jewish misfits ostracized by more traditional settings.

I stood up, stretched, and sighed at my lack of progress in light of the lateness of the day.  The moon was nice though and I found myself missing my husband of six years, Angus Reese, the 12^th Earl of Glamorgan.  He is an MP representing Cardiff in the House of Commons and currently away on diplomatic business.  He's been gone for two weeks.  The Crown often presses him into secret diplomatic service because of his grasps of multiple languages – a big advantage during high stakes negotiations.  He wasn’t due back until tomorrow.  We are quite ‘close’ and I’ve been missing the feel of his body against mine.  If asked, Angus would claim he wasn’t gay but then again, neither am I.

I walked over to the samovar to get some more tea, reckoning on a few more minutes of work before I went to bed.  Sipping at the hot brew, I looked out to the rest of the garden, bits of snow dusting the bushes which surrounded the ancestral estate.  Remodelling of the mansion was nearly over and our entire clan of reprobates had settled throughout it.  We were related by deeds and blood, having saved one another’s lives more times than we cared to remember and in ways 007 wouldn’t have dreamed of.  But that’s another story . . .

I started back to my seat when I felt a rustling behind me.  I turned around and Mr Handsome appeared like someone teleporting from Blake’s 7 Liberator.  More likely he flew our jumbo, private jet.  “Oi!  You’re home early!”  Ah, finally a legitimate excuse to stop working.  And what an excuse Angus was.  He still looked like a model off the cover of an Arthurian romance novel - long-hair, beard, and all.  Whereas he is buff, I’m slight and tight, like Bruce Lee’s brother from another mother.  We both have random Oriental and Welsh tattoos all over our bodies, only I have a tree of life brand that lights up when I get emotional.  Luckily I was no longer in puberty where burning a hole in my shirt was embarrassingly commonplace.  “Things must have gone well, eh?”

“Right,” he said in a low growl.  He came into the light.  I noted how his suit was wrinkled and his hair was untied.  “I’ve crossed three datelines to get to you.”  He looked a bit wild, his grey-green eyes were dark, glaring at me with a smouldering intensity.  He placed his suitcase on a nearby chair unceremoniously and walked to the middle of the room, hands behind his back.  “Come here.”  I looked at him incredulously.  “Now.”

Romancing my Bone

Please enjoy this little ditty/writing exercise employed as a way to lift this writer's block.  It takes place well-after The Roswell Discrepancy: a human romance in three parts (to explore this story click on the link to Amazon Books to the right and down from this post) and Project Iceworm: a human marriage in three parts (due for publication at the end of this year - sorry it is taking longer than I would have liked but unfortunately, I don't have a trust fund and the New York Times has yet to discover my masterpieces).  Leave a comment with your thoughts. 

Yum, Yum

Toni just LOVES when I do this.

But then again, so does Angus.

Music in the Key of My Life

Besides being a classic movie fan, I love music, especially lyrics.  If the words match my feelings, what’s going on in my life, I’ll entertain the most vulgar pop song.  You may note that when you Click Here to visit my Spotify music page.  What does a sexy Rabbi listen to?  Come visit my world.  Then explore my website.

A new story from Angus's Diary

Str8 Boy's Curiosity

March 27^th

Diary, you are a gift from my sister-in-law, Ciara.  I’ve never kept a diary however I am told that all the Earls do so.  I apologize for starting so late.  A lot is going on.

My name is Angus Reese.  I am Welsh, the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, a proud house, loyal subjects to the Crown since the late 1600s.  I am about to turn 30 which, along with my charm and good looks, as well, of course, as my money makes me one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe.  But, I’m about to marry a childhood friend.  And that childhood friend is male.

But, . . . when we reconnected, after our father’s deaths, I found spending time with him refreshing.  Business, at the level I play the game, is brutal – not the best atmosphere to nurture any sort of intimacy.  But with him, I could be myself – indulge in my silly, rather embarrassing eccentricities (there’s this addiction to fresh pretzels and obsession with exercise, for starters) and he didn’t blink, just smiled at me fondly.  And he listened, actually listened to my stupid complaints about a recently hired accountant and irritating hiccups in some 8-figure euro deal.  He was different too – not that scared boy, four years younger than me with a beast for a father.  I still want to protect him but in a different way.  I don’t know how I landed here.  It’s not like I’d been fucking blokes all along.  And I still like girls (as does he, by the way).  And the sex was weird, good but weird at first. 

He looks like Bruce Lee’s younger, angry brother – in other words, his countenance redefines “resting bitch face”.  While I was finishing Eton and he was back in Cardiff, I heard rumours that he was sexually assaulted by the junior rabbi of his congregation.  He calls the time afterwards ‘the wandering years’, much of which he says he doesn’t remember.  Because of it, he doesn’t drink now but likes smoking weed with me.  Therapy helped eventually too.  He’s still highly intense, like Socrates on steroids, and brutally honest, like your mum after a few.  But he smiles some now and even laughs now and then.  I’d love him even if he never smiled but I absolutely love it when I can make him laugh . . . or moan.

As they always say, ‘it started off innocently enough’.  If I am completely honest – I was just a bit curious.  I wondered if it was any different, snogging a man over a woman.  He said that’s sexist and heteronormative – whatever that means.  I think I met him halfway, at least a quarter way.  At that first kiss, I was doing all the receiving.  His lips were surprisingly full.  They stoked tiny sparks against my mouth, like a Roman candle at the village carnival.   I felt welcomed, invited in as if something magical was happening and I was at the centre of it.  When I kissed him again, a few hours later, I was a full participant.  It was like having a conversation with someone’s soul.  His cloak of invulnerability tossed aside, finding himself emotionally naked, he tried to push me off but I stood my ground.  Maybe I was standing up for our relationship (although I later abandon us twice).  He made me feel genuinely needed for something more than my title or my money.  And I’m one of those blokes who want, no I need to be needed – it’s just woven into my genetic material.  So, does that mean I’ve been wasting my time all these years with all these Sally’s I’ve fucked, and I was gay all along?

His tongue in my mouth got my dick’s attention but I tried to keep calm until well-after we made it to his bedroom.  We were at his sister’s cottage on my family’s estate.  The huge bay window off a winding creek let moonlight and bright stars bath the room in a soft bluish light.  Surround sound let Miles Davis and Mozart lent an air of sophistication to this passion play.  And weed gave me the courage to get in a bed naked, hard as a steel rod, with a man.   We kneeled in front of one another on the queen size bed, barely able to stop grinning and our eyes glued to our white-knuckle hands clinching at our knees.  I gave up and gave in – let out a FUCK before leaning forward.  His lips waited for me – he was thinking twice about what we were about to do, he later told me.   But I was going to feel those sparks again.  As I got close, his lips parted his tongue came forward against his teeth.  When our mouths touched and he brushed his tongue against mine, I learned the extent to which he wanted me.

When he took his lips away from mine, I shivered.  We got under the covers.  He encouraged me to take another hit off the vape pipe.  He was grooming me, prepping my body for his next onslaught.  He began kissing my cheek, pausing to smell my beard’s sandalwood conditioner (he later told me that the scent turns him on – I’ll never buy anything else) as he nudged his way to my neck and shoulder.  “Dyn hyfryd, a wnewch chi fy ngadael i mi os gwelwch yn dda? Dyn hyfryd, a wnewch chi adael i mi gyffwrdd â'ch calon? (Handsome man, will you let me please you?  Will you let me touch your heart?)” he murmured against the hungry goosebumps on my shoulder.  He wrapped his left leg around mine, his dick buried into my butt cheek.  The tension in his leg led me to believe he was trying to contain himself. 

I could have kissed all night but my dick was jealous and kept bothering my brain with questions like, can you imagine those lips on my head?  I wasn’t sure of the protocol; how do you ask a bloke to suck you off?  Luckily, this dude has some sort of psychic powers and a Druidic brand on his back to match that looked remarkably like a tree of life from the garden.  It’s complicated.  Let’s just say he read my mind.  And my cock was right.  He managed my big boy like a thoracic massage therapist – as if Linda Loveless had a much younger brother!  I’m an amateur linguist but that man’s mouth was speaking a language I’d never heard before.  I felt so powerful, so masculine but I think he later said that was pejorative as well.

Then he put his finger in my ass.  He was rather matter-of-fact about it.  Frankly, I have no idea how he got the digit so wet.  It didn’t hurt for too long and his tongue’s rhythmic circles about my head felt like warm chocolate over ice cream.  At first, he just held the finger there, let my walls get accustomed.  He said something about “showing how the ass is a different kinda cum.”   The idea was scary enticing.  So I relaxed my hole (Wasn’t it already relaxed, kinda?), as he instructed, and let him move that little finger around and around, in and out slightly, then deep with a slight vibration.  He was right; it was different . . . very, very different.

I lay there gobsmacked, with my eyes still stuck in the back of my head.  After my breathing settled, I was able to unglue one eyeball and saw him sitting up on his elbows looking at me eagerly just over my now semi-hard dick.  He sat up a bit higher to lick the sperm I squirted as a result of the ass stimulation.  When he was done, he smiled at his work then sat on his bum and looked at me like a dutiful servant.  It bothered me as if something was expected but I didn’t know what that duty was.  He misinterpreted my look and said that “You didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to” as if my look translated to some type of buyer’s regret.  But that was just it – I wanted more and didn’t know what that was or what it meant.  He was frozen in fear and longing while I stared back with a big question mark over my head - was there some gay roadmap I missed during the sex ed class at school?  I think those psychic powers corrected his original assumption because he suddenly smiled at me and said something about it being okay and “it’s late anyway; let’s just get some rest.”  But he did have an ask behind that.  He asked to lay his head on my chest “for just a little while”. 

   I didn’t hear that request the way others would have.  He didn’t know then, even with his psychic talents, that I had spent 5 years in my early 20s in training with a dominatrix, one of the best in the BDSM universe.  Unfortunately, once I was ready to branch out on my own, my thinking spoiled by the sexual bubble I came from, I found out very quickly that the same madness that plagues the vanilla world exists in spades inside the world of the sexually flexible.   I knew that I had been bored with the partners I’d been with however until the moment he bashfully asked me that I didn’t realize just how lonely I had been feeling.  Could he be the sub I’ve been looking for?  I wanted, no . . . needed to settle down but I wanted it to be with someone who shared my predilections and wanted to grow together in them.   I moved over from the centre of the bed to make room for him. 

He laid his head initially just below my chin and hesitated before nuzzling farther down on my chest, just above my left nipple.  That’s when he let out such a sigh dripping with contentment.  Initially, I had my hands atop of my head but his actions left me with another decision – should I put my arm around him?  That’s the complimentary response when a lover laid on you, isn’t it?  I’d done this many times before with women I’d slept with – it felt almost obligatory.  I didn’t mean anything by it then but this would be making a statement.  Likely noticing my reticence, he asked if I regretted what happened.  I said no and that was the truth.  But it was also true that I was drowning in the implications of what just happened.  And it was also true that I was so excited, sexually curious, full of wonder about the possibilities that the room for regret was shrinking by the moment.  I took a leap of faith and put my arm around him and said something about “let’s see what happens” – I’d decided to lean into this like a project in a business deal.  And I am known for taking advantage of opportunities that others were blind to.  It was how I turned millions to billions. 

And it so happens, this has been the best business decision I ever made.