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Related article: AC78
Absolute Convergence
Chapter Seventy-eight
By John Yager
This on-going series has now continued for almost
two years, far longer than I ever imagined possible. I appreciate the incredible
loyalty of readers who've stayed with me from the beginning and those newer
readers who contact me from time to time saying that they've discovered
the series and ventured through the collected chapters.
I'm always glad to receive comments, questions,
criticism and encouragement and hope to continue hearing from you. I try
to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it's only because
of the pressures of work.
Andrew continues to give much needed proofing and
editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful. I could not post chapters
as quickly as I've been doing without his invaluable assistance.
This work is copyright © by the author and
may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission
of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of
their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any
other site without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I've posted on NIFTY can be found
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like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of
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The low drone of the jet engines
was lulling me to sleep. Except for being a row or two further back, it
was pretty much as it had been on our flight from New York to London just
five days earlier.
I was again seated by the window
and Roger was to my right on the aisle. I was dozing, he was reading. Everything
might have appeared to be as it was on our flight to London but in that
short time my life had changed in ways I could only begin to comprehend.
"William must have worn you out,
sport," Roger said, looking up from his book and glancing over at me.
"The whole trip wore me out."
"Missing the kid?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you'd better get used to it."
"Thanks, Roger, for pointing that
out."
"Hey, I was just kidding. William
is a wonderful boy, Rob, and I hope you and he remain friends, but be realistic.
What are the chances of you and Peter Amsted's son ever really getting
together on more than an occasional basis?"
I wanted to tell him that I'd be
seeing William in a couple of weeks, but sensed, wisely, as it turned out,
that I should keep that bit of information to myself.
Instead of responding, I just looked
away from him, out the window at the void beyond.
Peter and William had driven us up
to the airport in the Jaguar and we'd taken a late afternoon flight from
Heathrow which would arrive at Kennedy at 9:00 pm local time. It was a
seven-and-a-half hour flight but the time change was in our favor. From
New York, I was scheduled for a midnight "Red Eye" to LAX. Roger was going
on to see friends in Connecticut before returning to Memphis the following
Sunday afternoon.
I guess I dozed a little more but
was woken by Roger slowly stroking my right thigh.
"Rob," he said softly. I woke in
a darkened plane and the low murmur of voices someplace back a few rows.
"Yeah?"
"You're sleeping through a great
opportunity."
"What?"
"Follow me back to the toilets and
I'll initiate you into the Mile High Club."
"You've got to be kidding."
"No, really, it works, despite the
size of those cubby holes. You stand up and I'll sit on the toilet seat
and suck your cock."
I turned and looked at him, having
difficulty believing Roger Bardwell, Dr. Roger Bardwell, noted professor,
writer, cultural historian, was seriously proposing oral sex in a transatlantic
jet.
"I think I'll pass, Roger," I finally
said, not knowing if he really meant it or was just pulling my leg.
"Your loss," he grinned. "You're
passing up a blowjob you'd never forget."
I turned back to the window and tried
to sleep.
In New York we went through customs
together, then said our good-byes. "I don't know when I'll be in LA," Roger
said, giving me a chaste hug.
"Well, I'll expect to see you when
you do come west."
With that, he turned and headed for
the exit and a taxi. I followed the signs for my flight to LA.
When I arrived at LAX at some ungodly
hour, Billy Bowlen was there to meet me.
"How did you know my Little Angels Cp Toplist flight?" I asked,
surprised to see him.
"I called Miss Ball."
"She knew?"
"No, but she called Mr. Cohen's office
and got back to me. She said to say hi and tell you to call her when you
got settled in."
"I'm really glad to see you."
"Me too," he said shyly.
"So what's the big news?" I asked
as we put my bags in the rear of the NSB van.
"Well, it looks like Nixon is going
to be reelected."
"That's not news," I laughed, "from
what I read, even in the British newspapers, it's a foregone conclusion."
"Well, I did want to tell you one
thing."
"Yeah?" I said, climbing into the
front passenger seat.
"I had a date. Well, I guess you'd
call it a date."
"Good for you, man," I said. "Should
I ask if it was with a guy or a gal?"
"A guy, of course," he said with
a surprised expression on his cute, clear face. He seemed truly shocked,
even embarrassed at the very thought that I'd ask such a question.
"Did it go well?"
"Yeah," he grinned. "We had dinner."
"Are you going to see him again?"
"I think so," he said, then added
with a quick sideways glance, "I want you to meet him, Rob."
"Sure, Billy, bring him around any
time but give me a day or two to get my feet back on the ground."
"So is it really true what they say
about jet lag?"
"I'll tell you in twenty-four hours,"
I laughed and then leaned back and dozed, leaving Billy to drive on in
silence through the dark city, navigating the almost empty freeways. Oh,
LA, I thought, you are certainly some crazy town!
When we got to Alvarado Little Angels Cp Toplist Court, Billy
helped me carry my bags up to the apartment.
"You probably need to get some sleep,"
he said. "I'll be back here at noon. We'll pick up your car."
"Billy," I said in true amazement,
"you really think of everything."
"I had it written down before you
left," he said, obviously pleased with himself, and bounded out the door.
I stood in the living room of my
apartment looking at it in a new light. I tried to see it as William would
see it. I tried to envision him there with me.
I loved that apartment but after
the spacious Tudor manor in Sussex, my digs did seem very small.
Within twenty minutes I was in bed.
I'd taken a short shower, needing to rinse the dust of travel and the smell
of airports from my body. Then, lying naked in bed, I stared at the ceiling
and realized I was suddenly and totally awake.
I thought jet lag was supposed to
make you groggy in the middle of the day, trying to remember what I'd read
in an airline booklet about international flights. I'd had no trouble adjusting
to the time difference when Roger and I arrived in London.
Finally it struck me that the problem
might not be the time difference at all. It was the first time in almost
a week, I realized, that I'd slept alone and my body and brain were not
adjusting well to my big, lonely bed.
I closed my eyes and went back in
my mind over each Little Angels Cp Toplist event of every day I'd been away. I'd made notes as Roger
had told me to do, but when I tried to read through them they sounded stale,
clinical, and impersonal. In fact, each day of our trip had been filled
with such an amazing array of detail that I knew I needed to try to write
more personal recollections quickly before the rich tapestry of new experiences
faded. Over the next few days, in the little free time I had, I managed
to make a good start.
Eventually I guess I did fall asleep.
At ten o'clock the phone woke me. I groggily reached for it and then became
wide awake when I heard William's voice.
"Good morning, love," he said, almost
purring.
"William!"
"You sound surprised."
"I am," I admitted. "I've never got
an international phone call before."
"Well, I guess you'd better get used
to them," he chuckled, then quickly added, "I have some news which I hope
may brighten your day."
"What?" I said, rearranging my pillows
so I could sit up in bed. I'd been sleeping on my stomach and looking down
at myself I realized that a network of rosy wrinkles ran across my chest
and stomach. I also realized that my cock was completely rigid, as if it
were demanding attention.
"I can be there on the first and
I can stay until the nineteenth."
"That's wonderful," I almost gasped.
"Sooner than you thought and for a longer time here."
"I did some skillful maneuvering.
Would you believe Peter is paying for the flight?"
"I thought you said you had money
of your own," I said, realizing I really didn't like Peter Amsted being
involved in our business.
As we continued to talk, my hand
moved over my stomach and found my cock. I slowly stroked it to the gentle
sound of William's voice, willing him there with me.
"I did. I mean, I do, but Peter needed
someone to take documents to Dex Cohen anyway and when I told him I was
planning to visit you, he offered to pay for my tickets."
"So he knows you'll be staying with
me?"
"Yes, he said I'd save him a few
pounds as anyone else he sent would need a hotel."
"Did he," I said, feeling somewhat
distrustful.
"It'll be fine, Robert," William
said soothingly. "I know Dad pretty well and he does respect other people's
privacy."
"Well, I'll take your word for it,
but we'll keep the doors locked at night anyway, just so he doesn't walk
in on us again."
"You always lock your doors in LA,"
William laughed. "Now, let me give you my flight information."
When we'd hung up, I brought myself
to a powerful and satisfying climax, thinking of the nights we'd have together.
William's surprise gave me only four
days to get ready for his visit, and that included a weekend. With Billy's
help I picked up my new car later that afternoon and went directly to the
NSB studios, promising Billy a ride up into the hills to test the beast
over the weekend.
I was fortunate to be able to see
both Peg Solanski and Martin Basingstoke, dropping in on then without an
appointment. They'd already had a long wire from Roger and Peter, which
had been sent while Roger and I were still in Surrey, so they knew the
gist of our discussions with Bell Corley.
Martin said he'd had a call from
Dexter Cohen telling him to go easy on me for the next few weeks.
"He said you needed a little space,"
Martin said, looking at me with one raised eyebrow. I assumed that meant
Cohen had had a call from Peter Amsted and knew William was coming to visit
me. I was curious about just how much Cohen knew.
"I'm embarrassed that he'd be interceding
for me," I stammered.
"Don't worry about it, Rob," Peg
broke in. "Until we get these agreements finished with Corley, things will
be on a slow track here anyway. Just get ready for your classes and try
to relax a little. Life Little Angels Cp Toplist will get really crazy in a month or so."
From their offices I went by to see
Nita Ball, but didn't find her and settled for leaving a voice message
on her phone.
Over the weekend, I shopped for canned
and frozen food, buying enough to see William and me through several days
if we chose to stay in, rather than going to busy, noisy, overpriced LA
restaurants.
On Sunday I went to church and while
having coffee after the service in the Parish Hall, was accosted by Thomas
Patterson. He worked his way through the crowd, moving like an aging lizard,
finally coming up to me and smiled a little wicked smile.
"Well, Young Robert," he wheezed,
"I hear the London trip was a resounding success."
"Yes, it went well," I said, not
wanting to be drawn into conversation.
"Not just well," he smiled as if
he knew all my secrets. "My sources tell me you are not only marrying into
money, but into considerable influence as well."
"What?" I said, my voice shaking.
I know I looked truly shocked. Damn the old queen, I thought.
"Peter Amsted's son? You couldn't
do much better than that."
How in hell could he have heard about
William and me so quickly?
"I think you're making too much of
it," I stammered, trying to back away from him.
"Well, time will tell," he sighed,
and, thankfully, turned and left me standing there in shock. I left soon
afterwards, anxious to get away before Patterson completely ruined my day.
Once home, I called Billy and confirmed
plans for our drive. I offered to pick him up at his house but he flatly
refused, insisting he'd drive his jeep to my place and we'd go on from
there. I didn't press it.
We spent two hours driving up along
the roads to Mount Wilson. I took it fairly easy, not wanting to overtax
the drive train until it was properly broken in but, even at low speeds,
both Billy and I were impressed. I offered to let him drive but he said
he'd wait until "the new was a little more worn off."
We didn't talk much, other than about
the car, and I felt as if Billy was delaying more personal conversation
until a later time. We got back to Alvarado Court at five o'clock and he
refused to come up, saying he'd told his mother he'd be home for dinner.
On Monday I was able to complete
my registration at USC, as well as purchase all the books I'd need for
classes.
When I got home that afternoon I
found a message from Nita, asking me to call.
"Hi, Sweetie," she purred when I
got through to her office. "May, in Mr. Cohen's office, called to say I
should be moving you to some larger digs."
"Really, what prompted that?"
"Oh, the boss just loves you, I guess,"
she laughed, but then went on without giving me a chance to respond. "Seriously,
she said you and Peter Beastly Amsted's kid had something cooking and he'd
probably be moving in. There's a three bedroom unit just down Little Angels Cp Toplist from the
one you're in. If you like it I'll get it fixed up so you two lovebirds
can play house."
I was silent for longer than was
wise. Silence gave Nita a chance to read into it whatever she wanted.
"What?" I finally stammered.
"If you like it, Cutie Pie, I'll
get it fixed up."
"What did May say about William?"
"William? Is that the dream boat's
name? With a father like his he should be named Beelzebub or something
equally satanic."
"William."
"Well, let's see . . . I think May
said you two were . . . cooking. Maybe she used a different verb, but as
I understand it, nuptial bells are ringing in the breeze."
"He's not like his father, Nita,"
I said, wondering how Nita knew Peter and just how much she really know
about him."
"I know he's not, Sweetie, or at
least I figured he must have avoided the curse if you like him."
"He's a wonderful guy."
"Well, bring him around. I'll probably
agree."
"You don't sound at all shocked that
I'm in love with another man."
"Man, woman, what's that got to do
with anything?"
"Nothing, I just expected you to
be down on guys getting it on with other guys."
"Lord help us Mr. Ballinger, I never
said that."
"So you don't object?"
"I object to anybody who keeps you
out of my bed, Sweetie, but girl or guy, it makes no difference to me.
I figure everyone's a swinger at heart."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone I've ever known. It's the
person we love, not which sex they claim."
"Does 'everybody' include you?"
"Oh, Robby, you do ask the most personal
questions. I think I'll plead the fifth and not answer that one."
"Well, in any case, you aren't opposed
to two guys or two girls falling in love."
"Oh, lord no. Take love where you
can find it, sweetheart, there really never is enough to go around."
"Thanks, Nita."
"You're welcome, Pumpkin, but now
tell me what you think about the bigger apartment?"
"Well, in a few days we'll take a
look, okay?"
"Take your time, it's not going anyplace."
Okay, Nita, thanks." Then it occurred
to me that she might think I'd come by her office the previous Friday to
ask about a larger apartment.
"Nita?" I quickly added.
"Yes, sweet cakes?"
"When I came by, it was just to say
hi."
"Whatever," she said with an edge
of laughter in her voice. "See ya," Nita added before she hung up.
I felt as if everyone knew more about
my love life than I knew, but at that moment I didn't really care. All
I could think about was that the next morning William was arriving.
To be continued.
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