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Further Phoenix
at Rio's Attic:

Mike Waters

Scott Favor
Rio's Attic: Celebrating the Life and Times of a Dearly Missed River Phoenix

  God Damn a Potato E.C. Kasalivich  

        Scott made love with his hands and his mouth, and the moment came quickly for Mike. To hold off the climax for as long as he could, Mike used the old tried and tested mind-trick he employed with clients. He imagined a house, floating up in the sky held aloft by the power of his thought. He concentrated on keeping it airborne, diverted all his will power until pleasure surged past all control and burst out from his loins into every part of his body. The house came crashing to earth and shattered into a million fragments, one piece for each of Mike's bared and fire-scorched nerve-endings.
        And that was just the beginning. Scott led a to and fro of lovemaking covering all the bases of frenetic, tender, inventive and vigorous. The giving and taking, the holding and the stroking; they made a path of pleasure piercing deep into the night.
        After, the chill set in and they pulled the blankets close about them. Scott lit a cigarette, took a long, deep drag and passed it to Mike.
        'Thanks, Scottie. I know you don't want to hear it man, but I love you.'
        'Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. I knew in the end you'd grow wings,' sighed Scott, not unkindly.
        'I've always had 'em Scott.'
        'So, you get your buck and enjoy your work into the bargain, eh?'
        'I hate my work!'
        Another coyote - or the same one - yowled to the moon, and at the same instant the drums stopped. Suddenly it felt very chilly. Scott threw the blankets off and sat up grabbing his shirt. Mike shivered from the cold and from the beauty of Scott's body.
        'Don't get dressed yet.'
        'I have to, or I'll freeze my butt off.'
        'No. There's more blankets - and I'll feed the fire!' said Mike, the blanket slipping off as he rose to get brushwood. Scott watched as Mike's naked form darted about, arms enfolding his chest against the chill. He soon had the fire revitalized - sending up quite a flame.
        ' "Red man make small fire; keep warm. White man make big fire; keep warm running around for wood".'
        Mike chuckled. 'Where d'you get that from Scotty?'
        'Heard it some place, I guess,' said Scott rearranging the blankets. Mike placed a few sticks deep into the flames. 'Come on, Mike,' said Scott, blankets around his shoulders and holding one arm out for Mike to join him. Mike smiled like a kid being offered a candy bar, trusting and kind of shy; it pulled a little at Scott's heart. He scurried into the hollow Scott made for him and a spasm of joy went through him as Scott's arm folded around him. They sat, facing the fire. He felt better than he ever had before. To him, the sex and the physical closeness represented total acceptance of all he was.
        'So, you hate your work, and you have wings? Whereas I like my work and don't have wings.'
        'You're calling me a fairy, Scott. Cut it out. I ain't no limp wristed, hip-wiggling faggot. I'm just a guy.'
        'Who likes doing it with other guys.'
        'Whatever I have to do for sex, I'm still just a guy. Can't blame me for how my Goddamned dick works. I didn't get in the queue and ask for one that stood up for other guys.'
        'But it helps. In our line of work, I mean.'
        Mike shivered a little and let his head fall on Scott's shoulder.
        'So Mikey, who-ain't-no-fairy-but-likes-boys, what do you think of - when you're working?'
        Mike breathed deeply before answering in a whisper. 'You Scotty. I mostly think of you.' Scott caught his breath, then let it out, slow and easy. He felt a little twinge of something: guilt? Pity? Mike was an okay guy. Not too bright, but attentive and loyal; sometimes a little goofy; off the wall when he'd had a few beers or a snort. Scott kept Mike around, like a pet dog; wore him like a favored jacket. Loved him even, but not the kind of love Mike was speaking about. For the first time, Scott put himself in Mike's shoes. Mike loved him, and soon Mike would have to do without him. The empathy vanished quickly, but prompted him to another love session - call it payment for loyalties rendered - then he could sleep sound when he was next in bed alone. He ruffled Mike's hair, ran the backs of his fingers down Mike's forehead, let his fingertips brush down his neck.
        'You got any vinegar left in you, 'cause I'm about ready again!' Scott's fingers brushed down Mike's chest, lightly skimmed over his stomach and moved on down through the hair until his hand cupped Mike's equipment, kneading gently. Mike took his hand and moved it back up to his stomach.
        'Just hold me Scotty. Through 'til morning. Just hold me.' He stared into the fire, the flames drawing his mind in as he felt Scott's embrace tighten.

 
 
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