Serenading Stanley (28 page)

“Christ,” Stanley said. “It looks like the Looney Tunes version of the Sistine Chapel.”

“Yeah.” Roger grinned and nuzzled Stanley’s neck. “I like it too.”

Then all three of them jumped straight up into the air when a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the air shaft over their heads.

C
HI
C
HI
was the first to regain his composure. He yawned, shaking the dust bunnies off his shirt, which he had retrieved from beneath a table where he’d flung it earlier. “Looks like Ramon is hard at work,” he commented wryly.

“What the hell is he doing?” Roger asked, staring up at the ceiling with a look of horror on his face. “Slaughtering elephants?”

ChiChi chuckled. “Worse. He’s waxing Arthur.”

Roger considered that for a moment, then asked, “What part of Arthur?”

“All of him.”

Another scream tore down the air shift and sent the nape hair tap-dancing across three necks.

Stanley gritted his teeth. “That’s the most horrible caterwauling I’ve ever heard in my life. What’s Arthur being such a baby about?”

ChiChi cocked an eyebrow and waggled it in Stanley’s face. “Ever been waxed?”

“N-no.”

“Then don’t poke fun at what you don’t know anything about it. Being waxed is like giving birth. Hurts like a motherfucker. Do you think a man could survive the pain of childbirth? Hell no. Only women are strong enough to tolerate that shit. Ever see a man even
try
to give birth? Hell no again.”

Stanley was about to point out the incongruity of that statement when another scream tore through the apartment building. This time it rattled windows and shook the air duct like someone had rolled a bowling ball through it. Stanley imagined the hawks outside his kitchen window squawking in terror and heading for another tree in a quieter neighborhood to set up housekeeping a little farther from the noisy fucking humans.

Roger tossed Stanley his shirt and took his arm. “Let’s go see what’s happening. ChiChi, where are they?”

“My apartment, right next door to Stanley’s.”

Before leaving, they took one final look around at the newly decorated basement with its two fat Christmas trees, swagging green crepe paper, and circling, floating cherubs with plastic rings poking out of their backs. Only when they were sure everything was as it should be did they switch off the lights. Stanley wasn’t dumb enough to head home without his electric fans, so before they locked the door behind them, he grabbed one and Roger grabbed the other.

On their way up the stairs, they ran across ten or twelve people who were peeking out into the stairwell, wondering who the hell was being murdered. One idiot asked, “Are we at war with Mexico?” Stanley hurried past, ignoring the nitwit, drenched in sweat, lugging his bigass fan, and picking tinsel out of his leg hair. He was also eyeing Roger’s ass as Roger climbed the stairs in front of him. Less than chaste thoughts were running through his head.
Far
less than chaste. Even the heat and the stairs and the fact that Arthur was still screaming his head off and it was reverberating through the entire building wasn’t enough to allay Stanley’s hunger for a taste of Roger’s swinging ass.

Poor Roger. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. Then he caught Roger sneaking a peek back in Stanley’s direction with a sexy little smile on his face, and Stanley thought,
Well, what do you know? Maybe he does
.

As they approached the landing on six, another horrendous scream set Stanley’s teeth on edge. Jesus God, how much longer was that noise going to continue?

Roger and Stanley left the fans standing by Stanley’s door and followed ChiChi into his apartment. The minute they stepped inside, another scream ricocheted through the air, this one at a considerably higher pitch than all the others. That was because it came from Ramon.

“What the hell are you pinching me for? That hurt!”

Arthur responded in an angry hiss. “That’s because you’re killing me!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Little fruit!”

“Big fruit! Big
waxed
fruit!”

And they both smoldered to silence, each staring daggers at the other.

Arthur was lying flat on his back in ChiChi’s bed wearing nothing but a thong. And not a very big thong either. At first glance, since the thong was pretty much buried in Arthur’s lush pelt of dark curly body hair and a few folds of fat, Stanley thought the man was naked. Thank God
that
first impression turned out to be wrong.

Another first impression turned out to be right on the money, however. Arthur’s thick coating of body carpeting was only present on about 80 percent of his body. One arm, one shin, and a patch about the size of a hubcap in the middle of his stomach were pristinely hairless and bright red.

Scattered around in various and sundry places on the man were strips of fabric, each and every one glued to Arthur’s skin with a slathering of hot wax which Ramon was scooping out of a metal contraption sitting on the nightstand. Even now he was smearing hot wax over Arthur’s left tit.

As soon as Ramon had another strip of fabric glued to said tit, he reached down and yanked a strip from Arthur’s thigh.

Arthur arched his back in pain and screamed like a fire alarm. “Holy Jesus Mother of God, you nelly-ass son of a bitch! Give me some warning next time!”

“Okay,” Ramon sneered and tore off a strip from Arthur’s left arm. Again without warning.

Arthur bellowed like a bull; then he turned to see Roger, Stanley, and ChiChi gawking at him from the bedroom doorway.

And gawking truly was what they were doing.

Arthur panted out a cry of relief. “Thank God! Rescuers! Shoot this fucker, will you?”

Ramon slapped Arthur’s forehead and pushed him back down onto the bed. If part of Ramon’s hairdressing training centered around customer service and stylist/client trust issues, Ramon must not have started that class yet.

“Pussy,” Ramon spat.

“Torturer,” Arthur spat right back.

Apparently, Ramon’s patience was worn paper-thin. “You know, Arthur, you’re the worst drag I’ve ever seen. You make Klinger look delicate.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, all the while rubbing his newly denuded left arm. “And you’re the nelliest, prissiest, swishiest
twit
I’ve ever seen in my frigging life. You make Richard Simmons look
butch!”

Ramon didn’t seem to appreciate that. He took a firm grasp on the strip of gauze covering Arthur’s left tit. “This should be cool enough now,” he said, and grinning maliciously as Arthur’s eyes popped open wide, he yanked the fabric away with a chuckle. He looked like a man who enjoyed his work.

Arthur’s scream made Stanley hold his hands over his ears and bury his face in Roger’s chest. Holy shit, what a racket!

“My nipple!” Arthur roared. “You tore off my nipple!”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ramon turned to the three standing in the bedroom door then. He gave a friendly finger waggle of greeting to ChiChi and smiled happily at Roger and Stanley.

“Hi, boys.” Ramon grinned with a vicious twinkle in his eye. “I’m having fun. How about you? Hope we didn’t disturb you. Arthur’s a little noisy.
Ay, Dios
. It’s like waxing a llama. I’ve already used a quart of wax and enough fabric to reupholster a yacht, and we haven’t even got to the man’s back yet.”

Arthur lifted his head and looked at them. “Strapless gown. If I survive, it should be lovely.”

Stanley tugged at the back of Roger’s shirt. “Well, we’ll just leave you to it, then.” And he and Roger backed out of the room just as Ramon tore away another strip of gauze, and Arthur let loose with a string of profanity that rattled the windows.

“Oh, hush.” Ramon simpered and did it again.

This time Arthur didn’t scream so much as he wailed. In pain and terror. “No! Wait! Wait! I’m not ready!”

So Ramon did it
again
, this time to the gut-wrenching sound of a grown man weeping like a toddler who’s just had his teddy bear ripped out of his hands and stuffed down a garbage disposal in front of his very eyes.

Stanley dragged Roger out of ChiChi’s apartment as quickly as he could and hauled him down to his own front door. He pushed him inside, hoping to get away from the noise before he had a seizure. Arthur’s agony was giving him the heebie-jeebies.

Roger must have agreed with him. Neither could get through the door fast enough.

As soon as they were securely locked inside, and the world was locked out, Roger pulled Stanley into his arms and squeezed him tight.

Stanley smiled, burying his face in Roger’s broad chest.

Home at last.

T
HEY
showered together and lovingly toweled each other dry, periodically cringing at the sounds of mayhem drifting through the kitchen wall.

Roger tugged on a pair of boxer shorts and parked himself on the sofa in front of a fan to cool off. Stanley, still naked, busied himself in the kitchen pouring sodas over ice.

He came to Roger and knelt at his feet, handing him a glass and dropping a pile of paper napkins on the coffee table. They sipped at their sodas, and as they tried to relax, each eyed the other sweetly. Stanley could see such love in Roger’s eyes, he had to set his glass aside just so he could lay both hands on him. He rested his chin on Roger’s bare knee and gazed up at Roger’s handsome face as he stroked the hair on those gorgeous long legs. From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the fabric of Roger’s boxers being stretched out of whack by a rising hard-on.

Stanley smiled and rested his hand on the bulge. “Take these off,” he said, his voice already deepening with lust.

Roger lifted his hips and let Stanley do the honors. As Stanley slid the boxers down, Roger’s cock sprang out like a striking rattlesnake, only a whole lot friendlier. Delighted by what he’d found, Stanley tossed the boxers over his shoulder. They would find them three weeks later behind the TV.

“Holy shit, that looks yummy.” Stanley smiled, eyeing Roger’s cock.

Roger grinned. “Your glasses are steaming up.”

“Small wonder,” Stanley said, as he plucked them off and stashed them out of the way.

Just then another scream erupted from next door, and Stanley grabbed a couple of napkins off the table and stuffed them in his ears.

So with tufts of napkins protruding from his ears, Stanley, still on the floor between Roger’s knees, scooted up to press his lips to Roger’s balls. Roger groaned and opened his legs a little wider to make room for Stanley’s face and the napkins poking off either side of it. Stanley pulled a tube of lube from where he’d been hiding it and squirted some onto his hand. He gently slathered the lube on his anus and inserted a finger. Closing his eyes at the sensation, he leaned forward and took Roger’s cock into his mouth.

Roger moaned as his hips arched again to meet the gentle teasing of Stanley’s lips on his glans. “That feels great,” Roger muttered. “But baby wants more, I think.”

Stanley lifted his head and mumbled around Roger's cock.  “What?  What did you say?”

Roger laughed and plucked the napkins from Stanley's ears.  “I said baby wants more.”

Still relishing the taste of that heavenly cock, Stanley simply nodded and went back to work, enjoying the sight of Roger’s lips parting in concentration as he sat there enjoying the hell out of what Stanley was doing to him. Roger bit at his lower lip, watching every movement as his cock slid in and out of that hungry, hot mouth. He was watching Stanley’s hand doing wonderful things to Stanley’s ass as well, and enjoying the hell out of that, too.

Stanley freed his finger from his anus, plucked a handful of napkins from the table, and wiped the lube away. Only then did Stanley present the second secret item he’d been hiding beside him as he perched on the floor between Roger’s legs. A condom.

Roger was trembling now with the sweet urging pressure of Stanley’s mouth around his cock. He reached out to stroke Stanley’s cheek, but Stanley released Roger’s cock then, sliding his mouth down the underside of Roger’s shaft and pressing his lips once again to Roger’s scrotum. As he lapped at Roger’s fat balls—Roger was gasping and twitching because it felt so goddamn good, not to mention tickled—Stanley tore open the wrapper, extracted the condom, and centering it over the tip of Roger’s pulsing cock, unrolled it down the long shaft, all nice and snug and tight.

When Roger lifted his hips again to chase the sensation of everything Stanley was doing to him, Stanley stood, naked and hard, and straddled Roger where he sat on the couch.

Roger’s eyes lit up as he reached out to stroke Stanley’s chest, Stanley’s golden legs. He cupped Stanley’s heavy balls and smiled. “Little Mouse isn’t shy anymore.”

Stanley’s voice was a rasp of desire. “Not with you,” he said, and positioning himself properly, he reached down to guide Roger’s stiff cock to where he wanted it to go. As soon as Roger’s cockhead was pressing at his hole, begging to be let in, Stanley closed his eyes and relaxed completely. Without hesitation, he lowered himself all the way down onto that iron cock until he was pierced to his very core.