orangetoughguy | log post II

[Hands in his pockets he gladly accepts the role as father figure of some sort. Brown eyes crinkle at the edges as he watches those flappy hands turn over the new guitar. It is a fucking good prize.

Will the pitcher be scoring later tonight? Larry doesn't doubt.]

I may not be ready to play it. You can hold onto it for now. How about that?

[And he'll have to carry it. Small price to pay.]

Well okay, cause you said so.

[Freddy concedes, seeing right through that knowing Larry probably didn't think he'd be fooled for a second anyway. It's a matter of wit and charm, two things Lawrence Dimick has in spades. With a cheap black strap that came with the guitar in place the kid's got the thing hanging across his back. He gives a casual wave of thanks to the other kid then steps away from the table to re-enter their own world of two's company.]

Man you know I haven't held a guitar in years, since college.

[That's like seven years man.]

Say, I got it. You can teach me a thing or two.

[If he wants to. Really it could be more public relation banter. All good natured, possibly fatherly at that Larry wouldn't mind knowing the basics.

Away they go along the boardwalk. He keeps an eye open for anymore treasures that would warrant another stop. There are a lot of amusing colorful characters--real and stuffed.]

Oh yeah? Fall out of it?

I'm not that good. [Freddy shakes his head but he's wearing a smile too. No shame in his lack of quality as a musician.] I'm not even basically good.

[He's still smiling but when Larry asks if he fell out of it the kid kind of looks away. Just studying the boardwalk, scouting for more potentials, nothing more. Except Freddy's already kind of forgotten that mission because of the batar.]

Yeah, I fell out of it. I wasn't real dedicated to music or anything so it was alright. I pawned my last one. [His only one.]

Better than me. So that's gotta be something.

[Lawrence Dimick is comfortable enough to admit shit like this. Now he wants to see what the kid knows. Already there's potential for even more rock n' roll fantasy material. Did they have a band? Did he write any of his own songs or jam to his favorites?

Pawning. Meaning he had a need for the cash in his hand.]

Hard time.

[This gives the Batman guitar far more meaning.]

Was it a bass guitar?

Well they keep Neil Peart on drums for a reason.

[Freddy jokes because Neil Peart "...is the greatest fucking drummer on the fucking planet!" He doesn't doubt when Larry was beating on those skins he was somewhere close or beyond decent. Maybe that's just the kid's rock and roll fantasy speaking.]

Yeah. It was tough but I had to do it. [Another casual shrug like it's no sore spot in his past. Some people gave up their dreams by putting an instrument up for money. Not Freddy Newendyke. At least it wasn't that bad, he tells himself.] Do you still think about havin' a drumset?

[If Larry thinks he knows what Freddy is thinking with that question he's probably right.]

True. I don't wanna muscle on your territory or nothin'. [He walks close enough to bump him.]

We all gotta do shit like that now and then. [They don't need to talk about it now. Not when they're having such a good time. It's not Freddy's hammer of old but this is a worthy ax, worthy of the Batman insignia.]

To tell you the truth I haven't thought about playing the drums in a long, long time. The sets I played weren't mine. It sure would be nice to get one of my own sometime.

[Oh yeah. He is picking up on that. A drum and a guitar, they have duos like that. Though it helps to have a lead guitar. A guest lead guitar. Oops. That was what they were looking for. Ah well. Not like they're wasting a wonderful day.

Larry pulls his hands out of his pockets with his pack of cigarettes.]

Would you wanna own a guitar again?

[He meets that bump steadfast and strong, perhaps even creating a little recoil because as they say, the smaller pistol packs the biggest kind of punch.]

I'm not torn up about the guitar. [He shakes his head, wearing a smile again because he likes that Larry cares to comfort, cares to keep that good under the boardwalk vibe going, down by the sea. It's really not about the guitar anyway.] So you want something to bang around home?

[Another smile, this one a little more mischievous than the last. He's still considering it though, even if drums aren't a serious pursuit. If they can afford to have them then why not? Why not if it makes Larry happy.] I don't know, maybe.

[Bump for bump for bump that's how these fellas roll.]

Not when you got that one. [He's kidding. It's not a true musician's instrument.] I think you'll find use of it.

[As for banging? Larry grins wide.]

You mean something else to bang around home.

[We all know what his favorite piece to play with is.]

Maybe. Okay, tough guy.

Oh yeah I'm gonna mount this hardass motherfucker. [The kid says as he reaches back to grab the neck of the guitar like it's something else. Get ready for the punchline.] ...Right on my wall.

[Another laugh. Shit can't life be this good and this easy everyday? Where everything is beautiful, nothing hurts, and they can eat nachos?]

Uh huh. [God he's grinning wide.] Thanks, cowboy.

You could about anywhere.

[As long as it isn't right where those painted ladies are prowling on their walls. If we're talking about the guitars. Otherwise, well, Freddy can definitely mount and take it for a ride.

Everbody on the road and on the street, he feel's it in the air and it's all within his reach. It's is gonna be a great summer. Hell, it's great right now.]

You're welcome.

[Oh Freddy wouldn't dare move a lovely lady out of the way for his batar. It'll go on up in his room, eventually. Right now though it's leaning against the wall next to some of his Marvel figures and a happy face button bearing a drop of blood. The kid's room is flooded with night city lights but it's empty. The toucan is downstairs in his log nest, curtained and perfectly content to be sleeping. Good because really, right now, no one needs to hear these words echoing in Lawrence Dimick's room except for Lawrence Dimick himself.]

Fuck if I spoke--Spanish. [Groan. Huff.] I'd tell you to--I'd tell you to fuck me and leave bruises.

[Oh shit he's close, real fucking close. The kid's reedy, whining, and writhing on that cock, sweating sweet fucking bullets. And there it is, his load spilling over ahóra mísmo.] Ohhh fuck. Larry.

[He may as well be fucking dying again.]

[It's getting to the point where he doesn't even see those figures anymore. They're signs of a hound dog on the premises. These rooms see a lotta action from them. No others. Yet. The third party isn't necessary. Ol' brown eyes are on that writhing, sweat sleek body shaking apart. Seeing the kid in his room, on his sheets and pillow alone gets him like nothing else.]

Pity you [grunt huff puff] don't speak it.

[He's trying to stick it out this long. The hot load across his chest gets him. Big paws clench tightly at the kid's thighs working out absolutely everything out of the kid. Beneath them their bed proves to be holding up pretty well. It's not old but damn does it get a work out too. Wet, hot skin striking skin.]

Bueno, chico. Aye. [His grip may leave bruises just like he wanted.]

[Are there flowers on the premises too? There has to be because having learned Larry enjoys the things Freddy's also been keeping a couple plants alive for his benefit, which in turn is to his own benefit because making Larry happy keeps Freddy happy. Okay, maybe he likes some of those plants too. The Area 51 in his own room has seen better days but he's kept it trucking along. Eventually the kid will figure out keeping a succulent garden on his ledge kind of requires a succulent trough and some succulent soil.]

Shit. [He hisses, coming undone fairly quickly but also coming down from his orgasm too with a deep breath.] Well you're...tan fucking bueno...

[Head tilted back then forward again, he's searching for Larry's mouth to suck on his tongue, his lip, lick his teeth if he can.]

[Right they are. The blooms are holding up pretty well under the old man's care. Every petal is there because some young beast loves him. Physical reminders like flowers and Batman guitars don't hurt. All these different kinds of flowers are a sight for the eyes. Even better too that they make the air fragrant when it's not smelling like a good hard fuck. Just the way he likes it.]

Me gusta.

[More taco talk gets mashed into Freddy's mouth. Paws scratch up his back rubbing and grabbing now and then at his flesh just because he can. Hot breath huffs out of his flared nostrils. This is the life.]

Mmff.

[His mouth is too occupied to ask what that one means. A little more...a little more, and finally the kid needs some oxygen. He pulls his mouth away enough to gasp. Breathe, Newendyke, it would suck to pass out on his dick (on the other hand, saying you fucked until you blacked out is pretty supercool).]

Damn. I think I lost brain cells.

[Talk about romantic huh? There are gonna be light paw marks on him later. Oof, is it time for him to get off that cock? Oh wait he has. Hah.]

[Down below he's panting just as much. It's quite a work out to keep up. Not that he would ever say that's what it is about at all. Because it isn't okay, it's just not. The kid has stamina though by the pound. Larry wets his lips and is now focusing on rubbing up that body.]

You're welcome.

[That'd qualify as fucking his brains out. Hah! These paws can do good, they'll help ease Freddy up and off. No need to rush now.]

I don't think you're gonna get em back or find em. Wish them well. I don't think they were important ones.

[Cocky son of a bitch he is. And Freddy fucking loves it. Oof, a little hiss and groan gets him off Larry....for the second time, hah. But for the other remark the kid snorts.]

You're more of a muscle man huh? Not too much for the intellect?

[Flop. There's a dead weight resting next to you now, old man. He'd offer to clean up the mess he's made on Larry's chest but...mildly brain damaged and lazy. The kid's just no good to him now.]

Can't lie to you there. [Huff. He'll happily play the role of the pillow. The mess between them is warm, not uncomfortable. And not the stuff of urban legend acting as some sort of super glue. Staying put and being lazy are exactly what Larry wants about now. His heart rate is going back to normal still.]

Oh yeah. I like em beautiful and stupid.

[He pushes back Freddy's hair with a laugh and watches it flop back into place.]

Rare that brains and looks come together anyways.

[All in good fun, kid. After all, if he didn't think you were the cat's meow he wouldn't have used his hammer so frequently.]

Well I like'em brawny, all muscle down here. [He gestures over Larry's body then upward to Larry's head.] With the biggest muscle right here.

[He gives the old man's noggin a hard but painless poke. Tit for tat. And the appreciation is mutual too.]

Ha ha.

[Now that he's breathing easy there's more small pleasures to enjoy. Also the kid doesn't feel like he's weight him down.]

Glad you liked your guitar than.

[Though the wheels in his head are turning. It isn't a bass guitar after all. Don't those things need amps too? Most importantly, that guitar he pawned what was the story behind that? Would any bad feelings come right on up if he decided that the kid needed a new one?]

[Small pleasures like laying in the same spacious bed in their spacious apartment with fresh flowers fresh after a fuck? That's all pretty damn pleasurable to this kid too. He doesn't even feel the need for a cigarette. Yet.]

Your guitar that I'm gonna take good care of.

[Freddy clarifies with a look over at Larry. It's a tiny difference, really, but to some guys it's a big deal, and also an indication of how much that bass was truly Freddy Newendyke's bass guitar, c. 1979.]

[Small pleasures to experience every day that aren't fucking. Talking this close, being this close together.]

Uh huh. So that means whenever you get your own I'll take care of that one?

[Edging into the subject.]

Tell me about your other one. Was it electric?

Sure. You can hold it sometimes.

[He jokes because he'd let the old man rock out (with his cock out) whenever he'd like. Er, but what kind of follow up question is that? And he doesn't mean emotionally either, Freddy just wonders why Larry would think it wasn't electric because...well, because the kid doesn't consider himself to even harbor the aptitude for an acoustic instrument.]

Yeah it was electric, I got the bass and the amp for my birthday. It was kind of a birthday Christmas thing rolled in one.

[Because the shit wasn't cheap either.]

What a kind hearted soul!

[Big fingers pinch at Freddy's cheeks. Just a moment because he can. Also because any weirdness is nullified by the fact that they just fucked.

As far as the question goes...the old man doesn't know all that much about guitars.]

What color was it?

[Now he's trying to picture it, fresh out of the box and in those flappy young hands. Also a few pointers wouldn't hurt.]

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