volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

Mel chews on his olive.
“’eef Strawganov.”
He sets down his martini glass, empty now except for a naked
toothpick stuck to its sloping sides, and swallows.
“And it was delish.”
He crosses to Roy who stands counting out his bag’s contents
at the drainboard, and puts his arms around him in a bear hug
from behind.
“My big, strong Holly Golightly.”
Roy freezes as Mel briefly twiddles his nipples. He closes his
eyes and hopes for it to end soon.
Be cool, Roy.
Roy is afraid of what might happen if he turned and shoved
Mel away.
For one thing, he would probably lose his kitchen privileges.
He might even be banned from the house forever. Or, he might
hurt Roy. His brother would, that’s for sure. After all, his
brother and Mel are housemates. They’d probably gang up on
him.
Roy would be outnumbered.
Mel presses his lips close to Roy’s right ear and whispers,
“I’ll be upstairs—waiting.”
Then he makes that cat purring sound like Bob Hope used to
make while his right hand slides down Roy’s shirtfront, over his
belly’s bulge, and into the woods of his crotch.
He gives Roy’s cock a squeeze.
Roy’s eyes are screwed tightly together. If it could be said he
stands any stiller, then even stiller does he stand.
Mel—not really a bad sort, just gay and aslosh with
martinis—laughs and laughs before releasing Roy’s penis.
(Roy can breathe again. Roy’s blood can flow again.)
Mel pauses at the kitchen door.
“Now, don’t forget about Thanksgiving, Roy. I expect to see
you here.”
Then he pushes through the door and is gone.
Roy unscrews his eyes.
As if nothing happened, he continues to sort through the bag’s
contents.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY