Read Online 9781618857569GettingitAllStorm by Troy Storm - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Troy Storm
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dudes will talk about anything. Comin ' home !”
he hissed between gritted teeth, spreading his muscular legs wide and preparing
to finalize his winning moves.
The dude looked awesome! Matt
didn’t have to imagine himself lacking. But he could imagine himself back at
the gym being whipped into shape by the young man. He could imagine himself
back in bed…
…with his two girlfriends!
Or more!
A shot of white cream streaked
across the room. Then another. And
another. The masseur's powerful body shook. “Damn. That's a good one,”
he breathed. He switched hands, laying a shaky strong arm over his older
buddy's shoulder. “Give it your best, Matt. Then tell old Clay what your
problem is. Aren't two delicious ladies enough?”
Matt leaned against the young
man, sucking up his heat, his youthful energy. He stroked firmly, his fingers
drawing out his full potential.
“I guess not,” he gasped,
reaching his peak. His dick exploded, his body contracted violently and
released, propelling the thought along with the streaks of his re-energized
manseed across the room.
“I keep wondering why the hell
Dot hasn't called,” he yelled.
He lost the bet.
But he made a damn good showing.
* * * *
Dorothy
Ardmore had had a tough day at The Crowning Glory. It wasn’t her clients who
had given Dot a bad time. Not even the clients who sometimes could be demanding
when the latest hairstyle suddenly went viral and she wasn’t quite ready for
the cell phone close-ups. It wasn’t even her usually even-tempered boss,
Amelia, who was also known to get a bit testy when news of an impending new
grooming establishment starting making the rounds.
And
there had been rumors, Dorothy remembered, as she kicked off her heels in the
living room of her small apartment, picked them up, and continued to slide out
of her clothes as she headed for the bedroom. There was gonna be a new spa in
town! Hopping from one iWhatever to the Other . With hot tub, fancy mud baths. Everything! The emails
and texts had flown thick and fast with each new amenity getting more and more
glamorous as the day progressed.
But
the upshot turned out to be a single massage table that old man Brubaker had
let some kid who was working on his massage license talk him into putting in
the back room of his barbershop.
Sorry,
she grinned to herself. The Barber Shop. She had to
remember how important distinctions were in a small town. And if there was
anything CoveHaven was, it was a small town. The
Barber Shop had a history. History was important. Particularly if that was
about all that was left.
You’d
think, being less than three hours from the Center of the Known Universe, as
she liked to consider New York City, and having gone from a major industrial
center in the area during the late eighteen hundreds to barely more than a
bedroom community for the Big Apple—
with maybe a couple of Poughkeepsie outlanders thrown
in—the place would be a bit more sophisticated. Like Cold Spring or Beacon. At
least giving a shot at recognizing the twenty-first century had arrived.
She
sighed as she brushed out her slacks and carefully hung them to air out. Cold
Spring had its art galleries and antique stores. Beacon its museum. CoveHaven had The Crowning Glory and The Barber Shop. The C.G. and the B.S.
And
the backroom massage table, mustn’t forget that.
She
grinned to herself as she slipped out of her bra and panties, imagining some
muscle-bound kid from the local community college who, as soon as he could get
his license and enough money together, would fold that massage table and be out
of CoveHaven and headed for a real spa, somewhere in
the depths of New York County.
Of
course, there was the semi-scandal about the sex education classes and the
librarian and the local high school coach. That had been good for a few days.
But it had been handled so discreetly, that…
Except for Matt Bartholomew’s big speech in front of
the board of education.
Dorothy
looked
he hissed between gritted teeth, spreading his muscular legs wide and preparing
to finalize his winning moves.
The dude looked awesome! Matt
didn’t have to imagine himself lacking. But he could imagine himself back at
the gym being whipped into shape by the young man. He could imagine himself
back in bed…
…with his two girlfriends!
Or more!
A shot of white cream streaked
across the room. Then another. And
another. The masseur's powerful body shook. “Damn. That's a good one,”
he breathed. He switched hands, laying a shaky strong arm over his older
buddy's shoulder. “Give it your best, Matt. Then tell old Clay what your
problem is. Aren't two delicious ladies enough?”
Matt leaned against the young
man, sucking up his heat, his youthful energy. He stroked firmly, his fingers
drawing out his full potential.
“I guess not,” he gasped,
reaching his peak. His dick exploded, his body contracted violently and
released, propelling the thought along with the streaks of his re-energized
manseed across the room.
“I keep wondering why the hell
Dot hasn't called,” he yelled.
He lost the bet.
But he made a damn good showing.
* * * *
Dorothy
Ardmore had had a tough day at The Crowning Glory. It wasn’t her clients who
had given Dot a bad time. Not even the clients who sometimes could be demanding
when the latest hairstyle suddenly went viral and she wasn’t quite ready for
the cell phone close-ups. It wasn’t even her usually even-tempered boss,
Amelia, who was also known to get a bit testy when news of an impending new
grooming establishment starting making the rounds.
And
there had been rumors, Dorothy remembered, as she kicked off her heels in the
living room of her small apartment, picked them up, and continued to slide out
of her clothes as she headed for the bedroom. There was gonna be a new spa in
town! Hopping from one iWhatever to the Other . With hot tub, fancy mud baths. Everything! The emails
and texts had flown thick and fast with each new amenity getting more and more
glamorous as the day progressed.
But
the upshot turned out to be a single massage table that old man Brubaker had
let some kid who was working on his massage license talk him into putting in
the back room of his barbershop.
Sorry,
she grinned to herself. The Barber Shop. She had to
remember how important distinctions were in a small town. And if there was
anything CoveHaven was, it was a small town. The
Barber Shop had a history. History was important. Particularly if that was
about all that was left.
You’d
think, being less than three hours from the Center of the Known Universe, as
she liked to consider New York City, and having gone from a major industrial
center in the area during the late eighteen hundreds to barely more than a
bedroom community for the Big Apple—
with maybe a couple of Poughkeepsie outlanders thrown
in—the place would be a bit more sophisticated. Like Cold Spring or Beacon. At
least giving a shot at recognizing the twenty-first century had arrived.
She
sighed as she brushed out her slacks and carefully hung them to air out. Cold
Spring had its art galleries and antique stores. Beacon its museum. CoveHaven had The Crowning Glory and The Barber Shop. The C.G. and the B.S.
And
the backroom massage table, mustn’t forget that.
She
grinned to herself as she slipped out of her bra and panties, imagining some
muscle-bound kid from the local community college who, as soon as he could get
his license and enough money together, would fold that massage table and be out
of CoveHaven and headed for a real spa, somewhere in
the depths of New York County.
Of
course, there was the semi-scandal about the sex education classes and the
librarian and the local high school coach. That had been good for a few days.
But it had been handled so discreetly, that…
Except for Matt Bartholomew’s big speech in front of
the board of education.
Dorothy
looked
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