The Place--Chicago
The Time--1934
The Cast of Characters--(In Order of Appearance)
Christopher (Babyface) Kirkpatrick
"Fat Lou" Perlman
Juju (Mad Dog) Timberlake
JC (Twinkletoes) Chasez
Joey (Muscles) Fatone
Lance Bass, Cub Reporter
...and a Supporting Cast of---one. And they should give this guy the Oscar. The BASTARD!
* * * * * *
Babyface looked at Twinkletoes skeptically. "What, you gonna make me an offer I can't refuse?"
JC brightened. "Say, that's a neat way to phrase it. Can I borrow that?"
"Knock yourself out."
"But seriously, Babyface, what I want to offer you is--"
"More of the same old same old. Don't you think I've heard every promise there is? Save your breath, Twinkletoes--"
"NO! You don't understand. Let me finish--"
"Sorry, boss," Muscles panted. "The old guy wouldn't take no for an answer."
Behind him, Judge Foster was pushing and fussing, "I insist on speaking with Mr. Chasez, right now!"
JC stood, shooting a look of irritation at Fatone. "I thought I *told* you--"
"Mr. Chasez, I don't wish to seem ill-bred, but I think you have trespassed on my good nature long enough. Monopolizing my nephew like this--"
At JC's raised eyebrow, the judge scowled, and admitted, "Monopolizing my whore like this is hardly fair play. I don't intrude on your time."
Babyface jumped up from his chair, and walked over to his "uncle." He put an arm through his, and said, "That's okay, Uncle Snooks, I was just getting ready to go look for you."
"Were you." the judge repeated drily. "Well, then, I've saved you the trouble."
"Babyface! We're not through," JC said emphatically. "Wait--"
Judge Foster glared at JC, and stated, "For now, you *are* through, and I'll thank you not to interfere again tonight. As for you--" he looked strangely at Chris, and hustled him out of the room.
"Sorry about that, Judge," Chris was saying, a little surprised at the vise-like grip on his arm. He was even more surprised when Judge Foster stopped down the hall, and around the corner from where they had just left. "What? You wanna get some action *here*? Your Honor, may I remind you we're in a public place, anybody could just come up and see ya, and then it's bye-bye Career, if you know what I'm--"
Chris' little speech was effectively cut off, by the forceful addition of Foster's tongue to his own. "Um!" he gaped, caught by surprise. Foster held his head still, and renewed his attentions. Chris forced himself to hold still, trying to figure out where this uncharacteristic aggression was coming from. He didn't have long to wait for clarification.
"Is that what you gave Chasez?" Judge Foster panted. "Did he like it when you went down on him? Did he, you little slut?" Foster licked along his cheek, long lapping strokes in between questions. "Did he like my whore? MY whore, that I paid for? Were you laughing at me, behind my back?"
"No!" Chris said. "No, it wasn't like that. We're were talking--"
It was the surprise of it, rather than the sting of it, that most impressed Chris. Foster had never been violent before, and now he had just slapped the hell out of him. "Don't insult my intelligence," Foster hissed. "Chasez *talking* to a two-bit whore. Was he asking your advice about some business deals?"
Chris just stared up at him.
"You can make it up to me, starting right now."
"But, I--okay, what? What do you want?"
"I paid for that suit. It cost more than you make in many months. I bought it to show you off in. But..." and Foster was shaking his head, in simmering disgust.
"What?" Chris asked, very softly. "Just tell me what you want. You want me to--" and he slightly lowered himself, indicating that he would sink to his knees, if that's what Foster wanted.
"Of course you will, you whore, you bitch, what do you think I paid for? But--" and Foster began groping around the front of Chris' trousers. "I want to feel YOU for a change, I want to see YOU. Take those off. And, and take this off--" Foster began fumbling with the tiny buttons of the elegant shirt. When they proved too difficult to manipulate, he began pulling roughly, uncaring whether the buttons were sacrificed or not.
Chris was too stupified at this bizarre behaviour, to offer more than a token protest. This was a side of Judge Foster he had never seen.
Foster pulled the shirt back roughly, as far as he could pull it. He then went after the button and zipper of the black trousers, and with one smooth jerk, removed everything. Chris just leaned back against the wall, staring at him. Foster stood, and drank in the sight of the young man before him. What he did with his face could only be called a smile, because there was no other term for it. It was more a sign of gratification, and tantilization, than anything else.
He pushed up against Chris, and opened his mouth before leaning in, and attempting to taste everything Chris had to offer. His hand fumbled down around Chris' cock, and caused him some alarm, with his roughness, and hurry. Chris fought the reflex to knock his hand away, and pulled his mouth away long enough to ask, "You want me, you want me to--?" Anything to get the old bastard satisfied, and off him.
Foster pulled back, and stared at him, as if from a distance. "Yes," he said thickly. "Do it."
As fast as he could, Chris sank to his knees, and released Foster's raging hard-on from its cloth prison. He took him into his mouth, and wasn't at all surprised to feel Foster's hands in his hair, pulling with his right, and pushing with his left. Damn! He winced in pain, as Foster had somehow reached down and pinched a nipple viciously. He tried to focus on his task, efficiently as possible, to get this ordeal over with as soon as possible. He almost choked, as Foster had shoved his head down abruptly, but he was again caught off guard, when Foster whipped his head back off his penis, and Chris felt hot fluid shooting all over his throat, and chest. Wide-eyed, he took in the grim satisfaction on the judge's face, as he watched himself paint the young man's body. "That's for you, whore," he rasped. "Do you like that?" After enjoying the sight for a few more moments, Judge Foster whipped a brilliantly white handkerchief out of his pocket, and flicked it at Chris. "Clean yourself up. When you're dressed again, join me at my table." He walked a few steps, then threw over his shoulder, "I would advise you not to make me wait too long."
As soon as he was out of sight, Chris collapsed back agains the wall, and fumbled for the handkerchief, and began wiping himself off. He noticed droplets falling on the cloth, but didn't immediately connect them with himself, until he looked up, and realized that Chasez was only a blurry outline. ...the hell? He wasn't crying, was he? Chasez was leaning over, and then kneeling down, trying to help him.
"Oh HELL, get away from me," Chris choked. "Go! Get out. I don't want you here."
Undaunted, Chasez pulled Chris to his feet, and didn't laugh when Chris turned shyly away from him, trying to hurriedly pull his clothes back on. He had the pants back up, and was zipping them, when he felt Twinkletoes pulling his shirt back together, and messing with the buttons.
"Leave it!" he snapped. "I can do it. Oh man, why won't you go away, and leave me the hell alone? Did I really need an audience for this?"
And then Chasez was tenderly wiping his throat with his own handkerchief. He ran it down his chest as well, wiping away every trace of the judge's scorn and contempt. He got blurry again, as Chris pushed blindly at him.
"Stop," he said. "Stop."
JC pulled him into an embrace, and just held him until the breathing slowed and matched his own. He then held Babyface at arm's length, and looked hiim in the eye. "Can I please talk to you now?"
Chris groaned. "I should've already been out there. He'll come looking for me."
"I hope he does," was all JC said about that. The two men walked back down the hall, and back onto the peaceful little balcony. JC hugged him one more time, and then just let his arms rest around Chris' waist, as he asked, "Do you have ANY idea how much money it costs to raise a girl?"
"I--I haven't been keeping TRACK. Not like adding up the pennies and dimes, I just pretty much send everything I make."
"Well, let me tell you. It's about $4,328, from babyhood through college."
"It is?"
"Yep," JC nodded, just as if he hadn't pulled the figure out of thin air. "And that's a conservative estimate, just your basic, no frills girlhood. That's not even counting hair ribbons, and candied apples."
Chris sighed. "Girls go through so many hair ribbons, and candied apples."
JC smiled. "Yeah, they do. And you've got four of 'em to think of."
With a weary face, Chris said, "Well, that reminds me. I've got to get back to work, so if you'll excuse me--"
"Say, what are you doing tomorrow morning, about nine am?"
"Ya want to be penciled in?"
"Yes, but we won't be going up to your room. I want you to go downtown with me. I assume you have a checking account at one of the banks, right?"
"Ye-yeah..."
"Well, we're going to go to your bank, and I'm going to make a big fat deposit. I'm thinking...about $30,000 ought to do it. That'll be enough for you to have some peace about the girls' futures--"
Chris pulled away. "That's just mean."
"I'm serious."
"Nobody has that much money."
"Babyface, I'll never miss it, are you kidding me? Just say yes."
"Did I ever tell you, Twinkletoes, that you make my head hurt?"
"Then we're even. You make my heart hurt. Say yes?"
