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m/m The Repository - Part 4 (Completed, 9/21/21)


TQuintA

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Part 4 – The Hollywood Hunk

Chapter 6

            I drove to Jason’s place.  I was expecting a Brentwood mansion—some over-the-top monstrosity of modern architecture that was a shrine to excess.  Instead, I found a rather modest house—it looked like something out of a sitcom it was so normal.  With the security and isolation of the property, I was sure it cost a fortune, but you wouldn’t know it from just looking at it.

            Jason himself greeted me at the door.  He was wearing a white and blue Henley that hugged his wide shoulders and thick biceps, and a pair of jeans that showed off the curve of his thighs.

            “Hey, Miles,” he said breezily in that creamy voice, clearly excited by my arrival.  There was a light in his eyes, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, accentuating that dimple.

            “Hey, yourself,” I said.

            He brought me into his house, and I looked around, marveling at how absolutely normal everything looked.  The place was immaculately clean, the furniture was all new, there were more windows than I expected, and there were beautiful photographs hanging on every wall, but the house itself was just so normal.

            “Not what you expected?” he said, throwing his arms in the air, pointing at nothing in particular.

            “Not even close,” I said.

            “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I paid extra to make it look inexpensive.  The really expensive stuff looks like mid-range furnishing.”

            “Is that true?” I asked.

            “I have no idea,” Jason admitted.  “Lacey hired the decorator.  I told him I wanted the house to be as inviting and unpretentious as possible.  Fancy houses put me on edge.”

            “It’s lovely.”

            “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

            “Me too.”  After a pause, I asked, “What’s on the agenda for the evening?”

            “I thought we’d start with dinner.”  His tone lowered, and he added, “I can’t cook for the life of me, but the dinner is already made for us.  Sadly,” he pouted a little, “I’m having brown rice, chicken, and vegetables, but if you want something else, I can have it ordered.”

            “I’m here for the company, not the food,” I said.  “That dinner sounds lovely.”

            We ate in his dining room—the table was small enough that we could sit on opposite sides and still tap our knees into each other flirtatiously.  The whole dinner, that feeling I couldn’t name glowed within me. 

            It was a pleasant dinner, despite bland food.  The conversation was as light and airy as it had been the whole month in the gym and that first date together.  I asked if any of the photos on the walls were ones he took (a handful were, including one of a lemon tree that looked like the cover of a fantasy novel).  He asked what I was writing (it was the tenth Death Knell, which he suspected and eagerly begged for hints and teasers, which I denied). 

            “I hope I’m not being a jerk,” I said, “but why do you like the Death Knell series so much?”

            “What’s not to like?  Larger than life stakes?  Intergalactic war?  Characters that feel real?  Aliens, robots, and zombies?”

            “I tried to get rid of the zombies in book four, but H. K. wouldn’t let me.”

            “Good.  He was right, and you were wrong.  I love the zombies.  Most zombies are mindless fiends.  Yours retain personality.”

            “Every popular character who died has come back as a zombie by this point.  It’s overdone.  I’m getting rid of them in the last book.  H. K. already promised me.”

            Jason put his fork down forcefully.  “Don’t do that!”

            “Zombies lower the stakes.  Death isn’t permanent.”

            “Au contraire.  Zombies raise the stakes.  I’ve read a zillion YA dystopias.  In most of them, death is a balancing force.  If you kill an enemy, you have one fewer enemy; if an ally dies, one less ally.  In your books, if an enemy dies, they stay an enemy.  If an ally dies, they become an enemy.”  He smiled, then added, “Of course, assuming they die near a zombie star.”

            I suppressed a chuckle.  “The fact that you can say ‘zombie star’ without sounding ludicrous is absolutely adorable.”

            Jason smiled shyly and looked down at the table boyishly.  “Please keep the zombies,” he said quietly.  “Please.”

            “Consider them kept.”

            Jason looked up at me and smiled more confidently.

            After dinner, he offered me a tour of his house.  It started when he took me to his study—he actually called it his study.  I would’ve called it a library, an office, or a sitting room, but he called it a study.  It was at the far back end of the house, furthest away from the front door and practically separate from the rest of the house by a hallway.  The study was full of mahogany bookcases, ample seating with comfortable, overstuffed chairs and sofas, and so, so many books.  He had a wide collection of honest-to-goodness books, not just a well-worn Kindle.  There were so many books I felt like Belle in Beauty and the Beast or Owl Eyes in The Great Gatsby just looking around at his library.  One bookshelf was just Hardy Boys.

            “You weren’t kidding about being a YA fan,” I said.

            Hardy Boys got me to fall in love with reading.  And, yes, I have every novel, including the later ones, like Motocross Madness.  And yes, some of these are first editions, like The Tower Treasure.”

            “Were you one of those kids who imagined Joe was gay?” I asked.

            “Imagine nothing; Joe is gay,” he retorted.

            He also showed me his collection of Death Knell novels.  “Just to prove I’ve read them,” he said, holding up a copy of the first book that was falling to pieces.  “I’ve read this copy a dozen times easily.  It’s been to three continents with me.”

            “The poor book’s exhausted,” I said, putting it back on the shelf.

            As we returned to the hallway to continue the tour, Jason said, “That is my favorite room.  I probably should’ve ended the tour there, but I’m trying to impress you.  I don’t even know what to show you next.”  He paused and thought for a moment.  “There’s a little workout room upstairs with a treadmill and some free weights.  It’s not a gym—it’s a tiny punishment cell.  That’s my least favorite room.  I should’ve started there."

            “No need to show me a torture chamber,” I reassured him.

            “I’m rusty at dating,” Jason admitted.  “Have we done enough on the date to transition to sex?”

            “Jason, as far as I’m concerned, you could’ve come to the door wearing nothing but a bow tie and had your way with me in the foyer.”

            He led me up to his bedroom, practically running, to get me there as fast as possible.  When we got there, he nearly tore his clothes off himself.  I, likewise, stripped quickly, but my shirt, not used to my 13 extra pounds of mass, fought me on its way off, so he had to help me get it over my arms and shoulders.

            For a moment, I just stood there, admiring his body. 

            He looked thick and swollen, bigger than I’d ever seen him in a movie.  His skin was flawless and glowing.  His chest was pert and prominent, his nipples delicate and beautiful.  There was a sprinkling of stubble coming in on his chest—the same jet black as his head.  This confirmed my belief that he had a decent amount of chest hair and he just shaved it for the movies.  His arms and shoulders bulged with new brawn.  I could tell he’d done a brief workout before I’d arrived to give himself a pump.  His torso was ripped and shredded, with a delicious V taper that led down to his glorious 8-pack.  Before Jason, I had never actually seen an 8-pack in person, and I just wanted to run my hands all over it.  His legs were sturdy and solid, the quads defined, the calves hard.

            Enjoying my attention, Jason turned around so I could see everything.  I was shocked by how broad his upper back was in comparison to his waist—it was a drastic ratio that belonged on a fine sculpture.  His ass.  Oh, his ass.  I had only seen blurred images of it frozen on my TV, and here it was right in front of me.  It was round, and supple, and succulent.  Like the cheeks on his face, the right one had a darling dimple.  Staring at its shape, size, and beauty, I could feel my cock wake up and start to stiffen.

            Jason turned back around and asked, “What do you think?  Studly enough?”

            “Most definitely,” I said.  I moved in to embrace him, but he held me off.

            “My turn,” he said.  He looked me up and down lasciviously, almost leerily.  His own cock thickened and swelled appreciatively.  I turned around for him to show him off my back and ass, and he gasped when I tuned back around.

            “You look so solid, so heavy.  And your chest sticks out so far,” he spoke, breathlessly.  He came over to me and stood side by side with me.  He was taller than me, but my chest was so much thicker and bigger than his.  “How big is that?  60 inches?  More?” he asked.

            “I’ve never measured,” I answered honestly.  “It would feel like bragging.”

            “And your arms!”  He flexed his arm, and his beautiful, split bicep bulged into full relief.  I flexed mine behind his, and it fully outstretched his.  “My bicep is huge.  I am incredibly proud of my arms, and you make mine look like a high schooler’s.”

            I flexed my arm harder, bouncing it and showing off the sinew and vascularity.

            His cock was now fully hard.

            Walking backwards, never taking his eyes off me, he found his nightstand, opened the drawer and pulled out lube and condoms.

            “I don’t care who rides first, but we are not leaving this room until I’ve topped you and you’ve topped me.”

            “Fuck me first,” I said.  “I haven’t been topped in years.”

            Flashing me that patented crooked smile, Jason prepped himself and pushed me towards the bed.  I pretended that he was overpowering me, and when I landed on my back on his bed, he hoisted my left leg and put it on his right shoulder.  Then, he hauled my right leg over his left shoulder.  He now had full access to my ass.  When he slid in, I was in heaven.  My prostate sang, my ass felt stretched by his disproportionate thickness, and I felt alive with sexual fire.  As he fucked me, my hands tweaked my nipples, rubbed my scratchy beard, pulled my hair.  He was thorough and athletic in his love making, putting his abs to good use as he thrust in and out of me.  I was mewling and moaning and murmuring.  My cock twitched and quivered from the fucking.  Jason grinned like a warrior as he plowed me, his breath getting heavier as it would during a workout.  Seeing this demigod rise to the physical challenge and fuck me so completely that I practically felt like it was my first time, I blew my load in a mighty roar.  Not to be left behind, Jason picked up his speed, spurring my orgasm on more.  Within a minute, Jason let loose a string of profanity so vulgar that I almost blushed mid-orgasm, and he came, thrusting fully into me on the crest of the wave.

            “You’ve got a mouth on you when you cum,” I teased.

            “You’re the loudest man I’ve ever had sex with,” he responded in the same teasing tone.

            He pulled out of me, and I reached for a condom. 

            He grabbed the condom from my hand.

            “It’s called a refractory period, Miles,” he said, huffing a little.  “Not all of us are porn star marathoners.”

            So, we cuddled while I let his engine restart.

            “You’re body is so warm and hard,” Jason said, sliding his hands over my chest and abs.  “You’re like a living statue.  Impossibly thick and impossibly hard.”

            “Your fingers are electric,” I purred.  “Don’t stop touching me.”

            Ten minutes later, he smiled and handed me the condom.

            I quickly dragged Jason to the edge of the bed so his ass lined up with it perfectly. 

            “That wasn’t even a challenge for you, was it?” he asked, a note of awe in his voice.

            I shook my head, then spread Jason’s legs wide.

            “I want you to have a good view,” I said as I put my cock against his hole.

            When he gave me the go-ahead, I thrust myself to the hilt, and Jason sprung up reflexively.  “Oh, yes,” he said.  “You are a big man!”

            Jason had a hole giving enough to plow into him on one thrust, but tight enough to accommodate my whole size while still providing ecstatic friction.  I started doing small mini-thrusts while flexing my left bicep.  Then, I mixed up the rhythm, relaxed my left arm, and flexed my right bicep.  I tried to reach over and kiss it, but my shoulders and traps blocked me with their size, so I pulled my arm to my face and began licking my bicep to flaunt my size.  Jason had reached down to his cock and was stroking himself off to the show I was giving him.  For my next act, I puffed my chest up so much, flexing and inflating them to their full size.  They rose up to greet my chin, and I stuck my tongue out and just barely licked their top surface.  Jason picked up the speed of his strokes, so I picked up my speed.  At the same time, I flexed my ass and thighs, providing some real power to my thrusts.  Jason’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head.  He was near orgasm.  To catch up with him, I stopped showing off and just focused on thrusting my cock.  I planted my arms on his bed and ground my hips into him, only pulling my cock out enough to create friction at the head.  Soon, I was coming furiously and raucously, which pushed Jason over the edge, and he cursed a blue streak as he blew his load.

            In the afterglow, I spooned him.  He hugged my arm close to him, stroking its hair and feeling its size and hardness.  Luxuriating in his hard and warm muscles pressed against mine, that unidentifiable emotion returned and warmed me from head to toe.

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  • TQuintA changed the title to The Repository - Part 4 (Chapters 4-6, 9/7/21)

@TQuintA, I was about to finish and submit my first story to this forum, but after reading two chapters this good, I think my writing needs a big overhaul. So, thank you for saving me, I guess. XD

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1 minute ago, DawnFire98 said:

I was about to finish and submit my first story to this forum, but after reading a chapter this good, I think my writing needs a big overhaul. So, thank you for saving me, I guess

Oh... this kinda hurt my heart.  I appreciate the compliment, but I'm sad that you're not going to submit a story.  😕

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39 minutes ago, TQuintA said:

Oh... this kinda hurt my heart.  I appreciate the compliment, but I'm sad that you're not going to submit a story.  😕

It´s not fully finished yet either way, so don´t be sad. At the moment, my writing is a bit too rough around the edges in my opinion, so I´m going to take it back for now. It´s just, that I wanted to post it today, so: 1) it´s finished and 2) I can finally concentrate on the - let´s say "prime story" -  I really, really wanna write. You made me realize, that if I wanna post something, it should be something with quality, you know?

Also: I permanently have the impression, my English writing skills are totally whack XD (English isn´t my first language, German is.)

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OMG  the writing!

Dialog like THIS:

============<excerpt>====================

As such, if there are any receivables that need to make their way to Mr. Prentiss, please funnel those through me.”

            “Receivables?” I asked.

            “Gifts, cards, flowers—things of that nature.”

            “If I want to give my boyfriend a gift, I give the gift to you?”

            “My apologies.  You misunderstand,” she continued in her polite, but vaguely robotic, voice.  “If you are going to have anything delivered or shipped to him, I will make sure he receives them.  If you want to surprise him with a gift in person when you liaise face to face, that you can do without involving me, though I would appreciate a heads up if the gift involves maintenance of any kind.”

            Flummoxed as to what sort of gift would need maintenance, I said, “Okay.”

            “I understand that Mr. Prentiss has already shared his personal contact information with you.  If, however, you are ever having trouble reaching him, you can contact me, and I will make sure he gets the message.”

            “Thank you,” I said.

=======end excerpt=============

 

..and there's more of course, much, MUCH MUCH more, but you should read it for yourselves!!

I hope Jason's movie takes a looooonnggg time to shoot!

Kudos TQuintA!

 

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Part 4 – The Hollywood Hunk

Chapter 7

            For the next few weeks, Jason squeezed in a date whenever he could.  It wasn’t six days a week like it had been the first month, but it did its best to rival that schedule.  Usually, our dates were just dinner and conversation.  Sometimes at his place, sometimes at mine. 

            The first time he showed up at my condo, he was in an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses.  My neighbors thought he was a drug dealer until I assured them he was a new boyfriend. 

            But, we varied it up.  We took turns picking the activities.  There was a wide variety of romantic, everyday, and sexual.

            On one memorable date, we watched the horrible movie version of Death Knell in my living room, during which Jason paused and asked me a million questions about the book and my experiences in the writers’ room for the movie.  He also spent twenty minutes telling me what he would’ve done if he had been in charge of the movie, including not casting a hot guy as Krixby and setting up some of the plot from the later novels. 

            On another date, we went to the detached photo studio in his backyard, and he took a series of tasteful nudes.  His favorite was entitled “Miles #21.”  In the picture, I was looking off to the side, laughing at an impromptu joke he made.  I looked so wonderfully happy in that shot; my whole face was lit up, and you could tell my chest was rising mid-laugh.  Jason hung that one up in his dining room.  My favorite picture from that night was entitled “Miles #14.”  That one was a black-and-white picture of me staring directly at the camera.  My hand was on my head, causing my bicep to flex, bulging into my face, and my cavernous armpit to be front and center, and my waist was vacuumed in, causing my chest to inflate. He hung that one up in his bedroom.   I was even allowed to take one picture of Jason, which I entitled “Krixby #1.”  He was covering half his face shyly, clearly blushing, and smiling his crooked, dimpled smile.  That one hung in my bedroom.  When the night was over, he told me that the photo session had been his favorite birthday present and he was really glad we’d spent it together because he normally hated his birthday.

            We didn’t always stay in.  We went to an exclusive night club with a strict VIP list (we went in the back door escorted by a guard) and danced for half a night.  Jason was not lying; he does look like a dying bird.  But, it felt so right and normal to be out with him that I didn’t even tease him about it. 

            Sometimes we even did normal, banal things.  In solidarity with Jason (and because he liked how the extra pounds looked on me), I’d kept up with the grueling exercise and meal plan this whole time, so when our schedules lined up, we’d do our workouts together (and fool around in the locker room). 

            We also did normal couples’ things, like going to H. K. and Paula’s for a dinner to thank H. K. for setting us up.  H. K. gloated so thoroughly.  Jason and I were even talking about meeting each other’s friends in a way that wouldn’t compromise what we had going. 

            Sometimes, the whole date was just a booty call.  The first time Jason called me over for sex, he showed up at the door wearing nothing but a bow tie. 

            “You remembered,” I said through the laugh I couldn’t suppress.

            “Sounded like a good suggestion,” he said.  He left the bow tie on, and then we fucked right there in his foyer.  From then on, if one of us wanted sex, we sent the other one a pic of a bow tie.

            And the sex was great.  I hadn’t been with a genuinely vers guy since high school.  In fact, ever since I’d permanently crossed the 250-pound barrier, even every casual hook-up wanted me to top.  Jason’s body was divine, he gave and received generously, he could deep throat my whole cock, and, oh, does he have stamina.  When we worked in some kink, I didn’t feel like I was a game to him, like I had with Puck.  When I got to see his toys, I learned he wasn’t kidding about being a size queen.  His largest dildo, which Jason had nicknamed King Kong, was easily 15 inches long and thick as an arm.  “For special occasions,” Jason demurred. 

            Jason did have to cancel sometimes because of his hectic filming schedule.  Whenever he did, he would send me an apology: a bottle of wine, a bouquet of flowers, etc.  Something small.  He never attached a card, but I could tell it was from him because it came wrapped in a bow tie.  I had to cancel twice myself, both times to get some writing in.  Thankfully, he was a fan of my writing, so he was respectful of my need.  The first time I canceled, I sent him a photo frame (also no card, also wrapped in a bow tie).  The second time, he asked if he could come over anyway.  I tried to assure him I’d have to ignore him, and he said that he’d just sit quietly in the same room and read while I wrote.  I thought he’d be bored, but I agreed.  After three hours of me writing, essentially treating him like he wasn’t there, Jason told me he’d had a great time, loved just being in a room with me, and that I made the cutest faces when I was concentrating.  From then on, if I needed to get some writing done and he was free, he would keep me company.

            We were still figuring things out, so a few squabbles happened as we learned where each other’s land mines were buried.  I learned to never mention his older brother unless Jason mentioned him first.  I learned to never spring crowds on him, which had more to do with social anxiety and shyness than fear of paparazzi.  He could deal with crowds if he was mentally prepared for them, but sudden, unexpected crowds were the fastest way to shut him down.  I learned that he absolutely hated pranks and to never play one on him ever.  I also learned that he always had some junk food hidden in his house in case he needed to stress eat.  If I moved it or suggested throwing it away, it started a fight.  He, similarly, learned to sidestep my issues (for instance, by not interrupting me when I was writing and by never mentioning my mother).

            The hardest adjustment was honestly Lacey.  I got a phone call from Lacey every time Jason was unexpectedly free, and I had to call Lacey if I wanted a date with my boyfriend (for anything more than just a late night bow tie).  She was nothing but professional, but it sometimes felt like calling his mommy to see if he could come out to play.  Apart from that, it felt like a normal relationship.  The relationship wasn’t perfect—none is—but it was the best one I had ever had.  In fact, it was pretty damn close to perfect.

            One night, three and a half months after our first dinner date, Jason had come over for a powerful fuck session.  He was lying on my bedroom floor next to me, spooning me and running his fingers through my beard, and as soon as he caught his breath, he said, “That was awesome.  I love you.”  That unnamed emotion I’d been feeling for weeks blazed just a little brighter.

            As soon as he said it, though, he reeled, turned to me and said, “Was that too soon?  I haven’t dated in forever.  I don’t know when it’s too soon to say things like that.”

            “Did you mean it?” I asked calmly.

            “Miles, I absolutely meant it.  I’ve been dying to say it for days.  I almost ended our last five texts with it.  I’m mortified it came out after you just spent the last hour inside of me.  But I do love you.”

            “Good,” I said, and gave him a sweet, tender kiss.  “Because I love you too.”

            “That’s a relief.”  I basked in that pleasant, unnamed emotion.

            We lay like that for a few minutes, when Jason turned to me and said, “In addition to my declaration of love, I’ve also got bummer news.  Should I give it tonight, or tomorrow morning over breakfast?”

            “Tonight,” I said.

            “The next two weeks, I’ll be in Vancouver.  There’s some scenes we have to shoot on location, so I’m not available for two weeks.”

            “That is bummer news.”

            “Sorry.  But after that, the movie wraps, so my schedule should be freer for the next couple of weeks after that.”

            “It’s okay. I know you love me.”

            The next day, after Jason left, my apartment felt empty.  My life felt empty.  Thinking of Jason made me smile, but it didn’t bring back that feeling I couldn’t name.  And I’d grown dependent on that feeling.  When I thought about the emptiness, I thought about the emptiness I felt when Shafe moved out—after he lived there for two months when I was with Puck.  This was a much different, much more profound emptiness, more than simple loneliness.

            Shafe!  With all his travels and competing, I hadn’t spoken to him in months.

            I called him up to see if he was in L.A. and up for a good time since we hadn’t seen each other in forever.

            When I got him on the phone, he was laughing.  “Hey, man.  Want to hear something funny?”

            “Sure,” I responded.  I hadn’t even said hello yet.

            “I know you’re a skeptic,” Shafe said, “but I just had a tarot reading done, not twenty minutes ago.  The psychic made three predictions.  She said that I would be contacted by an old friend, that I would soon be traveling to a place I’ve never been before, and that I would make a surprise advancement in my romantic life.”

            “Very specific and believable,” I lied.

            Shafe, with exultant victory in his voice, crowed, “Well, how’s that?  The psychic says I’m going to get a phone call from you, and here you call.”

            “That’s not exactly what she said.  However, since we haven’t spoken in months, my phone call does make that part of her prediction accurate.”

            “Why are you such a skeptic?”

            “For the record, I’m not a skeptic.  I can’t be a skeptic; I’m The Repository.  Who am I to say psychics aren’t real?  What I will say is that a lot of charlatans see your family money and will lie to you to get a hold of it.”

            “That’s fair.  So, what’s the call for?”

            “Are you in L.A.?”

            “Yep.  I’m glad you called too.  None of my gym friends were free, so I’m doing nothing exciting.  All I have planned for the evening is having my ass kicked at Mario Kart by strangers online.  Why?”

            “I’m feeling kind of lonely tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over and keep me company.  I’ve got Mario Kart as well.  I’m more than happy to kick your ass in person.”

            Twenty minutes later, Shafe appeared at my door with exuberance and energy. 

            “You had to get bigger again and make me feel small,” he said, patting me on the back.  Then, he flexed and added, “I’m not small, man.  I just had a show; I’m 258 cut pounds.”  Even if he hadn’t told me he’d just had a show, I would’ve known because his spray tan hadn’t completely faded yet.  Clearly joking, he teased, “Fuck you very much for giving me a complex.”  He stopped flexing, came into my apartment, and crashed on the couch.  Once comfortable, he asked, “New guy in your life?”  I poured us both some iced tea and sat down in the living room with him.

            “That obvious?” I said.

            “You’re huger than I’ve seen you in years.  That screams new boyfriend.  You called me because you’re lonely.  That screams guy troubles.  So, what’s this guy like?”

            “Well, his name is Jason, but rather than tell you why I like him, I’ll give you the details that I know matter to you.”

            “Thanks,” he said through a grin.

            “He’s an Aries on the cusp of Taurus.”

            “Good,” Shafe said with an approving nod. 

            “His bed points south,” I continued.

            “As it should,” Shafe replied.

            “And our first date was a week after the new moon.”  I’d looked that up in the twenty minutes it took Shafe to get here.  I suspected he’d care.

            “So, when’s the wedding?” Shafe asked, only partially kidding.  When I didn’t laugh or even smirk, he continued, “This all sounds perfect.  What’s the problem?”

            “It’s going great.  I’m just lonely because he’s away for the next two weeks, and I already miss him.”

            “The next two weeks?” Shafe said.  “That sucks.  He’s missing your birthday.”

            “He doesn’t really do birthdays, and I don’t really care about mine anymore.  Besides, he’s a big gift-giver.  He gives random gifts all the time.”

            “It sucks he’s not here.  I’d like to meet the guy,” Shafe said.  “But it’s just two weeks.  You’ll survive.”

            Hoping he’d have some useful advice, I explained to Shafe that unnamed emotion I’d been feeling, and how its absence was making me feel hollow.

            “Do you know what emotion that is?” I asked.

            “Nope.  It sounds painful.”

            “It is,” I said, flopping on the couch.

            “Where is he for these two weeks?”

            “He’s in Vancouver.”

            Shafe pumped his fist in the air excitedly.  “I’ve never been to Vancouver!  I’ve been all over the globe, I’ve been to Canada like 18 times (once to climb Mt. Logan), and I’ve somehow never been to Vancouver.” Shafe shouted excitedly.  “You got a passport?” he asked.

            “Yeah, but…”

            “Great.  I’ll book the tickets and the hotel rooms, and you go pack a bag.”

            “What, sorry?” I asked, sitting upright.

            “I’ve never been to Vancouver, and my psychic said I was about to travel to a place I’ve never been after being contacted by an old friend.”

            “We should just fly to Vancouver?”

            “You miss him.  It’s an easy fix.”  Shafe shrugged.

            “But he’s so busy,” I said.

            “Not too busy for love,” Shafe said, stretching out his vowels.  When I didn’t move, Shafe got me to my feet.  “Or at least, not too busy for some lovin’.”

            “He hates pranks,” I pointed out.  “I know this isn’t a prank, but this might be too big of a surprise for him.”

            “If it is, I’m there with you, and we make a vacation of it.”  Shafe practically shoved me into my room as he said, “We see the sights of Vancouver.  If nothing else, they’ve got a beach.”

            “Don’t you have to pack a suitcase?” I asked, taking mine out of my closet.

            “I packed it before I came over.  It’s waiting in my trunk.  My psychic tells me something, I prepare.”

            “Let’s do it,” I said.

            Hours later, we were on a plane—first class—headed to Vancouver.  If planes were small at 240 pounds, they were even smaller almost 50 pounds more massive.  Even in first class, I was mostly wedged into my seat.  Then, navigating the aisles, I kept bumping into things with either my ass or my shoulders.  And I had to Rubik’s Cube myself just to get into the bathroom. Making matters worse, before we left my condo, I had mindlessly put on some comfy clothes I didn’t mind traveling in: an orange-yellow t-shirt (with a tapered waist to show off my abs) and my favorite pair of jeans (to show off my ass).  However, these clothes were comfy on my 272 pound body.  At a fuller 285, these “comfy” clothes were now getting tight.  The jeans especially caused my cock to make its presence known with an obvious bulge.

            Thankfully, the flight was only three hours, and we’d only brought carry-on luggage.  From the plane we went to the car rental service, but our car, which was allegedly full-sized, turned out to be a comically tiny wind-up toy that could barely fit two bodybuilders.  I could hardly close the door behind me, and Shafe and I couldn’t fit if we both sat in the same row.  Shafe drove, and I had to sit in the back. 

            We checked into our hotel without fanfare, though the girl at the front desk did stare at our massiveness when she first saw us.  Our room was tastefully appointed, but it was nothing special; Shafe doesn’t like fancy hotel rooms, even though he could easily afford them. 

            “The point of traveling is to see what’s outside the hotel, Vaughn,” he explained.

            Despite his philosophy, I was able to talk him into getting a room with a jacuzzi and two queen beds—he’d wanted to get a less expensive room with one king-size bed, unbothered about sharing a bed.

            “I don’t know why we need two beds,” he protested as we walked up to our room.  “I bet you’ll spend most nights with your new man, anyway.” 

            Once I was unpacked, I called Lacey.  It took some finagling, but I eventually got her to give me Jason’s hotel info and also to not notify him that I was in Vancouver.  Shafe went off to enjoy some alone time in our jacuzzi, and I put on a bow tie—one that doesn’t need to be tied, just wrapped around the neck and clipped—and went to Jason’s hotel, still wearing the t-shirt and jeans I’d traveled in.  Jason’s hotel was far nicer than mine in every way.  I was out of place in my travel clothes, but, undaunted, I walked up to his room and knocked on the door.

            He answered the door, saying, “I think you have the wrong room,” and nearly screamed when he saw it was me.

            He jumped into my arms and covered my face with kisses.  As I held him there, I finally knew what emotion I had been feeling all these weeks. 

            I felt home. 

            I hadn’t felt at home since I’d left Illinois a decade ago, but even in a hotel hundreds of miles away from the place I lived, just being this close to Jason made me feel like I was finally home again.

            Once he’d calmed down, he closed the door behind us.  As we were sitting on his bed, he said, “I usually hate surprises, but this was an amazing one.”

            “I just missed you too much,” I admitted.

            “Me too,” he said.  “I took pictures of a million places I wanted to show you.”  He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through pictures.  He’d taken a million photos with his camera (he didn’t like taking pictures with his phone), but he’d export pictures he liked to other devices: his laptop, his phone, etc.  As he scrolled, he was just showing me the best pictures, the ones that passed his very demanding scrutiny.  He showed me the views, restaurants, and the like that he wished I’d been with him to see. 

            The ninth picture he showed me was a game changer.

            The ninth picture was a naked picture of me.  But it had been morphed to make my muscles and cock bigger.

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  • TQuintA changed the title to The Repository - Part 4 (Chapters 7-8, 9/10/21)

Part 4 – The Hollywood Hunk

Chapter 9

            The next night, I had dinner in Jason’s hotel room (I even snuck him in a doughnut), and I explained to him my past as The Repository.  He had all the normal questions and was surprisingly receptive to the whole thing.

            “No wonder you got so big,” Jason said after I’d explained everything.  “If I had that talent, I’d have ended up a 500 pound behemoth with a three-foot penis before my good sense kicked in.”  He begrudgingly took another bite of his broccoli.  “You had the wisdom to limit yourself to the range of human possibility.”

            “I don’t know if it was wisdom.  There’s this voice in my head telling me to not tell a lot of people.  It’s not a quiet voice, either.  It’s constantly telling me to keep myself secret and hidden.  And I trust that voice.”

            “I trust your voice too.  Especially with how things went down with Gregg and Puck,” he added.  “There are a million things I want to do with your talent, if you’ll let me, but I think we should set some ground rules first so I don’t end up another romantic casualty.”

            “That’s actual wisdom,” I responded.

            “First off, I think the most important rule is that we only use it for vacation sex.”

            “How often do you think we’ll be on vacation?”

            “No, I mean ‘vacation sex,’ like special occasion sex.  King Kong special.  Holidays, celebrations, and, yes, vacations.  Save it for special occasions so it stays special.”

            “I like that rule,” I said.  Right on top of that, I added, “Rule 2, no growing in public.  That is my greatest fear.”

            “Naturally,” Jason said.  “But, we could reword that rule as ‘Miles must approve all deposits.’  That way, if I suggest something you’re uncomfortable with but you can’t think of right now, we’ve already got a rule in place.”

            “I like it.”

            Jason shook his head excitedly and corrected himself.  “I’ve got an even better way of wording his rule, and this way it will really keep me in check.”  He batted his knee against mine, then said, “Rule 2: This is Miles’s talent.  I leave it to your imagination how we use this power.”  He pointed at me with his fork.  “Gregg, Flynn, Puck, they all pushed you into situations you weren’t comfortable with.”

            “Through persuasion, cajoling, and wheedling,” I confirmed. 

            Jason chuckled slightly, then said, “You’re my favorite author.  I trust your imagination.  You can ask my opinion if you want, but I’ll leave the details up to you.”

            I suddenly felt powerful in a way I never had before, even with all my muscles and my innate talent.  He was right.  This was my power.

            I spoke up.  “Since we’re on vacation and you just learned about my talent, I have some ideas for ways to enjoy it.  They will require some planning and time management.  Are there nights this week we can guarantee being good nights to play?”

            “I supposedly have most nights free, but shoots can run over, and they might need a million other little details.  Since we have to schedule this, we can use Lacey’s power to coordinate my schedule.  She can probably get us three nights guaranteed.  I’ll have other free time to enjoy your company, but these three nights will be fixed points in my schedule to enjoy the most special of vacation sex.”  He was already on the phone with Lacey.  “Hey, Lacey, it’s me.  I need you to convince the studio to get me five nights off for me to use as I see fit.  Locked in, no wiggle room, no last minute re-shoots.”  He paused.  “Yes.  I plan on spending those nights with Miles.”  He paused again.  “I’ll be waiting.”  He hung up.

            “I thought you said you could only get three nights?  You asked for five.”

            Jason held his finger up to silence me.  We sat there silently for a few minutes, and then his phone rang again.  “Just three nights?”  He sighed loudly.  “I suppose that’ll do.  Send the info to Miles.  Thanks, Lacey.”  He hung up his phone and then looked at me.  “If I’d asked for three, they would’ve given me one.  And if I don’t lay on thick just how much I wanted those five nights, they’ll push me down to one.”

            “Your assistant calls the studio and makes demands?”  I asked.

            “I doubt it.  But I’ve got six people on my management team, seven counting Lacey.  She knows who is most appropriate to make those demands and passes along the message.”

            “That’s amazing.  All that happened in five minutes?”

            “I pay my team well,” Jason said.

            My phone beeped.  “And those are the nights,” I announced, showing him my screen.

            Jason’s phone beeped as well.  “And that is my alarm.  Sorry, Miles.  Time for me to turn in.”  He got up from the table and kissed me on the cheek.  “I look forward to what you come up with.”

            When I got back to my hotel room, it smelled of smoke, and Shafe was doing push-ups.

            “Hey, there,” I said.  “What’s going on here?”
            “I met an awesome lady last night,” he said as he kept doing push-ups.  “She’s a Gemini, and her childhood house was haunted.”  Shafe seemed really excited by those details.

            “And her name is?” I asked.

            “Marietta Tomassini,” he said dismissively as though that was irrelevant.  He then barreled on, spouting, “She’s so awesome.  Her childhood friend was a ghost.  Can you believe that?  And she actually asked me out.  Normally, especially with a woman this cool, I have to pursue her, but she pursued me.”

            “That explains the push-ups; you want to get a pump to impress her.”

            “Exactly,” he said, then flipped over to do some bicycle crunches.

            “But why does the room smell like smoke?”

            “I smudged it with sage to get rid of the bad vibes,” he said without pausing his workout.  “Who knows what’s happened in this hotel room?”

            “Naturally,” I said.

            “I’m hoping this lady is more than just a one-night thing, so I’m pulling all the stops.  Sorry, Vaughn, but you have to clear out.”

            “Just let me grab my laptop and change my shirt, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

            “Thanks, bud.  And thanks for making me get the jacuzzi.”

            As I changed my shirt from something date-y to something lounge-y, Shafe sat on the bed and began curling his suitcase.

            “While I get ready, are there other details about Marietta that I might find useful to know?” I asked.

            Without pausing his workout, he explained, “I met her at a bar.  We were the only two not drinking, and we hit it off right away.  We just talked.  For hours.  No making out.  No sex.  Just talking.”

            “Sounds great,” I said, tugging my shirt over my pecs.  When I grabbed my laptop, there was a knock at the door.  Shafe dropped his suitcase.  “She’s early.”

            “It’s cool.  I’m out of here,” I said.  I opened the door, and there stood Marietta. My first reaction was that she was tall. Easily as tall as Shafe, who is taller than me.  She had wildly styled, short brown hair, and was dressed in a shirt that showed off her midriff and a scandalously skimpy skirt, the two in complementary shades of blue.  She wore minimal make-up, and she was more age-appropriate than most of Shafe’s dates.  My guess was early to mid-30s.

            The more I took her in, the more she made sense for Shafe.  She, too, was a bodybuilder—a detail he had omitted.  Around her neck, she wore a necklace with an amethyst healing crystal, and around her navel, she had an ankh tattoo.  She exuded the exact same presence as Shafe.

            Shafe stood up, walked over to the door, and put his hand on my back.  To Marietta, he said, “This is my buddy Vaughn.”

            She responded, “The guy who’s in Vancouver because he missed his boyfriend!”

            “You talked about a lot last night,” I said, trying to edge my way out the door.

            “Yep,” Shafe said, patting me on the shoulder.  “I’m his travel buddy.  We’re sharing the hotel room.  He’s on his way out.”

            A pleased smile on her face, Marietta pointed at me and asked, “Is this the same gay guy you made out with that once?”

            “You talked about everything last night,” I added in a surprised tone.

            “Yes, he is,” Shafe responded with no trace of shame.

            “It nice to meet you,” she said, pinching my cheek.  Then, she wrapped me in a big hug.  As soon as she let go, she turned to Shafe and added, “I can see why you made out with this guy.  He’s bigger than you, and he’s so handsome.  If you’re going to make out with a guy just to try it, you pick a guy like this.”  She turned back to me and asked, “Is your travel buddy a good kisser?”

            I hemmed for a second, then answered, “For his first time kissing a guy, it was admirable.”  There was a strained quality in my voice.

            “I’ve made you all nervous and awkward,” Marietta said.  “I’m sorry.”  Then, she grabbed both sides of my face and planted a huge kiss on my lips.  The kiss persisted longer than I ever thought it would; she even slipped me the tongue.  “There,” she added, pinching my cheek again.  “Now we have nothing to feel awkward about.”  With that, she danced over to the couch.

            Shafe whispered into my ear, “Was that the first time you made out with a girl?”

            I nodded wordlessly.

            “What did you think?”

            “I think I’m gay,” I responded.

            “Fair enough.” Then, he gave me a big hug, and said, “Have a great night.  I’ll text you when it’s safe to come back.” 

            “Nice to meet you, Marietta,” I said, waving goodbye.  “You two enjoy yourself.”

            As I stepped out the door, Marietta unabashedly called out, “We’re going to have jacuzzi sex.  I’m sure we’ll have a great time.”

            I closed the door behind me to let them have their fun, and I went off to plan my three nights with Jason, equal parts weirded out by that kiss and pleased that Shafe had someone to occupy himself with while I was off with Jason. 

            I spent the next several hours at the hotel business center making phone calls and various plans and arrangements.  When everything was finished, it felt like minutes had gone by, but hours had.  It still wasn’t safe to return to the hotel room, so I contemplated how to occupy my time.  However, before I could form any definite ideas, Shafe texted me that Marietta had left, and I went back upstairs.  Shafe was already asleep, clearly exhausted from his jacuzzi sex with Marietta, so I went to bed.

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  • TQuintA changed the title to The Repository - Part 4 (Completed, 9/21/21)

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