The California Zephyr
by Joe Butterman
Chapter 4: Living With Two Shoes
On the way home from school, I stopped at the drugstore and bought a bottle of the lotion that I liked best. The education of Two Shoes was going to seriously begin. It was only about 3:30 in the afternoon, or 1530 as Gary would have it, when I got home. Mr. Arndt was already home, sitting in front of the television set, drinking. I could tell that he’d been at it for a while. “Hi Mr. Arndt,” I said as I went down the hall. There was no response. I put my books down in my room, took my windbreaker and sport shirt off, replacing them with an old, and extremely comfortable wool cardigan, I went to the kitchen to get a soda. “Hi Mrs. Arndt, how are you today, can I have a soda.” I inquired as she bustled about at the stove, committing, no doubt, some new culinary outrage.
“Hi Charlie, fine thanks, sure, how was school?”
“Pretty okay,” I replied getting a coke. My request, of course, was just a formality, but she seemed upset. “I’ll be in my room,” I told her, “reading.” She said nothing and I took my coke and retreated to my room. I’d finished the Grand Duchess. I’d been a little hard on her when she was growing-up. Then the peasants got tired of their “hovels” and drove her from her palaces. It was a little tense for a while. I felt sorry for the Tsarevitch and his sisters, but was glad that my Grand Duchess escaped. None of them had done anything to anyone. Now I was involved with Mohicans.
There was a tap on my door and Two Shoes came in. “Come on,” he said quietly, “let’s go to the DQ.”
“Sure,” I said; I replaced the cardigan with Gramercy’s cashmere pullover and grabbed my windbreaker.
“Mom, we’re goin’ ta the DQ,” Two Shoes announced in the direction of the kitchen as we left. There was no response. “They’re gonna fight,” he told me as we got to the sidewalk, “we’ll hafta eat at the DQ tonight.” In the hierarchy of our school, freshmen and sophomores went to the Dairy Queen; it was close to school and we didn’t have driver’s licenses: juniors and seniors, who had driver’s licenses, some of them even their own cars, all went to the A&W which was several miles distant from the school.
Parent’s “fighting” was foreign to my experience. Parents “disagreeing” was no big deal. I didn’t know what to say
“It’ll take two or three hours,” Two Shoes said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, “then Dad’ll leave and Mom’ll cry in her bedroom.”
“Oh,” long pause, “do they do it often?”
“Naw, just every week or so. Lookit,” he nodded at a cute blond freshman who’d just come in, “he’s cute, don’tcha think?”
“Yeah, his name’s Dave and he’s in English and P.E. with me.” Dave saw me and waved. I smiled broadly back. In the first week of school, he’d asked about my tan, fading then, but still without any tan lines. I told him about skinny-dipping during the summer and he was real interested in that. When he got his milkshake he came over to our table.
“What’cha doin,” he wondered grinning.
“Nothing,” I responded, nodding at the seat next to me, and sliding to the wall. I introduced him to Val as he sat down. “Actually,” I continued, “Val’s gonna teach us all about diagramming sentences here, in a minute, wanna learn?” Val looked at me as if I were serious, Dave laughed; he had a sweet smile, thick hair, and beautiful, almost golden, hazel eyes. Dave was a lot more than just “cute.” Val relaxed, and we talked idly about nothing until it was time for Dave to go home. Then we ordered cheeseburgers and fries. I paid for them because I felt sorry for Two Shoes. We took our time eating, and then, when it was almost seven, started home.
Two Shoes had called it. The driveway was empty, and the upstairs bedroom light was on. “We’re home,” Two Shoes hollered as we went in the door. There was no response. The TV was still on in the living room, entertaining an empty room.
I grabbed Two Shoes’ arm, smiling at him, “I’ve got some homework to do, but you can come to my room after that.”
“Thanks, Charlie, you’re great, later.”
I did my diagramming, making a few simple mistakes in the exercise, hoping that this would demonstrate my contempt for the whole thing as I thought it would be obvious that the mistakes were deliberate; I had also done some research on a major mining company, that I wanted to show Mr. O’Flaherty tomorrow, and I completed all of the rest of my Geometry homework. I liked the precision of Geometry and enjoyed drawing the problems and solutions. I went over my Spanish irregular verbs and then relaxed with the Mohicans; I was having a tough time getting interested in this story.
There was some rustling and clicking at my door. It opened and Two Shoes came in; he hadn’t even bothered to close his bathrobe and was still damp from the shower. He was eager. I smiled, “you can undress me,” I sat around on my chair facing him. He knelt down before me and began slipping off my shoes and socks then lunged for my belt and fly. I pulled off my sweater and t-shirt, while he opened my fly and struggled my pants and boxers off. He got my pants and shorts down to just below my knees and then he was down on me, licking and slurping happily. I felt very warmly toward Two Shoes, but nothing like the consuming passion I felt for Roberto. I stroked his boner with my foot, then stood up, and made him take my clothes the rest of the way off while he continued to blow me. I reached down, slipping out of his mouth and stood him up. “There’s more to it than this,” I hugged him to me and stroked his belly with my cock, “now you’re gonna give me a shower, and wash all of me. Come on.” We grabbed our bathrobes, but didn’t put them on. We checked the hall and then crossed it and went into the bathroom. The shower in our bathroom was located in the bathtub. I luxuriated in the hot spray, the soaping, and his roaming hands. Every chance he got, he’d take me in his mouth and go to work on me. He was very talented in this area and I fully understood what the boy in the hall meant when he snarled, “cocksuckers” at us; I suspect that he really loved blow jobs, but somehow felt he had to pretend they were insulting. He dried me enthusiastically. We went back to my room and I told him to lie on my bed. I again adjusted the lights, and then posed for him in various ways as I put my clothes away and straightened my room. I lay down beside him. “Now we’re gonna work on kissing,” and I began to initiate him into the gentle art of French kissing, and working on nipples. He was like a puppy, eager to please, quick to learn. We continued to kiss, and I smeared him with lotion and began to gently jack him off. He moaned in his throat, and thrashed beneath me, sucking on my tongue whenever I would give it to him. He came, spurting over his chest and stomach, and I held him panting, slowly relaxing, in my arms. Then, I slid down a little and licked-up most of his cum from his stomach and held it in my mouth. I went back to kiss him, I thought we’d trade his cum back and forth with kisses, but he swallowed it happily when I kissed it into his mouth. “Kay,” I told him, “do me now.” He did, it was excellent.
When he released my softened dick, he asked if he could sleep with me again tonight, “sure, sweetie.” I thought I’d probably suck him off in a while.
The next day, I abandoned all concern for the appearance of my gait, and dashed to Geometry, arriving before the bell with five minutes to spare. “Can I show you something, Mr. O’Flaherty?”
“Sure Charlie, what’ve you got for me?” I don’t much care for ‘Charlie’ unless it’s from someone close; but you sometimes have to make allowances. At least it wasn’t ‘Chuck,’ I’d have to say something about that.
“This is a year and a half old. It’s a chart of Kennecott Copper. See how the price is steady at right around thirty? Not much happens here, but the company is solid, international, and pays dividends regularly.” I went to my next chart. “Here’s when the current strike started, see how the value steadily dipped, to where it is now at around seventeen, eighteen?”
“Hmm,” he murmured, clearly interested.
“Now look at this,” I showed him two clippings from the newspaper. One was talking about the plight of the miners, and the other was hopeful about progress in contract talks. “I think, that the strike will end within two to six weeks, and when it does, the price will go right back up to around thirty a share. A guy could make somewhere between 20% and 40% in a very short time. I got more research. The unions go out for a long strike about every five or six years and the same thing happens.”
“Hmm,” he repeated, “interesting. Can you come by for a few minutes after 6th period so we can talk about this a little more?”
“Sure.” He didn’t even catch my “got”.
I spent about twenty minutes with Mr. O’Flaherty after school. He told me how a brokerage works and gave me a lot of information about buy orders, stop loss, margin, commission, the mechanics of the market. He even explained the mystery of “selling short.” He lent me a book on the market.
Friday afternoon, I was riding home with Daddy. I guesstimated that we were doing about eighty. There was hardly any one on the road, and there were no speed limits on the highway, you were just supposed to drive at a safe speed. Daddy was much more conservative than Bobbin. Bobbin’s Packard would have been rolling along at a hundred without complaint. Bobbin frequently did that even when there was a speed limit. “Daddy, I want to open an account with a stock broker,” I remarked casually. The Buick slowed, as if to give him time to consider my remark. “I’ve got a bank account now. I save a lot of my allowance. I’ve done a lot of research. I’d like to study it and make some money.”
“Well,” Daddy at length replied, “that was just about the last thing in the world I expected you to say. You’ve been considering this, I’m sure; let’s talk about it after dinner. For now, why don’t you be a little traditional for once; tell me about some problems you’re having at school. Or maybe something about a girl friend,” he smiled broadly, and the Buick resumed its cruising speed.
I reminded him that I wanted another boxing lesson this weekend, though I assured him that I’d not been in any fights or anything like that. Then I railed against the fine art of diagramming sentences; complained about being read to in history; waxed enthusiastic about Geometry and Spanish, and told him that I thought Adam Smith wasn’t allowing sufficiently, in his theorizing, for the people involved in an economy. I told him I enjoyed running, and was doing it after school; I could do three miles without even breathing hard. “Have you met anyone interesting,” he wondered. So I told him how I’d taken Val under my wing and was making progress, his shirts were now clean, though he still favored white shirts, and didn’t take them to the laundry like he should, there was only one pen in his pocket, and other stuff like that. “Any interesting girls,” he wondered. “Aw Daddy,” I replied, all exasperated.
Dinner was wonderful. T-bones with baked potatoes, tossed green salad with vinegar and oil, fresh rolls, and for dessert: flan! I had advanced to the level where about sixty percent of my speech, with Margarita, our cook-housekeeper, was in Spanish. I had told her all about the glory of flan, (like she didn’t already know) and had been working on her to make it: it was here and it was divine. “Now ladies,” my Father said over coffee, I was drinking ginger ale, but it had been served in stemmed crystal, which made it a good thing, “we have an interesting situation to discuss.” Gramercy and Mommy regarded him, and I marshaled my arguments. “Our Charles wants to open a brokerage account and buy stocks.” He paused for effect and the wonderful Gramercy jumped right in.
“Excellent,” she averred, “do it!” Daddy looked just slightly taken aback by the force of this comment.
“Well, dear,” Mommy observed more quietly, “why shouldn’t he? You’re the one who’s always saying that it’s good to study things, but then there’s a time when you just have to do it.” I hadn’t even opened my mouth and it was over. The decision had been reached. Mommy had one other question, though, “You have studied this, haven’t you sweetie?”
“Well,” she turned her smile on Daddy, “there you have it.”
Before we went to bed, it was decided, that my Father would make an appointment with our broker next week, and that we would open “another” account with $5000.00. I would be empowered to use this account. Anything over $5000.00 was mine, but the $5000.00 would be a debt I owed my Father. There would be no nonsense about reducing allowances or anything like that, the debt would be real and would remain until I “retired it.” I agreed, and we shook hands solemnly, in the presence of the ladies.
I wrote letters to Bobbin and Grand Belle. I didn’t discuss business with Grand Belle, but I did with Bobbin.
The next morning, I exercised Dragoon, and then had my first lesson in English “equitation” as Mommy always called it. I groomed Dragoon, gave him a treat, and left him to enjoy the day in the pasture. I changed into running clothes, shorts (no jock strap, I don’t like one for running), sweatshirt, and sneakers. I jumped into my pick up, and drove two miles up one of our roads by the odometer. I pulled the old International off the road, and then ran two miles back to the house, circled the house, and went back up the road to my truck. As I neared the truck I noticed a horseman cantering toward me. As he got closer, I recognized Tomas. He was clearly concerned, “Senor Carlos…Senor Carlos? Are you all right?”
“Gracias, Tomas, I am fine, I am to run for the fun.” (We’re speaking Spanish, or at least I’m attempting to.) His look of concern remained genuine.
“But Patron, you have a splendid horse, why would you run anywhere?”
“I know not, my gracious friend, can it be the water?” I tried a feeble joke.
“I think not, Patron,” he nodded upward, “I think it must be the sun.” We laughed. He dismounted and handed me his canteen.
“Is this the water my friend? I the tequila to drink no to like.”
“Yes, Patron, it is water,” he regarded me with the patience that any reasonable man would reserve for one who would run, when he could be riding, “one does not drink tequila when there is work to do.” We smiled at each other; I revised my opinion of him, he wasn’t just cute; he was a strikingly handsome young man, appropriately wearing a Stetson, red and black checked flannel shirt, a fleece-lined brown leather vest over his shirt, and 501’s. When I’d first met him I’d thought him stocky, but that must have been the clothes he was wearing then. He was just a little shorter than me, but was very wiry. He bought his 501’s long, and then cut the seam up from the cuff a few inches, so that they came well down over his boots when in the saddle – the cut was then neatly stitched. He was a real cowboy and you could tell it just by looking at him. He rode as if he were one with the horse. I nodded and returned his canteen, “How many birthdays have you, Tomas?” I wondered, what he would say. He blushed a little (just like Roberto would) and looked around.
He looked at me earnestly. “I am fifteen years old; I lied to your father and told him I was seventeen. There is very little work for young horsemen.”
I held out my hand, “We are of the age. I will say nothing. My Father would forgive you, but he would not forgive me the telling.” We shook.
“You are good, Patron,” he smiled.
“You are a handsome horseman,” I replied, “until later.” He remounted and cantered off. I stifled my erotic thoughts. That would put him in an impossible position: sleeping with the boss’s son. Even if he were of a mind to.
I drove back to the house. Showered and changed for lunch. Then there was siesta. My Father always marveled at how stupid gringos could be; they rapidly adopted tacos, which were good; but ignored siesta, which was civilized. Boxing after siesta. I wore my jock strap for that.
I had agitated for church, Saturday night, so Sunday morning we all motored-off to church. I liked the majesty of the Episcopal service; I also thought I cut quite a figure in my new suit. I spent a lot of time with Daddy, talking about the ranch, and the economics of ranching. He told me that ranching was something of a “way of life”. A lifestyle that he had been born to, and which he very much enjoyed; but he went on to say that it was important to “diversify” and he explained that we did not depend, solely, on the ranch for our economic well-being. This was by way of introducing his interest, and support, for my stock market venture. We spoke about this at length.
Later, I found Tomas and told him about Roberto’s pending visit; I asked if he would be willing to help me teach Roberto horsemanship. He was agreeable if my Father would permit it. He seemed to enjoy my company. I thought that there was something very promising in the rich brown of his eyes; but I dare not make any advance given the circumstances. We stayed at the ranch Sunday night, and drove back to Reno early Monday morning. I was in plenty of time to walk to school with the proper effect.
That night, I was lying on my bed, reading Partners of the Tide when, right on time, there was a quiet tap on the door followed by the entrance of Two Shoes. He was wearing his open bathrobe, and he sat beside me on the bed and began stroking my leg. “It’s almost time for our shower,” he smiled eagerly, “but guess what else?”
I absolutely hate questions like that. I looked at him, and guessed with a smile, “Science confirms the moon is made of flan, not cheese.” His smile widened and he continued to stroke and started to pull my socks off.
“Nope. Ya remember those guys that were pushing me around that day? And then you came up. Larry and Sam?”
“Yeah. I remember,” I began to fondle his sex as he worked on my belt and fly.
“Larry came to see me Saturday. Came here.”
“Uh oh,” I murmured, wondering if there was a confrontation pending.
“No. It’s okay. He said he’s sorry and he wants to be friends. What’cha think a that?”
“Please tell me ya didn’t blow him.”
“Nope. He wanted me to. I wanted to. But I thought a you and said I’d think about it.” He was working on getting my pants down and off.
“Good,” I was relieved, “let’s take our shower and then talk about it.”
“Great.” He pulled me off the bed, got me completely naked, and we went to the bath.
I set the lights and we got into bed. I stuck my knee up so that he had full access to me. But I kissed his forehead, stroked his nose with my finger, and told him not to get too carried away yet. “Tell me what Larry said.”
“Well he came by and said he was sorry. We went to the DQ. He said he missed me. He said I could blow him. He said that it was all Sam’s idea, to push me around and stuff.”
“Did he offer to blow you,” I asked quietly.
He was surprised by the idea. “Well. No.”
“Do you like him?”
“Kay. Here’s the deal: tell him he can blow you first, and then you’ll blow him, he was the one who thought it was okay to be prick to you. Then you can do what I’m gonna show ya in a few minutes.”
He was startled, and stopped fondling me for a minute, he recommenced though, and said, “Ya don’t mind if I blow him?”
“Not if it’s good for you. Look, I’ve got three boyfriends in Anaheim. We all know about each other and do each other and love each other. It’s different when you like men. You guys aren’t gonna go to the hop or the prom. No big church wedding or anything. We’re different. If all he wants from you is a blowjob, then he’s not your friend. Fuck him.” He was digesting all this. I started rolling his balls and stroking his boner; he started on me again. “If he doesn’t want to do this to you. Then you don’t need him. There’s lotsa boys around who do.”
“You’re right,” after a long pause, “that’s what I’ll tell him. And ah, you still like me too?” He looked a little worried.
“Yes. Dear. I. Do. Now let’s do sixty-nine.”
“What’s that,” he was genuinely puzzled.
I laughed; he was too much, “Picture the number 69 in your mind. Got it?”
“Now, pretend that the big part of the six, and the big part of the nine, are people’s heads. Got it?”
“Yes! I do!” He was clearly delighted with the idea.
“So, let’s do it.” And we did.
I kissed him goodnight as he cuddled in my arms, “If Larry comes through, maybe we can do a three-way sometime.” This time, no explanation was necessary.
Wednesday was the day for the broker. My Father was waiting for me when I got home from school; I quickly changed into a light blue tweed Norfolk jacket, light gray slacks, and a dark blue tie. We were ushered promptly into the brokers office, and I was formally introduced to the broker, Mr. Guildford, who already knew, and obviously valued, my Father’s business; he was pleasant, nicely dressed, and courteous.
“What shall we do today, gentlemen,” he asked looking at my Father.
“We’re going to open another account,” my Father said, “and Charles here, is going to manage it.”
“Ah, excellent! Will you be calling in orders, or will Charles?”
“Charles will. And, as I said, he’ll be managing the account.”
He nodded, “I’ll have to have you sign some authorizations, Mister Scott, at least I’m assuming Charles isn’t twenty-one.” My Father nodded. Mr. Guildford spoke to his secretary on the telephone, requesting the needed forms. We did all of the necessary paperwork and my Father signed the forms the secretary had provided allowing me to deal with the account. They had to be notarized. “Now, what are we going to do with this account?” I was pleased to note that he addressed this question to me.
“Where did Kennecott Copper close today?”
He riffled through some teletypes, muttered what sounded like, “good old Kenney-cott” to himself, and then looked-up, “16 and a half.”
“Excellent, tomorrow, I want to buy 200 shares of Kennecott, at the market price, so long as it is not 17 or more.” He jotted this down. “I’d also like to buy some bonds have you a recommendation?” We discussed this for a little, and then I ordered the purchase of $1000.00 in a good bond that would pay 5%. This would leave about $600, in the account, which would also earn interest, though not so much as the bonds. We verified all of this and then were ushered to the door, with every courtesy. I’d enjoyed this all immensely, though I was feeling very strange, half professional and all grown-up, and half worried sick about the risk I was undertaking.
We went to an elegant restaurant, south of town, where we had Chateaubriand. Everyone was in bed when I got home. Two Shoes was asleep in my bed. I joined him and snuggled. He woke right up and we practiced 69.
Nothing much happened at school. I noticed that one of the P.E. teachers watched me when I was running. When I got home, there was a message for me. Mrs. Arndt bustled up with her note pad and gave it to me, she had written, “bought kcc 16 ½ bonds done”.
“Can that make any sense,” she asked me?
“Yes, thank you, it does.”
There were lots of letters. Johnny reported on his doings at school, complained that their swimming was much reduced because of school, missed me. Told me to be careful when Roberto came to visit; he’d recently seen a movie about a man-eating cougar, the movie took place in the mountains, so he was worried about us. Not so worried that he wanted to come to the ranch, though, he was pretty much a “townie”. He told me that Gary was working on a great new dive. He told me how much I’d like it when he was on the diving board. I knew exactly what he meant. I pictured the fully tanned, beautifully naked Gary on the diving board for more than just a minute or two.
Tonio had some interesting information. He and Walt had met Bobbin and Papa. I was so stunned, when I read this, that rather than read-on and find out how this had come to pass, I stopped and tried to imagine how the impossible might have happened. This was futile in the extreme, so I read on, and it made perfect sense: Bobbin and Papa were now very close business associates, owning and operating citrus groves, and wanted to purchase another orange grove, Roberto had heard them discussing this on the Celayo front porch; Roberto was still regularly visiting Tonio and Walt under the guise of “working” on odd-jobs around their place. On his next visit with Tonio, after he, Johnny and Tonio had finished working-out in Tonio’s bedroom, Roberto mentioned this to Tonio. As soon as Walt, Joshua, and Gary were done in Walt’s bedroom, Roberto and Tonio spoke with Walt about this opportunity. Walt gave Roberto a business card and asked him to have Bobbin call him. Bobbin did. The four of them met at the bank and the deal was concluded. I chuckled at this. I had a vision of Bobbin and Papa meeting Tonio and Walt at the house. After all, on a wall in the living room there hung a very large oil painting of Roberto and me, naked and hard; we were walking up a path with the intention of having sex. We were suitably disguised, of course, as Ancient Greek boys, but the painting, not to mention all of the nude statuary around the pool and in the living room, would have created an interesting expression on Bobbin’s face – to say the very least. I love Bobbin very much, but his old time religion would have been stressed-out in that room.
There was a letter from Roberto confirming Tonio’s report from a slightly different perspective. He pointed out that we would all be welcome at Walt and Tonio’s with the knowledge and consent of Bobbin and Papa. Using the swimming pool would be the ostensible reason for this visit. They thought this would be Roberto’s “reward” for bringing them all together.
Emily had received my photos of Dragoon; she reported that the two paintings that she’d done of Roberto and I, had created some considerable interest, and she was eager for us to do some more posing for her.
Gary commented that none of the scenery at school compared to what he was used to in the summer. His Mother, the Commander, sent her best.
I received a large, very heavy package from Tonio. This contained a magnificent set of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. These books were beautiful and I could hardly wait. I was admiring volume one when my bedroom door clicked open and Two Shoes came in; he hadn’t even bothered with his bathrobe tonight. I returned his smile and put the book down on my desk, standing up so that he could undress me for our shower. Tonight was going to be another first for Two Shoes. The last three or four times I’d been paying particular attention to his ass, massaging, licking, prodding, and entering with lubed fingers. Tonight I was going to take his cherry. I thought we’d do it “doggy style” for his first time.
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