Southern Fried (16 page)

more gay and more naked than usual. They were both reclining

in adjacent lounge chairs. We watched and listened, my iPhone’s

camera at the ready.

“Do you know where he is?” Roy asked, absentmindedly

fiddling with his man-junk.

“No, he upped and vanished,” replied Port,
his
man-junk

already standing at full-mast. And mega-yacht full-mast at that.

Fifth limb full-mast.

“Which means she either told him or he somehow found

out,” said Roy. “Any ideas where he could be?”

He spat in his hand and slicked up his prick. I stifled a moan.

Almost. Port nodded. “Got a few men looking. Should be an

email by the time I get home. Don’t worry, he’ll turn up sooner

or later. Always does.”

Roy was now tugging on his shaft. We watched in appreciation

as it rose steadily. Roy, it turned out, was both a grower and

shower. In other words, he was big to start out with and only got

a hell of a lot more huge. “Not worried,” he said. “That’s you and

your old man’s department.”

Port winced. “More like the fucking senator’s. Which doesn’t

bode well for any of us.”

Roy stood up, mammoth cock swaying to and from, a shiteatin’ grin plastered on his handsome face as he slid a rubber over the beast. “He’ll turn up when the money runs out. Always

does,” he said, lifting Port’s legs up and out, the smile widening

as he got into position, cock-head against hole. “Knock, knock,”

he cooed.

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97

“Come on in,” rasped the senator’s grandson, eyelids

fluttering, head tilted back.

Zeb looked at me and gave me a slight shove. “You’re filming

this?” he whispered, “And you called me a dirty boy?”

I moved my face away from my iPhone for a second.

“Insurance,” I whispered back.

He nodded and pushed me again. Only lower this time. Much

lower. “And this?”

I pointed at my screen, at the two men now fucking their

brains out. “Guilt by association.”

“Dirty boy,” he repeated, crouching down, unzipping my fly,

and releasing yet a second beast, mine, which quickly disappeared

down his throat.

“Amen,” I rasped, shoving it in and down. I stared from him

to them and back again. “Takes one to know one.”

He popped my prick out of his mouth, a happy gagging tear

cascading down his scruffy cheek.
Such a beautiful man
, I thought.

Which came out as, “Think we can blow before they do?”

He stood and squinted between the slats. “They have a good

head start.”

I held the phone, he dropped my shorts and boxers, my cock

springing to life, dripping copious amounts of precome. He

followed suit, two divining rods pointing, two quickly grabbed

onto, my hand on his, his on mine. “Then let’s get a move on,

boyfriend. Ain’t about to lose to that miserable pair.”

I looked through the lens. Neither of them looked all that

miserable, but far be it from me to argue. Especially since Zeb

had a free hand, which somehow got quickly buried up my ass.

Somehow. I mean, I may have spread my feet apart some and

then told him to bury his hand up my ass, but that’s neither here

nor there. In any case, we’d taken a commanding lead, and with

their howling on the other side of the fence like two screaming

banshees, it was doubtful they heard us doing nearly the same on

our side.

98 Rob Rosen

“Close,” I moaned, asshole clenched tight around his

entrenched digits.

“Closer,” he moaned back, both of us staring in awe as Roy

retracted and them slammed into Port’s eager ass.

And then we shot together, both our cocks exploding in

sync, drenching the fence in ounce after ounce of opalescent

come, which shot and then slid down the wood in great big gobs.

Huffing and puffing, legs quaking, shirts soaked through with

sweat, we watched as Roy and Port came, no pun intended, in

close second. Okay, pun intended. And, boy howdy, did those

boys come, Port like a geyser with Roy’s massive prick filling

every centimeter of him. Pretty hot. And all of it on tape.

I leaned in and gave Zeb a deep, soulful kiss. He giggled and

whispered, “Well, it sure ain’t boring working for you, boss.”

I giggled back and pulled up my britches. “And it’s early yet.”

He pulled his shorts up, too. “Better get some more food into

me then. Think I just spewed out my protein reservoir.”

And so we hot-footed it out of there, speeding away in no

time flat, one hand of his on the steering wheel, the other in

mine. The hot sun was even hotter now, baking us. “Think they

were talking about Beau back there?” I asked, right away.

“Seems like it,” he replied. “And, if so, that answered at least

one thing.”

I nodded. “He didn’t know he was Granny’s grandson. At

least not maybe until recently. And it looks like we’re not the only

ones looking for him.”

“Meaning,” he added, “he’s gonna be even harder to find.

If he’s lying low, there’s a lot of places to do it in around these

parts.”

And then it hit me. “Wait,” I yelled out, slamming my hand on

my knee. “We’re not looking in the right place.”

“What do you mean? We’re not looking any place just yet.

Don’t know where to look.”

“No,” I told him. “I mean, we’ve been looking for Beau

southeRn FRied
99

Pellingham.”

“Which is his name.”

“No,” I repeated. “That’s what it said in Granny’s will, but it’s

doubtful he went through life with that last name. He must have

a different last name than that. An adoptive last name. I doubt

he ever heard the name Pellingham associated with him. I mean,

if Granny was hiding who she was from him, then it stands to

reason she was hiding everything from him. And I’m sure the

Pellinghams were hiding the same thing.”

“Meaning, he didn’t know that Pellingham’s his last name

by birth, probably. Or at least didn’t until recently, which could

explain why those two back there are afraid he’s gone missing all

of a sudden. Maybe they think he’s put two and two together.”

“And any guesses what Granny kept in her jewelry case, Zeb?”

I asked, a smile so big and wide on my face that it hurt.

“What’s that?” he replied, same exact smile.

“My birth certificate. Mine and my mama’s. Which, stands to

reason means…”

“… Beau’s.”

“And the jewelry case is missing. Which means…”

“…. Beau needed money, those two said. Your granny dies

and he’s without a salary. He lives in your room from time to

time, so he probably knows about the jewelry case. He steels it

after she dies and finds…”

“… his heritage.” I laughed. “Hey, we’ve only been boyfriends

for a day and we’re already finishing each other’s thoughts.”

“And spewing together on other people’s fences; don’t forget

that.”

I shifted my still sticky prick in my shorts. “Hard to forget

that one.” Again I laughed, squeezing his hand. “Anyway, imagine

if you all of a sudden find out that your parents came from two

of the most influential and wealthy southern families, and then

realized that this was kept from you your whole life, on purpose.

What would you do?”

100 Rob Rosen

He stared ahead and closed his eyes, obviously thinking

about my question. “If one of those families were the senator’s,

probably blackmail him. Your granny is dead, so he can’t do

anything about her, but the senator, well, he could do a mess of

evil, I reckon. And deservedly so.”

I nodded. “Which could explain why he’s in hiding. Maybe he’s

already done just that. Or maybe he’s pissed and skipped town,

washing his hands of both families, and using Granny’s jewels to

start a new life with.” I strummed the side of the car as he pulled

off the road and into a convenience store parking lot. “Only,

this doesn’t sound like Granny. She was a lot of things, but what

she did to him was really rotten. And why not at least tell me?

We could’ve still had a family. And he could’ve had a better life,

one without peach picking.” I scratched my head. “The puzzle is

coming together some, but we’re still missing some pieces. We

have to be.”

“But we know something else,” he said, looking my way.

“Which is?”

“Roy,” he said. “He must’ve been a plant. Explains why he left

the Pellingham’s and started working for your granny.”

“And explains those nice digs of his back there. Definitely

not from a gardener’s salary. Maybe he was keeping tabs on both

Granny and Beau.”

“But why both?”

I shrugged. “Not sure yet. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.

And hopefully find Beau before they do. Maybe he knows the

answer to that one.”

Zeb smiled and opened his door. “I’m starving. Be right

back.”

I watched him run in, tight little ass swaying back and forth.

Lucky me. But poor Beau. What an awful life. Maybe that’s why

he was so mean to me. Living high off the hog in New York City

while he’s slaving away and working odd jobs in order to get by.

Had every right to be pissed. As did I. All these years, I could’ve

had a brother.

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101

I stared at the sky. “Why Granny? Why did you have to keep

it a secret from me? Just to save the family name?” Suddenly, it

wasn’t just Beau who was deservedly pissed.

Thankfully, the gray skies cleared up and I put on a happy

face, Zeb returning, with two ice-cold Cokes and giant bag tossed

my way. “Homemade!” he squealed.

I unfurled the bag and peeked inside, the smell nearly

overpowering. “Homemade what?” I asked. “Styrofoam peanuts?

Are we packing up some valuables later?”

He socked me in the arm. “Silly northerner. These are the

finest pork rinds money can buy.”

I stared at him incredulously. “You paid money for fried pig

skin?”

He socked me again. “Deep fried and then sprinkled with

barbeque flavoring.” He stuck his fingers in the bag and then a

handful in his mouth.

Oddly, I’d never had one before. Granny certainly didn’t keep

it in stock, and you probably had to go out of your way to find it

in New York. Homemade that is. I mean, I’d seen it Frito Layed

on the shelves, but, come on, it’s puffed up and fried pork skin.

And I’m a gay man trying to fit into a size twenty-eight pair of

jeans. And designer jeans at that. Still, when in Rome… which we

have down here, too, only it’s Rome, Georgia. In other words, I

tried one. Then fairly moaned. “Oh, my God. They melt in your

mouth and then explode in a veritable cornucopia of flavor.”

He frowned. “Less gay, please.”

I popped another one in and crunched down. “These are

damned good.”

“Not for the pig, though.”

Three more went in, my mouth full of fried skin. “May it rest

in peace.”

“Pieces,” Zeb mumbled, stuffing his mouth full.

I grinned, crumbles of masticated pig falling from my mouth

to my t-shirt. “Think a half-bag of homemade pork rinds can

102 Rob Rosen

delay Port from what he has in mind for the two of you?”

Zeb stared inside the bag, probably contemplating whether

or nor a quarter of a bag could do just the same thing. Still, to be

safe, he scrunched it closed. “Probably,” he said, unscrewing the

top of the Coke and taking a chug. “Hopefully, that scene back at

Roy’s will have him satiated. At least temporarily.”

“And if not?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He sucked the barbeque powder off his fingers and then

gripped my hand. “Don’t worry, you have the insurance. We’re

safe.” Though I was much more worried about leaving the two

of them alone together than for my safety. I’d seen Port naked.

And hard. That was some
stiff
competition. But I just smiled and

put on a brave face, knowing that Beau might be within our grasp

now. It wasn’t the plan we had originally planned, but a better

one, a twist on the original. Like putting barbeque powder on a

pork rind. Making it even better.

We sat there like that, drinking our Cokes and biding our time.

He wasn’t meeting Port for another half an hour. The apartment

was only twenty minutes away. Ten minutes to catch our breath,

to regroup, go over the new plan one more time. It was an easy

one, but so much was riding on it. A family hung in the balance,

after all. Mine.

We pulled out of the parking lot a short while later, the heady

aroma of fried pig skin and barbeque wafting over us and out

the window. Hey, let’s hear someone in New York City make that

statement. Then, as planned, we pulled up to his building right on

time. It was a small place, non-descript, a perfect little getaway. In

other words, a super large closet to hide away in.

“Wait ten minutes and then come up.” He leaned in and gave

me a kiss, his lips as comforting as a Xanax. “And don’t worry;

this will work. Worse case scenario, we try and fail and then we’re

back to square one.”

I forced a smile. “Um, worse case scenario: he catches us, we