The Perils of Praline (4 page)

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“But, they’ve got my clothes and my phone and my money!”

Jason considered. “We could call the police and have them—”

“No!” Praline practically shouted. “No cops.”

“Okay.” Jason eyed him suspiciously. “But it’s not like you’ve done anything illegal.”

Praline couldn’t count how many of his mother’s friends and clients had gotten arrested after not doing anything illegal; or at least not anything very illegal. He wasn’t going to take that chance.

Jason considered him. “So, when you decided to come out here, did you have any sort of plan? I mean, obviously you didn’t have hotel reservations…”

Praline shrugged. “I just knew things would work out. Everything happens for the best.”

“No, actually it doesn’t. For example, you ended up hanging naked off a building.”

“Yes, it does. For example, you saved me.”

“But—”

Suddenly, the fighting upstairs erupted into a flurry of yelps, thuds and a sliding glass door slamming open. A moment later Praline’s duffle dropped from the balcony above on its way to the street below. In short order, Praline’s clothes, shoes and backpack followed.

“Was that your bag?” Jason asked.

Praline nodded.

Following Jason out of the building and onto the street, Praline spotted his things immediately. He was relieved that some depraved homeless person hadn’t stolen them. Cautiously, he looked up and down the street to make sure they weren’t lying in wait.

Jason gave him a suspicious look, “What are you doing?”

“Looking out for the homeless,” Praline whispered.

Mistaking his meaning, Jason suggested, “If you want to help them out, I think there’s a mission downtown. You can send a donation.”

Praline nearly gasped
;
his mother would be appalled to learn that the homeless had organized their attempts at extortion.

Quickly, he gathered his clothes and his duffle. His things looked fine
,
with the exception of a bottle of designer Klevin von Cain’s
Elude
that had broken and soaked through most of his wardrobe. Fortunately, his phone and his wallet were in his backpack, which remained cologne-free. His wallet, though, had been rifled, his license taken out of its slipcase and put back in sloppily—obviously having been stared at, which gave Praline the creeps—and, most importantly, his five hundred eighty-three dollars was missing.

“Why would Stewart take my money?” Praline wondered. “His apartment was so nice. Flight attendants must make a ton of money. Why would he steal from me?”

“Actually, flight attendants are paid crap,” explained Jason.

“Well, that doesn’t seem fair. I know it was my first flight and all, but those flight attendants worked really hard collecting money from everyone.”

“He probably lives with a sugar daddy,” Jason speculated. Then added, “An older man who pays for everything.”

“I know what a sugar daddy is,” Praline said indignantly. “I grew up with cable TV. We had all the channels. I’m very well informed.”

One of Praline’s step-daddies, he’s not sure which, had spliced them into the neighbor’s cable box. Praline’s mama was a devout Capitalist who believed a free market was one in which most things were free.

Praline brightened. “Hey, Dave G. is older than I am. He can be my sugar daddy!”

“Uh, no,” Jason said. “Struggling actors make terrible sugar daddies. Generally they have less money than flight attendants.”

Sometimes the world seemed upside down to Praline. If you had to be good-looking to be a flight attendant or a struggling actor, and certainly it seemed you did, then really you ought to be paid more because of it. He thought it terrible that good-looking people were being taken advantage of in that way. Praline briefly considered the idea of forming some kind of attractive people’s union, but then remembered his mother had taught him unions were a communist invention meant to undermine Christianity and—

“You got everything?” Jason asked. And he did have everything, so they went back upstairs.

When they got back to the apartment it was nearly four a.m. “We should probably go to sleep,” Jason suggested. “We can run your clothes through the washing machine in the morning.”

As Praline followed Jason into the bedroom, he couldn’t help but think of Commandment number seven. Always repay a favor with a favor. Jason had saved his life and now it was time to repay him with sex. It was the least he could do. And even though Jason wasn’t what
he
’d call attractive, he seemed nice and so the sex would at least be fun, if not especially hot.

“You have a lovely apartment, by the way,” Praline said, standing very close to his host
,
thinking about what he might like to do to him.

Jason stepped away. “It’s not mine. It’s my boss’s. I’m house sitting until tomorrow.” He shrugged and added, “I’m an assistant. We don’t make any money, either.”

Then, much to Praline’s surprise, Jason took one of the pillows off the bed and picked up a scratchy blanket off a birch-branch chair. “You can sleep on the sofa.”

Praline was stunned. “Sleep on the sofa? But, I thought…”

“What did you think?”

“Well, you’ve been so nice, saving my life and all, which makes me forever indebted to you.” A state in which Praline knew he should not remain. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason said. “It’s no trouble.”

“But, if you ever need a favor. You promise you’ll just ask?”

“If I find myself hanging naked off a building, you’ll be the first one I call.”

“That’s not what I mean. What I mean is…what I’m thinking…” Praline smiled coyly. “If you want to have sex that would be all right. I don’t mind.”

Jason looked him up and down. “You don’t mind? Wow. I’ve heard that Southerners are super polite but offering to have sex out of, what? Courtesy? Well, that’s not polite at all. In fact, it’s kind of rude.”

Jason’s behavior was terribly confusing. He had been nice enough to save Praline’s life, so Praline offered to have sex. It was that simple. Why was Jason getting all twisted out of shape? There had to be something else going on. With a suspicious look, Praline asked, “You’re not gay, are you?”

“Of course, I’m gay,” Jason insisted, tersely.

He had to be lying; Praline was sure of it. A true homosexual would never turn down sex. The megapastor at his mama’s church had given many a sermon about the immoral, wanton, and promiscuous behavior of the gays. If the pastor had been wrong, well, Praline would be sorely disappointed.

Then, he considered another possibility. “Are you functional? Because you know they have pills now and—”

“I’m functional, all right!” The young man’s face had gotten quite red and he took a deep breath to calm himself. He growled, “Just go to bed.”

Flummoxed, Praline walked out into the living room and tried to make himself comfortable on the slab-like leather sofa. Jason was the most illogical person he’d ever met. On one hand, he’d been nice enough to save Praline’s life and offer him a place to spend the night. On the other, he was completely disagreeable. Rude, he’d called Praline rude. But Praline had not been rude. In fact, it was virtually impossible for a true Southerner to be rude. And, if nothing else, he was a true Southerner. If anyone was rude it was Jason. Had the situation been reversed Praline would have agreed to have sex, even if only to be polite. He wondered if he should just leave, and he might have if his clothes hadn’t been soaked in Klevin von Cain’s
Elude
.

Knowing he needed to get some sleep, Praline put aside the vexing problem of Jason and began to fantasize about Dave G.—which
was
how he’d been putting himself to sleep for weeks. It was terribly exciting to think that Dave G. might be just a few blocks away, across the street, or even across the hall. Praline pretended it was the next morning, his clothes would be clean and he’d have just said goodbye to Jason. He’d walk out into the hallway, there’d be a click and he’d turn and see Dave G. standing in his doorway. Well, it did seem like the kind of building reality TV stars would live in.

Anyway, their eyes would meet. The connection between them would hit like lightening. Dave G. might be confused by it, though intrigued. Who was this stranger? Did they know each other? He’d wonder. Praline would smile and say, “Hey.” And that one little word, which seemed to convey nothing, would actually convey everything that needed to be said.

Dave G. would invite Praline into his apartment. They’d kiss even before he shut the door. Deep, never-ending soul kissing, their tongues entwined
,
they’d lose track of whose was whose. The kisses would, impossibly, become deeper, and it would seem to Praline they were melting into one flawless person.

Praline would pull away and whisper, “You complete me.” Sensitive and thoughtful, Dave G. wouldn’t mention that he knew the line came from a movie. Praline would already have become too special, too important to quibble over silly things like unoriginal pillow talk. Dave G. would even say, “You complete me, too.”

Emotion would well in Praline’s chest, and he’d just have to drop to the floor and suck Dave G.’s cock. There are no zippers, buttons, or even pants in Praline’s fantasies of Dave G., so he instantly finds himself about to put his lover’s penis in his mouth. But first, he inspects it.

Tonight, it’s thick and not as long as it often is. He has a foreskin that Praline licks and pulls at, but Dave G. is quickly becoming hard, making the foreskin seem to disappear. Or maybe Praline just changes his mind about that detail, allowing the foreskin to disappear as he tongues the head of his lover’s penis. Dave G. moans, a deep primal sound.

Then, unable to wait any longer, Dave G. pulls his dick out of Praline’s mouth and pushes him onto the floor. Moments later he’s sucking Praline’s stiff rod. The boy squirms at the intense pleasure. Dave G. licks and teases him. Praline looks down to see Dave G. returning his gaze, his floppy brown hair falling into his mysterious gray eyes as
he
slips the thick mushroom head of Praline’s prick into his mouth. Tenderly, Praline reaches down and brushes the hair out of Dave G.’s eyes.

Now they’re fucking. Praline bent over a bed, arching his back, trying to look back at Dave G., but then the pleasure takes over and he can’t do anything but chew on the bedspread while he pushes his ass
on
to Dave G.’s cock again and again. He’s flipped over and Dave G. splits Praline’s legs wide open, one over his shoulder
,
the other resting on the bed. He’s being fucked sideways—oh, the joys of a creative lover—deeper and deeper, faster and faster. They change positions and now he’s shoved up against the wall as Dave G. slams him from behind. Having grown up
with
online porn, Praline’s fantasies required fucking in at least three distinct positions.

Pulled over to the bed, Praline has no idea what’s coming next when Dave G. pushes him down and practically jumps onto Praline’s rock hard cock. Dave G. lowers himself onto Praline, pleasuring them both. Praline raises his hips to meet his lover, gasping at the intensity of their passion. He can barely stand it as Dave G. rides him, and just at as they’re coming, sweet and intense, their eyes lock, their connection unbreakable. 

Praline opened his eyes slowly, realized it was morning and that a wet, sticky stain had spread along the waistband of Jason’s gym shorts. Shit, he thought. He needed to give the shorts back and, while he assumed Jason would wash them, he didn’t want him actually looking at them—or smelling them, for that matter.

A sleepy Jason walked into the living room, still dressed in only his pajama bottoms. Embarrassed, Praline looked away, as though just by looking at him Jason would know what had occurred in his gym shorts.

“Want some breakfast?” Jason asked and scratched his chin—which seemed to have sprouted an entire beard in the few hours he’d been asleep.

“Can we throw my clothes in the washer?” Praline asked.

Jason led him to the washer and dryer tucked into a closet next to the bathroom. After he dumped his Klevin von Cain drenched clothing into the washer, he solved his cum-stained gym shorts problem by pealing them off and tossing them in too. For good measure, he took off Jason’s T-shirt and threw that in as well. Jason gave Praline an uncomfortable look.

“What?” Praline asked.

“You’re naked,” Jason stated the obvious.

“Yeah, so? You’ve seen me naked before, and you weren’t interested.”

Jason looked like he might say something, then blushed instead. “Why don’t you take a shower, since you’re dressed for it. Or rather undressed for it.”

Praline thumped into the bathroom and decided not to think about the “nice one minute, not nice the next” person who was making him breakfast. He’d be gone soon enough and it wouldn’t matter a bit.

 The bathroom was similar to the one upstairs, but from a completely different episode of
Momentous Home Makeovers
. This bathroom would be perfect for an episode where the homeowner is rescued from the depths of depression by clever applications of vivid, passionate color. Climbing into the glass enclosure Praline began his shower while daydreaming of Dave G. and the wonderful life they were about to have.

Praline was nearly, but not quite, six feet tall. He carried very little body fat, except of course in his aforementioned bodacious booty. His calves were well developed, his thighs rather large and his abdomen effortlessly defined. In fact, if Praline skipped a meal or two, he was suddenly what’s referred to as cut. His chest was thin but muscular, as were his arms. When erect, his penis was above average and nicely shaped with an unexpected girth right below the head giving it a shape suggestive of futuristic rockets or a policeman’s billy club. Now though, in its flaccid state, it more closely resembled a sleeping Bassett hound. His skin was dark for a blond, but still light and creamy, his cheeks often flushed pink—both sets.

Carefully arranging one of the ridiculously thick and absorbent towels around his waist, Praline left the bathroom and joined Jason in the kitchen area.