Title: Single: With Prospects

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Married: With Children

Pairing: Bud Bundy/Jefferson D'Arcy eventually

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Bud's grown, and ready to ditch the Bundy household, but has fallen victim to inertia.

Archive: Yes to mailing lists (and respective list archives), and the WWOMB. Otherwise ask

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: WIP

Sequel/Series:

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Warnings: Crudity--hey, these are the BUNDY'S we're talking about here. Allusions to incest.

Warnings: Voyeurism--older man, younger boy.

Single: With Prospects?
By Scribe

"Thank you, sir. We here at Blimpoburger hope you enjoy your meal," Bud said, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his tone.

The father cast a jaundice gaze at the two-year-old who was currently wiping his snotty nose on the man's pants, then at the three-year-old twin girls who were engaged in a shoving match, then at the woman beside him, who was trying to arrange an eight or nine month old infant comfortably over the bulge of her new pregnancy. He returned dead eyes to Bud as he hefted the tray of Kiddee Meals. "Right."

Bud turned away with a shudder. "That's it. I'm lookin' into whether or not the Uni Infirmary can arrange a discount vasectomy."

"Come, come, Bundy!"

Bud winced at the high-pitched, pompous voice. "Just mulling over a personal life choice, Mister Abernasty." The short, bald manager frowned. "Oops. Abernathy. DARN that speech impediment."

He shrugged. "Funny how many of you young folk have that particular lisp. Anyway, DON'T go nipping the nads, boy! It would be highly disloyal to the Company. Why, families make up almost 89% of our business, with almost four-fifths of that in Kiddee Meals and Give Away toys."

"I meant to ask you about that, sir. Real clever marketing to have all the bright, alluring piece of crap toys..."

"WHAT?"

*cough* "Piece de resistance toys. Darn that speech impediment. Have them right at the register, where the kids can stare at them while Mom and Dad are ordering, and become obsessed--real clever. But I was wondering... How can you label them 'Give Away' when you tack on an extra charge for them?"

"I explained that at the New Employee Orientation last week, Bundy," said the man patiently. He tapped the sign over the shelf of cheap, garish, plastic and plushie mini-toys. "See that little C in a circle? That's a copyright symbol. The company name is Give Away, so these are Give Away Toys."

"I see. Very sneaky, sir."

Abernathy's chest puffed out. "We have the finest corporate sharks available."

"But don't the parents object when they realize they'll be charged extra?"

Abernathy shrugged. "By then the kid will be in a state of hysterics if they don't get the toy. Believe me, we don't lose many sales. Remember to push them." He clapped Bud on the back. "And keep the plumbing intact. The greater the population growth, the greater the profit margin!" A school bus had pulled up outside, and a steady stream of kids dressed in identical school uniforms were piling out, supervised by two militant looking women in habits. Abernathy rubbed his hands gleefully. "God, I LOVE Catholics! In some diocese our customer base grows at a rate you wouldn't believe!"

As the first kid shoved the door open, Bud stepped away from the counter, jerking his paper hat off. "And my shift is over, thank God."

Abernathy frowned. "You couldn't hang over a little longer to help out? You'll make overtime."

Bud eyed the mob of children who had congregated at the counter. "Gee, as much as that extra $2.57 an hour would come in handy, I have to pass. Friday night is my night for catechism class."

*****

Al Bundy was in his usual position--on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other. Actually, that was his second-most usual position--he couldn't get his hand down the front of his pants and still work the remote. He was currently trying to watch a scrambled program on the BBC--Bimbos and Babes Channel. He looked over at Buck, who was sitting next to him. "I think I just saw a boob. Did that look like a boob to you?"

Buck glanced at him. *If you want to see a boob that badly, go look in the mirror. Wouldya mind holding that can over here so I can lick the condensation off the side? The water in the toilet hasn't tasted right since your wife got that free sample of toilet bowl cleaner and actually used it.*

Bud came in the front door. "Ah, home sweet hovel." Buck hopped off the couch and ran to meet him. "Well, I'm glad someone is glad to see... DAMMIT, Buck! Quit trying to eat my pants--I have to pay for the damn things!"

*Then either feed me, or quit coming home smelling like a hamburger, kid.*

Bud squatted down and pulled a handful of cold, greasy french fries out of his uniform pocket, offering them to Buck. He whispered, "Here. Just don't let Mom, Dad, or Kelly know I gave you these. They'll start sending me to work with an order list, and the pockets aren't big enough to smuggle out family sized meals."

*You could always stuff them down your pants.* Buck scarfed the fries, then licked his chops. *Thanks, kid. Next time you forget to let me out, I'll take a dump on your sister's bed instead of yours.*

Bud scratched behind his ears. "Anyway, it's nice to have a living, intelligent creature greet you when you come home."

He stood, and Al glanced over at him. "Did you bring home some of the packs of ketchup, like I asked?"

Bud walked over, digging in his other pocket. "As I was saying, living and INTELLIGENT." He handed Al a handful of foil packs. "You owe me half a buck. Abernasty caught me lifting those, and I had to kick in a nickel apiece so he wouldn't think I was swiping it."

Al ripped one pack open and squeezed it into his mouth. "I'll add it to your allowance."

"Uh-huh. Is this the allowance you promised me when I was ten?"

"I keep telling you, I'm investing it for you. Think of all the interest you'll earn."

"Right. Which bank is it you have it deposited in again?"

"Since when did you switch your major to business?"

Bud gave up. He pointed at the beer in Al's hand. "That wouldn't be my last beer, would it?"

"It would if you haven't brought any home with you. And next time how about buying something other than the generic store brand?" Al belched. "I think this is stale."

Bud rolled his eyes. "A beer hasn't ever existed in this house long enough to go stale, Dad. Are you going out bowling tonight?"

"As per usual. Gonna drink some brews, shoot some shit, and roll some balls."

"Taking Mom to bingo?"

"Yep. She's gonna drink some brews, lose some cash, and break some balls."

"Break balls?"

"Son, you've never seen your mother in a dispute with a bingo caller, have you? Kelly's latest lecher should be here to pick her up soon. Do me a favor? If I'm already gone and he looks too sleazy..."

"Too sleazy for Kelly? Is there such a thing?"

"There must be. There ARE no absolutes, only different gradients. Anyway, you don't have to kick his ass..." Al snickered, then waved at Bud apologetically. "I'm sorry--the idea of you kicking ass..."

"Right. If he looks like he might not support the results of their date, tell him you'll turn him inside out, then hold him upside down, shake him, and steal whatever falls on the floor."

"Thanks, Burgerboy."

Bud trudged up the stairs and first went to the bathroom. There was steam seeping out from under the door, the sound of a blow dryer, and the chemical scent of hair products. Bud tapped on the door. "Kel? Any chance of getting in this century?"

"Get lost, Bud. I have to get ready for my date. Oh, wait..." He could hear her snickering. "That's not a concept you'd be familiar with, is it?"

"Kelly, I'm impressed! You made a sentence with TWO words of more than two syllables. What if I need to use the can?"

"Haven't I warned you to keep a jug or something in your room, in case of emergency?"

"Suppose that's not why I need to get in?"

"Why else would you...? Oh. Well, use that flowerbed Mom tried to put in about three years ago. Maybe there's a stray seed in it, and a little fertilization..."

"If I see your boyfriend before you do, I'm telling him that Letter to the Editor in the 2002 October issue of Penthouse was about you."

Bud turned around, and almost bumped into his mother. Startled, he took a step back, but that put him flush against the door. She smiled at him. "Hi, Bud. You can use the Master Bathroom, if you want." She took his hand. "I'll show you the way."

He felt her fingers tickling his palm, and carefully withdrew his hand, "Thanks Mom, but I don't think the Master would like that." She laughed. "Plus, I KNOW where it is."

Peggy pouted, twisting her shoulders petulantly, so that her bosom brushed him. "Oh, I just BET you do." She trailed one scarlet painted fingernail down the center of his chest. "You've gotten so grown up and smart. What happened to Mama's little boy?"

Bud swallowed hard. "Dad's waiting downstairs." Peggy leaned an inch closer. "He'll leave if you're late."

She tugged lightly at his beard, "I bet that tickles. Why don't you give Mama a kiss so I can see?"

Bud played his ace. "All the good spots will be taken up at bingo."

She stepped back. "Bye, kid."

Bud slumped in relief as Peggy bounced down the stairs. He shook his head as he heard the front door slam and his parents' car pull out. *Oh, man, Mom has gotten WEIRD since I came of age. I'm beginning to understand that trapped look in Dad's eyes.*

He went to his room, unlocking his door. He'd had the deadbolt put in when he was fifteen, after Kelly and some of her friends had snuck into his room and pasted the heads of models from the AARP calendar over the faces of all the models in his porn magazines. He carefully locked the door behind himself, then turned and surveyed his room. "My domain." He snorted.

As the youngest, he'd gotten the smallest bedroom. It was about the size of a double walk-in closet. When his parents had moved up to a new bed, he HAD gotten the old double. Unfortunately, once you took into account his chest of drawers and his nightstand, he had to crawl over the foot of the bed to get in and out of it. Still, he could open the doors to the hall and closet without banging into furniture--just barely.

Bud went to his knee-high, cube shaped bookcase. He ran a finger along the spines of the books till he came to a copy of Somerset Maugham's 'Cakes and Ale'. He tipped the volume forward. There was a click and, using the book as a handle, he swung the entire face of the case, books and all, out, revealing the interior of a mini-fridge. He reached in and snagged a dark green bottle, twisted off the cap, and toasted, "Here's to moochers who never willingly pick up anything literary except the TV Guide, Cosmo, or a skin magazine." He drank deeply, then sighed in satisfaction and sat down on the end of the bed. He considered the half-dozen assorted packages of snack cakes in the refrigerator, then decided to save his stash for later.

Bud heard someone banging on the front door. He considered going down to see who it was, then decided it probably wasn't Ed McMahon with a check, and took another swig of beer. *Probably just Kelly's date.*

Someone downstairs yelled, "Yo, haul ass, or th' rooms wit' the pay-per-view porn will all be booked up!"

*Yep, Kel's date.*

"Hold your horses!" Kelly yelled from just outside his door. "Geez, you damn sure better not be in this big a hurry when we get to the good stuff." There was a rap on the door. "Bud! Lend me some money."

"Kel, how many times do I have to tell you--shove some down your bra and don't let pimpdaddy get your whole take. I work at a fast-food franchise. How much money do you think I have?"

"Oh, sorry. Forgot for a minute what a loser you are." She giggled as she went downstairs.

"Said the girl whose claim to fame was being The Verminator," said Bud dryly. He considered going and taking a shower, but considering the steam that had been coming from the bathroom, it'd be midnight before there was enough hot water to make it worthwhile. *And I'm damn sure not in the mood for a cold shower. Had enough of those in my lifetime, thank you VERY much.*

He turned his head, lifting his arm, and sniffed his pit. *Not too bad. I can live with it.* He sniffed his shirt, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale grease and onions. "The uniform, however, has to go.*

He stood up, sighing, and opened his window to catch a breeze, then started stripping out of his uniform. *This place is gonna drive me to insanity, murder, or suicide. I don't mind the first two so much, but the last one sucks big time. I'm not having any luck getting out on my own, since the only jobs I can get without a degree suck donkey dick when it comes to pay.* He'd peeled off his shirt. Now he shoved down his pants, and took a moment to give his crotch a leisurely scratch, getting in touch with his inner Bundy. *What I need is someone to come and take me away from all this.*

*****

Marcy D'Arcy had put the finishing touches on her 'look', and was ready to go out for the evening. All that was left was to say good-bye to her husband, but Jefferson wasn't anywhere downstairs. She went up to their bedroom, calling, "Jefferson, sweetie, Mommy's going now." The door to their room was closed, and she opened it, poking her head in. "What are you doing with the door closed, silly?"

"Was it closed?" Jefferson, her big, blonde, handsome husband gestured with one hand toward the open bedroom window. "Wind must've blown it shut. I didn't notice." He kept the other hand tucked behind his back.

Marcy's eyes narrowed, and she came into the room. "What's that behind your back, Jeff?"

He blinked. "A window."

"Show me your hand." He held out the hand he'd pointed with. "The other one." He stuck his pointing hand behind his back, then showed her the other hand. "BOTH of them." Jefferson sighed, and brought both hands into view. He was holding a pair of binoculars. "Jefferson Milhouse D'Arcy! Have you been peeking at Kelly Bundy again?"

Jeff put a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "No, I swear. Anyway, she left a few minutes ago. You heard her boyfriend pick her up."

Marcy nodded. "Helen Keller could have heard that." She cocked her head. "Were you peeking at Peggy?"

"MARCY!" Jefferson looked sick and horrified.

"Oh, I'm sorry, pookie! Forgive me for suggesting it. Anyway, I saw her leave with Al. So, if you aren't looking at Kelly or Peggy, what are you doing with the binoculars?"

"Stargazing?"

"It's still light outside."

He smiled charmingly. "You got me. I was bird watching. I just don't want it to get around that I'm a birder. It's not considered MANLY, you know."

"Aw, sweetie, I'll never tell. I'm on my way to my WWP meeting."

"Have fun."

She started to go, then said, "What sort of birds were your watching? I've never seen much of anything around here."

"Chicken."

"Oh." She left, shaking her head, calling over her shoulder. "I didn't think we were zoned for poultry."

When he was sure she was in the car and pulling out, Jefferson turned back to the window, raising the binoculars. The open window of the house next door sprang into focus. Bud Bundy had once again sat down on the end of his bed. He'd assumed the classic Bundy pose--one hand down the front of his boxers. Jeff licked his lips. *We aren't, but there's still some chicken in the neighborhood.*

Notes: Wanker is Peggy's maiden name. *snicker* (sorry, it's the idea of Peggy ever having the term 'maiden' associated with her) //indicates singing//

Bud finished his beer, trying to decide what to do next. Tomorrow was Saturday, so there were no classes, and he wasn't scheduled till the evening shift at Blimpoburger. When he was back in high school such an expanse of unstructured time would have meant freedom--these days it meant boredom.

He supposed he could go downstairs and watch television. Of course, Dad was too cheap to spring for satellite or cable, and Mom was happy as long as she could see the soaps and Jerry Springer. *And why not? I'm pretty sure the Wanker and Bundy families have supplied a good portion of their guests in the past. Maybe Survivor will be on. At least then I'll get to see chicks in bikini tops and guys in raggedy cut-offs.*

"Shower," he muttered. Kelly had been rooted out of the bathroom a little early by her date, so maybe the water would be back up to tepid, or even WARM, by now. He got off the bed, dropping his bottle into the wastebasket *Note to self--remember to put bottle in paper bag and smash before putting in family trash. Dad can spot an empty through a plastic trash bag, and there'll go my private stash. He'd call in the SWAT battering ram to get to a cold Heineken*. He dug into his bottom dresser drawer and came up with a couple of clean towels.

He'd started doing his own laundry in his freshman year at high school, right after Mom had left one of her Frederick's of Hollywood specials in the washing machine when she did his underwear. Wouldn't you know that would be the one time she'd remember 'hot water for whites'? The resulting pastel pink jockey shorts had made his life very interesting in gym class for several reasons. There was the expected minor thumping, and the also expected forced entry into the girls' locker room. An INTERESTING result had been having one of the wrestlers whisper that he wished HE was brave enough to come out so boldly. That and the request for a date from one of the defensive linemen had opened Bud's eyes to a whole SPECTRUM of possibilities.

Bud considered grabbing a fresh change of clothing, then thought, *Fuck it. No one here but Buck, and it's no problem going naked in front of him.* He paused and thought, *Well, not as long as that collie across the street is in heat, anyway.* Flipping the towels over his shoulder, he headed out to the bathroom.

*****

Jefferson D'Arcy did NOT jump up and down with excitement--that would have been undignified. No, the bouncing on his heels was entirely within the limits of acceptable behavior. *All RIGHT! He took towels, and he DIDN'T take clothes! Showtimeshowtimeshowtime!*

Part Three

Bud had sat down before he began the rescue attempt, figuring that way he'd be less likely to lose his balance and be catapulted out into space. It took a lot of tugging, grunting, and swearing, but he finally managed to pull Jefferson up far enough to get his hands under the older man's armpits. He did some more tugging and grunting, and Jefferson gripped his arms and managed to brace his feet enough to begin to scramble up.

Jefferson got a knee up on the edge of the roof, and lunged for safety. Bud, startled, was knocked backward. He landed with a yelp, and found Jefferson sprawled on top of him. He also found himself pondering the very intriguing sensation of being pinned beneath a muscular, distinctly masculine body.

Before that train of thought left the station, though, Jefferson's bullshit kicked in. "You know, this is the DAMNDEST bout of sleepwalking I've ever had."

Bud pushed him off to the side. "C'mon, D'arcy--not that chestnut. I might've bought it if you'd come in downstairs. Or maybe even if you'd just climbed the tree." He reached out and flicked the camera hanging around Jefferson's neck. "But bringing the digital? Don't think so."

Jefferson sat up. "I was rescuing a cat." Bud looked around pointedly. Jefferson shrugged. "You know those damned cats. They're like cars. Cars malfunction till you get to a mechanic, then they purr. Cats get somewhere high and bitch and moan till you go after them, then they scratch you and haul ass, leaving you stuck."

"Look, if there was a cat anywhere around here, Buck would have already tried to eat it or hump it--either way there'd have been a LOT of noise. Try again."

Jefferson shifted. "Do you think we could go inside? I have to admit that this isn't the most comfortable place I've ever been. I don't think it's conducive to passing information."

"Unless I threaten to heave you over the edge."

Jefferson smiled genially. "Not to brag or sound threatening, but I make up about two of you."

"Okay. Unless I threaten to call 911 and report a prowler."

"Oh, come on, Bud. I'm your neighbor. How seriously are they going to take it?"

"I could always tell Mom that you enjoy peeping around the house." Jefferson paled visibly, and Bud relented. "Nah, I wouldn't do that. I may be a snot sometimes, but I'm not cruel. C'mon in." They crawled into the bedroom, and Bud closed the window. Bud gestured at the bed. "Have a seat." He opened his fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. He handed one to Jefferson as he sat beside him. "Might as well get comfortable."

Jefferson opened his beer and took a swig. "Wonderful idea. Loosen your towel." Bud had been tilting his own bottle to his lips, now he paused, giving Jefferson a look. "Or anything else that might be binding."

"D'Arcy, let me see if I understand this correctly. You were peeping, and not at Kelly, or even, the mind boggles, my Mom--but at me." Jefferson nodded. "You were taking pictures." He nodded again. "Were you going to post them on the web for laughs and profit?"

"No, I haven't."

"Why not? I could understand that. It worked great when I did it with Kelly. If Dad hadn't noticed the charges for the web host on his credit card I'd still be doing it." He cocked his head. "Ya know, I think I could have gotten away with it if I'd offered him a cut."

"You're not going to believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

"I'm selfish. I didn't want to share you. But if you ever decide you want a career as a nude model, I can work up a nice portfolio for you."

Bud snorted. "It'd have to be better than working at Blimpoburger." He smiled. "And the thought of hundreds of ladies drooling over my unclothed bod is not unappealing."

"How would you feel about thousands of guys doing the drooling?"

"Say what?"

"Oh, c'mon, Bud. You have to realize that the biggest market for male nudes is the gay community. I know that I used to steal my Mom's Playgirl on a regular basis."

"But Jefferson--you--Marcy..."

"Just because I'm capable of functioning with one set of equipment doesn't mean it's my preference, son."

Bud was genuinely curious now. "But wouldn't Marcy, like, neuter you if you fooled around with another guy?"

"Not if she could watch." Bud gaped. "That got your attention didn't, it?"

"Frankly, the idea of Marcy being sexually excited by anything is a little frightening, but yeah--that strikes me as a little off the wall."

"Why?"

"Jefferson..." Bud gestured helplessly. "A woman getting turned on by watching two guys make out?"

"Don't you get turned on by the idea of watching two women make out?"

"Well--sure." Jefferson made a 'there you go' gesture. "But it's not the same thing." Jefferson cocked his head, grinning at him, and Bud said slowly, "Yeah... I suppose it COULD be the same thing, couldn't it?"

"You have no idea, bo." D'Arcy put his arm around Bud's shoulder in a conspiratorial manner, leaning his head close. "Ever heard of slash?"

Bud blinked. *Boy, Jefferson has long eyelashes.* "You mean the guitarist for Guns 'n Roses." Jefferson shook his head. A wisp of silky blond hair tickled Bud's cheek, and he felt the need to take a deep breath, but repressed it. "Horror movies?"

"Slash, not slash-ER. I'm gonna have to tell you. Slash is stories, usually fanfiction, that involve same sex romantic or sexual situations."

Bud could feel his eyebrows climbing. "Gay porn?"

"Sometimes, but it tends toward more plot than the usual 'oops, my clothes fell off, let's fuck'. Anyway, the Internet is just smack FULL of it. I want you to picture this, Bud." He squeezed Bud a little tighter and held out his hand, fingers spread, as if indicating the artistic features of a fine painting. "Thousands upon thousands of women--all ages, shapes, and sizes--sitting in front of computers, writing and reading about men having sex together. DISCUSSING men having sex together." He cut his eyes sideways at Bud, noting that the boy was staring into the distance, eyes beginning to glaze slightly. "Getting their seat cushions damp."

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck." The exclamation was soft, almost reverent. "So some women really DO like the idea of two guys getting it on."

Jefferson nodded. "They surely do." He paused. "How do you feel about it?"

Bud sat back a little from him, but said, "The thought has crossed my mind more than once."

"So?"

"So a linebacker DID ask me out, but he was talking about going to Shoney's, then to Steamy Windows Lane. I'm sure as hell not forking over my guy-guy virginity for a Pasta Platter and a slice of peanut-butter pie."

Jefferson grinned. "Bless your money grubbing lil heart. I knew you were my kind of boy. If it isn't going to be for sheer horniness, it had better be well compensated."

"Damn straight, if you'll pardon the expression. I MIGHT have considered it if he hadn't been butt ugly."

"So, Bud, what you're saying is that you're flexible on gender specifications in your whoopie partners?"

"Man, I just realized that it goes against my personal creedo to turn down ANY sort of good lookin' nookie."

"Good, good. I do believe that you and I can be very good for each other, Bud."

"And what makes you think I'd be interested in letting YOU pluck my man-cherry?"

"The fact that I've been rubbing your thigh for the past minute without you trying to put my lights out says something. But I don't just want to jump your bones."

"You don't?" There was clear disbelief in Bud's voice.

"Oh, that, too, but there are ways that we can help each other. I could do you some good in the finance department."

"Oh, come on, D'Arcy. You don't work, except for those get-rich-quick schemes, which are about as successful as the ones that Fred and Barney used to come up with. Marcy gives you an ALLOWANCE."

"Which is more than what you get from your parents."

Bud sighed. "Got me there."

"True, but I don't have to sleep with Mom." He shuddered. "Not yet, anyway."

Jefferson looked horrified. "You mean that Peg...?"

"Not yet, but I'm considering buying a chastity belt."

D'Arcy shook his head. "You REALLY need to consider my proposition. You could do well by yourself in the *ahem* 'service' industry."

Bud gave him a jaundiced look. "Please. Do I LOOK like Julia Roberts? I know the kind of money a whore can pull down."

"A whore--yes. But a courtesan?"

"Say huh?"

Jefferson frowned. "No, that's pretty much a female term, isn't it? Can't use the term 'mistress', either."

"Not if you want to stay unslapped."

"I think 'kept man' is the best term. Or, in your case, 'kept boy'."

"I'm over eighteen."

"There are certain instances where it would be to your advantage to pretend that you aren't--trust me."

"D'Arcy, what the FUCK are you going on about?"

"Do you know how Marcy and I got together?"

"Didn't you both get really, really drunk and wake up married?"

"That's the story that's been put out. It's less embarrassing for Marcy than the truth. While I was trying to avoid certain entanglements with the federales, I was working for the Accommodating Adonis Escort Service. The firm Marcy was with then had a woman CEO. They had a big year, and she threw a private party for her top earners. I was part of the entertainment." He smiled nostalgically. "Along with a nice young fella called Ti Thong. Damn, he was flexible! Anyway, I ended up with drool on my butt because Marcy liked a CLOSE seat to the action, and I just had to admire a woman who could enjoy herself so much. I gave her a discount when she asked me out later, and we hit it off. Y'see, Bud, I'd come to the conclusion that if I could get myself in a nice, steady relationship, it wouldn't matter all that much if I pulled in less cash, because all the necessities would be taken care of. Sure, I don't work much now that I'm with Marcy, but all of it can be banked."

"And Marcy doesn't care that you're making it with other women?"

He shrugged. "He knows that they're just business, and I always come home to Mama?"

"EXCUSE me?" Bud squeaked.

"First lesson, Bud--you cater to the customers' kinks."

"Look, Jefferson, I don't need that sort of education. I'll be starting college next year--hopefully." He rubbed his face. "But I'm responsible for my own debts now. I'm not eligible for a grant--Dad makes too much money." Jefferson fell backwards, laughing. "Yeah, right, go ahead and laugh. I know it's ridiculous, but it's also frustrating as hell. I could probably get a student loan, but the authorities have this regrettable tendency to want to be paid off."

"So this would be perfect for you," Jefferson insisted. "You could either get a sugar mamma to foot all the bills, or one who'll give room and board, and allow you the freedom to earn whatever else you need."

"I can't believe I'm sitting here discussing a life of sexual servitude."

"WELL PAID sexual servitude."

"That I can believe. But I can't very well stand on a corner holding a sign saying WILL SCREW FOR A COMFORTABLE LIFESTYLE. People tend to end up on the evening news and in jail for things like that--I haven't heard of anyone ever actually getting taken up on it. How does one get in on this racket?"

"Simple--you get yourself a mentor, and a patron." He rested his chin on Bud's shoulder. "I hereby volunteer for the first position. Speaking of position, do you have any preference? Classic doggie? Spoon? Some people don't realize it, but missionary is possible for guys, though I suppose most missionaries would have heart attacks if they thought about it. Of course, in order to have a relationship like this, I'd need to..." he rubbed his chin back and forth, "assess your potential--first hand."

"You're offering to give me training and support in the fine art of being a male prostitute? How do I know you aren't just trying to get my bod?" Jefferson's hand slid up under the towel, tickling Bud's inner thigh. "Why the fuck should I care?"

"No bullshitting now, Bud--before we get started," He tweaked Bud's beard, "have you had ANY experience with another man?"

"Yeah, I once had a man groping close to my privates, but he stopped, damn it."

"When was this?"

"About five seconds ago. Jefferson, if you're going to seduce me, would you fucking GET ON with it? I know young people are supposed to have stamina, but you have to take into consideration how long I sometimes go between nookie. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but abstinence makes the fuse grow shorter."

"Is your door locked? I'm not going to risk having any other Bundy's walk in on me debauching you. I may enjoy an occasional spanking, but I'm not THAT much of a maschochist."

"Safely squared away, dude."

"Well, then--do you want to be the do-er, or the do-ee?"

Bud blinked. "I have a choice?" His face lit up. "I'm being offered sex, and I'm being offered a CHOICE! I KNEW this day would come!"

Jefferson chuckled. "Nothing like someone who appreciates his good fortune. So, what do you want?"

Bud's grin was almost feral, and his eyes glinted. "I want it ALL."

Jefferson sighed voluptuously. "Bud, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Bud nodded. "I always thought that Rick and the police captain had a history together, too..."

end part 3