Clean Sweep

Author: Scribe

Series/Sequel: from The Further Adventures of Clive, the Leather Hairdresser

Fandom: Original

Status: Finished

Disclaimer: Material and characters are all original and copyrighted by author. Do not reproduce without express permission.

Feedback: poet77665@catlover.com

Archive: Not without permission, and I may ask for removal, in case of publication

Summary: I will provide an overall summary for the series in this first chapter. The story of how Clive met, and joined with, the love of his life--Trenton Vittelli. When they first meet, Trenton is WAY underage, but precocious, and this causes problems for the ethical Dom.

Warnings: Series will contain graphic m/m sex, including themes of rape, B/D, and Dominance/submission.

Notes: Clive debuted in my MarySue story--Career Girl Blues. He was an immediate, screaming success. Duh. I have had requests for clones, and he has had marriage proposals, and offers of submission (even from people who consider themselves Dom/mes. If you want to read the story that started it all, it is at http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles/cgbtitle.htm Clive first shows up in chapter twelve.

Rating: NC17 for some sections. This one PG, for innuendo

Notes: I found the sequel to this, Clean Cut, in the WWOMB, but not the original, so here it is again.



Clean Sweep
by Scribe

Part One: Jailbait

His name was Trenton Vittelli. He first met Clive when he was fourteen years old. He and his mom had moved into Metropolis about a year before, migrating in from the suburbs when the upkeep on the house had become too much.

Trenton's father had died when he was nine, and Mom had tried running her own little hair salon in the garage. They'd limped along on what she could bring in, and Dad's pension. But then last year the zoning commission had gotten pissy. Some of the neighbors (the same one's who ran garage sales EVERY weekend) complained about having a commercial enterprise in the neighborhood, and Mom had to shut down. Whatever job she could get, the salary seemed to get eaten up in transportation expenses, uniform costs, etc.

The house started falling apart, and she would have had to dip into Dad's insurance money to fix it, and there was no way she was going to do that. She had tagged that money for Trenton's college. Trenton told her she didn't need to worry. He fully intended to get an athletic scholarship. His Mom thanked him, but said she wasn't sure how many swimming scholarships there were out there, and they'd hang on to the money, just in case.

So they moved to the city, took a small apartment in a run down, but respectable section of town, and Mom went looking for work. She was thrilled beyond belief when she got a job at Attitudes. According to her, it was THE salon.

Rather peculiarly for it's time, it catered to both men AND women, and it had The Rep. That meant that it was THE chic place to have your hair done. Oh, there were the more high-toned, snobby places, where you practically had to present a family tree to get an appointment...

Attitudes was different. You never knew who you'd find there, said Mrs. Vittelli. She went for an interview in the morning, and ended up working the afternoon on a trial basis. By the time work ended, she had washed or cut or permed an actress on hiatus from a top TV show, an editor for a major publishing house, a baker who promised her a recipe for brownies that were guaranteed to send anyone into chocolate overload, and a bag boy from the local deli who showed her a rather raunchy tattoo on his hip.

She was ecstatic, they were happy with her work, and she was hired. The best thing about Attitudes, his Mom confided that first evening, was the owner, Mr. Clive. Well, Clive. He didn't seem to have any other name, so he said there was no use for the title. Clive was just fascinating, to hear her tell it. He supervised everything, but only took care of a small number of exclusive clients himself.

Must be nice, Trenton thought. Anyway, if his Mom liked him, he must be okay. Mom had been working there three months when he first came down to walk her home. They lived only a few blocks from the shop, and she usually walked home on fine days. But the days were getting shorter, dark came more quickly, and Trenton didn't want her walking home alone in the dusk.

The front part of the store was empty when he came in. A muted bell announced his arrival. He could see the last customer in back, having her hair carefully arranged by a narrow little redhead. She glanced at him, and called. "Clive? Someone came in, and I'm past my wrists in Clara's hair. Could you..."

"Certainly, ducks."

A man came out of the back and sort of flowed up to the front. He halted behind the counter with a polite smile, and Trenton tried not to gape. He was wearing tight suede pants that were almost the same dark gold color of his thick, wavy hair. He wore an open vest of the same material, showing a smooth, well muscled chest. The only variation in color of his attire was the shiny, knee high black boots. This guy only needed a scimitar on his hip to look ready to swash some serious buckle. But somehow, it didn't look in the least ridiculous.

Clive waited patiently while the boy on the other side of the counter took a good, long look. That was fine by him, it gave him an opportunity to do the same. And the view was very nice. Mid to late teens, he judged. About five-seven, around Clive's own height, but bound to get taller. He had a lean, lanky build, but carried himself gracefully. Large hands and feet (oh, what the old wives tales made of THOSE measurements). A handsome enough face, moving slowly out of the realm of puppyishness. Quite extraordinary lime green eyes. Oh, and the hair...

Clive caught himself before he sighed. It was such a beautiful, thick crop of lush curls, mahogany brown. With the right light, you wouldn't be able to tell if it was brown, blonde, or red. Oh, he'd like to get his hands on that hair. And maybe the body it was attached to. But of course, that all depended... Since the teen angel didn't seem inclined to say anything, Clive said, "Well. And whose little boy are you?"

Those pretty, pretty green eyes blinked. "Uh, Lynette Vittelli's."

Clive started. "You mean YOU'RE 'little Trenton'?"

Trenton groaned. "Has Mom been doing her 'baby boy' thing again?"

"She has. I would have expected you in Doctor Dentons." Clive came around the counter and offered his hand. "I'm Clive."

Trenton shook hands. "I came to walk my Mom home." He craned his head, peering at the interior. "Where is she?"

"She's just finishing rearranging some stock in the back. She'll be out in a minute or two. Have a seat." He gestured toward one of the nicely upholstered chairs in the waiting area, and Trenton dropped into one. "Man, these are nice. Not like those plastic racks they have in most places these days."

Clive arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "Please. I don't buy anything unless I can afford something decent. There's no need to settle for crap when you can buy alright and work your way up to fabulous. Would you like some coffee?" He went to a small coffee station. "Last pot of the day, and relatively fresh."

"Uh...sure."

Clive regarded him with the barest hint of a smirk. "How do you take it?"

Trenton hesitated. What was the most mature way to drink coffee? "Black." he said decisively. Clive poured two cups, and handed him one. He sipped the dark brew, watching Trenton. Trenton took a small sip. He managed not to spit it out, but only barely.

Clive took the cup away, laced the brew heavily with creamer and sugar, then handed it back. Trenton sipped again, and sighed with relief. "Silly move, Trenton. When you're inexperienced about something, it's better to confess it than to try and bull ahead and fool someone." Clive settled into the chair next to Trenton, and slumped comfortably, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. The leather of the boots squeaked quietly. "What school do you go to?" he asked casually.

"Lanyard." Trenton took another gulp of the coffee. It tasted pretty good fixed like this.

Clive's eyebrows went up. "Ah. The junior high."

Trenton wanted to slap himself. "I mean Metro High. I USED to go to Lanyard. I start Metro in a couple of weeks."

"Hmm." Clive tilted his cup to get the last few drops, then licked his lips. "Fresh-man, huh?" The way Clive said that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "So, what are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"

"Almost fifteen." Well, in six months.

"My, you young ones grow up so quickly these days. I must admit..."

Clive's gaze raked over the lanky teenager. "You're remarkably mature for your age. Physically, that is. I would have thought you were at least sixteen, maybe seventeen at a stretch."

"I've had people tell me I look eighteen," he said proudly. Well, some of his friends HAD said that.

Clive was shaking his head. "They're fooling themselves. You ought to have UNDERAGE stamped on your forehead."

Trenton felt unaccountably hurt. "Why?"

Clive stood up. One booted foot nudged Trenton's tennie-clad foot. "To protect the adult population from embarrassment and possible federal prosecution."

Trenton scowled in confusion. "I don't get it."

Clive sighed. "That's what makes you so dangerous, dear boy." He leaned over and whispered in Trenton's ear. "You're jailbait, Lynette's baby boy." Then he walked toward the back calling, "Lynn, hon, your handsome little offspring is here. Come and get him before he gives the not-so-innocent a heart attack."

Trenton felt confused, and thought that maybe Clive was laughing at him, a little. That didn't stop him from admiring the way those suede painted haunches moved. Clive must work out, he decided.

His mother came to the front, pulling on her coat. "Sweetie, you didn't have to do this. Clive would have seen I got home safely." They both glanced back. Clive, leaning in the doorway to his private station lifted a hand and wiggled fingers at them cheerfully. "He's such a dear man."

"Yeah, he seems pretty nice." Trenton held the door for his mother to pass through, preparing to follow her out. As she stepped onto the pavement, he said, "Mom, what does 'jailbait' mean?" He ran into her when she stopped abruptly.



Part Two: Revelation

Trenton made it a point to walk his mother home from then on. Any time he wasn't busy with swimming practice, or absolutely snowed under with homework, he showed up at the shop around closing time. He was doing it for his Mom, of course. The fact that Clive was usually there, and usually spent a few minutes talking to him, was totally irrelevant. Totally.

Trenton quickly came to the conclusion that Clive was the coolest person on the face of the earth. He could talk about absolutely ANYTHING. Sports, music, movies... Of course, there were times that Trenton felt like Clive was speaking a different language. Once Trenton found out that Clive had cut the hair of a star who was now playing the lead in the hottest western on tv. Clive had said dismissively, "Gorgeous, but a real bitch." This had confused the hell out of Trenton. After all, this was an ACTOR, not an ACTRESS.

He'd mentioned that, rather hesitantly, to Clive, and had received a smirk. "You don't have to have boobs to be a bitch, dear boy. Believe me, Miss Thing qualifies."

Clive's wardrobe was a never ending source of awe. There was a steady stream of denim, leather, suede, and silk. For awhile, during the colder months, there were flannel shirts. But always worn unbuttoned over a bare chest in the shop. Clive called it 'getting in touch with my inner lumberjack'.

When he actually WAS fifteen, Trenton got up enough nerve to ask Clive where he bought his leather. Clive regarded him thoughtfully. "I COULD tell you, Trenton. But it's rather expensive. Aren't you saving?"

Trenton blushed. "Well, yeah. For college expenses. Even if I get a scholarship, there's gonna be extras. But I thought, maybe one pair..."

Clive shook his head. "You shouldn't. It's not really your style."

Trenton felt bewildered, as he often did with Clive. "I didn't know I had a style."

"Certainly you do. It's 'clean cut, wholesome young stud next door'. You're doing fine with the jeans and tees and shorts. I even think one of those rather hideous Hawaiian shirts would suit you." Clive smoothed a hand consideringly over Trenton's shoulders. "No suits and jackets, though. Not unless it's one of those candy colored prom formals." His hand slid down Trenton's chest. "I think you'd look rather delicious in one of those. Enough to make a prom queen...of any persuasion...breathless." He gave the frozen boy a pat before stepping away. "Let admirers give you the leather, and save it for special occasions."

Well, that made no sense. Clive had referred to him as a 'stud'. Trenton hardly felt qualified. Sure, he'd started dating recently, but it was no big thing. He dated because that was what guys his age DID. The 'saving for college' thing was a good excuse not to date too often. If a guy was on a budget, he couldn't be reasonably expected to spend too much time escorting a girl around. And as for letting admirers buy him ANYTHING... Trenton never met up with a girl that wanted to spend money on him.

Truth be told, he didn't really enjoy the dating too much. He didn't like having to make all the decisions about where to go, what to do, what to eat...But that was pretty much how things were set up. That's what all the manners books and social etiquette films said. The guy was in charge. The girl might make a suggestion, but meekly accepted his directives. Trenton just didn't feel comfortable telling someone else what to do. Maybe that was why he went along with what Clive had pronounced, and didn't try to go changing his wardrobe.

The months flowed by. Trenton passed fifteen and started edging toward sixteen. He went to school, practice swimming, studied, made a few good friends. Some Saturdays he would take his books down to Attitudes, sit in one of the chairs in front, and study. He became well known to the regulars, and was greeted affectionately by men and women alike. He was sort of adopted as a mascot.

Trenton got kind of curious about Clive and his 'special' clients. There seemed to be no set pattern to who Clive accepted into his private station. There were men and women, young to middle aged. Even one lady that Trenton would have classified as elderly, who had the most beautiful silvery white hair Trenton had ever seen.

They'd disappear into Clive's station. After awhile they would emerge with fabulous hair, and a rather dazed, but happy, look on their faces. Clive would always be in a fantastic mood afterwards. Once or twice he even pinched Trenton's cheek playfully.

One day, when Clive had taken a pretty redhead back, Trenton had taken the excuse of watching his Mom work to go sit back near the station. She was working at a place right by the entrance to the mysterious sanctum, so Trenton had a good excuse to be close to it. He leaned his head against the wall in an attitude of bored waiting, pressing his ear to it.

You couldn't hear all that much over the salon chatter, running water, and hair driers. But you could hear enough to tell that more than hair cutting was going on in there. Simple cosmetology could not evoke such grunts and moans. The little redhead came out with a new shag hairdo, a bruised looking mouth, and a dreamy expression.

Trenton peeked into the private room after she left. Clive was standing in front of the far mirrors, smoothing wrinkles out of his leather pants that hadn't been there when he went in. He caught Trenton's eyes in the mirror, and winked at him. Trenton sat back with a huge blush rising in his cheeks.

Wow. Clive had actually 'done it' with that woman back there, in broad daylight. Imagine, having sex in the middle of the day. Imagine CLIVE having sex in the middle of the day. The very thought made Trenton get stiff.

Which was why he was glad he had a textbook to open across his lap when Clive strolled out. He patted Trenton's flushed cheek. "Better than the Saturday matinee at the Starland, hm?"

Trenton ducked his head. "I wasn't...uh...I was just sitting here, and..."

"Don't sweat it, pet. Anyone who goes back into that room knows that there's going to be speculation on the outside."

Trenton's face was about at hip level. There was a small wrinkle in the satiny black leather just where the hips began to curve into the ass. Trenton pointed, fingertip not quite daring to graze the material, and whispered, "You missed a wrinkle." Then, near horrified at his own boldness, he quickly bit the offending fingertip.

Clive stared down at him, watching him nibble his finger. The hairdresser's tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips. "Thank you so much for pointing that out, Trent." He carefully smoothed away the wrinkle. "There. That better?" Trenton nodded silently. Clive touched his fingers under Trenton's chin, lifting it lightly. "Very conscious of the little things, aren't you, dear? That's good."

Trenton had to hold himself to keep from leaning into the touch. And, somehow, he thought that Clive knew that, and it pleased him. That made Trenton happy, to think that Clive was pleased with him for any reason.

Because Trenton was fairly certain that he was in love with Clive.

This confused him a lot. He didn't THINK he was queer. He liked girls well enough, but didn't get horny excited over them like the other guys. He could admire a nice rack or a good set of legs, but it was more on an aesthetic basis than a hormonal one. But he didn't find himself getting all hot and bothered by his friends and the other guys in the gym locker room, either. He liked looking more than he did with the girls, but the guys...They were just too much like himself.

It was confusing. 'Sex Ed' didn't help much. It was mostly warnings about using protection, or better yet waiting till you were married. They showed scare films about what could happen to you if you got a disease and didn't treat it. Yuck.

In one of the films about 'sexual development' is was mentioned in passing that boys and girls often went through a 'crush' stage where they might become infatuated with one of their own sex, usually in a kind of hero worship relationship. "But don't worry, these are a natural stage, and you will soon transfer your affections to a more suitable person. When you mature, your attentions will fixate naturally on a suitable mate."

Huh? This seemed so odd that he'd mentioned it to his mother. Ever since the 'jail bait' incident, Mrs. Vittelli had known that Trenton needed a male authority figure to talk to. She was a liberal and well informed woman, but there were some things that her generation just didn't discuss with their children, especially not mother to son.

So she started encouraging him to talk to Clive. Clive, ever honest, had gently explained to her his...interests. She'd nodded, and told him that she wasn't quite as middle-American blind as he seemed to think. But she trusted him to be an honorable man, and if her son came to him with questions, she trusted him to be honest, and not take advantage. Of course, she went on, when Trenton was old enough to make up his own mind...She shrugged. There hadn't been any girlfriends hanging about. Her son was a sweet, decent, kind boy. If he wasn't interested in girls, she could deal with that, perhaps better than Trenton himself could.

One afternoon just after his sixteenth birthday, Trenton was helping by sweeping up the floors at Attitudes. There were a few customers. Clive was flipping through a new hair design magazine, muttering to himself and making notes on a legal pad.

Trenton looked up when the bell over the door jingled, and stopped dead when he saw the new customer.

They had male customers, alright. This was the most MASCULINE male customer he'd seen. The guy must've been six foot three, and two-twenty or two-thirty of muscle. Just muscle and sinew, all packed in tight and hard. He was wearing a gym outfit of shorts and a tank top, and there was just SO MUCH of him there. Slabs and plains, and bunches. Look in the encyclopedia under 'bodybuilder' and you'd find his picture.

He went to the counter and slapped it with one hand roughly the size of a dinner plate. Clive looked up sharply at the sound, a frown on his face. It melted into a grin when he saw the big man at the counter. "Tuscon! You musclebound bastard!"

He hopped up and went around the counter. Clive and Tuscon did a variation of the 'slap-hug-grab-yer-ass-damn-it's-been-ages' greetings. At one point the bodybuilder lifted the smaller hairdresser clean off his feet. Clive just laughed.

When he was set back down, Clive grabbed his arms and shook him, then ran a hand over the dark, half inch stubble that covered the man's head. "Getting kinda shaggy there, Toose." Trenton watched in stunned amazement as Clive casually hiked up the man's tank top and ran a hand over his massive chest. "Pelt's starting to grow in, too."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Got a contest tomorrow, and I was hoping you could fit me in."

"For you, of course. Step on back to the station and I'll get what I need."

Clive went back into the storeroom, and Tuscon headed for his private station. Trenton had stepped to the side to allow passage, and was watching him, open mouthed. Tuscon noticed, and stopped by him.

*Well, well, well* Tuscon stopped near the boy with the broom. This was worth taking a moment over. He regarded the boy closely. *Ooo, that's a sweet little mouthful of white meat. I didn't know Clive went for 'em that young.* "Hi, kiddo."

He gulped. His voice was faint. "Hi."

"You Clive's...friend?" He nodded. Tuscon reached out and slowly drew his finger down the center of the boy's chest, letting it come to rest on his waistband. "You just CLIVE'S friend, or do you make NEW friends?"

Clive came out of the storeroom carrying a box of supplies. He frowned when he saw the pair, and went to them. Trenton was staring at Tuscon, mesmerized. Tuscon was practically licking his lips, and about a half minute away from digging his hand into the boy's fly. Clive said, softly but clearly, "Tuscon, take your hand off the pretty little chicken."

Tuscon's hand dropped away. "Ah, Clive..."

"I'm doing you a favor, moron. He's sixteen."

Tuscon blinked, then said sadly, "Aw, shit. Ain't it always the way?"

"Don't worry. I'll make it up to you. Get in there." As Tuscon went back into the station, Clive said gently, "Trenton, darling, close your mouth. You might have more than a fly get in, if you catch my drift."

Trenton's mouth snapped shut as he turned scarlet. Clive shrugged. "Don't let it bother you, pet. Tuscon has that effect on a lot of people. He's a dear, but much too impulsive. I keep telling him he has to check IDs if he doesn't want to end up pumping iron in jail on a statutory charge."

Clive went back into the station, shutting the door. Trenton finished sweeping. But after he finished, he couldn't resist going back and sitting by the door again.

There were fewer customers today, and most of them were up near the front of the room. That meant that... um... acoustics were clearer.

"There...once again your scalp approaches baby's butt status."

"Thanks, Clive. Not a nick, as usual. You're the only person in the world I'd trust near me with a cut throat razor." Trenton shuddered. "I had my legs and back waxed in Frisco last week. All I really need is the arms and chest."

"I'll be the judge of that. Strip." Clive's voice wasn't friendly and jocular anymore. It was hard.

Tuscon didn't protest. The door was too thick to hear the rustling of clothing, but Trenton assumed that Tuscon was taking off his clothes. Trenton, himself, couldn't imagine disobeying Clive when he used that tone of voice.

Trenton heard the muted clunk of Clive's boots, and imagined him walking around a stripped Tuscon, examining him. He started to get a hard on, and crossed his arms over his lap. "Arms, yes. Chest, yes. Have to have all those nice muscles show up clean and clear when you oil up and pose for the judges, don't we? But what about this?"

There was a moan that made the hair on the back of Trenton's neck stand on end. "You can't have that kind of stubble, Toose. Not with that obscene little posing pouch you use during competition. I'd be ashamed if anyone knew I let you leave here like that. And what about your balls?"

There was another groan, longer than the first. Tuscon, when he spoke, didn't sound as brash as he had talking to Trenton. "Please Clive."

"WHAT did you call me, Toose? You know the rules."

Breathless. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, sir."

"Please what?"

"Please keep doing that."

"Maybe if you behave yourself. Lie down and spread your legs."

There was the creak of Tuscon climbing up on Clive's leather upholstered chair/table. There was a barely audible hissing sound. Trenton was at a loss at first to place it. Then he remembered what he'd glimpsed in the box Clive was carrying. There had been several cans of shaving cream.

Then there was silence. But a loaded silence. Once Clive said, "Tuscon, stop fidgeting. You're going to make me regret not tying you down. Next time you'll be trussed tighter than a thanksgiving turkey."

"Promises, promises." The other man sounded breathless.

A smacking sound. Clive's voice was stern. "I mean it, Toose. You don't want any fresh cuts when you go on stage tomorrow, do you? Now hold really still while I get around your nipples, if you don't want to lose one."

"CLIVE!"

"Yes, yes, I'm joking. Big baby."

Trenton strained his ears, and imagined that he could hear a rasping scrape. "Done. Now to get rid of those pesky old pubes." The hissing sound again. "Relax, dear, I'm going to be using disposables on this. I'd practically have to TRY to cut you with them. Okay, Toose, you know the drill. Hold yourself up out of the way while I work."

Silence again. Trenton's mind was working overtime supplying details, though. The crossed arms weren't cutting it. He grabbed a towel and dropped it in a wad on his lap for camouflage.

"Tuscon, don't you dare play with yourself while I'm doing this. I said these things weren't risky, but it's still possible for you to give yourself an impromptu vasectomy if you move too hard at the wrong time."

Trenton was sweating with horror and arousal. He shoved his fists down on the towel.

"There. Here, wipe yourself off while I get the oil."

"Sir, are you gonna..."

"Shut up, Toose. You need this to make sure the skin isn't irritated, you know that." A moment of silence. "Of course, it also makes it easier for me to do this." There was a long, shivery moan.

More silence. Then another moan. "I'm ready, sir."

"You're ready when I say you're ready, and I want to get another finger up in you to be sure you're stretched out nice and open. All that weightlifting keeps you wound up tight, Toose. It'd be like trying to fuck my way through a brick wall if I didn't loosen you up."

More silence, than a smack. "Turn over, and spread."

Trenton leaned his head against the wall, huddling his body toward it. He grabbed hold of the chair arm, because if he didn't, he was going to grab his cock and start beating off right there in public.

There was an animal growl, and a wet, meaty smack. It continued as a steady smacking sound, mingled with groans and faint words. Trenton lifted his feet off the floor, curling up in the chair. His prick was trying to poke a hole in his pants.

"Aah, damn. Oh, fuck me, sir. Fuck me hard."

"You don't have to ask, honeybun. Lift your ass. Yeah, like that." The tempo of the slapping increased emphatically.

With a groan, Trenton bolted for the men's room. Inside, he barely managed to lock the door before falling to his knees. Ripping open his fly, he hauled out his weeping, straining cock and masturbated furiously. He came in about a minute, spraying the tiles with thick jets of semen. After he emptied his balls, he collapsed over on his side, panting, staring off blankly.

*That's it,* he thought dazedly. *I'm gay.*



Part Three: Discovery

Trenton lay there for several minutes, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. It almost had, when a knock on the door sped it up again. "Trenton?" It was Clive's voice. His heart kicked into overdrive.

"Huh?" Trenton struggled back into a sitting position.

"Are you okay in there?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. Open up."

Complete, paralyzing terror. Trenton looked at the puddles and runnels of spunk spread on the tile floor before him. Maybe he could convince Clive it was hair conditioner? No, probably not.

"I'm okay. What's the problem?" He stretched and caught the end paper towel dangling from the roll hanging by the sink. Jerking, he managed to pull the roll off the spindle so that it bumped off his head and rolled across the room. Swearing under his breath, he ripped off several towels, wadded them, and started trying to wipe up his cum.

"Your Mom says you ran in here like a scalded cat. Are you sick?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." He scooped and wiped frantically. Fuck! The shit was harder to wipe up than raw egg. It just seemed to scoot and smear.

"Trenton, you sound really off. I want you to open this door right now."

"Can't right now. Give me a minute." One handful of towels went in the trash. Trenton grabbed some more, frantically jerking off a long streamer. The roll spun and danced. He scrubbed the floor wildly.

"CAN you open the door?" Clive sounded concerned. "Trent, you're scaring me."

"No problem. No sweat." Trenton babbled, stuffing the dirtied paper towels in the trash, nearly filling it. He staggered to his feet, grabbing up the paper towel roll. Looking at the spindle, he realized that there was no way in hell he was coordinated enough right now to put it back, and instead slammed the roll down on the counter.

"I swear, if you don't open this door, I'm gonna kick it in. I can, Trenton. I've done it before."

"Cripes, hang on!" Trenton was reaching for the lock when he realized that he was still unzipped, cock dangling free. "FUCK!" He stuffed himself in and zipped, reaching for the door.

He got it open to find Clive braced against the opposite wall, leg cocked up, ready to kick. Clive lowered his leg and stepped in quickly, grabbing Trenton's arms. He looked the boy up and down, turning him roughly to scan for damage. Then he grabbed Trenton's face, brushing his hair up out of his eyes, and stared into them.

"Your pupils are dilated." He leaned close, squeezed Trenton's jaw so that his mouth popped open, and sniffed. "No booze, no pot. Trenton, did you take anything?"

Trenton tried to shake out of Clive's grasp. "No! Geez, you think I'd do that?" He didn't escape, Clive had him too tight. He was probably going to have bruises. The thought of Clive leaving a mark on him, his mark, made his cock twitch again, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan.

Clive went still, looking at him in surprise. He said slowly, "No, Trenton, I really don't think that." Clive watched the way the boy's teeth were mauling his lush bottom lip, and said, "It's not that I don't trust you, but you worried me. Rushing into the bathroom like that, so distressed, and not wanting to open up. Then acting mysterious and embarrassed. There's only three possibilities I could come up with. You were sick, you were drinking or doing drugs, or you were..." He smiled slowly.

His eyes flicked to the shiny spot on the floor. Trenton froze. Clive released his hold on one arm, bent over and extracted a paper towel between thumb and forefinger. He held it up and examined it, giving it a little sniff. His smile expanded as he dropped it back in the wastebasket. "or else you were indulging in a bit of spontaneous self abuse. Really, Trenton, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Perfectly natural, especially at your age."

Trenton slumped. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or defeated. "You won't tell my Mom, will you?"

"No. Let's just blame it on that hot dog you had for lunch. You really shouldn't have chili, relish, AND sauerkraut, you know."

"Thanks Clive."

"But that does leave me with one question."

Trenton eyed him apprehensively. "Yeah?"

Clive's grip on his arm loosened. He slid his hand down, till his thumb stroked the tender skin at the crook of Trenton's elbow. "Exactly what it was that inspired such desperate measures. You should be about past the spontaneous boner when the breeze blows stage. What got you so hot and bothered, Trent?"

Trenton couldn't speak. He stared at the thumb smoothing over his skin, then looked up at Clive silently.

Clive searched the beautiful green eyes, glazed into mint crystal, and nodded. "We need to have a talk, Trent. Ask your mother if you can stay over and have dinner with me. I'll see that you get home."



Part Four

Clive put Mrs. Vitelli in a cab after they closed the shop, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry, I won't keep him out too late."

"I'm not worried, Clive." She gave her son a kiss. "Honey, are you sure you're okay? You usually have such iron digestion. Maybe that hot dog was bad. I don't want you eating from that stand anymore."

He nodded meekly. "Yes, Mom."

"Clive, don't let him overdo it. Feed him something bland, just in case."

Clive put a hand on Trenton's shoulder. "Don't worry, Lynette." He squeezed lightly. "I'll treat him like my own."

Mrs. Vittelli didn't notice the stare her son turned on the older man. "Good. You have your key, right sweetie? I'm going straight to bed after supper. I'm worn off my feet."

They waved the woman goodbye. Clive zipped up his black leather (naturally) jacket, then reached over and pulled the zipper on Trenton's windbreaker the rest of the way up to his chin. "And if you were mine, I wouldn't want you catching cold. Come on. There's a nice place nearby you ought to get familiar with."

As they walked, Trenton kept shooting glances at him. Finally he said, "Um, Clive? About this afternoon...I'm sorry I ..."

"Not right now, Trent, my love. Even I don't generally discuss masturbation on the street. We'll have plenty of time to talk when we get where we're going."

Trenton wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He'd been secretly hoping that they might go back to Clive's place. The thought left him breathless. He certainly hadn't expected to be taken into a club. The small neon sign over the entrance said 'Lavender's Green'.

The place was almost empty inside, it would be a couple of hours before the evening crowd started to arrive. Clive led him over to a bar, where a slender man with salt and pepper hair was setting up drink garnishes. The man stopped when he spotted Clive, a grin splitting his face.

"Hairman! Haven't seen you for weeks."

Clive shrugged apologetically. "Busy, busy, Toddy, m'man. Can't be quite my idle self since you-know-who went home. Still get a steady stream of business thanks to her."

"Knowhacha mean. It's not as simple since she started that mixed drink craze. But it's fun, and more profitable. What can I do for you and..." He trailed off, eyeing Trenton dubiously. "Clive, is he with you?"

"Yes, he is, and don't get your knickers in a twist. None of THAT is going on, you gutter minded drink dispenser. He's the son of a friend, and we need a cozy place for a man-to-man talk. And don't you dare laugh, or I'll do something the unpleasant sort of nasty to you."

"Oh, hey, no! Who'd be better for a man-to-man than you, Clive?" Toddy said in a conciliatory tone. "But, uh, isn't he a smidgen on the...uh..."

"He's a sixteen on the quail scale, and he's not here to be besotted or debauched. I'm not going to risk your license, Toddy. I just want to get supper back in the kitchen. That's considered private sector, so there'll be no problem."

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Sure, go on back. Tell Elise that it's on the house." He gestured toward some swinging doors in the wall at the back of the bar.

Trenton followed Clive through the doors. They emerged in a good sized kitchen. An enormous black woman was tending several steaming pots on the stove. She tossed down her spoon with a squeal when she saw Clive, and enveloped him in a mammoth hug. "Where you been, pretty man? How you 'spect me to get along without a regular dose of your sunshine?"

"Sorry, Elise,, darling. How are the braids holding up?" He examined the woman's hair critically. It was done up in dozens of small braids that gradually blended in back into one large one. "Very nice. You come back and see Trina when you need them done again."

"Wouldn't go nowhere else. So..." she beamed at Trenton. "Who's this cute lil' thing?"

Trenton rolled his eyes in a combination of good nature and exasperation. "Everyone keeps calling me little. For heavens sake, I'm grown up. Almost."

Elise's chuckle was as dark and smooth as her skin. "Oh, that's a youngun alright. Getting his back up about bein' called little."

"He's just a friend, as in REALLY just a friend," Clive said firmly. "We're going to borrow your table for awhile and get supper, if you have enough to spare."

She planted fists on ample hips and looked at him sternly. "Have enough? Clive, you TRYIN' to insult me?" She snorted. "Have enough. Tonight we got spaghetti with meat sauce. Even put in some mushrooms for the fancy crowd. That do you, or I could make you some hamburgers?"

Clive was taking off his jacket and hanging it on a wall peg. "I'd say go for the spaghetti, Trent. You won't regret it."

"Okay. That would be great. Thank you, ma'am."

Elise laughed again, and pinched Trenton's cheek. "And he's polite, too. He's lots nicer than some of the one's I seen you with, Clive."

Clive was unzipping Trenton's windbreaker. "We're not TOGETHER, Elise." He pulled off the windbreaker and hung it up. When Trenton looked at him, he said, "Well, I'm sorry, but if you're going to just stand there like a doll, you're going to be treated like one. Sit down." To Elise he said quietly, "You know me better than that. Look at him."

Her expression was affectionate, but shrewd. "I done that, Clive. You're a good man, but you ain't nothin' BUT a man." Trenton was amazed to see a faint flush creep up Clive's cheeks. "You go on and help yourself to whatever you want to drink from the fridge while I get your plates." To Trenton she said, "You want garlic bread, honey?"

"As much as you'll give me."

She nodded approval. "I just love a boy with a good appetite." and began to prepare the plates.

Clive said, "Go on and have a seat, Trenton." Trenton sat at the well scrubbed table. It was considerably bigger than their kitchen table back home. At one end there was a bowl of freshly sliced mushrooms, the knife still on the little wooden cutting board it rested on.

The hairdresser opened the refrigerator, rummaging inside, and pulled out a beer. "What do you want, Trent?"

"I'll have a beer, too", he said nonchalantly."

"In case you've forgotten, dear boy, and I'm sure you haven't, the legal age to drink is currently eighteen. If you wait till you're legal, you're going to be terribly thirsty. Might I suggest a soft drink?"

Trent sighed. "Any rootbeer?"

"Yes." Clive retrieved another bottle. "You do strike me as a rootbeer sort." He pulled a pocketknife out, unfolded a church key, and opened the bottles. He sat, handing Trenton the rootbeer, then taking a sip of his own beer.

Trenton drank. It tasted good, sweet and fizzy, but he felt he should complain on general principles. "I don't see why I can't have a beer."

Clive smiled, but his eyes were serious. "Trenton, perhaps you ARE mature enough to handle one beer. But the majority of young men your age ARE NOT. They wouldn't stop at just one, They'd...mmmm...overindulge. So the government and the adults of the world, in their infinite wisdom, have set up restriction to protect the majority of the youths in our population. To be fair, the ones who MIGHT be ready, just have to wait." He took another pull on the beer. "That's how it is with a lot of things, Trent. Not just booze."

"I could handle it."

Elise set heaping plates of pasta and sauce before each of them, dumping cutlery beside the plates. Then she added a plate piled high with steaming chunks of Italian bread that shone bright, greasy yellow with melted butter, and smelled deliciously of garlic and Parmesan cheese. She ruffled Trenton's hair and said, "Just let me know when you want seconds", and went back to her stove. Clive took a chunk of bread and tore off a mouthful, groaning happily. Voice muffled, he said, "Elise, when I get far enough ahead, I'm going partners with you in a restaurant. No backing out." He was answered by laughter. "Trenton" Clive shook the crust at him emphatically. "You can't be so selfish."

"Selfish how? I mean, I know it won't hurt me..."

"Have you thought about how flaunting the laws too terribly would hurt others? If you were to have that beer, and someone found out...Toddy could lose his license, go to jail That would mean LG would shut down, and a lot of people would lose their jobs. Elise, Tinkerbelle, Betty, the band... I could get in trouble, too. And people would whisper about your mother, letting you get into such mischief."

Trenton had been about to fork up some spaghetti, but now he lowered his fork. "But that wouldn't be fair!"

"Life isn't fair, my little innocent. Sometimes, we just have to wait."

Trenton sighed, poking dispiritedly at his spaghetti. "We're not just talking about beer, are we Clive?"

"I knew you were a bright boy. Eat that, don't play with it. Food play can be fun, under the right circumstances. With the right person." He closed his eyes for a second, lips quirking, as if remembering something, then looked at Trenton again. "But not at the table."

Trenton shook his fork at Clive. "There you go again. You keep saying things that make me think there's a whole 'nother world out there that I'M not allowed in. I'm getting kinda crazy, Clive."

"That's the natural state of teenagers." Clive started eating. Between mouthfuls he said, "Look, Trent, you really should be clear in your mind about some things. Your sexuality is one of them. Your Mum thinks I might be able to help you sort yourself out, so talk to me." Trenton started eating, too. Mainly as a way to avoid answering. He wasn't allowed. "I mean it. Don't make me get stern on you." He cocked his head, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Or would you like that?" Trenton stared at the table, fingernails nervously scratching the smooth surface. "Talk."

"I'm gay." Trenton slanted a green glance at the older man.

Clive took a swallow of beer. He seemed to be pretty calm about the announcement. "Is this a long standing certainty, or a revelation? Has the conviction grown gradually, or did it...um...come in a blinding flash?"

"Kinda both, I guess. I've been noticing that I've been noticing guys. If you know what I mean."

Clive nodded. "I'm familiar with that. But you HAVE been dating girls, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah. I have some girl friends, but they're not GIRLFRIENDS."

"Have you done anything about it?"

Trenton flushed. "Kinda personal question, Clive."

"Yes, dear." he said blandly. "I'll be downright fucking rude if I'm trying to help someone I care for."

"I'm sure Mom appreciates it."

"I'm not talking about Lynette, honey." A huge grin split Trenton's face, and Clive shook his head. "Oh, no. Not the 'he likes me, he really likes me' look."

"But you do?"

"Of course I do. God, child, I'm not made of wood. I have a pulse. But I said I CARE for you. Yes, I think you're yummy. Yes, I'd like to take you back in my station, chain you to the wall..." At Trenton's wide eyed stare he grinned wickedly. "You thought those hooks in the wall were just for coats, didn't you? Chain you to the wall and ravish you insensate." Trenton shivered, despite the warmth of kitchen. "BUT...I CARE about you enough to resist forbidden fruit. For both our sakes."

Feeling exalted now that he had an admission, Trenton started to shovel down his food. "Okay, I can tell you. You're what made me realize I'm gay. I liked you since...since...since before I knew what liking someone WAS."

"And that's the problem."

"I don't see any problem ."

"And that's because you are so heartbreakingly young and innocent."

Trenton snorted. "Clive, if you'll remember the state of those paper towels this afternoon..."

"I'm not talking physically, little stud muffinlette. You say you've been fixed on me since you really started thinking about sex." Trent nodded. "That won't do. You need to look around to see what's available. I care about people, deeply. It's even akin to love, but it's not soul mating. Who's to say? It may happen someday, but right now I'm not in the least exclusive."

"I know that. Sheesh, Clive, I've seen the number of people who go back in your private station. I'm not stupid. I can deal with that. It doesn't hurt me knowing you're with other people. It just hurts me knowing I'M NOT with you."

Clive wiped a piece of bread over his now bare plate, capturing the last of the sauce and popped it in his mouth. "Believe me, treasure. You're not the only one aching. For heaven's sake, will you eat? You'll give Elise a complex."

Elise's voice floated back over her shoulder. "No he won't. Ain't no insult to me if the boy don't eat because he's lovesick."

Clive raised his voice. "Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves."

"You ain't discussin' me."

Trenton, who suddenly found that he was ravenous, finished his pasta in a few gulps and took his plate over to the stove. "Could I have some more, ma'am?"

She took it and began piling it again. "You can have all you want, baby. And call me Elise, save ma'am for your mama."

"I'll try, but it's not easy. Mom's a bear for being polite."

Elise handed over the laden plate. "Well, she's raisin' her a good boy. You gonna make SOMEBODY real happy someday."

Trent scowled. "I'm beginning to wonder."

They heard Clive call, "You know, the acrostics in this kitchen are really rather marvelous."

Elise laughed indulgently, nudging Trenton. "Just don't be so impatient, honey." She leaned over and whispered in Trenton's ear. "Clive...he's worth waiting for, ain't he?"

Trenton went back to the table. He managed to scoot his chair a little closer to Clive when he sat down. Clive went to the fridge and got himself a second beer. He watched Trenton working on his second plate of food, and said, "Alright, Trent, let's lay the situation out. You find me attractive, as well you should. I find you attractive, which is perfectly logical. However, you are only sixteen, and I am roughly twice that. Now, in ancient Greece, this would not have been a problem. Here and now, it is."

"But couldn't we..."

Clive made a shushing motion. "We've gone over that. Consequences to others, remember? Not to mention the fact that I wouldn't relish doing jail time. This wouldn't be a secret affair, Trenton. Don't you think other people have already noticed?" Trenton hadn't thought about that. It brought a blush to his cheeks. "Yes, like that. Lord, precious, you color up like an American Beauty rose sometimes."

"Another factor. In case you haven't noticed, Trent, I like my sex with frills. I'm a Dom. To further your education, that means Dominant. That means I call the shots, ALL the shots. My partners are sometimes playful mundanes, but usually they're true subs, submissives. That means they do EXACTLY what I tell them. Anything."

Trenton suddenly felt overheated. Submission? Turning over complete control? Total surrender of body and self, not having to give any directives or orders, just experiencing? His nipples got hard at the thought. His hand was cool and damp from gripping the chilled rootbeer bottle, and he pressed it to his forehead, and across his closed eyes.

Clive noticed, and pursed his lips. He said softly, "Yes, I had a suspicion. The other problem is... I play hard, Trenton. The concept of a virgin is very sweet, very appealing. But after the length of time this particular little dance has been going on..."

He put his hand on Trent's knee, squeezing. "When this happens, and notice I said when, not if, I'm afraid I might be too...emphatic for you as a virgin, Jade Eyes. You need to get some experience under your belt..." He smiled. "Horrid pun intended."

"You mean you want me to have sex with other people?"

"I think you should. Seek out someone closer to your own age. When there's a closer age span, it isn't viewed quite so baldly. More simple diddling than corrupting."

"But I don't want anyone else."

Clive snorted. "Trent, I may be devastating, but I am NOT the only desirable man out there. Look! I'm not touching you till you're legal, and that's that."

"Okay, I'll look. But when I'm seventeen..."

"What happens, happens. Nothing till then."

Trenton had worked his way to the bottom of his second plate. All that was left was one long, tomato coated strand. He picked it up by the end and held it high, dangling, catching the end in his mouth. He lowered half of the strand into his mouth, the closed on it, letting it drop. The strand dangled, and he sucked it slowly up into his mouth, with a muted slurping sound. Clive watched, mesmerized, as the white strand slowly disappeared between Trent's pursed, pouting lips. It disappeared, leaving his mouth smeared with tomato sauce, which he slowly and sensually licked off. Clive sighed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

Trenton grinned.


END PART 4