Scott Chadwick, Summer Associate Ch. 01

Wilson was slightly chastened by Scott's comment. Very slightly. "Do you know what her last name really is?"

The question caught both Scott and Quentin by surprise. Each shook his head negatively.

"It's Norwood. And guess what Laura's maiden name is?" Wilson added.

The two interns looked at each other, then at the associate. "Norwood?" they chimed.

"Bingo!" Wilson exalted.

While the revelation came as a surprise to both interns, it did not answer Quentin's question.

"Okay, so Evelyn Van Dyke is Evelyn Norwood. How does that stop Scotty here from ..." Epiphany! "Ohmigod! She's gay!" He turned fully on his stool and looked at Scott. "Poor Scotty. No mountain to climb, no girl to fuck. If I was a bottom I'd let you fuck me."

Scott looked at his roommate, then at Wilson. "I'm notthat desperate."

"Yes, you are, Chadwick," Quentin quipped, an edge in his voice. "But you'll have to work to get this ass." Turning back to Wilson, "So Woody, what's with the Norwoods ... and why the name change?"

Wilson was as pissed as Quentin about Scott's attitude toward gays. Chadwick has a six foot seven inch two hundred and eighty pound gay ex-lineman standing in arm's reach of him. If Mr. Not-That-Desperate still believes all gays are limp-wrist sissies, maybe he ought to beat that thought out of him. But how is a bruiser of a gay man beating up a straight guy a hundred pounds lighter any different than a straight beating up a gay for being gay? Besides, once he beats the shit out of him, what better revenge than for Scott to out him? He couldn't keep that closet door closed forever, but at least 'til the end of summer? But Quentin had asked him a question.

"Laura and Evelyn are aunt and niece. The way I understand it, Laura's been gay since her undergraduate days. While home during a summer break, she got it on real serious with one of the neighborhood housewives. Some say several of the housewives. Anyway, when her father found out he called her a dyke and threw her out the house. She's rumored to have said, 'That's Ms. Dyke, to you. Ms. Van Dyke!' as she was leaving. Evelyn was in the house at the time, about eight or nine. Laura is not only her favorite aunt, she's her only blood aunt. Six uncles, three on each side, and a whole bunch of boy cousins. The only time her father approved of her was when she beat one of her cousins at something, especially a cousin on her father's side."

Wilson paused to finish off the beer he'd opened. The two interns kept silent, waiting for him to continue like two scouts being told a ghost story around a campfire.

"Laura kept in touch with Evelyn, although she cut her ties with the male members of her family. Mainly gifts and cards sent to Evelyn through her grandmother, Laura's mother. In her teens, Evelyn began visiting Laura, on the pretense that she was scouting out colleges. Laura would meet her at some college, they'd catch up on family and everything. Sometimes Laura's mother, even Evelyn's mother, would come. And sometimes Laura's girlfriends. It was only a matter of time but I guess everyone knew it was going to happen. Either Laura or one of her girlfriends seduced Evelyn. After what happened to her aunt, Evelyn decided to stay in the closet. At least until law school. Daddy didn't want her to go, said she'd turn out just like her aunt. That's funny: 'turn out just like her aunt.' " Wilson chuckled. "Anyway. Had a big row with Daddy, informing him she already was gay. History repeated itself. She changed her name to Van Dyke legally, and been on her own ever since." He took one of the unopened cans on the counter, looked at Scott as he opened it. "And that's the woman you want to fuck, Chadwick."

Scott looked from Wilson to the counter, sideways at Quentin, then back at the counter. Quentin found the story fascinating, but incomplete.

"Poor Scotty Chadwick," he cooed. "Didn't know Evie was gay. Bet you thought you'd get Evie to suck your cock this weekend, didn't you? ... Thought you'd get some of that ass!" Turning to Woodrow, he asked, "How'd you find out all this?"

"I'm on the hiring committee," Wilson answered. "Being the only Black man in the firm, it's natural. Diversity." Diversity, he smirked. If they knew he was also gay, or at least bisexual, would they consider that additional diversity? "So is Laura. This is an old line firm. We're both outsiders here. I'm never gonna make partner, and Laura knows she won't be a partner long if she loses the case Chadwick and Van Dyke are working on. Outsiders have to stick together against a common enemy. We confide in each other--a lot. Evelyn's not the type of summer intern Elkington, Townsend, Meier, Castanini, would normally select. She really wanted to work with her aunt, and Laura felt some responsibility toward mentoring her. My vote helped Evelyn get here.

"For your information, we both know a lot about each of you. That includes what your professors at your law schools wrote in their recommendations and in calls we made to them. You might want to know what they think of you before you go back. Especially you, Daniels."

It was now nearly 5:00 p.m. Being the Fourth of July weekend, there were a few twilight games on television. The living room of the townhouse came furnished with a sofa, loveseat, armchair, around a conventional cocktail table/ end tables/lamp table scheme, all facing a giant screen television. Wilson and Quentin sat at either end of the sofa, Scott in the chair. Wilson picked up the remote and surfed through the channels. None of the teams were the home team of any of the three, so they settled for an interleague game between cross-town rivals White Sox and Cubs.

"Anyone for pizza?" he asked. The other two nodded. Wilson took out his cell phone and placed an order. Having the phone out he dialed his office voicemail. After listening for about two minutes, he then dialed a second time.

"Laura, Wilson here. Just checked my voicemail. You seem upset."

"Calm down, Laura. Chadwick's version might be different."

"Yeah, I'm at their townhouse now."

Wilson pulled the cellphone away from his ear. "Chadwick, exactly what did you do on that mountain?"

"Nothing." Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Really. Nothing. The mountain was closed to climbers, Evelyn wanted a refund, the desk clerk didn't want to give one, I suggested----that Evelyn and I might just enjoy the weekend together, without climbing. She flew off the handle and we came back home. That's it. Really."

"Laura, the boy says he only hit on your niece. Can't blame him for that, after all, he didn't know."

"He knows pretty much everything. Daniels too."

"No, I'm not planning on telling the whole firm. It's just that Chadwick and Evelyn were supposed to be climbing that damn mountain this weekend and Tompkins was homesick, it seemed like a good time for Quentin and I ..."

"Yes, Laura. Quentin Daniels and me!"

"Not exactly. It's more Daniels dippinghis pen in the company ink."

"Yeah, Laura, I meant it exactly like it sounded. Glad you enjoyed it."

"Well, when Scott got back he caught Daniels and me ...in flagrante delicto, as the divorce lawyers like to say."

"Yeah, he was shell shocked. We had to clear the air, so when it came to why he was here and not at Tulahoma, Evelyn entered the picture."

"I think he's cool about everything." Wilson looked at Scott. "If not, I can always beat the shit out of him." Being a lawyer is great, but sometimes you have to fall back on basic white fear. If they say anything, this big black thug would pound them into the pavement. Fear of a thorough ass whupping can sometimes be the best restraining order!

"I haven't told them about Mr. Klijsters."

"Well, everyone at the firm is curious, Laura."

"Hello, Mr. Klijsters, nice to hear you."

"Daniels has a very large pen."

Wilson looks at Quentin. "Daniels, you ever fuck a woman?" Quentin is surprised at the question. He nods his head in the affirmative. "He says yeah."

He looks at Quentin a second time. "Ever fuck one in the ass?" Quentin shakes his head no. "Nope." Wilson said into the phone.

"You sure about this?"

"Okay, we'll be over tomorrow about six."

Wilson placed the cell phone back in its holder. Both interns were looking at him intently. "We're invited to the Klijsters tomorrow for dinner. Six p.m. I said we'll all be there." He looked at the two of them. "All three of us. Tomorrow. Six p.m. Any objections?"

The two looked at each other then at Wilson. His facial expression and body language argued against any objections. And there was the threat of beating the shit out of Scott. But Quentin did have a question. The doorbell rang. It was the pizza delivery man. Wilson paid him, and returned to his seat on the sofa, placing the two pizzas he ordered on the table. He opened the first one--linguica, mushrooms, two cheeses, black olives--and took a slice, followed by Quentin and Scott. Quentin held his in the air and lowered it, point first, into his mouth. The sight caused Wilson to think about the reason he was at the town house.

"Chadwick," Wilson boomed. "Would you like to make a beer run?" Scott knew this was not a question. "None of that German crap in green bottles! I'd like some Kronenburg. Cold. About a case." Scott stood and waited, expecting Wilson to give him some money. Wilson looked at him, "You still here, Chadwick?" Resigned to paying for it, Chadwick left.

As the door closed, Quentin looked at Wilson. "I thought you brought a case of Kronenburg this morning?"

"I did," Wilson smiled. "The last case on this side of town until after the Fourth." He went to the fridge and pulled out a four-pack. Setting it on the cocktail table, he began unfastening his pants. "I don't think we were finished when Mr. Chadwick came home, Mr. Daniels."

Quentin reached for one of the Kronenburgs. He twisted of the cap as Wilson stepped out off his pants and boxers, his nine-inch cock beginning to stiffen. Quentin took a swig, holding it in his mouth to induce coldness. Beer and cock, he thought, the breakfast of champions!

Scott drove from one liquor store to another without luck for two hours looking for Kronenburg beer. If it wasn't for the fact that all the store clerk knew about the beer Scott would have thought he had been sent on a wild goose chase. Scott wondered what to say to Wilson when he returned empty-handed. But when he entered the townhouse he found Wilson on his back again, one leg along the back of the sofa, the other on the cocktail table, his nine-inch dick laying against his very black belly, and Quentin again plowing his ass. This time they didn't stop when he closed the door; they just turned and looked at him, both smiling broadly. Quentin kept riding Wilson for another fifteen or twenty minutes before he buried himself in Wilson and came, laying on Wilson's broad torso as his cock twitched and spasmed.

Scott watched it all with a mixture of intrigue and revulsion. This was the first time he had really watched people fuck, and certainly the first time he had watched two men. Everything he thought about gay sex was wrong. The big black jock got his ass fucked, not the skinny white guy. The guy with the biggest dick got fucked, although Quentin was much larger than Scott. And they did it missionary style, not doggy style. The only thing that happened the way Scott thought it should was that Quentin was a cocksucker. Well, Wilson too, in a way. For when Quentin finished fucking Wilson, he pulled off the condom he was wearing--covered in shit--and poured a bottle of Kronenburg over his dick, washing his come into a glass. This he gave to Wilson, who downed it without hesitation. Then Quentin licked the underside of Wilson's cock, from balls to head, several times before Wilson grabbed Quentin's head and held his mouth on the head as Quentin worked it with his lips and tongue. Scott had expected to see Quentin get a mouthful of cum, but Quentin and Wilson had fucked so much that day that this was a dry cum, with Wilson having all the sensations of orgasm without shooting anything. Scott had never seen anything like it.

He didn't have to explain about the beer. When the two gays had recovered enough, they went to Quentin's room without saying anything. When he went to his room, Quentin's door was wide open. He tried not to look but did so anyway, seeing the two sleeping spoon fashion, the geeky Quentin pressed against Wilson's bearlike back, his arm around Wilson, gripping the base of his immense cock. That image haunted Scott's dreams that night.

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