Terry and the Peachers

V

By Michael Arram

The weekend came, and Andy and Matt were off to Santa Barbara. Terry was not needed.

'It's a long way to drive, and Matt knows the way. We'll go in his car. Have a couple of days to yourself.'

So Terry slept in on Saturday morning, and sat out by the pool, enjoying the sunshine. He waved absently at Maria as she went past, and heard the clack of Ramon's shears as he trimmed the hedges. He felt really relaxed, and began to realise how tense he had been when he got to LA.

Terry looked over at Ramon on his stepladder. He was a slim Hispanic boy with pale olive skin, who he doubted was much over seventeen. He admired the small buttocks revealed by the boy's old shorts, hanging so low he could see his cleft and the top of his crack quite clearly. He was topless, barefoot and long legged. 'Oops,' Terry thought, as his penis sprang erect in his shorts. 'Don't go there.'

Terry drifted off to sleep, and woke up as the sun swung round the house to shine right on his face. He blinked. Everything was quiet. Mrs Fuentas had taken the weekend off, and Maria was out shopping. The clack of Ramon's shears was gone. Terry looked round. No one to see. He stripped off his shorts and tee shirt, stretched luxuriously and dived naked into the pool. Fantastic. He swam several lengths, and floated on his back. It was great. Like being in the villa in Ibiza, where he always skinny-dipped, although the pool there was only a third of the size of Andy's. Terry liked his buttocks to be as brown as the rest of him. He climbed up naked on to the inflatable and luxuriated in the sunlight.

He was nearly drifting off when all of a sudden he noticed that he was being covertly observed. He froze, so far as he could while floating. Andy had shown him a tabloid picture of him and Matt snapped naked by the pool by a paparazzo. He had it framed in his study. Terry should have remembered that before getting bare-arsed. He looked again at the poolside under his long dark lashes. There was a face briefly glimpsed in the olive bushes under the orange trees. Ahah. OK. He slipped off the inflatable and swam lazily and nonchalantly to the poolside. He pulled himself out and stood dripping. He decided to give the voyeur a show. He stretched and began fondling himself erect. A slight move in the bushes betrayed interest. He was only a few metres away. Defying scratches, Terry abruptly leapt through the branches and grabbed a curly black head and lifted. Ramon stood up squealing. He was naked and had obviously been jerking himself off.

'Dios. Oh Madre de Dios, oh God. Mr O'Brien, I'm so sorry. You won't tell Aunt Felicia. Please!'

Terry let the boy go. He was in tears and his erection had gone quickly down, although Terry's hadn't.

'Ramon. You young idiot. S'alright, cool down, I'm not telling anyone anything.' They stood looking at each other, Ramon clasping his hands over his crotch to hide his genitals. Terry grabbed the younger boy by the shoulder and marched him naked smartly into the utility house and into his own room. Ramon sat scared, hiding himself, but his eyes were still fitfully focussed on Terry's proud manhood, eight inches long and curving upward. How was he going to manage this?

He found some shorts and threw a towel at Ramon to cover himself. 'So, Ramon, did you like what you saw?'

Ramon looked down and said nothing.

'Ramon, you know I'm gay.'

Ramon looked up, 'Me too,' he said. 'That's why I'm here. Aunt Felicia got me the job with Mr Peacher because she knew that he wouldn't mind, and I had to get away from my people, who didn't like it.'

'No one told me that.' Ramon shrugged. 'So, did you like what you saw?'

Ramon answered slowly this time, 'Yes Mr Terry, I sure did. You're real beautiful.'

Terry wasn't going to resist the moment, 'So, wanna do something about it?'

'Jeez. Serious?' Terry dropped his shorts and pulled Ramon's towel off him. His thin dark penis was already tenting the fabric, Terry pulled him towards him, and their mouths met. This was better than good. The kid was enthusiastic and sweet. He was also an arse virgin, as Terry realised when he tried to enter him with his finger as they were embracing.

It was a long, tender and careful process filling Ramon with Terry. Half an hour's licking and gentle anal massage opened the boy's tight hole to his tongue and fingers. He put Ramon on all fours, and began the slow process of working inside him. Eventually he was embedded in the boy's tight arse and the boy was loving it. Ramon was moaning and his body was squirming under him as he move gently in and out of his hole. It was not a great fuck, but it was tight and exquisite, and the kid was really sweet and enthusiastic about it. They slept a while, and Terry woke to find himself being tenderly stroked and massaged. Ramon climbed up on him and impaled his loosened anus on Terry and brought him off again, his flaccid genitals flapping on to Terry's belly as he moved energetically up and down on him.

'Kid, you're imaginitive and fantastic. A real babe.'

Ramon smiled shyly, 'Thank you. You're pretty great yourself... Terry.'

Terry grinned to himself. This trip to America was shaping up to something really awesome.

'You gotta boyfriend, Ramon?'

The Mexican boy looked down solemnly at Terry, before continuing, 'I had one, but my brothers cut him bad.'

'What?'

'That's why I'm here. I got caught making out with Esteban in bed, the first time I'd ever tried it. My brothers chased him naked down the road and cut off his balls in front of the whole neighbourhood.'

'Jesus Christ. You're not kidding me are you, Ramon?'

The boy looked perfectly straightfaced and matter-of fact. 'No. I can still hear his screams. They would have castrated me too, but mama got me to the bus station and sent me off to LA and Aunt Felicia. Not even one bag to take with me. I'm sort of in hiding.'

'Er, where are your brothers?'

Ramon gave a gurgling laugh and an impish grin, which reminded him a little of Andy's, 'They're in Houston, Terry. Long way away.'

'But if they found out...'

'You'd be missing your cojones too... sorry.'

Terry rolled his eyes, so he missed the secret smile which flashed across Ramon's mobile face. He'd had his revenge for the pool.

To Terry it seemed that there were a growing number of people in the world with ambitions to mutilate him. He looked at the pretty and smooth oval face next to his. Were those white teeth and rich crimson lips worth the danger of being neutered? He licked and kissed them, just to check it out. He decided they were. He also decided that while he had his balls he was going to use them to the max.

He began work on Ramon's cock, which didn't need much stimulation. Terry taught the boy how to prepare his hole and enjoyed his enthusiastic rimming and a deep anal massage from those long, tapered fingers. There was no hesitation in Ramon about penetrating the strong-smelling depths of his arse, as Terry had found with some of his partners. The boy needed no persuasion at all, and in the end Ramon confessed sheepishly that he'd loved playing with his own hole since he was small, and had even tried pushing objects up inside him. Terry laughed and told him what he'd done with carrots and cucumbers from the fridge when he was fourteen.

Terry got on his back and Ramon mounted him, having what he said was his first fuck. Half the fun for Terry were the unbelieving expressions moving across the boy's pretty face, especially the final surge as he came inside him. Ramon impressed by wanting to lick and suck Terry's anus clean of his own semen, and he did it with obvious and genuine enjoyment. They slept in Terry's bed that night and the next one they slept in Ramon's, although sleep was only a fitful activity.

While Ramon slept Terry looked around his room. There was the usual PS2, a selection of games and a small TV set. There was not a large amount of clothing, which corroborated Ramon's story that he had left home in a hurry. There was a picture of his mother, a very attractive woman in whose face you could see the source of Ramon's looks. What there was a lot of was books, many in Spanish but a lot were obviously high school texts piled next to a stack of work books on a small desk. Ramon was registered at a local community college. Terry looked over at the boy's sleeping face and felt strangely moved. Poor and isolated this boy may have been, but he had ambitions and a drive that had passed Terry by. He felt for him a mingled respect and affection, but there was something else.

Something stirred in Terry's heart, something he had not felt before, or at least not for a long time. He tried to seize on it, to analyse it, but it evaded him for the moment. But he knew it would be back. Terry always loved the boy he was with, for he had a generous heart. It was just that with one exception he had never gone beyond good nature. But because of Paul, he knew that there was a further depth to affection. He felt all of a sudden that those depths had just opened up beneath him. He uncovered the boy's smooth body and contemplated him. The sleeping face was so very pretty, and hardly had much of a beard. The hair, tight curly and black on his head, was not much evident on any other part of his body apart from around his genitals. Only the lower legs were lightly covered in dark hair, and made Ramon look more than boyish. But boy or man, he was beautiful and the beauty touched Terry's heart.

Andy and Matt returned on Sunday afternoon, and Terry was called over to the house. He found them in front of a big webcam in Andy's study. Terry did a double take, the big wall screen was lit up and Alex and Paul's faces were peering out of it for a conference call. They were in Paul's Finkle Road bedroom. He must have bought a new machine.

'Hey, it's Terry the chauffeur!' said Paul's tinny voice, not quite in sync with his screen image.

'Hi, Paulie.'

'Go easy on him, Paulie,' said Matt, 'at least till he crashes Andy's car. Lads, things are hotting up here. The Stepmom will be announced as the next US ambassador to Thailand by the State Department at the Monday morning press conference. Andy's dad's been busy in Washington, and, though she doesn't say much, Ellie's pretty smug. But she'll be piling the pressure on Anson now. What's the latest, Paulie?'

'He's still in London so far as we can tell. From his e-mail outbox I'd guess he's tying up other business before flying out to California. She's at him several times a day. I bet he's a bit pissed off with her by now.'

'I wouldn't be surprised. We've put the dossier out of anyone's reach for a while. It's in a safe deposit box in my bank. Only I can access it. To get at it, Anson'll have to be a lot cleverer or more ruthless than I can believe. His only chance is to kidnap me and beat it out of me. I can't believe that he'd go so far. He'll try theft first.'

'Don't underestimate him,' warned Alex. 'I've heard some things about him. He's a military man, and has quite a grasp of strategy. He's been into safe deposit boxes before. He uses blackmail, kidnap and theft when it suits him and they can get past keys and passwords.'

'OK, understood. An armed security guard starts work here on Monday, from a good agency run by ex-policemen. We've told them that there's been threats. That might deter a direct assault.'

'Look, Matt,' interrupted Paul, 'I don't wanna piss in your bath, but I've been working on Anson's papers Terry photographed that night. I don't think most of them are anything to do with the dossier, just other stuff he was working on. But one's really worrying. It's an e-mail printout with a lot of details about 25 Finkle Road, number and location of rooms, doors, inhabitants. It's also got details about me, my university course, even my personal habits. Main problem is that the identity of the sender was an anonymous, but obvious Peacher Corporation address.'

'What?'

'It came from the States boys, and it came from a Peacher employee. It can't have come from the Stepmom. She just don't know that sort of stuff. So who does? Only us. I think you need to get the place checked for bugs, and bear in mind now that the Stepmom has friends and agents within the Peacher empire. The location of the dossier may not be quite as secure as you think.'

'Oh shit. I'll get the security firm to do a sweep tomorrow,' Matt looked gloomy. 'This is going to be more complicated than I thought.'

Paul shrugged, 'We're amateurs, lads. He's a professional. We've been lucky thanks to Terry, but you can't ask for two miracles. It's unreasonable.'

Terry's phone woke him early on Monday morning. Ramon stirred sleepily next to him. He kissed the boy's brown shoulder and picked up the receiver.

'Terry?'

'That you Sylvia?... Hey, it's only seven.'

'Sorry, but you're needed. We've just heard from Santa Barbara. Mr Andy Peacher has to leave for Washington on the ten o'clock flight. His father's taking the Peacher jet from Santa Barbara in an hour, but we have to go scheduled. There's a White House reception for Mr Peacher's father and stepmother this evening after this morning's big announcement. It's all last minute, the Secretary of State's idea. Mr Peacher's staffers need to go too.'

'Staffer, is that what I am?' He detected a hint of a smile in her reply.

'Yes, Terry, welcome to the staffer world. You are a staffer, an aide, a gopher, whatever.'

'Wow, I'm a gopher as well as a staffer. You coming Sylvia?'

'I'm sorting the tickets now. You need to get over and load the car. Mrs Fuentas has packed already. Bring a bag for three nights. Have you got a tuxedo? It's black tie.'

'Yeah, Andy... I mean, Mr Peacher, got me one last week. Is Matt coming?'

'I don't know about Mr White's intentions.'

Terry prodded Ramon, whose dark eyes were in fact already open.

'Got to go, babe. Duty calls.'

Ramon stroked his cheek with the back of his hand, and got up. Terry admired the boy's natural grace. He stood up behind him and held Ramon tightly round his rib cage, kissing the nape of his neck, pushing his crotch against the warm softness of the boy's small and dimpled buttocks

'Terry, put it away. It's poking my back, and we don't have time.'

Terry turned him round and gave him a deep kiss.

'When I get back, lover, we'll do it big time.'

Ramon looked at him, a little sadly he thought, then he said the thing that Terry always dreaded hearing from his first time fucks: 'I do love you, Inglesi.'

Terry was always disconcerted by this, because he was naturally a kind and loving man. In one way, he was the perfect gay to lose your virginity to, but to date he was too restless for relationships of any length. He knew the dangers of what he had done with Ramon. He had slept with Dominic the Depressed. Did he love Ramon? He loved what they did together. He couldn't say he loved him, because he was essentially honest. There'd been too many bodies in bed with him in recent months. He covered. 'Least you didn't call me a gringo... isn't that what you'd call a Yank?'

The boy laughed and left, loping naked down the corridor to his own room. Terry rapidly packed and dressed, hauling his bag round the house to the drive, and loading it in the boot. Then he went into the big house and got Andy's luggage.

He grabbed a standing breakfast, courtesy of Mrs Fuentas, and was there holding the front door open as Andy and Sylvia came out at eight. Andy was in a very expensive tailored suit, and looked for once like the billionaire's son he was, and looking at him Terry couldn't imagine why he had thought earlier that Andy looked ordinary. There was something about him which was more than just wealth and style.

Sylvia and Terry sat in the front, and Andy got in the back with a newspaper. Soon they were driving down the freeway towards downtown LA in the heavy morning traffic. Andy was humming away to himself in the back seat, looking absently from the paper to the window, and Sylvia was on her cell phone, sorting a car at Dulles and rooms in Washington as they went. Apparently Matt wasn't going to be there. It was nearly nine when Terry parked and opened the car door for the pleasant young man whom he was increasingly regarding as his boss. He unloaded the bags, and shared them with Sylvia, keeping the heaviest and dumping them on a trolley. Andy had more sense than to offer to help out. They followed him into the terminal, Sylvia still on her cellphone. Terry was well aware that eyes were following them. He rather liked it. Being noticed always made him happy.

Sylvia had put them all in first class. Andy had brightened up by the time they took off.

'The White House, eh? Apparently the President can't be there, but we've got the Vice-President, the Secretary of State, the Secretary General of the United Nations and the diplomatic corps. There'll be speeches, dancing and a dinner. Pity Matt can't come. It'd really piss off this administration if I insisted on dancing with him.'

Sylvia winced, 'You're not thinking about saying that when you're there are you, sir?'

'No, Sylvia. I'll be good, honest. I don't want to spoil Madam Ambassador's night, do I?' He winked at Terry, who gave him a small smile.

Terry spent the journey studying detailed maps of DC and northern Virginia. Sylvia got them through the strange routine at Dulles, which involved transit in peculiar buses which went up and down levels. A BMW was waiting ready to be loaded, and Terry drove fairly confidently into the capital, only losing his way twice in the city grid once they'd crossed the Potomac. Sylvia discretely helped him out. A heavy drizzle was falling, but Terry had quickly purchased a golfing umbrella at the airport and was holding it over Andy as he got out of the car at the Columbia. The doorman saluted and then helped out as Terry followed his boss into the foyer with the bags. Sylvia was managing the desk, and the car was being parked by the hotel staff. The desk clerk was deferential, the lift attendant grovelled and the day manager himself was on hand to open Mr Peacher's suite.

When they were alone, Andy turned around with a smile, 'It's an interesting experience what wealth does to people, isn't it, Terry?'

'Certainly is, sir.'

'Matt finds it hard, but now he's independently wealthy he's having to come to terms with it too.'

'Paul mentioned something about modelling contracts.'

'Yes, it's a bit ironic actually. Matt's not really model material, even though he secretly hankered to do it. His looks are superb, but he lacks the height for the catwalk. But just after Christmas, an Italian fashion house got in touch. They want him for an ad campaign for a world brand launch, and their marketing people had noticed that he wore their brand... I like to buy their jackets for him. He signed five weeks ago, for two million dollars. And now two French perfume houses are negotiating with his agent... yes, he has an agent. They reckon he's got a European rather than a British face, which I'd agree with. The French love him. We're off to my dad's house in France for Easter, to close the deals. Then it's Milan for the first big shoot. Terry?'

'Yes boss?'

'It's probably too early to ask you, but do you want to stay with this job?'

Terry's mind ground to a halt. He thought of the house in California, the fun of travel, and the seductions of wealth, even though it was all on Andy's coat tails. And he thought of Ramon. He didn't want to give up sex that great until he had to. The answer welled up in him, 'You bet I do.'

Andy beamed at him, his strangely magnetic eyes sparkling. 'I'm really glad. Matt and me think you're brilliant, specially now you've dropped your South Midlands accent.'

'Damn, it's gone hasn't it?'

'Same thing happened to Paulie when he got to university.' Andy laughed.

Sylvia and Terry got to sit at the outer tables, with the chargés d'affaires and attachés. Terry was deeply amused to be placed next to the third secretary of the British embassy, a young man not much older than him, fresh out of Oxford. It was fun stringing him along as he tried to get to grips with Terry's background.

'So you're British?'

'Uhuh.'

'Working for the Peacher empire.'

'No, I'm one of Andrew Peacher's aides. We're a separate organisation based in LA.'

'What's he like?'

'A really nice guy.'

'They always say that.'

Terry shrugged, 'Sometimes it has to be true. It's true in this case.'

'Do you get to see Matthew White?'

'He comes through the office sometimes.'

'What's he like in person?'

Terry grinned, 'You might not believe this, but even more amazing-looking in person than in pictures.'

'No. I mean, is he vain and stuck-up?'

'Oh no, not at all. He's quite as nice as his boyfriend.'

'Must be weird working for gays.' By this comment, Terry realised more than anything that his street-gay image had gone underground for the time being. Anthony the Acid would be so pissed at him. He thought up a neutral response.

'Well, they never make passes at me. It's all a very professional organisation. Anyway, those guys are just too wrapped up in each other, I think.'

The young diplomat nodded, 'Everybody says Andrew Peacher's stepmother's really charming and his dad's a thug.'

'You shouldn't believe what you hear. I have it on good authority that Richard Peacher's a bit of a sweetie really.'

'Just as well. You know there's talk that he's to be given an honorary knighthood by HM government, for past services to British scientific research. He can't be Sir Richard of course, as he's taken out US citizenship.'

'No, I didn't know that. I must get in touch with my opposite numbers in New York, to see what they know.'

Sylvia looked at him levelly across the table and mouthed 'Opposite numbers in New York?' He grinned and shrugged. He scanned the room. He could just see Andy on the top table. His father was on one side of the Vice President, and the Stepmom on the other. He stared at her, but she didn't look like a monster. In fact she was a very attractive older woman with a charming laugh.

Next to Andy was a younger blond boy in his early teens, rather better-looking and looking very cute in boy-sized evening dress. They were talking, though not smiling. Must be his brother, he concluded. He knew that there was bad blood between the two elder Peacher boys. He turned to his neighbour on the other side, the cultural attaché of the French embassy, a very beautiful woman of about thirty. She was soon hitting on him, asking him if he was any relation to Jude Law. She thought she saw a marked resemblance.

If my mum and dad could see me now, he thought. Who's a loser now? He swiped a menu to send home, and later got the Secretary General of the UN to autograph it as he circulated, watching the dancing. After another drink he talked Sylvia into a waltz. She was stunned to discover he was quite a dancer. Somebody else happy to underestimate me, he thought.

'Keep your eye on the boss,' she warned him. 'You're only here because he is. Don't forget it.' She seemed annoyed with him for some reason. She kept looking over at Andy, who was smiling and talking to another young man in evening dress. Terry gave him the once over. The stranger was quite good looking, with well-tended brown hair, severely parted. He was not much taller than Andy, which made him short, but like Andy he was well-proportioned and they seemed of an age.

'Sylvia,' he asked, 'who's the guy with Andy?'

She didn't need to look. 'That's Hampton Stuyvessant.'

'Anything to do with the cigarettes?' Terry asked, remembering not to say 'fags' as that would have changed the meaning of the question in a quite unacceptable way in his present company.

'Same family,' she added abruptly, 'but different branch. They're New York Dutch aristocracy. F.D. Roosevelt was his great-grandfather.'

'So. Rich then?'

'Not that rich, I hear. But extremely well connected. He was at Harvard and works in one of the big New York banking houses.'

'So how does Andy know him?'

'Hampton's father, Hampton Delano Stuyvessant III, is a director of Peacher Corp and was very helpful to Andy's father in his early days.'

'Is he gay?'

Syvia smiled at last, 'What does your instinct say?'

Terry took the question seriously, looking at the crisp and well-combed hair, his interaction with Andy and the look-at-me pose.

'Could be, I think. But it's not immediately obvious. Could swing either way... I don't fancy him.'

'Oh, why not?'

'Seems to love himself.' Sylvia looked a further question, and Terry added, 'He's a little bit into sucking up to our Andy too.'

Sylvia nodded, although not necessarily in agreement. They danced on.

Terry was already at the canopied door on the Ellipse side of the White House, when Andy moved. Sylvia was even more annoyed when he proved more alert to his movements than she was. Out into the night with the Washington Monument and Jefferson Memorial lit up in front of them. The moon was leaving a silver trail on the Tidal Basin. It was a cool night after the rain, and Terry had Andy's coat to hand while they waited for the car.

'Thanks, Terry.'

'No problem, sir. Uh boss?'

'Yes?'

'I picked up something during the evening. Seems the British government's likely to offer your father an honour.'

Andy did a double take, and then said with a smile, 'The Stepmom will be pleased... a trip to Buckingham Palace. Oh... hey! Hampton! Need a lift?'

Hampton Stuyvessant had appeared at Andy's shoulder. He gave him a warm smile.

'If it's no trouble Andy.' He had a wonderful voice, with a cultured transatlantic accent, 'I'm at the Columbia.'

'Oh great. So are we.'

Terry moved as the car drew up and he opened the door for Andy. The parking attendant got out and he got in, while Sylvia and Hampton got in the back. He drove off into the city night and found his way back up to Pennsylvania Avenue somehow. Sylvia was mute, but Andy and the young American were chatting away and laughing. Interestingly, Andy's voice had adjusted to his company and he was talking in a way Terry recognised as the classic British public school drawl.

At the hotel, Terry was out and opening the door for Andy as soon as he had drawn up. In his haste to get to the hotel door, he almost shut the car on Hampton Stuyvessant, who was following Andy.

'Watch out!' the American snapped, with a sharp and unpleasant look in Terry's direction. Terry apologised profusely, but did not forget the curtness and harshness in the voice as Stuyvessant put him down, nor did he forget the dismissive body language as he swept by him.

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