Terry and the Peachers

XXII

By Michael Arram

Richard Peacher was not a man for overblown acts of expenditure, but for once he had let himself go. The open part of the plateau opposite the Santa Barbara mansion had become a temporary Gothic hall, erected by an enormous team of set designers from Hollywood, working day and night. Vast webs of scaffolding had gone up and when they had come down, a passable scaled-down facsimile of Westminster Hall stood proudly, dominating the Peacher mansion across the lawn. The pool had disappeared under boards and had been skilfully turfed over. Alongside it was the grand marquee for the dining and dancing. You would never have known that the pool been anything other than a lawn. A gigantic pergola of flowering plants and shrubs made a grand avenue from the hall door to the mansion steps. And it was at the entry to this that Matt and Andy, Terry and Ramon, Peter and Tim, and young Ed were standing awaiting the first guests. They were all immaculate in tailored grey morning dress, with white satin neckcloths and lavender flower arrangements in their buttonholes.

Matt grinned down at Ed. 'You look totally smart, Ed.'

The boy preened himself, 'Sylvia said I wuz so cute she could cry.'

'Don't pick your nose then,' Peter's putdown snapped out automatically. Tim gave him a hard look, and for once Peter looked sheepish and apologetic. Ed ignored him, as usual. They had too long a history of bickering for him to pay much attention to Peter.

'Who's boss usher?' Ed demanded.

'Why's that important?' Andy responded with a smile.

'Some guy's got to say where we have to stand and what we have to do. Stands to reason, Andy.'

'Ed's got a point,' Peter hastened to say, with one eye on Tim, looking for his approval. For once he stunned his little brother, who goggled at him. Putdowns he could ignore, but good-natured agreement was something quite new.

'Oh, well,' Andy pondered, 'I don't like to put myself forward, but being Best Man, I guess I command the Honourable Company of Ushers.'

'Hail to the Chief!' whooped Peter.

'Andy is our leader!' echoed Ramon.

'Command me my lord and I will obey,' laughed Tim.

'OK boys, your enthusiasm is appreciated, but settle down. Dad did give me these instructions. Here we go. The guests come in three groups, and Security will channel them through as follows. Group One are what Dad humorously called Odds and Sods: corporate executives, business friends, academic mates, that sort. Security will send them straight in. They'll start arriving in half an hour, and they've got to be in place by 10.30. Group Two is family and close friends. Security channels them into the house for a pre-wedding drink and nibbles. They get marshalled in by 10.45. It's a lot smaller group, especially as there aren't that many Peachers to come other than your Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Fred from Penge, Ed.'

'Where's Penge?' Ed asked, intrigued.

'You don't want to know. Most of the family side are Sylvia's lot, although the Cairds and the Whites count as in-laws as far as dad's concerned. But finally there is Group Three, the Big Ones. The State Governor, the British ambassador, representing the Queen, the Secretary of State, and of course, the President, as well as some lesser royals from Sweden and Spain. They'll come in a sort of procession and we each have to show them to their seats. I get the President: these are yours, I've written them on cards. Matt takes the ambassador first; Ramon takes the Secretary; Ed takes Prince Gustaf of Sweden; Terry takes Princess Alix of Spain; Tim takes the Governor and his wife, Pete and I bring in the First Lady and Mr President last of all, after you've seated your people. We bring them in, we stand, the orchestra plays the presidential anthem, then the national anthem.' Andy's crew looked suitably awed. 'OK men, each take a wad of programmes and practise giving them out gracefully with a cute smile.'

The sound of the orchestra tuning up came from within, and the last musicians enjoying their cigarettes stubbed them out and binned them, then disappeared inside. The boys peered through the Gothic door. You could kid yourself that you really were inside a medieval hall with arcades and pillars. The stained glass actually looked real, although it couldn't have been because it included subjects like computers and binary code. Someone had even found a large pipe organ to install for the day, and its creditable peal joined the glorious chords of the symphony orchestra, playing something by Widor. It was not to be a religious service, but the place had the feel of a church. Masses of flowers filled the bays of the hall.

'I wanna pee,' Ed announced.

'Oh... that reminds me,' Andy added. 'Dad said you've all got to know that there's a fully equipped toilet suite through that door there off the first bay. Any queries, that's where you direct them. Got that Ed?'

'What?'

'You piss in there!'

'Oh... sure, won't be a moment.' He scampered off, and a distant 'Cool!' echoed back into the hall before the door closed on him.

They chatted on the grass until Ed returned, complaining that his zip had stuck. Andy had to take him inside to find Mrs Fuentas, who was good in this sort of crisis. Terry observed with some interest that Ramon and Tim Caird had become instant friends, and they were standing, leaning close together, chatting brightly and laughing.

'How's it going, Pete?' Terry asked.

A smile lit up the boy's handsome face. 'He's not like Jordan, believe me. He's got a mind of his own and he's not afraid to let it out. But when it comes to sex... hot damn, he'll do anything for me and he'll do it again and again. If I told him to strip off here and now, I swear he'd smile and do it. He's my dream babe.'

'How's it going in school?'

'I had no worries about the first Monday back, although Tim was wetting himself. But Matt and I picked him up, and we walked into hall together... not holding hands, mind, but an obvious couple. My gang was waiting and were totally cool. When the guys in the hall saw the way it was, Tim's old friends who'd been driven away by the bullying were all over him. The real problem boys were given a walk out on to the field by my backs, and they limped for two days afterwards. No one dares so much as give an odd look at Timmy babe now. He's so happy and so much more confident.'

'How did it go with your dad and the Cairds?'

'You know dad. An awestruck silence descended on the house as soon as he entered the door. Tim's mom is big into wealth and power and to have the wealthiest and most powerful private citizen in the USA in her front lounge totally floored her. Never mind that dad was there to regularise the sexual relations between her eldest son and me. She agreed to everything, and then dad invited them to the wedding! She couldn't believe it. Tim became her favourite child on the spot... and he was to be an usher: Timothy Macfarlane Caird IV, to have a leading role in the media marriage of the year. He'll be on the news and in the celeb mags. She couldn't believe it, she almost died when dad dropped in the fact that the President would be there. Never mind that her little Timmy will be outed nationally as the gay lover of Peter Peacher. She can live with that.'

'So you don't like your mother-in-law then?'

'No... I didn't say that. She's just a mother-in-law,' Peter chuckled at the thought.

Andy returned with his littlest brother, chattering as they came. They came past Peter and Ed shied away as Peter reached out to ruffle his blond head. 'What you do that for?' the boy snapped.

'Nothing, you little dickwad, just being friendly.'

'Yeah, well you know where you can shove your friendliness: up where Jordan used to put it.'

Peter looked really hurt, and perhaps it was a measure of his determination to change towards the twins that he didn't snarl back, just shrugged. Terry was interested to see a sudden considering look in the twelve-year-old's eyes.

Andy checked his watch. 'It's getting close to Group One time, boys. Grab your orders of service. The odds and sods have got their seat numbers, or should have. There's a list here if they've forgotten. Smile.' Men in suits and women in frocks and hats began drifting towards the pergola entrance and soon they were very busy, guiding, charming and reassuring. Little Ed was a major hit with the women.

'Love the hat, Rachel,' admired Matt. 'Sort of like a giant meringue with feathers.'

'Thank you, Matt. I think. Kiss for me, kiss for Paulie.' Paul grabbed Matt's hand, kissed him, then joined with Andy and Terry, in a big group hug.

Ed interrupted it by hopping up and down and shouting, 'It's Air Force One! Lookit!' And it was. The blue Boeing 727 was descending into the municipal airport. The two escorting military jets overflew it, howling as they banked over the house, the thunder of their engines reflected back by the mountains. Ed's mouth was hanging open, 'I so wanna be president.' Matt reflected that with Ed's background and the nature of the American political system, the dream might just become reality.

Another flood of guests passed them by, bearing Paul and Rachel away. Terry was standing next to Peter when he felt him stiffen and stare. Terry looked in the same direction. A vaguely familiar face was in the crowd coming towards them. Terry had to look twice before he recognised Travis, tagging along behind his father the Chancellor and his mother. He turned to Peter, 'Wow, Pete. He's changed in two years.'

The former beauty queen of the Santa Barbara gay scene had got fat, and pouchy around the face. Travis was not unpleasing at twenty-one, but if you had known what he had looked like at nineteen, the change was a tragedy. Terry looked over at Matt, catching his celestial profile. Matt had grown more rather than less beautiful in the five years he had known him. Terry wondered how much personality and life style had to do with looks: Travis had been hooked on lechery and self indulgence; his face told its story. Travis slipped past without acknowledging either of them.

The Stuyvessants arrived, along with Hampton, who looked a bit apprehensively at the ushers, especially Terry. Andy of course had never known about his designs on him, but Matt gave him a hard look. Terry, on the other hand, was in a mood to be generous and he took Hampton's hand with a warm smile.

'Hope things are better for you, Hampton.' Stuyvessant seemed relieved at the generous reception.

'Er yeah, Terry. I did the decent thing and found a rich girl to marry. She's real nice, and we've got a Hampton Stuyvessant V on the way.'

Terry laughed happily, 'So you've forgotten what I meant to you... isn't that typical, one night and you blew me out.'

Hampton gave a tight grin. 'You were never my type, Terry.'

Finally there was a lull in the rush to get into the wedding hall.

'The President is being met by the Governor, and they'll be on their way up the hill in a few minutes,' said Andy, 'here come the family guests.'

'Hi mum, hi dad!' Matt grinned. It was his parents from Northampton, whom Richard Peacher reckoned to be unofficial in-laws. His dad looked flushed and uncomfortable in his grey suit. He did not like foreign travel much, and America not at all. But the surprising thing was that Richard and his dad got on like a house on fire. His dad was the only man whom Matt had seen Richard Peacher chatting to as if he enjoyed it; they called each other Tony and Dick. Matt had caught the two of them drinking whisky and laughing on the back patio the previous night, and they had looked amused when he had appeared. He rather thought that they had been talking about him and Andy. It was disconcerting when fathers did that. His mum stood back and admired her son. 'Ooh, you look wonderful, Matty love. Hullo Andy dear, you look beautiful too.' Andy hugged and kissed Matt's mum, who had always had a very soft spot for him. She had accepted him as her son's lover with no reservations, which had confirmed Andy's regard for her.

'Did you hear about Carl?' Matt's dad asked. Carl was Matt's younger brother and an Olympic swimmer. 'He took the UK butterfly record in Sunderland. He's got a big sponsorship deal now. There's a chance that between the two of you, I may spend my years of retirement in some comfort.'

'Cheers dad; keep paying into your pension scheme. Got your seat number? OK. You're down the front on the right. Get a move on. The President's security will be here soon and all hell will break loose.'

'Don't push, love.'

Matt looked over to where Mrs Caird was fluttering round Tim and straightening his already perfectly arranged cravat. Peter was looking highly amused, and was amicably talking to Tim's father.

The family guests were all safely seated when the presidential motorcade arrived. The flashing of cameras from the front gate was visible even in the full California daylight. Richard Peacher, his three sons and the other VIPs were on the steps of the mansion as the Secret Service swarmed around the open door of the black armoured Lincoln with the presidential seal on the door.

The president and the governor too were in morning suits, which impressed Matt, as he observed the scene from the sidelines. Terry had lifted Tim on his shoulders so he could get a better view. Tim had a big digital camera.

'Isn't he heavy?' asked Matt.

'You should see some of the women I've had to lift while dancing.'

'Look,' Tim shouted down, 'He's shaking hands with my Petey. Got a great one of that. Oops, he's coming this way. Let me down.'

Andy got his ushers in line, and Terry, Ramon, Matt and Tim got to shake the presidential and gubernatorial hands. Matt had quite a chat with the President, who had the politician's instinct for recognising famous faces and making connections. White House photographers made a big thing about striking the best pose, discretely positioning them to advantage as they talked. The President was quite funny about it.

In the meantime the procession had formed. Matt took the British Ambassador, and Ramon took the Secretary of State down the aisle, and the rest followed on at intervals. Finally Andy and Peter escorted the President and First Lady down, and they all stood at the front as the anthems were played. Andy remembered to do the American thing and put his right hand to his chest, after his brother had nudged him. As the President sat and the congregation took their seats, Andy stood up next to his father and the Wedding March began.

'Dad can dance?' Peter asked Andy curiously.

'Think so. He didn't complain when I suggested he lead off with Sylvia after the speeches.'

'How's your speech, by the way?'

'Don't ask.'

The speeches happened. Andy's was a great success. As Matt observed to Terry and Ramon, it wouldn't have quite suited British tastes, being far too openly emotional, but it was genuine and funny and the Americans loved it. Finally the orchestra struck up a waltz and Richard and the new Mrs Peacher rose and took the floor of the huge marquee. Sylvia was looking superb in lavender chiffon, her pregnancy still barely visible and artfully disguised by the dress. They moved confidently out on to the floor and were away. Polite applause rippled round the room. Then the President and the First Lady joined them, and there was more applause.

Suddenly Matt was aware that every face was looking at Andy. He rose, smiled gently and held out his hand to Matt, whose stomach lurched. There was an audible gasp as he too rose, closed with his boyfriend and danced out on to the floor. Then a louder ripple of applause circled out as their many friends expressed their approval; Terry and Peter whistled. Matt was just glad of the lessons he'd taken from Terry. The floor rapidly filled with whirling couples, amongst whom Matt saw Terry and Ramon dancing beautifully, Ed and Harriet being very sweet, and Peter and Tim moving a lot less elegantly but nonetheless enthusiastically.

Matt danced a lot that evening. He got to dance with Sylvia, his mum, Harriet, Peter and Terry. But mostly he danced with his Andy, who was delighted that they'd finally got the chance to express themselves and their relationship properly and publicly on the floor.

'I know you hate this, but I love you for doing it,' Andy said.

'It's not so bad. Thanks to Terry, I don't feel like a two left-footed geek any more. In fact, I'm enjoying it.' The music had shifted to modern, and the gay couples had taken over a corner of the floor. Terry was of course the star, and it was stunning just to watch him. A year in John Adams in leotards had polished his considerable native talents. Peter and Tim were laughing as they hopelessly tried to copy his moves.

It was ten when Richard and Sylvia Peacher went off in their car to the airport. The honeymoon was to be in the Peacher house on St Kitts, and then on his Caribbean yacht. The twins were going to join Andy and Peter in Annandale in a few days, for the duration. The four younger boys stood out on the lawn beside the wedding hall, which would be gone in two days, despite seeming to possess the solidity of the ages. The stars were out and the party was still going on, with Andy and Matt now playing hosts.

'My place?' Terry suggested to Peter and Tim. He still had the condo in the city, although Mark and Jenna used it most of the time when they came to liaise with the Peacher head office. The two couples crowded into a car which deposited them on Pacific Boulevard.

'No more booze for you two,' Terry said to Peter and Tim. They looked peeved, but found something else to do, which involved lots of lip contact and losing their jackets, ties and waistcoats. Terry and Ramon watched them for a while and then decided to get into the same activity for themselves.

When Terry looked back at them his penis reared suddenly to full height. Peter and Tim had not stopped and were struggling out of the last of their clothes without ending their lip lock. Terry was not sure what to say, and as he hesitated the two were naked and Tim had gone down on his boy lover. He caught Peter's eyes, lustful and ready to be defiant. He was going to have sex then and there, and the fact that he was going to be watched was not going to stop him, quite the opposite. Ramon caught Terry's eyes too, and the sultry look there echoed something in his own mind. They too were soon naked and Ramon was in the same position as Tim. The two boys grinned at each other around their lovers' tools. And Terry realised that this was a set up between Ramon and Tim.

Terry looked over at Peter on the sofa, gorgeous in complete sexual abandon under his lover's attentions, his arms stretched over his head and his legs splayed as he moaned and squirmed. His own cock swelled even further, especially at the glimpse of Tim's brown hole between his small white buttocks as he shifted position, he desperately wanted that arse, or any arse. It was a while since he had indulged in group sex, and never with a pair as delightful and sexy as these two teenagers. Tim and Ramon were watching each other equally intently.

'Get on the sofa next to Pete, Terry, and let Pete know you're there,' Ramon said as he broke off for a moment. Terry complied and as soon as he did, Peter moved on him and kissed him deeply, licking into his mouth and sucking on his lips. This was a sweet moment for Terry. He had resisted his passion for the young boy's body so long that the sudden free offering of it sent him over the edge, he leaned in and stroked the Peter's upper body, rubbing and tweaking on the boy's pink left nipple. Terry had lost all inhibitions, not something he was well-provided with in any case. Ramon and Tim were frantically wanking each other with one hand as they sucked their lovers.

Peter gave a groan as he broke with Terry. Terry said, 'On the sofa boys, we're going to take your arses. A prize for the the first couple to spurt.'

Ramon grinned as he squatted over his lover's tool, it was easier for him to slip it into himself than for Tim, who had not pole danced before. He grasped the back of the sofa and bent down to kiss his lover. Soon Ramon and Tim were bouncing on Terry and Peter, their cocks and balls flapping and slapping on the bellies beneath them. Terry flushed hot and his orgasm boiled up inexorably in him, and he shouted out as he ejaculated deep in Ramon. Peter followed not long afterwards with a whoop that must have been heard on the street outside.

They lay together on the floor in a tangle of slender limbs. They were talking and laughing a long while. Terry couldn't ever remember so good and so fulfilling a session, and although he knew what Andy would say if he ever heard of it, it felt good to lie there with Peter cuddled up to one side of him, kissing his mouth and holding him round his naked waist and stroking his cock. Ramon on the other side, was laughing and joking with Tim, both playing with each other's members. There was no guilt, no shame and no jealousy, and when Ramon mounted Tim, their lovers assisted the coupling with hands and mouths. It was not until well into the small hours that they were ready for bed. Terry led Ramon to his room, while Peter took his Tim to Mark's. They slept till Peter's cell phone insistently woke the two younger boys, with Andy's demand as to where the hell he was.

Terry sat out with Peter on the balcony with their morning coffees. Tim and Ramon were inside laughing and sniggering over something. Soon the sniggering became grunting. They hadn't dressed, so some unfinished business from the previous night must have been on the agenda.

'Are we good, Pete?' Terry had to ask.

'Oh, yeah, Terry. We're good. And you called me "sweet babe".'

'S cos I love you, sweet babe.'

'I know, Terry. That's the great thing about you. You genuinely love the boys you're with, and you love us all the same.'

'Except Ramon, of course. He's my special babe. It surprised me that he wanted to get it on with another couple... though you two really are so very beautiful. But promise me this. You won't ever do group sex with people you can't be sure of, and I don't mean the health thing. You know what'll happen if your sex games get out to the media.'

'I know. That's why I agreed to Timmy babe's plan. I might never get another chance to watch and be watched with another couple. But hell, who says this has to be the last time we get together for sex? Last night was the best. I wanna do it again... and again. I love you Terry, I always have. And will you please take my ass one day? I dream about it.'

Terry grinned at the thought. They lay companionably out on the balcony, the morning sun warming their naked skin.

Andy entered his Matt in his room up the hill just at that same moment, with the same sun beating on his naked rear. Matt moaned and clasped his legs round his small lover's body, pushing up with his pelvis as Andy thrust down. Andy's prick was large for his size and Matt loved the friction he could generate in his rectum. They knew each other intimately, so that Andy knew precisely how to gnaw on Matt's nipples to cause him to arch in abandon under him. They encouraged each other noisily and colourfully, the way they had always done since they had first become lovers. Fortunately Andy's suite was large and the garden outside was empty.

Andy came with a long groaning shout, and he fell into Matt's arms. They lay together, Andy snuggling into the broad chest of his lover, who kissed the fragrant hair of his golden head.

'Take me now, my Matt. Are you up to it?'

'Always, my little blond satyr. But can I use you for a workout?'

Andy grinned impishly, 'You going to do what I think you are? If so, the answer is definitely yes.'

Matt laughed. His powerful young body had been improved and toned by trainers and consultants. He would never be an athlete like his younger brother, but he was broad shouldered, and perfectly muscled in legs and torso. He stood next to the bed, and Andy stood up on it, his back to his lover, who was lubricating his member liberally. He squatted and directed his buttocks towards Matt, who placed his large cock head at Andy's anus. Andy took a deep breath and sank on to Matt as he pushed up. With a gasp, Matt penetrated him, scooped him under his thighs and straightened effortlessly. Andy yelled as Matt's big cock surged up his rectum straight to the top, and he struggled impaled like a butterfly on a pin, his legs hanging down, his head back and his small toes splaying with ecstasy.

'Oh my God. This is being fucked. You're going to do me standing here like this... you're so strong, my Matt.' And Matt held Andy steady in mid air in front of him and began pumping up into him, holding the warm back of the smaller man against him easily, despite Andy's squirming with the surge of the very powerful thrusts beating up into him. When Matt came it was so strong that he nearly dropped his lover on the floor, but he held steady with an effort. Standing, legs apart and his chest heaving, he lifted Andy right off his cock and put him gently down. Andy turned and hugged Matt, then fell to his knees and took him in his mouth, lovingly cleaning the cock that had just been impaling him. Matt squirmed as his sensitive cock was lavishly licked and suckled. They crawled back on to the bed, completely satiated.

After a while Andy raised himself on his elbows and speculated, 'I'll bet Pete did something mad last night. He was in a strange mood at the end of the party and that Tim is not necessarily a steadying influence on him... not like you on me, my Matt, or Ramon on Terry.'

'Where is he?'

'Down the hill at Terry's.'

'Then he'll be fine. Whatever lunacy he indulged in, Terry will mind his back.'

'When are you going to leave me, my Matt?'

'Tomorrow, my lovely blond hobbit. I'm flying to Tokyo for a photo shoot, a couple of ads and a bizarre TV chat show. Though how I'm going to chat when I can't speak a word of the language I really don't know.'

'It's amazing that everywhere I go I see you. In downtown LA there's a skyscraper with your moody face and perfect body painted right up the side. What will the Japs do with you? Is it true they've made you a hentai character? When we were kids, I couldn't go anywhere without seeing you in my head... but the whole world goes round seeing you now. Did you see that article that said you were the face of the twenty-first century?'

'Bit mad, I thought, since there's an awful lot of the century left to go, and I certainly will be dead and gone long before the end of it. Anyway I think my backside is in fact the butt of the century. I'm proud of my bum.' He looked back over his shoulder with a smug twinkle in his dark eyes, and Andy took a moment to fondle and kiss the gorgeous brown mounds.

'A sizeable part of the human race would kill to do what I just did. Isn't that amazing? I take it as a tribute to my taste, myself. You are... something else. Pete isn't entirely convinced you're human.'

'Cheeky little sod.'

'I told him how you scratch your bum, pick your nose and fart, but he doesn't believe it really.'

'That's an idea of what I can do on the Japanese chat show, farting is the universal language, and isn't it sort of polite to fart in Japan?'

'I'm not sure you got that right, Matt my love.'

'What's the time?'

'About ten, why?'

'Last night was the broadcast of my documentary on British TV... the wedding drive it out of your head?'

'Sorry. Of course. What's happening?'

'My agent should have the first reviews from the British morning papers. She said she'd e-mail them on. Let's get my machine on line.' Andy watched from the bed as his stark naked lover busied himself with a modem.'

'I'd love to insert myself on your laptop again.'

'Oh very contemporary, Andy.'

'You're bothered, aren't you.'

'Yeah, a bit. The series has got crap reviews so far. The company went for eye candy presenters and used researchers to write the scripts. End result: a series without any real authority and insight, school text book stuff which dragged on for two hours. I saw them, they were dreadful. People felt patronised, and all the lush locations and expensive CGI reconstructions couldn't make up for it. Now, I was the eye candy presenter for the seventeenth century...'

'... and the sweetest of them all too.'

'... but I am also a professional historian and I used my agent's muscle to take control of the script and refused researchers, but wrote it all myself. Well not quite all, I got Paulie to help with the arts and literature side. He was great and he earned a few grand too.'

'Yay, Paulie! Does he get credited?'

'Oh yeah. But it's all on me now if it's as dreadful as the rest of them.'

'But you've seen the previews, haven't you?'

'True. I thought it was great and the producer thought it was fantastic. But media types have useless judgement and the public have their own ideas as to what amuses and informs them, bless them.'

'Hup... here we go, it's downloading. Oh... oh my! Heavens! Good grief!'

Andy was up and behind his Matt trying to pick up something from the scrolling screen. He held his lover's warm shoulders and kissed his raven hair. 'OK Matt, give me the highlights.'

Matt turned and grinned, 'You're looking at the Naked Historian... figuratively and literally. The celebrity chef of TV History. A revelation. How TV history should be... passionate, humorous, inspired, the finest historical documentary since the 1970s,' he gave a huge laugh, '... and those were just the lukewarm ones.' Matt leapt up grabbed his Andy round the waist and danced round the room, holding him off the ground. He threw Andy on the bed '... I need sex, give me sex! Now!'

'You bet! Top or bottom?'

'What do you think?' Andy laughed and raised his legs to his chest.

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