This is a mobile proxy. It is intended to visit the IOMfAtS Story Shelf on devices that would otherwise not correctly display the site. Please direct all your feedback to the friendly guy over at IOMfAtS!

The Pale Blue Sky

by Jack Lynch

Part 3 - Connor, Carey and Randy, Chapter 4


As 8:00 approached, Carey looked expectantly out the window. The street was quiet until a silver car turned the corner and the lights flashed off and on.

Earlier, Carey showered after he got home. As he watched the water stream down his chest and stomach, his eyes came to rest on his rising and thickening cock. He imagined his mouth opening as his lips surrounded Randy's smooth cock. He sucked so hard he gagged when it hit the back of his throat. He brushed a finger against the underside of his own cock. In an instant he felt like he was going to cum.

Save it, he thought. I might need that for later. Chuckling, he thought. Didn't I say that to myself the other day?

He wore a tight ribbed long sleeve t-shirt that hugged his flat chest. Looking in the mirror, the shirt revealed a nice curve from his narrow waist to his hips. He wished his pecs had more definition although his nipples, barely visible as they made small points on the front of his shirt, made him look sort of cute and sexy.

Carey ran down the steps and jumped into Randy's car.

"Nice ride!" He said as he admired the sleek dashboard of the late model Beemer.

Randy laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not some spoiled rich kid. This is the 'rents." Smiling with a twinkle in his eyes, "I'm a REALLY spoiled rich kid!"

Carey chuckled.

On the way, they traded some basics about each other. Randy was 18 having just graduated from high school. Carey was a "townie" having been born and raised locally. Randy's family had moved to town three years ago after his father was appointed president of one of the area's largest manufacturers. Carey was about to enter his junior year in college; Randy was taking a year off. He had been able to defer his acceptance to a prestigious university.

Six months back packing in Europe was just on the horizon. In the meantime, Randy's parents had made a passing attempt to make him buckle down and do something. Anything. The job at Brew-Ski's seem to mollify them.

Randy smirked, "It's not like they're making me do road construction."

Carey laughed. Carey was an only child. Randy had a sister, eight years older, who was a lawyer in the city. She had a serious guy friend. Recently, she had announced with confidence that he was "the one."

Fifteen minutes later they rolled up to a modest, late 20th Century split level house. After the hot August day, the night air felt perfectly cool as they walked up to the front door, lit by two large lantern like sconces. A few seconds after Randy rang the bell, the door swung open and they were greeted enthusiastically.

"Randy!" The man shouted. Grabbing Carey's hand and shaking it, he said, "Hi! I'm Drain," in a rich tenor voice.

After a brief pause, Carey asked, "What did you say your name was?"


Carey looked at him with a sudden recognition.

"You mean as in Brain Drain?!"


Drain squealed as he nodded.

"Come on in!"

Stepping through the door, Carey exclaimed, "Hey, man! I listen to you everyday!"

Drain and Randy just smiled.

"The Brain Drain" was by far and away the most popular morning show on local radio. Drain's 2-hour show was almost all talk, interspersed with lots of commercials, as well as brief mentions of the news, traffic, and weather. No music.

He used the show as a platform to make fun of politicians, movie stars, and just regular folks. He'd normally begin a segment by reading a statement, quote, or some new policy initiative followed by spending the next several minutes in a full rant about how ridiculous it was and how idiotic the people were he was talking about. It was hilarious. Underneath it all, it made sense, most of the time. The punchline at the end of each segment was accompanied by the sound of water gurgling down a drain. Depending on the topic, sometimes it was the sound of a toilet flushing.

Drain's live interviews were the most entertaining. He had an uncanny ability to snare some poor unsuspecting politico or celebrity in an awkward position. He spared no one, left or right, from his hilarious attacks. It was laugh out loud funny to hear someone try to stammer, dodge, or lie their way out of the corner Drain painted them into.

"What can I get you to drink?" Drain asked.

They stood around the island in the kitchen selecting soft drinks from a wash tub filled with ice.

As they chatted, Carey got a better look at this local celebrity. In short, Drain was a weird duck. Probably 5'8" or so, the nicest way to describe his physique was pudgy. Overweight and roly poly as though he assiduously avoided any form of exercise. Hard to tell how old he was. Forty something? Pasty white skin.

Carey looked more closely without trying to be obvious. It looked like he might be wearing some kind of foundation. And, was that eye liner? A full head of perfect blond hair. Undoubtedly a rug. He wore a kitschy burgundy velour sweater with an open neck revealing two thick gold necklaces. His tiny feet look even smaller because he was wearing ballet slippers.

When Carey asked him if his name was really Drain, he waved his hand and said with a chuckle, "Oh no! My real name is Duaine," and with emphasis, "with an 'i.' My little brother called me Drain because he couldn't pronounce Duaine. It stuck." He chuckled again.

In an affected and nasal voice, put on for effect, Drain put his arm across his stomach and with a slight bow said, "Gentlemen, please accompany me to the conservatory."

The conservatory was really just the large family room in the back of the house. Rectangular acoustic baffles hung suspended from the tall ceiling. Whatever walls were not covered in thick drapes were clad in a 1960's era wood paneling. Large stereo speakers sat at one end. Several smaller speakers were scattered through the rest of the room. One wall was completely lined with shelves housing a maze of electronic equipment. Amplifiers, pre-amps, mixers, turntables, and other stereo components. Lights blinked on and off and dials waved back and forth.

A number of chairs and a love seat were sprinkled throughout the room, mostly occupied by other men. Carey found an easy chair and Randy sat down on a piano bench.

After some brief introductions Drain launched into a monologue. It felt a little strange hearing the rich mellifluous voice in person Carey listened to everyday on the radio. Everyone looked on with expressions of admiration. There were lots of "Oh ya's" and "Uh huh's." It was kind of like a white man's revival meeting.

The other guys in the room varied from young to old, big to small, thin to fat. They all had one thing in common: they were gay. It wasn't totally obvious but Carey's gaydar detected it nevertheless. The way a lot of the guys talked and their mannerisms gave them away. A couple of them were totally fem. One wore a single dangling earring. Another played with a necklace, his fingernails painted dark blue. A muscle bound linebacker type batted his eyelashes at Carey when he glanced at him.

Drain's prognostications dealt primarily with music and the quality of sound coming from the impressive array of electronics on the wall. Sitting on the couch at one end of the room, he controlled most of the components with three remotes stationed on a small table at his feet. He lectured on the technical aspects of the recorded and amplified sound using a variety of geeky sounding words like manipulated input. He didn't play any one song all the way through. Instead, he played clips from a variety of artists to demonstrate the extraordinary capability of his sound system. Opera, rap, vintage rock and roll, Janis Joplin, Frank Sinatra, Mozart, and everything in between.

Carey was bored. His eyes wandered over to Randy. He had quietly shifted around to straddle the piano bench. Leaning forward on his elbows as he paid rapt attention to Drain, Randy's ass spread across the width of the bench. With his hips slightly raised and his back arched, it was almost as if he was inviting someone to to come up behind him and stick their dick into his ass. Carey thought it looked a little bizarre but also hot. Was he doing this on purpose?

Looking at Randy a bit closer, he admired his great hair. Brown, nice and thick. It was obvious he got it cut just the right way and took great pains to keep it neat and styled. It shined as though he put some kind of product on it. His shoulders were pretty wide. Below his chest, his abdomen narrowed to a small waist.

Glancing back at the guys seated behind Randy, Carey saw that most of them had their eyes locked on Randy's butt. One middle aged man, eyes glazed over, lightly tickled a bulge in his pants. With a gorgeous butt like that, it was no wonder he was getting that kind of attention. Carey smiled to himself.

Stifling a yawn, he turned back to Drain's monologue, trying to feign interest. Eventually, his eyes started to glaze over and he felt his chin start to droop to his chest.

Randy must have noticed because he sat up with start, hopped to his feet and interrupted Drain.

"Hey! This was fun, but we've gotta get going."

Carey shook himself awake and quickly stood up, too. After saying good byes and receiving hugs, a little close and a little too hard from Drain, they were able to extract themselves.

When they got into the car, Randy turned to Carey, "So, what did you think?"

Carey replied with a laugh, "Man! Drain is a trip!"

Randy swiveled in his seat toward Carey.

"Honestly, what did you think?"

Carey took a breath.

"Well…I thought it was kind of boring."

Randy smirked.

"Ya well…that scene is sort of…an acquired taste."

Carey laughed.

"Scene?!?" Pausing for a second, "So, how did you ever end up hanging out with Drain?"

Randy smirked again as he put the car in motion.

"So, I met him in a chat room."

Randy held the back of his hand up to his mouth as he laughed.

"Wha-a-t?" Carey said in his falsetto fake horror voice.

"Ya, he was pretending to be a girl."

Randy glanced over to see Carey staring at him.

"I knew he was a guy in, like, a minute and a half. I let him go on for a couple of days before I called bullshit."

Carey laughed and shook his head.

"He has a thing for straight boys," Randy said. Then a bit more quietly, "Or, he thinks are straight."

Neither spoke for a couple of minutes. Wheels were turning and not just the ones under the car.

"Hey! Do you wanna come over for a bit? We can listen to some real music. My sound system is no match for Drain's but it ain't bad."

Carey nodded.


The Bergman house was in the nicest neighborhood in town. Large deep lawns, McMansions, and stately older homes. The house they drove up to was one of the more unassuming ones on the block. Randy parked in the driveway and led Carey through the side garage door into an inside back door which, in turn, led through a mud room to the kitchen.

It was immediately obvious to Carey that, although the house appeared relatively modest, it was luxuriously appointed. The kitchen was lined in rich mahogany cabinets and filled with ultra high end Wolf appliances. A double sink and a separate bar sink were set into marble countertops. Carey glimpsed an elegantly furnished living room and great room as Randy led the way to his bedroom.

Randy's room was relatively simple and, like the rest of the house, filled with upscale furnishings. The bed was fitted out with a rich looking coverlet and layers of pillows like a picture in a catalog. The walls were neatly decorated with contemporary prints, one on each wall. The room was amazingly neat; no clutter at all. A long narrow table against the wall opposite the bed held several expensive looking pieces of sound equipment and two speakers.

"Ever hear of AJR?" Randy asked.


"My current fave. They've got an interesting sound. Ok if I play some of it?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Taking a vinyl album out of a narrow rack, Randy let the disc slip out of the cover into the edges of his fingers. He flipped it onto the turntable, pushed a couple of buttons and watched the arm swing over the vinyl.

When he turned back to face him, Carey was surprised to see that Randy's shirt was completely unbuttoned. He'd entirely missed that.

"C'mon, it sounds best from over here," as he flopped down on the left side of the bed.

Going to the other side and kicking his shoes off, Carey laid down next to him.

The first track they listened to was "Bang," the title song of the album. Carey really liked it. A sophisticated mix of rock and jazz using a variety of instruments and fully orchestrated.

As they lay on their backs letting the music wash over them, Carey had a sudden inclination to turn on his right side to look at Randy. He again admired his handsome haircut, his full dark eyebrows, amazing blue eyes, and perfectly shaped pale lips From there, his eyes gazed down at his thin neck. And now, he could see the hint of a smooth, lightly tanned chest.

Randy let out a long breath. He turned on his left side to look at Carey as he took his right hand and swept the hair out of his eyes. Even without a smile, they seemed to twinkle as he stared expressionless into Carey's eyes. The music played on but seemed to fade away.

"So, how many times have you been foot fucked in public?" Randy asked in a quiet tone.

"Ah, well…that kid…I dunno. It's hard to explain."

"Mmmm." A long blink. "Inquiring minds want to know."

"Some other time. Ok?"

A long breath out.


The left side of Randy's shirt had fallen open when he turned on his side. Half of his smooth chest was exposed. Carey eyes fell to his light brown nipples. He could see a small tuft of dark hair sticking out from his underarm. With his left hand, he reached out and cupped Randy's chest, feeling the firmness of his chest plate and the softness of his nipple. He traced his finger around the contour of Randy's chest, lightly brushing the shirt open so he could get to the other side. Randy stared steadily into Carey's eyes. His own eyes narrowed.

Carey put his right hand underneath his head against the pillow. As he did, he moved his face closer to Randy's. Now he could feel Randy's warm breath on his face. Together, they nudged themselves toward each other. As he held his hand on Randy's chest, Carey could now feel Randy's breath on his mouth. He opened it, closed his eyes, preparing for their lips to meet.

Bang! A sudden noise like a door shutting from somewhere in the house.

"Randy! We're home!" A woman's shrill voice.

The moment was gone in an instant. Randy jolted from the bed as he buttoned his shirt. Carey was slower to get up. He turned away from Randy as he put his shoes back on and tried to collect his thoughts.

Suddenly, Randy's mood became strangely formal.

"Hey! Thanks for coming over!"

It was as if he had adopted a different persona. They chatted for a moment about the music as Randy escorted him to the front door. His parents were nowhere in sight but he could hear them in one of the other rooms.

As he opened the door for Carey, they looked at each other.

"Let's hang out again, ok?" Randy said with a blank stare.

It sounded non-committal. Just like that, he closed the door.

When Carey got outside, he realized he'd been royally dumped. Randy didn't even offer him a ride home. WTF! Taking out his phone, he tapped his Uber app and arranged for a ride. Fifteen minutes and seven bucks later, he was back at his apartment.

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead