Nestor and the Burnished Poop

Nestor and the Burnished P**p by Syd McGinley

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2011 by Syd McGinley First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Nestor and the Burnished P**p by Syd McGinley

Nestor and the Burnished Poop By Syd McGinley **** Nestor dedicates this story to Dr. Fell with apologies for the abuse of Shakespeare. Nestor swished his feet in the kiddie paddling pool. Summer—how he hated it. He was lonely. He hadn't been assigned any summer classes, so he was both broke and bored. Worse he'd squabbled yesterday with his Sir about the perennial "academics only work nine months" canard. "And only get paid for nine," snapped Nestor, which had spiraled into another household budget and Amazon bill spat. Well, he wasn't really broke, he just had no fun money left. Thankfully the university, who obviously understood their faculty's lack of, well, faculties about the real world, split their nine month salary into twelve installments, or, as Steven had unkindly pointed out, there'd be a lot of very skinny professors in the fall. Summer was horrid. He was so freaking busy and stressed with deadlines. Nestor fanned himself with the article draft he was editing. That was what Steven really didn't get—that summer was the peak time for the research and writing part of Nestor's career. Summer off. As if! Every colleague he knew, no matter the discipline, was sweating and scrambling to get the heavy lifting on a book or article done before they had to switch gears to teaching again. Some resented the 3

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students and acted as if they were an interruption into the academics' thinking, but Nestor loved teaching. Classrooms were so much fun—even the survey classes of frustrated and frustrating frat boys and the seminars of pedantic Greek grammarians. What he didn't love were all the committees and negotiating and meetings. Life had gotten a little better now that he had a humanities alliance between Classics and Modern Languages, but that also meant he had to talk at work with the terrifying Dr. Tanaka. He much preferred the dinner parties where Steven, Dr. Tanaka, and Dr. Ronne just let their Sir flags fly, and he could relax with Tommy and Rinnie. Tommy had been so sweetly funny when he had carefully dropped hints that he knew Steven was a Sir. As if Tommy wasn't so obviously his Sensei's boy. Nestor had known about Pol all along, as he and Steven attended the same leather chapter. Nestor always begged off the chapter meetings. He was shy. Steven would get irritated about Nestor's preference for staying home and shout "so are you lonely or not, boy?" Darned extroverts, they didn't get it. Nestor loved his classroom, but he hated a room of socializing. He could present to a crowd or run a seminar, but chatting and working a room? He shuddered. That wasn't fun, and he couldn't understand why Steven thought it was. Steven had no patience for Nestor's "silly" trials with too much or too little company. And Nestor got it, he did. But his Sir was around conversations and activity and, damn it, in air conditioning all 4

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day. So that was the real thing he hated about summer—how he and his Sir bickered and both felt misunderstood. Summer. Boring, lonely, and insanely busy. Well, not boring really, not when he was immersed in an article. It was boring because he was lonely. Nestor scowled at the passage he'd written yesterday. It was a jumble. He couldn't even tell what his own point was anymore. Stupid interdisciplinary project. No one would be interested anyway. He cursed. His papers had fallen in the paddling pool and his handwritten editing was blurring fast. He grabbed the sheets and shook them. "Shit! Does that say astrology or astronomy? What the hell was I trying to explain?" Nestor draped the wet sheets on his lawn chair and hoped the ink would be more readable once it dried. He went inside for some juice. A project about the ancient world and the night sky had seemed really fun back in winter, when he'd read an old article about the constellations on Achilles' shield, but since then he'd become overwhelmed by trying to grasp what the state of the science was then, and what was astrology and what was astronomy to the Greeks and could he really make that distinction meaningful without being anachronistic? He was always galloping off into metaphors in the Illiad when that really wasn't what he meant to write about, and getting intrigued by omens and predictions in well, everything, and once he got back to stars he had way too much fun reading about Castor and Pollux. Then he read some Plutarch because it had somehow seemed relevant and was side tracked into 5

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how Plutarch became a source for Shakespeare. Of course he had to revisit Antony and Cleopatra, and before he knew it he'd spent a whole afternoon reading the new Cleopatra biography he'd been saving for a reward read. It was really good, but crap, not what he was meant to be doing. And it was too late in the summer to start a fresh project. He put back the juice and got out the jug of sangria. It was summer, damn it. If he wasn't teaching, he could at least wear his short shorts and get a little buzzed before sundown. Four thirty was way past noon! He poured a glass and sipped as he puttered around inside. Nestor grinned at himself in the mirror as he touched up his eyeliner. And he could be bold with the kohl! Yeah! Summer. He opened his "secret" drawer of make-up, and rummaged out the gold nail polish Tommy had given him. Oh, and the cheap silver gypsy toe rings with the chains linked to an ankle bracelet. He may as well go totally Cleo. Nestor lolled in the sun, and felt muzzy. It was really nice to have his head officially muddled instead of just aching from academic writing. Of course, he may have misestimated the effects of sun and wine, but, it was summer! Taking off the end of an afternoon was allowable, surely? His ass was in the kiddie pool, and his feet hung over the edge letting the gold polish dry. He'd been smart enough to put on his toe rings first. His shoulders rested on the inflatable sides, and he dabbled his hands in the pool. His article printout had dried, but he'd be damned if he could tell whether the point he'd been making was about ology or -onomy. 6

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"Something to do with stars," he said cheerfully to Steven who loomed into his sun. "Like a big old eclipse, you are. The Great Bear! Arktos!" "You," growled Steve, "are drunk." "Tipsy," conceded Nestor. "Come and play in the pool!" "What I would prefer," said Steven, "is for my boy to be sober, dressed, and waiting with my drink when I get home, not rolling around drunk in hooker pants and painted like a slut." "Fuck," said Nestor, sitting up in the pool and watching his Sir slam back into the house. Steven was really angry, not just discipline angry. Losing track of time was a screw-up, but it shouldn't have turned Steven into a storm cloud. Nestor stood up, winced at how his shorts had shrunk, and squelched up the path. His buzz was gone. He hadn't been drunk, he thought, so much as cheerful and feeling silly with, at most, a glass of wine in him. His sangria was very fruity. His ankle bracelet jingled as he shook off excess water before stepping into the kitchen. Steven had the fridge door open and was leaning in rummaging. A big blond cuddly bear in SpongeBob scrubs shouldn't be able to radiate that much fury. ENDEXCERPT "Where the fuck is the beer?" "We don't have any. You know that. We agreed Fridays count as week days for beer drinking. There's sangria, but if you wait a few minutes I'll have your perfect martini made." Steven shut the door so hard that the condiments rattled. "Do that," he snapped. 7

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Nestor kept quiet as he got the shaker out of the freezer. When Steven got home from the hospital, he was physically and emotionally tired. Being a pediatric nurse was no job for sissies, he'd often grumble. But he didn't pick fights or explode. Nestor wondered what to do. If he asked what was wrong, Steven would think Nestor was implying Steven was being unreasonable. Well, he'd be right. Shit. Nestor served the drink, set some almond-stuffed olives next to it, and began some dinner prep. His shorts chafed, but he figured he should wait for orders before breaking from their evening routine. He frowned. The microwave clock must be wrong. Steven was never home early. He squinted and saw that the coffee maker also said five-forty. Huh. Nestor hadn't lost track of time. Well, technically Steven did finish work at five, but he always did overtime until seven. That was just routine on his ward. He paused partway through chopping a red onion, and chewed his lip. "Steven? Do you want dinner at the usual time? Or in an hour?" No answer. Nestor looked over his shoulder. His man was just staring into space and twirling the unsipped drink by its stem. Crap. Something was really wrong. Nestor set his knife down, rinsed the onion from his fingers, and went over to his man. His ankle jewelry chimed as he did so, but Steven didn't seem to notice. Nestor knelt. 8

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Steven fingers tangled in his boy's hair and pulled him forward. Nestor understood the command, and worked the drawstring of Steven's scrubs loose. He usually avoided blowing his Sir before he had changed, but clearly something was different today. He would have to close his eyes to avoid being put off his stroke by Patrick or SpongeBob sneaking into view. On another day, he'd have made a joke about diving down to Bikini Bottom. Mmm, salty. He'd get his man relaxed and his balls emptied, and then see what had gotten Steven so upset. Nestor made the blowjob business-like. This wasn't a time for teasing. Damn, there was Squidward. He shut his eyes tighter, and worked his tongue. Steven moaned softly, and shot with no fuss. His grip changed to a caress as Nestor licked him clean. "Sorry, baby," said Steven. "Let's start the evening over, huh?" Nestor nodded, stood up, and groaned at how his erect cock caught in his still damp and too small shorts. He slid the martini to his Sir. "Hey, honey, I'm home," said Steven and took a sip. "So how was your day?" said Nestor, pecking his man's cheek. "Foul," said Steven. "You guessed that, I bet." "Yeah, so what happened?" "That sweet kid, Terry, died." "Aw, fuck. The one with kidney disease?" "Yeah. No goddamn donor in time." "His parents couldn't...?" 9

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"He's adopted." Steven ate the olive from his martini and sighed. "Sorry, baby. I'll get work back into its compartment soon." "So that's why you're home early?" "Yeah. The shift supervisor told me and Jasmine to forget the overtime today. She's pretty torn up." Nestor sighed. Nurse Jasmine was Steven's sidekick at work. They were an excellent team with their small patients, but they usually worked with children coming in for routine surgeries. "I'm going to shower and change. You, though, are going to stay as you are, but those shorts can come off. They look uncomfortable." "They are," said Nestor. "I think they shrank." Steven eyeballed his boy's package. "And, yes," said Nestor. "I grew, too!" "We'll play after dinner," said Steven. "And I think I want it served at the usual time and by a naked, painted boy." Nestor fought his way out of his shorts, and his restoredto-amiability Sir took them up to the laundry hamper with him. Nestor thought about curriculum committees until his dick shrank and then tucked a dish towel around himself as an impromptu apron. His poor Sir, he thought as he chopped the onion, but once Steven's day was back in its box, Nestor knew to leave the subject be. It must have been infuriating to come home from a day like that and see his boy seemingly goofing off. Dinner went smoothly. Steven, despite saying "served by", had Nestor join him at the table, and they had a 10

Nestor and the Burnished P**p by Syd McGinley

companionable evening. Nestor chattered a bit about his writing to distract Steven from brooding. "So you're stuck?" Nestor nodded. "I can't get the connections that I thought I saw between the science and their metaphors. Crap, I can't even understand how the ancients figured out anything about stars. Let alone link it to their ideas about celestial divination and, well, I'm losing it!" Steven chuckled. "Aw, my poor boy trying to understand science. That's cute." Nestor squashed a bitchy comeback. It was important that Steven feel superior to his professor-boy about some intellectual shit. Nestor took a gulp of sangria. Gods and little rabbits. Where were those snippy thoughts coming from? Stupid summer. "Let's head outside," said Steven. "I think I remember an invitation to play in the pool." Nestor grinned. Their yard had nothing overlooking it. "Or would you rather I tied you down and made you watch the History Channel?" asked Steven with a glint in his eye. "I think there's an ancient astronauts and the pyramids show on." "You wouldn't!" gasped Nestor. "That's abuse!" He scurried to the back door, snagging the sangria jug and some strategically stashed lube as he left. Steven ambled along behind him carrying his own supplies. Nestor winced as he saw that he'd left his books scattered all around, and hastily stacked them up onto the lawn chair 11

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and tucked his sad crinkled papers in between them. Steven said nothing, but shook his head mockingly. Steven shucked off his t-shirt and stood there in just his shorts. He looked like a god in the moonlight, thought Nestor. A burly one, to be sure, but godlike to Nestor. "Come here, pretty painted boy." Nestor giggled and tried to move like an elegant dancing boy. He made sure his toe nails gleamed and he jangled his anklet. A light flared for a moment and then went out. Nestor stumbled a little as his eyes adjusted, and Steven caught his wrist. "Mm," said Nestor. "Incense!" "Yes, the winds are lovesick," murmured Steven and kissed his boy's neck. Nestor frowned. "What's that from?" "What, I can't be poetical?" grumbled Steven. "Yes," said Nestor, "but that's familiar!" "Shakespeare," said Steven. "Ripping off that old Plutarch of yours." He draped a cloth over Nestor's shoulder. "Tissue of gold!" Nestor squirmed. His man had been in his study again reading his open books. Steven had a theory that Nestor left hints around for their bedroom games. It totally was not true, but Nestor was very careful about tidying away many of his Greek myths. But damn, Steven had acquired a gold shimmery scarf from somewhere. Tommy probably. 12

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"Cleo's barge," said Steven. "You're a pretty dimpled boy fanning her. Here." He put a fan into Nestor's hands. Oh, Nestor was having words with Tommy! "A divers-coloured fan. Now smile, my Cupid," said Steven. Nestor did. He couldn't help it. His man was reclining in the pool and beaming at him. "Sir, I sure hope you're Antony, not Cleo!" "Cheeky brat," rumbled Steven. "Fan me!" Nestor knelt beside the pool and started to fan. Nothing happened for some time. It was so peaceful. The cicadas whirred, his Sir splashed a bit, but otherwise, the night was quiet. His cock and balls swung a little in the warm air as he fanned Steven. Behind them, their patio light's motion sensor timed-out, and the yard became even darker. The small dot of the incense was the brightest thing for a moment and then the stars asserted themselves. After his eyes adjusted, Nestor served them both some sangria. "It's never really dark, is it, Sir?" Steven shook his head. "Nah, so much light pollution. It spoils the skies." He reached out and tweaked Nestor's nipple. "That's probably why you're having trouble understanding how your guys saw the gods in the skies. The heavens aren't that impressive to you are they, my city boy?" Nestor sighed. Steven was right. He liked the night sky, sure, but there was no awe there for him. He knew, intellectually, that the stars were fabulous, and he did his best to imagine what it must have been like to look at them and not know what they were. He was careful not to express 13

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his disappointment in nature, but after a few disastrous hiking holidays, Steven knew that Nestor was, at best, bemused by the natural world. Nestor had made one or two puzzled remarks early on in their relationship, and still felt wary about the number of ivory tower jokes Steven had cracked, but even worse were the remarks about how dumb a clever boy could be. To be fair, they were long in the past once Steven understood that his joshing felt like bullying to his eyelinerwearing professor. Nestor realized Steven was still waiting for answer. "Stupid science," he muttered. "Spoiling romance, spoiling the gods. I used to think how wonderful to be cherished by a god, wooed, a divinity who would want you for his cupbearer, a being who would reach into the skies and pluck you a star as a jewel—a brilliant romantic token. Now I know they're all suns, and that gift would destroy worlds—their life source snatched in an instant to please a god's plaything. A bauble to seduce and please me." Nestor took a gulp of his sangria and sniffled. "Or are those suns even still burning?" He scratched his nape. "Stupid science, spoiling and destroying the gods." Steven laughed. "Man, you're a maudlin drunk. And you are signing up for the Wonders of the Universe fresher class that the lib arts majors take." "Crud," said Nestor, and resumed fanning his man. "Get in the pool with me," ordered Steven. Nestor was briefly tempted to pretend Steven was the barge, but that might be pushing his luck. 14

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Nestor slid into the pool and floated. There was just an inch between his ass and the bottom, but still it counted as floating. He looked up at the night sky and tried to see Castor and Pollux. He had no idea where to look. Their big pine tree was in the way, he thought. "The poop was beaten gold," recited Steven. "What!" squeaked Nestor. "Burnished!" whispered Steven directly into his ear. "Oh, more Shakespeare the Stealer," said Nestor. "I'm going to burnish your poop," said Steven. "Be good and it won't be beaten." Nestor giggled as he and his bear wrestled around in the pool. Oh gods, his man was fine and strong. The pool's plastic squorped sometimes, but it also made a fine pillow for Nestor's armpits to rest on when Steven finally positioned his naked, painted, bejeweled boy face down with his rump pointing to the stars. Since his man had shot earlier in the evening, he took a deliciously long time servicing Nestor's hole. Nestor felt well and truly burnished by the motion of his man's thighs against his, and the slapping of the water against his own balls. He wriggled as his man asserted his Sirness in his boy's ass. "The silver oars..." gasped Steven as he rocked. He reached around and worked at his boy's cock. "As amorous of their strokes..." "Zeus!" wailed Nestor as he shot his load into the water. He hung on to his sanity as his man kept pounding, and as Steven's fingers crushed into his boy's slim hips. 15

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"Yeah!" roared Steven, and Nestor's insides felt the hot rush. And, oh yeah, his poop felt golden. He was glad of the pool's side as they fell forward and sprawled, exhausted. Cliches became that way, he thought, because they were true. He'd seen stars! After a little bit, Steven rolled to his side, still engulfing Nestor in his ursine embrace. "Mm, baby, you are a fine piece of ass." Steven pinched that part of his boy's anatomy. "Listen, take a week off from writing, okay? It'll come together if you take a break. I'll get some time off and we'll head down to Blue Ridge and have a hike. We can star gaze and I'll teach you the constellations. Like Cleo, they beggar description. You need to see them." Nestor squirmed. "I can't. Steven..." "For God's sake, Nestor, it's summer, you're not working, and you're bored and lonely." "I'm too busy and we can't afford it." "I'm taking an insanely hard to get week off and you're whining? Damn it, Nestor! You are not too busy to go hiking with me. We're not that broke. We're going to have a serious budget talk about where our money goes. I'm doing overtime, and we can't go hiking? How can a professional be poormouthing it like you do?" Nestor squirmed. "If you didn't buy so many books," said Steven, starting a familiar rant. "Sir!" interrupted Nestor. "Don't. Please. I have a confession." He took a deep breath. "The Classics budget was cut. I've been paying for my own conference travel and 16

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research expenses. I, um, I've been hiding it because I knew you'd be mad, but I have to publish, Sir, I do. I have to go to the conferences." Steven was silent. "Sir," whispered Nestor. "I know you do overtime, but I thought that was because you wanted to stay with the kids." "I do," said Steven. "I can't leave when we're shortstaffed. But damn it, Nes, you have tenure already." "I have to get promoted to full professor," groaned Nestor. "I need a book soon. If there's no one eligible to be chair when Hector retires, the department will disappear. Folded into History if we're lucky. " Steven grabbed Nestor's arm and lifted him out of the pool. "Right. Come with me." Nestor whimpered as Steven marched him across the dark yard. "Stay!" ordered Steven. Nestor trembled as he stood by their garage while, puzzlingly, Steven dressed. In his peripheral vision, Nestor saw a movement and then everything was dark. Truly dark, and a band of pressure was around his head. "I'm going to thrash your ass tomorrow," said Steven. "But tonight we're going to break your writer's block. Walk!" Nestor stumbled and then yelped as his shin bumped the step of the Jeep as Steven bundled him into the passenger seat. The seat belt was rough against his skin and his bare ass stuck to the seat. He trusted his man, but, shit, this was freaky! 17

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As usual Steven had the suspension set to the most jouncy, and it felt as if they drove forever. Nestor whimpered after a bit, and asked if he was visible. "No, boy. We're out of town already. You just look shirtless from outside the jeep." Steven paused. "Except to truckers." Nestor moaned. "Sir, don't get us pulled over will you? I'd lose my job!" "What good is tenure," said Steve, "If you can't drive around bareassed nekkid?" "Blindfolded and in ankle jewelry," said Nestor. "I think that might do it for even Hector." Nestor was actually cold from the wind by the time Steven stopped. He felt dizzy from the blind rocking. The cooling engine ticked, but there was no other sound except for some tree frogs busily peeping away. Steven got out and walked around to the passenger door, and helped his boy out. "A few steps, boy. I've got your arm." Nestor's anklet tinkled in the night air, and he felt untamed grass under his feet. Steven pulled the gold scarf from his boy's eyes, and Nestor looked up into pure midnight. "Now, there are the gods," whispered Steven. END A postscript from Nestor: Dear Reader, Once again my Sir has taken terrible liberties with sources. This time he's just messing with Shakespeare the Stealer, so 18

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I'm not as bothered. He left my lovely Plutarch alone, unlike that Shakespeare beast. I've included the speech he's using to torment me. Love, Nestor! The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggared all description: she did lie In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue, O'erpicturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature. On each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra (II.2.192-206) **** If you liked this book you might like: War Paint in the Make-Up Toy Box, Fundamentals. ****

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