---
title: 'The Littlest Entrepreneur, Parts 3 & 4'
---

### The Littlest Entrepreneur, Parts 3 & 4

Date: Sat, 13 Aug 2005 13:22:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: mghj4dads smith <mghj4dads@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Littlest Entrepreneur  Parts 3 and 4

The Littlest Entrepreneur
Parts 3 and 4
By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
mghj4dads@yahoo.com


Warning:
Please refer to that which appears in Part One.


Preface:

Just as dads are there to help their little ones learn to tie a shoe or the
sound a cow makes, as the male parent, they're also there to guide and
instruct in so many other matters throughout a son's life.

It's the power of parenting, one supposes. Look all around your daily
lives. Why does your kid use a certain toothpaste or worship at a
particular church? Because his dad has guided him in that direction. Why
does a five-year-old boy want to wear a muscle shirt and red swimsuit to
the race park? Because his daddy's dressed the same way, of course.

Seeing a dad after work, home for only minutes before he's outside on the
front lawn tossing his kid a ball. Barely enough time to remove his tie and
roll up his sleeves, he's actively helping his kid prepare for Little
League try-outs.

Now that's a dad taking an interest in his son's physical development!

And in that way, a dad can help to shape his son's in a direct manner: "You
will earn an A this year in P.E.! Otherwise, no Boy Scout camping trip with
Mr. Lewis this Spring." (That threat always gets a budding adolescent to
work his little butt off for his gym teacher).

Or a father can essentially order his son to mow the lawn, yet always
temper the demand with a bit of bait, "I'll be out there, too, trimming
hedges, son. So don't complain it's too hot. If it's too hot, we just won't
wear shirts. Now come grab that mower!"

Yes, a dad guides a young son's life in so many overt and direct ways that
a mom often beams with pride that her husband is such a fine and actively
involved father.

But of course, we all know that dads work behind the scenes, too, when
wanting to foster something other - something only men can spot - within
their sons. There are all sorts of things a father does that few others
even know about.

A dad talks secretly about his kid's probation to a school principal. A dad
might arrange it with his buddy, the Little League coach, to give his kid a
second chance. A dad secretly stuffs another ten dollars into his son's
piggy bank - just hoping to help the kid get a jump start on saving. And,
of course, its often dad who is the actual tooth fairy - stealing into his,
small, toothless son's darkened room late at night while the tyke's sound
asleep in nothing but his pjs bottoms. It's a dad "working behind the
scenes" that sometimes brings magic into his kid's life.

And then there are those dads, more than one would ever suspect, who do
many other things to "guide" or "nudge" a son into a certain
direction. Sometimes it's into that direction which a dad knows innately
about his son or observes in him. After all, many dads know when their
little guy is looking at all the men's dicks in a tearoom.

And sometimes, a father does things to make sure such a kid of his is
raised right. That's what a dad is there for after all, to help give his
son a jump start on things - to help mold and develop his kid, to give
guidance and direction. He's there to open windows and doors - and
sometimes it just might be the door to a stall in a men's room.

And sometimes that guidance and direction means that one dad may drop of
his son at soccer practice while another dad drops his son at the mall. The
former dad knows he's got a natural athlete in development, while the
latter dad knows what he's, er, got on his hands - and he's determined to
make sure his kid has every opportunity presented to him to develop his
innate abilities.

Shop with some dads and their sons. Its often quite telling when you see
the way one dad will guide his son to the baggy crap pile while other dads
get their kid hooked on just the right stuff to catch an eye - or ten -
when he's at the mall or public beach.

Its not merely coincidence or random that a dad makes decisions while
quietly guiding his son along a certain path in life.

Most men know when to involve the wife and they also know when certain
things need to be done behind the old lady's back. Sure, they may buy their
son a play fort kit at the home improvement store together as a family. But
once its in the backyard, its dad who decides where it will be set up. And
that's when he secretly and strategically decides it should be along the
fence line that backs up to the city park. And once assembled and the
wife's gone back into the house, it's a dad who quickly drills a gloryhole
into the one wall that's easily accessible to anyone in that city park.

Heck, that's the pleasure of being a dad - being able to make such
decisions that guide his boy into the life he thinks right for him. And if
the gloryhole isn't used, heck, it becomes a handy hole for a flag pole.

But its always used, isn't it? After all, who know his own kid better than
a dad.

Dads do things - manipulate - more than most people suspect. Moms are often
much more direct in the raising of their kids, making their every decision
apparent (some say this is because women like to exert their power
publicly) . Moms almost narrate their every decision for their kids. "Turn
off that t.v. and come here and sit down and put a napkin on and eat your
Spaghettios and don't fidget and quit calling your sister names and hang up
your shirt when you're done and don't put your fingers in the dog's food
again and show me your homework..."

While, dads, oftentimes, do more "parenting" behind the scenes. As mom yaks
on, its dad who "accidentally" drops a hardcore tearoom DVD on the floor of
his twelve-year-old son's room. It's a dad who makes no comment "to be
safe" as he drops his ten-year-old son off at the mall. In fact, instead,
perhaps its dad who casually mentions, "If you need to go to the bathroom,
there's one on the third floor of Penney's", knowing full well, it's the
busiest damn tearoom in the `burbs.

It's a dad who removes his son's underpants from his duffel bag after mom's
packed them for his ten day scout camp trip. And he's also the man who
swaps out his kid's boardies for a red Speedo.

Dads sometimes delight in doing their parental
work...quietly...undetected...and then leaving the scene.

Many dads with other thoughts on their mind will send their little guy into
a park men's room ahead of him. "I'll lock up our bikes", he says to his
lil'one. "You go ahead and get started."

Of course, the last few times dad's been in there, he's walked in on seven
men beating off and sucking cock at the urinals. But technically, he didn't
do anything but be a responsible pop letting his son use a public facility
as he made sure that no one would steal their bicycles.

Hey, that's his story and he's sticking to it.

It's often made clear the way some dads are raising their sons. While most
moms will pick up their kids after school and go to McDonalds, so, too will
some dads when they have the day off. The difference is that the mom will
usually always go into the restaurant or if using the drive-thru will
either find a parking spot nearby or just head home with the food.

Yet, look at some dads. They'll sometimes "just by coincidence" drive away
from the drive-thru window and get back on the road. These are the dads who
have already made the decision as to where they're going to eat. They head
directly to some pretty park area - a woods really - a forest preserve they
"know of". And with their little son in the front seat (or is it the back
seat for some of them?), they decide its among twelve parked cars they
ought to picnic. Of course, the fact that each of the dozen cars has a man
inside, unzipped as he masturbates, is of little consequence. It's a dad's
prerogative to picnic with his son in any public place...

...and to take him for a little stroll along that well-trod path in front of
them once they're done with the McNuggets.

Dads do all sorts of things that would not otherwise be afforded any other
adult male. The dads are the ones sharing pup tents with nine year olds as
they're the one's allowed to sign up for a Scoutmaster position. Dads are
the one's with their dicks hanging out as they take their son for a fishing
weekend. Dads are the one's wrestling and pushing heavy bulge against a
tiny butt before bedtime each night. Dads are the one's taking their son a
covert tour of every gloryhole location in the city as they have a dad-son
afternoon.




As a wonderful reader, and a dad, wrote to me:

"(We) Dad's are in a unique situation: on the one hand they've grown a
tired of the "same old hole". They may love the mother of their sons dearly
but her aging body is a constant reminder to a dad that he too might have
grown a bit thicker in the waist over the years, and now lacks a certain
. . . ahem . . . vitality that he used to have.

On the other hand, every night on the way to their marital bedroom of
twenty years he passes by his son's room, and can you really blame him if
he stops at the door and listens? After all - on the other side of that
door are their 2 sons: Mark, his lanky, blond acne-infested 15 year old
son, and Billy his litte 8 year old rugrat.

While Dad may stop to gather his energy for one more push into the tired
old hole dowm the hall, he notices a real surging hardon start to build
while he stands at the door of his son's room. Mark has "shot up lately"
his mom says, but when Dad stands there Dad thinks of something else
entirely that is shooting up inside the boy.

You see a few weeks before Dad used his sales bonus to by Mark a big screen
TV - one so big he had to move Mark's bed closer to Billy's and so now
there is barly a foot of space between the beds. And as Dad looks warily
down the hall, he leans closer to his son's door so he can hear the barely
audible sound of the X-rated DVD he knows they're watching. Hmmmm - Mark
and Billy seemed to have grown a lot closer during the past few weeks! Just
inseperable! Instead of fighting and calling each other names, peace reigns
in the household because the boys are always in their room. Always!

Mom - who raised her eyebrows at the ostentatious TV when Dad bought it -
has been won over by the boys new ability to get along. She thinks they're
watching action movies and comedies. But Dad knows their watching a
entirely different king of "action" movie: a gangbang movie Dad bought two
days ago and added to his . . . ahem . . . private stash in the basement. A
stash he knows full well that Mark checks every day.

So can you blame the dad for standing there, straining to hear? And maybe
reaching for the doorknob? Because he can feel his cock swell with
excitement, an excitement he knows will diminish once he walks into his own
bedroom for another night of the same old . . . whatever. Because he knows
if he does reach for the door, and opens it he'll feel the most fuckin',
God-awesome rush as he watches Mark shove his meat into the little rugrat's
throat. Christ - his older boy is hung like a horse! A dad notices these
things!

He knows tomorow morning at the breakfast table Mark will saunter in in his
boxers, boxers filled with high-octane, testosterone-heavy teen
boycock. And real chipper too - after a nice satisfying night of
fun. "Mornin' Dad!" And Jesus H Christ! When Billy follows, eyes down and
sleepy from yet another all-nighter with his older brothers cock in his
mouth - this same Dad will have to leave the table and head to the bathroom
for some "relief" of his own. So can we really blame the dad? Sure Dad is
an "enabler." Sure he knows his little, secret push has taken on a life of
it's own here in their happy household. But who among us wouln't take a
certain sick, deviant pleasure when we see our little 8-year-old tyke, who
a few months before spent all his time with action figure, now with the the
thousand-yard stare of a fully used cumpig! Especially when that same dad
looks back on his own "wonder years" of cock sucking."




So as you can see, you just never know what's on the mind of all those dads
you see looking at big screen televisions at your local Best Buy. It may
not be for their family room, after all. That man, even with his wife in
tow, just might be helping to turn his young sons' bedroom essentially into
an adult porn theater.

After all, like the sons of the reader above, those boys will be sure to be
in a real adult porn theater in just a few years. In a scant three years,
the older boy will surely be in the back of one letting men feast on his
teenaged horse cock. And, well, the littler guy - dad knows what that
little guy will be doing in porn houses for the rest of his life. A dad
wants to be made proud. Heck, he just might encounter his own dad, unzipped
and waiting his turn, in the back row one day.

And a dad knows he needs to help prepare his sons for their future, does he
not?





The Littlest Entrepreneur Parts 3 and 4 By: Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE
mghj4dads@yahoo.com

As they returned to where the shoe shine stand was, Rudy saw that his daddy
along with Mr. Roddick were standing in front of the row of chairs.

While they walked over, Mr. Roddick said loudly to Stan, "I was just
telling Tony here that you took his little guy for a drink..."

Looking barely flustered, the older man, smooth as silk replied, "Well, its
hard work duffing buffs. I figure your little guy could stand a drink,
Mr. Marcione."

"Where did you go?", Tony asked as his son quickly went to his side and
gave his daddy a big hug right around the man's waist, pressing his elbow
slightly into the man's crotch by accident.

"Mr. Stan gave me a drink", Rudy said almost giggling.

"I took him for a drink", Stan interjected quickly. "I took your little one
for a drink over at the place in the Imperial court."

"I was thirsty so Mr. Stan bought me a milkshake, daddy", Rudy, said, for
the first time in his life lyingly to his daddy.

"Oh he did, did he?", Mr. Marcione replied as he gave both his friends a
look of wide-eyed surprise. "A milkshake, eh? You got hungry for that? Was
it a big one?"

"Real big, daddy", Rudy giggled as he took his first notice of how he could
feel his daddy's penis right through the man's trousers. He had hugged his
daddy before, but never really thought about his penis inside his pants
like that before. Rudy hugged him tighter just so his arm could press
against the thick meat his could feel along the zipper.

"Well, I hope you`re not going to have a full stomach, monkey",
Mr. Marcione said to his son. "I came to get you, by the way. Your mother's
in the car outside the employee entrance waiting to take you home. You sure
better not tell your mother that. And you had better eat all your dinner
tonight or else your mother won`t like you working here any more than she
doesn`t already."

Rudy pulled away from his daddy and said, barely containing his laughter,
"It wasn`t that kind of milkshake daddy..."

Stan's face turned ashen when her heard the boy talking but fortunately,
the Chief of Security interrupted the boy by saying, "Did you have a lot of
business your first day? We saw a lot of men coming and gong through here
the whole while you had your chair going."

"Yeah, kid", Stan, said. "Tell your dad here how much you made today."

Mr. Marcione grinned at his son as he asked, "So you made a little money
today, did you? Beat those Stefano girls selling their lemonade, I hope."

Rudy dug into his two front pockets and produced two crumbled bills. He
looked at them again and then held them up for his daddy to see. The boy
then proudly announced, "One hundred and fifty dollars, daddy!"

Mr. Marcione grinned, showing a flash of white teeth against his olive
Italian complexion and yet also knitted his brows as he asked, "A hundred
fifty...dollars?"

"Uh ha", Rudy beamed.

"Whoa", his father said as he glanced at the other two men. "How many
customers did you have, son?"

"Two", Rudy replied simply.

"TWO?", his father repeated, his thrilled voice tinged with some
doubt. "Just two?"

"Well, three", Stan interjected as he then dug into his back pocket where
he pulled out his wallet. "He did me, too", the older man admitted.

"You didn't have to do that for him, Stan", Rudy's father said
appreciatively.

"Well, he was good and so I figured why not", the gray haired man said as
he looked at the money in his wallet, trying to determine what to tip a kid
who you've just shot your load into as you both stand right in front of the
kid's dad.

He pulled out a fifty dollar bill and began to hand it to the boy. But
Mr. Marcione stopped him. The man extended his arm and blocked the shoe
shine man as he tried to give the lad the money.

"No, no", Mr. Marcione said firmly. "You don't gotta do that. Keep your
money...put it away."

"Hey, he wants to tip your kid", Mr. Roddick said to his good friend. "For
services rendered. Let him give your kid some money."

"No, no", Rudy's dad repeated. "He don't gotta do that." Mr. Marcione then
looked at his son and asked, "Ain't that right, Rudy?"

"Huh?", the boy asked as he stared at the money still in Stan's hand. But
then his eyes fixed on the man's uniform pants, where he now could easily
tell why they bulged where they did.

But he knew that his daddy didn't want him taking any money from his friend
and so he said, "That's okay, Mr. Stan", Rudy said. "No charge."

At that, the boy's innocence made the three men burst out into
laughter. But still, the shoeshine man insisted to tip the child as he
tried to press the money into Mr. Marcione's hand. "For use of your little
guy. Take it. I'll feel better."

"No, its your stand here, Stan", Tony replied. "You're nice enough to help
us set him up in business. You got him a milkshake. That's enough of a
tip. Keep the money."

"No", Stan said, determined to tip for something he knew he'd had the kid
do - something his daddy didn't quite understand. "You think an old guy
like me gets service like that everyday?", Stan said and then catching
himself, he added, "I mean, it isn't every day that a shoeshine man gets
someone buffing his duffs for him. I want him to have the money."

"Let him pay your boy", Mr. Roddick again said with a smirk. "That's what
he's here for after all, isn't it?", he added. The big, muscular man in the
suit then turned his attentions to Rudy before asking, "Isn't that right,
Rudy? You're here for your piggy bank, aren't you?'

Rudy nodded as he stared at the Security man's crotch.

"See, Tony?", Mr. Roddick said to his friend. "If he performed a service,
you don't want to teach your little guy to turn down tips, do ya?"

"Well, no", Tony replied as he patted his son's cheek. "You can take it...",
Tony then said to his son as he quickly relented. "But you be sure not to
ask Stan here to buy you any more drinks. And that money all goes into your
piggy bank. Hear?"

Rudy smiled big and crossed his heart as he replied, "I promise, daddy."

Stan handed the tyke his well-earned tip. But then, seeing a portly man
looking all around for a shoe shine, he excused himself quickly by saying,
"Looks like I have to get back to work, I see. You were a good little
helper today, Rudy."

"Was I?", the seven-year-old asked as he felt full of pride.

"Oh, yeah", Stan answered. "All the customers loved seeing a little guy
like you working the joint. Save up and even a little kid like you can get
rich on the men in a town like this here Vegas."  He then turned to Tony
and said, "You got a real entrepreneur on your hands here, Mr. Marcione."

The man then shook Mr. Marcione's hand and then patted Rudy's head, saying,
"See you again on Thursday I'm guessing." The older man then walked several
feet to his shoeshine stand and greeted his customer.

"You must have buffed a mean duff there, monkey. Hell, you made two hundred
dollars in a day...", Mr. Marcione said to Rudy as he watched his small son
fiddle with the fifty dollar bill that Stan had just given him.

"If a day is two hours long", Mr. Roddick muttered sarcastically as he
smirked. The muscular man then leaned closely into his buddy's ear before
adding, "A hundred dollars an hour, don't you mean. I wonder what you think
those little girl cunts are earning per hour at that fucked lemonade stand
in your neighborhood?"

His buddy's words made Tony chuckle as he shrugged.

His buddy again whispered into Tony's ear, "Maybe ten bucks - if it ain't
so fucking hot out that nobody's even outside."

"Ready to go son?", Mr. Marcione asked Rudy as he could that the
second-grader was beginning to grow a little hyper - bouncing around and
saying hello to various strange men as they'd enter the men's room. "You
mother's waiting, monkey. Come on, I gotta get back to work, too, you
know."

Mr. Roddick squatted so his face was more at a level to Rudy's face. And as
he did, the child's eyes shot right down and between the powerfully built
man's thighs. Again, the small boy marveled at what looked to be a huge,
heavy mound contained inside the man's dark slacks. "Listen little guy",
the man said. "You were a great helper today. My people all said that. You
didn't cause any trouble. Keep that up for next time, too. Okay?"

"Got that?", Mr. Marcione firmly asked his son. "Are you listening to
Mr. Roddick?"

"Huh ha", Rudy said as he smiled at the Chief of Security meekly.

Even though he liked Mr. Roddick and thought him handsome, the man's super
big frame and muscles made him a rather intimidating presence to the boy -
in a similar way that his own dad's presence was at once handsome and yet
intimidating to gamblers, too. But while both men were of similar age and
were both clean shaven, immaculately groomed and always impeccably dressed
while at the casino, Rudy's daddy, being Italian was darker while
Mr. Roddick had a dark blonde coloring.

"Now say bye to Mr. Roddick. We got to get you to your mother. She'll be
hopping mad", Rudy's dad told him.

But when the small boy went to shake Mr. Roddick's hand, his father firmly
said, "Give Uncle Dan...Mr. Roddick a kiss goodbye, son."

"I'm your daddy's best friend, after all", Mr. Roddick smiled as he put his
hands on the child's waist.

Numerous men passed but thought little of the boy kissing the big blonde
security chief on the cheek. After all, most didn't know to which man the
boy belonged.

With that, Tony took his son by the hand as Dan rose to his feet.

He said good bye to his friend and led his son out of the men's room, being
careful to follow the proper route back to the employee's entrance.

Outside, it was still quite sunny and very warm - a stark contrast to the
artificial lights and generous air conditioning of the hotel. Among the one
or two taxis and a van, Rudy saw his mommy's car and dashed ahead of his
dad to greet her.

His sister sat in the passenger seat and so, as he sometimes did when his
mom picked him up from school, he went immediately to the back seat door
and hopped inside.

Mr. Marcione was not far behind and his daughter opened her window as she
said, "Hi daddy. They had band in the gym and so they had to cancel
rehearsals..."

Over his daughter's voice, Tony said to hello to his wife and apologized
for leaving them waiting so long.

"How did it go, honey?", Mrs. Marcione asked her son as she looked over her
shoulder at Rudy. He always looked so small and young whenever she's see
him after he'd be away from her for a while. "Did you have fun?"

"Huh ha!", Rudy exclaimed as he buckled himself in. "Lots of fun. And
Mr. Stan was real nice and all the men were...and Uncle Dan..."

"Uncle Dan?", his mother asked as she looked at her husband.

"Dan Roddick", Mr. Marcione said to his wife while he finally kissed his
daughter's head through the open window. "You know Dan."

"Sure", she replied. "I just didn't know he was Uncle Dan now."

"He's real big and has muscles everywhere", Rudy said matter-of-factly. "He
and daddy are best friends. Right daddy?"

"Yes, I know", his mother replied. "He's daddy's friend. And he had better
have kept an eye on you like he promised."

"He was as good as gold", Mr. Marcione said as he nodded, indicating their
son in the back seat.

Interruptingly, Rudy's sister, Nickie, asked, in a semi-annoyed voice,
"Make any money, noodle face?"

Just as his son was about to say something, Mr. Marcione answered instead,
"He made twenty dollars."

"Twenty dollars?", his wife said happily. "Oh, my, you must have been busy,
sweetie!"

"Twenty measly bucks?", Nickie replied. "You can't even by a CD with
that. See, mom, that's why I don't want to work at Claire's Boutique in the
mall...like ever."

Rudy was confused but said nothing figuring that his daddy had his reasons
for lying about how much he had really earned in tips. But he figured that
maybe it was just a way of keeping Nickie from getting jealous or
something.

When the man stood tall as he got ready to step away from the side of the
car, Rudy, sitting in the back seat, had a direct view of his daddy's lower
half . The small boy, now knowing something of what men have packed away
inside their slacks, could figure out a little bit just from the shape of
the bulge that his daddy's pants made. His young eyes followed the length
of that bulge right down to where it ended along the left thigh and a few
inches below where his fathers legs met.

Mr. Marcione then stepped back up onto the sidewalk while Rudy's mom pulled
away from the curb. As the handsome man quickly gave a wave and then looked
at his watch, Rudy wondered if his daddy had a much penis inside his pants
as did the other men whose penises he got to see that afternoon.





Part 4



"Hello Mr. Greenwich", the attractive, well dressed young man said to the
married, salt and pepper-haired fifty-one-year-old surgeon from Connecticut
standing before him. "And welcome to the Palace Player's Level. It appears
that you are just a tad early. But we`ll see what we can do."

"Uh, um, thanks. Am I?", the nice looking suregon, wearing a navy blue
Ralph Lauren polo shirt and green golf slacks, replied in a softy, slightly
husky voice. He then coughed nervously once or twice as he his eyes glanced
around the small reception room into which he had been just been
buzzed. The quiet music and champagne coloring of the space was a far cry
from the comparatively noisy and smoky blackjack tournament room for elite
players which he had just left.

He found himself too nervous to concentrate his stare anywhere in
particular. But when the young man behind the desk said, "Excuse me a
moment won`t you, Mr. Greenwich? Please, take a seat...any over there would
be fine", the young man said, with a smile as he waved to a chair along one
wall.

The young reception coordinator then turned his attentions elsewhere and in
that same professional, and cordial tone, said to someone else,
"Mr. Auckland, if you're ready...?"

Taking a seat, one of about a dozen in this waiting room, the surgeon took
notice of the other man whom the coordinator was now addressing. The man
had been sitting in a chair off to the left from the main door. As the man
excitedly jumped toward the desk, the surgeon noticed he was in his
mid-sixties , wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans in which the man sported
a rather conspicuous erection.

"I'm up, eh?", the man joked, causing the young man at the glass desk to
laugh.

As he was trying to listen to the two at the desk, suddenly another older
man, but this one wearing the same sort of natty suit and tie as the young
coordinator, approached the surgeon from a small bar which was nearly
hidden away in a corner.

"May I get you a complimentary drink while you wait, sir? A cocktail or
perhaps a glass of champagne?"

"Uh,", the surgeon replied. "Uh, no, maybe just some water..."

"Very fine, sir", the bartender said. But before he could turn, the surgeon
stopped him by saying, "No, wait, uh, sorry. Um, you know what? A little
whiskey with that water might come in handy. If you know what I mean."

"Of course, sir". the bartender responded. "One whiskey and water. Is this
your first time on the Palace Players Level, sir?"

"Yeah", the surgeon said. "First time doing anything like this..."

"Oh, you'll have fun, sir", the older man replied. "Hadrian's Palace is
delighted to host all sorts of men on this floor. You'd not be the first to
require a bit of bottled courage the first time."

The surgeon laughed nervously but comforted by the bartender's words.

As he returned his attentions to the action at the front desk, he saw the
coordinator handing the old man a small card. Straining to listen closer,
the surgeon could hear the white-haired man ask, in what he could easily
distinguish to be a New Zealander's accent, "It's a real little one, I
trust."

"But of course, Mr. Auckland" , the young man replied with a well modulated
smile. He then pointed to the card and said, "On that, you'll see a
number. That is the room you'll be going to. We have you in Room
eight. Enter through these double doors behind me. There are rooms on
either side of the hallway. The door to the room is unlocked. Please lock
it once you enter the room if you wish. In each room is anything you may
need, including condoms, should you so require. Using one is only your
choice, of course. And other supplies which men have found they appreciate
are inside lacquered cabinets above the sink. And, of course, based on your
casino play, you have thirty minutes. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah one maybe", the old man said with a lecherous laugh. "How many been
doing, you know, in mine...today like?"

As the bartender handed him his drink, the surgeon heard the coordinator
ask the New Zealander, "Sir?"

"You know", the old codger asked again. "It gets me going...how many in...",
he then looked down at his card and said, "...in room eight? Just today?"

The coordinator smiled and turned to his computer screen. "Looks like they
swapped out that room at seven o'clock this morning. So this one, since
seven...looks like eleven have been with that one since seven this morning."

"So I make for twelve is what you're saying?", the man said as he obscenely
gripped the erection pressing at his jeans.

"Yes, sir", the coordinator stated. "That would be accurate. Is that a
problem?"

"No, no", the old man said with a smile. "I like `em sloppy..."

Turning back to his computer screen, the coordinator said, "Well, in that
case, you may wish to come back later this evening...", and as he typed
away, he added, "By ten forty-five this evening, there's an opening and
you'd be..." and again he typed some more, "...number seventeen at that
time. Would that appeal to you more? I can reschedule you."

"No, no no", the old man laughed. "Being twelve will do. Let some other
lucky person get it loaded." The man again gripped his erection. "Besides,
I don't think I'll last until tonight."

"Well, fine then, sir", the coordinator said, "Simply come around the desk
and go through those double doors.

The moment that the old man pushed open the double doors, two other men
exited passing him, and returned their cards to the desk.

"Did you gentlemen have a nice time?", the coordinator asked.

"We weren't together", the thin bald man firmly stated nervously. "I was in
Room ten."

"Yes, I know", the coordinator said. "Thank you for playing with us
today. Have good luck in the casino and perhaps we'll be seeing you again,
I hope."

The thin bald man nodded his head and made a beeline for the exit.

"Here's my card", happily said the other man, a fun looking fellow of
thirty-five wearing a NASCAR shirt and knee length jeans shorts. "I filled
out the comments section on it."

"Thank you", the coordinator said. "We always appreciate it when gentlemen
take the time to do that. I certainly hope that you had a pleasant
experience with us this afternoon."

"It was fucking great", the guy said. "Um, if I play that same table...the
five-grand table, I can, maybe get more bonus points, right?"

"If you keep playing, since you're pre-registered with us, yes", the
coordinator said. "If you have any buddies who may be traveling with you,
they would need to pre-register, of course, before becoming eligible for
their own Palace Players Level card. And that opportunity is then offered
through Casino invitation only, as you know."

"Oh, yeah, I know that", the man said. "I got two buddies, but I don't know
if I'd want them knowing about this anyway...you know."

The bartender then strode up to the desk, which was an odd thing.

The coordinator asked him, "What is it, Smithy?"

"I hate to interrupt", the bartender said. He then turned to the man
standing at the desk and said, "Sir, your fly..."

The three of them glanced down while the surgeon, too, strained to see from
where he sat.

The man turned beet red as he quickly zipped up his jeans shorts. "Oh,
fuck, that would have been great...", he chuckled in an semi-embarrassed
tone.

"It happens more frequently than you might think, sir", the bartender
said. "We are here only to be of assistance to our gentleman customers,
sir. No need to be embarrassed."

"Happens twice a day at least", the coordinator said. "Isn't that right,
Smithy?"

"At least", the older man replied before returning to his station at the
bar.

Zipped up, the man said, "Well, it was fuckin unfuckin'
believable...thanks." And as he turned to leave, he noticed the surgeon
which caused the guy to quickly say to him, "You waiting next? Cool. Its
fuckin' unfuckinbelievable...you can fuckin' do anything to `em. Go for it
all the fuckin' way, buddy." He then have the thumbs up to the surgeon and
left the waiting room.

"Mr. Greenwich?", the coordinator then asked. "If you'll come up here,
please. We're about ready for you now."

As he said that, the double doors parted and very tall man whom the surgeon
thought he recognized came out from the corridor of rooms. Looking closer,
as he stood not three feet from the extremely well built man, the surgeon
suddenly realized it was Rusty Durkens of the Texas Rangers who returned
his card to the coordinator.

"We trust you had a wonderful time once again with us, Mr. Arlington?", the
coordinator asked with some awe in his voice which betrayed his own well
modulated tone.

The super-good-looking and big man, who looked every bit the brick
shithouse he did on televised baseball, replied "Great time.", in a very
content, satisfied, self-assured voice. "This one was really a little one
this time."

"That is what you requested", the coordinator quickly reaffirmed.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Its just when you get it...its so small. You know?",
the baseball star said, "It was great. Even saw the other three dudes who
were in there just ahead of me...when I got there and they were done." The
starting pitcher then looked over at the handsome surgeon and asked, "You
next for Room two?"

The surgeon was caught off guard and choked a bit as he said, "I...I don't
know...I uh..."

"Yes, we have him in the same room. This gentleman is just checking in with
us", the coordinator explained.

"Oh, sorry there guy", Rusty said as he stood tall. "Didn't mean to scare
you or anything like that. It just looked like maybe they might be
assigning all the sportsmen to do Room two today or something."

The surgeon laughed, pleased that a pro athlete mistook him, even for a
moment as a sportsman. "Well, I play some golf..", he began to say.

"Hey, we're all playing the same sport up here', the Texas Ranger
interrupted. "I left a little bit of a mess in there...sorry about that."

The surgeon, not even knowing what he meant, but out of hero worship,
replied, "Oh, no prob. No prob at all."

"But then again, it ain't all my mess. If you get what I mean", the
handsome MVP pitcher joked as he double checked the buttons on his
501s. "With three at once ahead of me, you can imagine the mess it was when
I got to it.", he added, again with a laugh only heard in a locker room.

Although he wasn't a homosexual, the mere thought that he had been assigned
the very same room as this handsome pro baseball star, caused the surgeon's
large erection to throb demandingly within his golf slacks.

"Well, have a good time, bud", the pitcher said as he jestingly saluted the
surgeon. He then turned to the coordinator and said, "Could you tell Tony
Marcione that I'd like to play a 25-G minimum table later tonight but only
if that guy, Steve G., deals. And can you call down to get tickets for
tomorrow night's Celine Dion show for me and my wife? Can you do that for
me?"

"Of course", the coordinator replied. "I'll certainly forward your request
to Mr. Marcione. And Hadrian`s Palace would also like to comp dinner in any
of our restaurants, of course, tomorrow evening."

"They're already all comp'd", the pitcher said with a big grin. "You guys
are getting half my contract negotiation raise at your tables." With that,
the tall athlete, replied, "Good all the way around then. I'm set and big
Bucky's set too", he added as he looked at his own big, heavy bulge. As he
gripped his own crotch for the briefest of moments, he joked, "Well, at
least till the next time my wife bitches her way through an entire trip to
Vegas."

As he left the waiting room, the coordinator returned his full attentions
to the surgeon. "I do apologize for the delay, Mr. Greenwich. Usually our
special guests aren't so..."

"Excitable?". the man asked nervously. "No problem. That was Rusty Durkens,
wasn't it?", the surgeon then asked lowering his voice.

The coordinator glanced over at Smithy in his corner before he whispered,
"He`s one of my favorites...I can't use any names here on the Palace Players
Level. As you`ll notice, while they're on this floor, we only refer to men
by the place from which they`re visiting us here in Vegas."

"I knew it was him", the man said as his erection pressed against his
fly. "I`m a huge Rangers fan.

"Me, too", the young man said as he could barely contain himself. "He's a
big fish at the tables...and a major Palace Players Level member...and I
mean, major. He just did an hour in Room two - but was in Room four earlier
today and in Room nine last night."

"Those are a lot of hour points", the surgeon said as he only just ever
qualified to be invited to pre-register for this elite and very secret
membership club within Hadrian's Palace. "I've been here a few times with
my wife and even though I've always had a Hadrian's Honored Guest Card, I
never knew this Palace level even existed."

"Most guests don't, of course", the coordinator said. "Only high rollers
and other special guest are invited to pre-qualify. And from there, as you
know, only some men receive the coveted Palace Players Level pass."

The surgeon leaned in closer to the young man and whispered, "My wife is at
the hotel spa while I'm here. I've never done anything like this before."

"We understand, Mr. Greenwich", the coordinator replied as he waited for a
card to be printed from his computer. "We have repeats, high rollers who
have hour points that add up to full weekends, players who qualify to have
move about from room to room...and many first timers. But its Las Vegas. A
man is allowed to do anything here ...as long as its left at that door when
you leave."

"I understand", the surgeon said. "I'm just a little nervous. I'm married,
hell, my sons are in college. So I'm a bit uptight."

"No need to be, Mr. Greenwich", the young man answered. "No one knows or
cares what you do in a room. There are no cameras on this floor. And each
room is designed exclusively for your pleasure while your hour points are
in effect, of course."

The young man then looked at the man who stood across from his desk. And,
as his glance dropping down to the man's tenter, said, "Let's say we get
that taken care of for you". He then handed the man the same sort of small
card as had been given the others.

"According to your Palace Players Level hour points, you'll have an hour on
his floor. They've put you, as you already know, into Room two", the
coordinator said. "And I can tell you, its not because that's where they
put all the sportsmen", he added with a slight laugh. "Although it would
seem that way today. It has, though, become an increasingly popular room as
the designations are based on prequalification forms and requests by VIP
guests."

As the young man spoke, the surgeon took the card and read it to himself .
`Mr. Greenwich, Male, Age 51, 6'1", 175 Lbs, Marital status: M Endowed: 8
or more inches, Uncircumcised Caucasian, Blackjack Tournament 2nd place
Room Two M, 18 months 60 minutes Additional: Free Divina Cucina Romana
Buffet Pass for Two. Valid for Duration of Guest's Stay'

"Enter through these double doors behind me. There are rooms on either side
of the hallway", the coordinator prattled off his regular schpeel. "The
door to the room is unlocked. Please lock it once you enter the room if you
wish. In each room is anything you may need, including condoms, should you
so require. Using one is only your choice, of course. And other supplies
which men have found they appreciate are inside lacquered cabinets above
the sink. Now, as Mr. Arlington seems to have indicated, if you prefer a
clean up, press 66 on the phone in the room and staff will be happy to
sanitize according to your needs. Would you like me to do that now
instead?", the young man asked as he reached for his own phone.

"Uh, uh, no", the surgeon replied quickly. "Last one in there was
Rusty...Mr. Arlington, right?"

"Yes he was.", the coordinator said as he looked at his monitor, "From past
experience though, most of the guests seem to prefer, well, knowing that
they are not the first guest in a room. One guest just minutes ago
requested such a room, in fact."

As the young man looked up the day's log for Room two he scrolled through
and counted. Then he said, "You will be number twenty-four in this room
since last night when the shift change for that room occurred. Just before
you was Mr. Arlington, a trio from Chapel Hill before that and then
eighteen others, of course. Only one requested clean up and that happened
after the first hour of the shift - at 3:11 a.m.. I could arrange another
one, if you like..."

"No, no, that's fine", the man replied again, not wanting to sound too
enthusiastic about the chance to see a souvenir left behind by his favorite
sports star. "That won't be necessary. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Good then", the young man said as he closed out his computer screen. "And,
of course, based on your casino play, or in your case, tournament winnings,
you have one hour. Do you have any questions?"


"No, I don't think so", the man said. "Uh, maybe one thing...since I
forgot...could you call my wife and tell her I'll be a little late but that
I'll meet her in the twenty-four hour restaurant in about an hour?"

"Certainly, sir", the young man replied. "It would be my pleasure. And you
said she's at Tivoli Gardens, our spa?"

"Yeah, the name is...", the man began to say.

"Yes, I know the name", the young man said. "We know them, we just don't
use them. But I'll be sure to get your message to her at the spa while you
enjoy yourself with us here."

The man then took his card and his tenter and went around the glass
desk. His breathing was quick and he felt his pulse race some. But he took
a deep breath and pushed open the door into the corridor lined with rooms.

As he made his way over to Room Two, he noticed a young man tucking a Hard
Rock tee shirt back into his jeans as he exited from another room. "Hey,
too wild, ain't it, pop? Four years old! FOUR! YEAH!", the college aged guy
triumphantly called to the surgeon from across the corridor.

The surgeon laughed some, knowing that all these men were there for exactly
the same reason - for the same thing. He reached the door and turned the
knob, - the same door knob that Rusty Durken had turned. The same knob that
twenty other men besides that had also turned just that same day.

The surgeon opened the door and almost ejaculated inside his slacks when he
looked inside his assigned-per-request room.


TO BE CONTINUED

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