Single: With Prospects

Single: With Prospects
By Scribe

Part Two

Bud finished his beer, trying to decide what t nex next. Tomorrow was Saturday, so there were no classes, and he wasn't scheduled till the evening shift at Blimpoburger. When he was back in high school such an expanse of unstructured time would have meant freedom--these days it meant boredom.

He supposed he could go downstairs and watch television. Of course, Dad was too cheap to spring for llitllite or cable, and Mom was happy as long as she could see the soaps and Jerry Springer. *And why not? I'm pretty sure the Wanker and Bundy families have supplied a good portion of their guests in the past. Maybe Survivor will be on. At least then I'll get to see chicks in bikini tops and guys in raggedy cut-offs.*

"Shower," he muttered. Kelly had been rooted out of the bathroom a little early by her date, so maybe the water would be back up to tepid, or even WARM, by now. He got off the bed, dropping his bottle into the wastebasket *Note to self--remember to put bottle in paper bag and smash before putting in family trash. Dad can spot an empty through a plastic trash bag, and there'll go my private stash. He'd call in the SWAT battering ram to get to a cold Heineken*. He dug into his bottom dresser drawer and came up with a couple of clean towels.

He'd started doing his own laundry in his freshman year at high school, right after Mom had left one of her Frickrick's of Hollywood specials in the washing machine when she did his underwear. Wouldn't you know that would be the one time she'd mbermber 'hot water for whites'? The resulting pastel pink jockey shorts had made his life very interesting in gym class for several reasons. There was the expected minor thumping, and the also expected forced entry into the girls' locker room. An INTERESTING result had been having one of the wrestlers whisper that he wished HE was brave enough to come out so boldly. That and the request for a date from one of the defensive linemen had opened Bud's eyes to a whole SPECTRUM of possibilities.

Bud considered grabbing a fresh change of clothing, then thought, *Fuck it. No one here but Buck, and it's no problem going naked in front of him.* He paused and thought, *Well, not as long as that collie across the street is in heat, anyway.* Flng tng the towels over his shoulder, he headed out to the bathroom.

*****

Jefferson D'Arcy did NOT jump up and down with excitement--that would have been undignified. No, the bouncing on his heels was entirely within the limits of acceptable behavior. *All RIGHT! He took towels, and he DIDN'T take clothes! Showtimeshowtimeshowtime!*

But there was the possibility, remote though it was, that the youngest male Bundy might be inspired to draw his curtains closed when he retu to to his room. He hadn't within the nine or ten months Jefferson had been taking a serious interest, but D'Arcy liked to hedge his bets. He was in the mood for a nice, leisurely peep, hopefully with enough material to fuel a good wank... *WANK!* *whimper* *Don't think about Peg! Think about Bud--young, nubile, only SLIGHTLY sleazy Bud. Okay, fuel a good organ solo.* If Bud DID get hit with a sudden attack of caution or (the idea was a little ridiculous, but all things had to be considered) MODESTY, Jefferson wanted to be in a position to circumvent it.

He quickly changed into his all black ensemble (jeans, turtleneck, knit cap, and sneakers--what Marcy liked to call his cat burglar suit) *And boy, has that broad given it a work out. Of course, when she wants to role-play innocent matron surprised by horny crook I never get to wear this gear long enough for it to suffer any wear. Except that time she got over anxious. I didn't know it was POSSIBLE to rip open a knit sweater without a knife. Who the hell is her manicurist, anyway?*

Jefferson considered using blackout camouflage on his face, but decided against it. If he used all of it, and Marcy wanted to play Quarterback and Cheerleader, he'd be in deep shit. She was a stickler for details. Instead he just hung the digital camera around his neck, turned off the lights in the house, and snuck next door.

There was a tree growing close beside the Bundy house--one with a nice, sturdy branch at just the perfect level to step onto, or off of, the slanted roof outside the bedrooms. Kelly had made extensive use of it, both sneaking out and sneaking various amorous swains up to her room, till Al had the heavy-duty burglar bars installed. D'Arcy had been there while Kelly had railed at her father about his lack of trust, ending the argument with the sniffing assertion that 'you aren't doing this to Bud!'. Al had patiently replied, "Pumpkin, I've never found a naked biker in Bud's bed." Jefferson thought he might have noticed a bit of a smirk in Bud's expression at that, but he'd put it down to wishful thinking.

Jefferson quickly swarmed up the tree, edged along the branch, and stepped gingerly off onto the slanted roof. The drop to the ground probably wouldn't kill someone (unless they landed JUST right), but it'd be damn hard to run home to escape detection with whatever broken bones he'd end up with, and Marcy would be suspicious. She'd bought that story about his falling down the stairs that time he'd had to drop to the ground when Kelly's current boyfriend had gotten suspicious, but he really couldn't use it again.

Jefferson made sure he had a firm footing, then carefully laid down on his belly and slithered over toward Bud's bedroom window. It was set rather high in the wall, and if he got right up to it and laid flat, he should be completely hidden from a casual observer inside.

After a moment's thought, Jefferson reached through ope open window and pulled the curtains almost closed. While they needed to be open for best viewing from his own bedroom, this was better for close observation. The curtains (obviously scrounged from a room with larger windows, or even more likely bought at one of the garage sales Peggy liked to frequent), stopped almost three inches short of the windowsill, leaving a peeping space. All Jefferson would have to do would be prop himself up on his elbows, and he'd have the perfect view.

As he waited for the object of his... Well, you couldn't quite count it as an obsession. He wasn't keeping scrapbooks about the boy--it would takURS URS to organize and mount all the photos. As he waited for the object of his FOCUSED LUST to reappear, he thought that next time maybe he should bring a blanket. A boner trapped between his body and the roofing tiles could be DAMN uncomfortable.

As he waited, D'Arcy checked to be sure that the battery on the digital camera was well charged. If Bud followed his usual routine for evenings home alone, Jefferson was about to spend a very blissful half-hour or so. He ducked his head a little as Bud came back into the room. Then he started salivating.

Bud had one towel wrapped low around his hips, and the other one over his head, tousling his hair vigorously. *Oo, gotta LOVE the way playing with your hair makes the muscles in the chest and shoulders shift.* Since Bud currently had his eyes covered, Jefferson allowed his own gaze to linger lovingly. Bud looked kind of scrawny clothed, but naked... *drool*

He was slender, and he wasn't by any means 'cut', but his body was decently toned. He was also close to hairless. There were small, short tufts in his pits and the faintest, barely-there trail from his navel down his belly, but that was it--except for the surprisingly lush thicket around a very generous set of privates (which Jefferson hadn't seen NEARLY often enough to suit him).

The usually cream pale skin was slightly pinkend--a sign that Bud had experienced the rare (in the Bundy household) good luck of actually finding some hot water for his shower. No wonder he seemed in such a good mood. He was whistling cheerfully.

Bud pitched the towel on top of the dresser, then stood in front of small, free mounted mirror beside it. He spent a few minutes carefully arranging his damp hair with his fingers, then stroking his short beard till the hair lay smooth and silky. Still whistling, he got another beer from the mini-fridge and sipped it while he flipped through a selection of CDs. Jefferson could feel his anticipation growing. He was already half-hard, and the thought of what was about to happen was pushing him even farther.

Bud finally chose a CD, loaded it into the player, programming it to start at a particular track. D'Arcy was squirming in excitement now. He'd witnessed quite a few of these little private exhibitions, enough to know the general drill, but the choice of theme was always a surprise.

Bud went back to stand in front of the mirror. He held his beer bottle up and spoke as if it were a microphone, while giving his image a suave smile. His voice was MC-smarmy. "Good evening, ladies!" He looked mock serious. "Oh, and I HOPE you're all LADIES. We've had a little trouble with some of you girls getting a little too physical with the dancers." He waved an admonishing finger. "Naughty, naughty." Then he grinned. "You're scaring the boys. In fact, all you luscious lovelies have frightened them so badly that they've just flat refused to perform--something about being molested."

He made 'quiet down' motions with his hands. "I know, I know--you were promised a show. Well, a show you shall have. I'm a man of my word, and I'd never disappoint you sweet things if I could help it. Since none of the other performers are MAN enough to give you what you need..." He paused, giving the reflection a devilish look. "I guess that means that Bodacious Bud Bundy is just gonna have to come out of retirement." He set the bottle down, while reaching out with his other hand to punch PLAY.

The music started, and Jefferson resisted the urge to pound his fist in glee. It was Right Said Fred. The dark, deep, supremely self-involved voice, growled, //I'm--too sexy for mah love--too sexy for mah love, love's goin' ta leave me.// Bud was strutting. The effect was a little spoiled by the ted ted space--he kept having to make a turn every few steps--but he did it with FLAIR!

Now Bud was twitching his hips. //I'm--too sexy for my shirt--too sexy for mah shirt, so sexy it huuuuuurts.// Jefferson bit his knuckles to stifle a groan, thinking, *HURT ME!* He raised the camera and started snapping away. *Man, I'm glad I sprang for the 40GB hard disk.*

//And I'm too sexy for Milan--too sexy for Milan, New York, and Japaaan.// Bud twisted and swayed, locking his hands behind his neck, giving a pelvic thrust at the name of each city. Sweat started to bead on D'Arcy's upper lip. //And I'm too sexy for your party--too sexy for your party. No way I'm disco dancing.// "The fuck I'm not!" Bud whooped, doing a spin that made the towel fly up in a manner that had Jefferson's finger lock down on the shutter button.

The Bud had grabbed his towel at the waist, and was singing, //Ahm--too sexy for mah towel, too sexy for mah towel...// D'Arcy cursed the fact that Bud was facing away as he whipped the towel open and began to wiggle his ass, while sliding the towel back and forth. //Ah just wanna HOOOOWL!// And now the towel was whipping around his head, that perfect, perky butt was undulating, and D'Arcy was hyperventilating.

That was also the moment that some of the roofing tiles decided to give up the fight to stay anchored.

The scraping, grating noise cut through the sound of the music, and Bud instantly shut off the CD player. You needed to stay alert in the Bundy household--no telling when you would be required to provide an alibi. The sound had come from nearby--over there. Bud cautiously approached the window. *Didn't I leave those curtains open?*

The grating had stopped. Now he just heard an occasional thump, a little scrabbling, and... *Heavy breag?* g?* And cursing--very soft, but very colorful. Bud wrapped his towel securely once more, pushed aside the curtains, and leaned out the window, squinting around. That's when he spotted the hands clinging to the eaves.

He briefly considered getting his Doc Martins and hammering on the clutching fingers, but decided that anyone who'd get themselves into such a lame-ass situation probably wasn't much of a threat. He got the other towel and spread it on the roof to protect his s, ts, then crawled out, leaned over cautiously, and looked down...

Right into the upturned face of Jefferson D'Arcy, his next door neighbor. Jefferson looked up at him, and gave the sort of charming smile you might have expect more from a guest at a cocktail party than a guy caught dangling just outside your bedroom window... Bud looked closer... With a camera around his neck. Bud arched an eyebrow. Jefferson's smile became even more ingratiating. "You know, there's a good explanation for this."

Bud nodded, reaching down to begin helping him climb back up. "What the hell--it's been ages since I heard a good fairy tale."