Oliver's Dilemma

NOTE: This is a work of fiction entirely imagined by the author. Although the name of some of the places referenced in this story is real, the companies, people and events are pure fiction.

Special thanks to

neuroparenthetical

for editing this story. He is a volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program. The mistakes that you may still find in this story are entirely my doing and my fault.

© Copyright 2023 WhiteBeard50 - All rights reserved

Friday morning, early June - Beaux Mecs Restaurant - The Village - Montréal.

A warm and beautiful rising sun bathes the whole Village. The sliding doors are all open, creating the impression that the terrace is seamlessly melding with the restaurant's interior. The high ceiling helps to bring the warm yellow morning light inside the noisy dining room. Many people take advantage of the unseasonably high temperature. I take a deep breath and continue running around doing what's necessary to please our clients.

"There you go Mr. Leblanc," I tell my old client with my usual warm and welcoming voice while I set down a huge mug of hot, steaming black coffee in front of him. I mean a huge mug, which contains twice the size of our usual large morning coffee mugs. He's a very special client. He's been coming for breakfast every morning since the opening of the restaurant fifteen years ago. He sits at the same table every time, tucked in a corner right next to the terrace but inside the restaurant. From that corner, the entire dining room, plus the terrace and beyond, amuse, anger, or pique his insatiable curiosity. He's the gossip queen of the Village.

"You're the best, Oliver, and good morning to you," Mr. Leblanc tells his preferred waiter. Me. Of course. "I'll have my usual breakfast, my sweet little man."

"I've already ordered it. Shouldn't be long." I bend down and add in a secretive voice, "I've asked for extra crispy bacon."

"You're so sweet, darling," Mr. Leblanc, playing along, answers in a low, conspiratorial voice.

I disappear into the morning crowd, helping out the waiters running around with breakfast platters and pots of coffee. The chatter is light, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. I stand in the middle of the restaurant for a few seconds; I take a deep breath and smile. I'm a small guy. Someone sitting at a table a little further wouldn't even see me through that crowd.

A small table set in the corner of the terrace becomes available. I rush to clean it up for the next client, a big, burly man who's patiently waiting to be seated. He's watching me set everything for him. Never seen him before. He's dressed in loose-fitting jeans—too bad—and a green plaid shirt with big construction boots on his feet. I make a little hand signal, inviting him to come and sit down.

"Thank you," he says politely. He's enormous. He's at least twice my size. His hands are large, rough, and callused.

"My pleasure, sir. I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you before, so, welcome, and thank you for your visit. Here's the breakfast menu..."

"What's your biggest?" he asks before I tell him about the menu. His voice is a low baritone, pleasant and calm. His green eyes scan me from head to toe. I hope he likes what he sees. One can get lost in those eyes: me first, please.

"Number three, on the menu. I warn you: it is enormous. You get everything and lots of it."

"Okay. I'll have that. What's your name?" He almost sounds shy about asking.

"Oliver, sir." I smile.

"Vic." He tenders his hand, and we shake firmly. He's careful not to crush my little spoon-size digits holder, I think. So strong. I like that.

I rush to the kitchen, place his order on the computer, and return to the dining room with Mr. Leblanc's breakfast complete with a ton of crispy bacon.

"Oh, my gawd!" His eyes are popping out of his head when he sees the massive pile. "You're so sweet, Oliver. I love you, little one."

"Have a great breakfast, Mr. Leblanc." I smile and rush away to help somebody else.

A few minutes later, Vic's breakfast is ready. I grab a handful of extra-crispy bacon and two additional pieces of toast and add them to his already-loaded plate. Heads turn around as I pass through the dining room, and I feel all those eyes watching what table this gigantic breakfast feast will land at.

I can't help but smile when I see the eyes popping out of Vic's head.

"Wow! Fantastic." Impressed by what he sees. "You weren't kidding, really."

"I stole a handful of very crispy bacon and two more pieces of toast. Our secret, of course."

He laughs heartily and says thank you. Again, I rush away. It's a non-stop running game this morning. The line-up is getting longer. We can't help it; we only have so many tables. Some of the faces are long, and I can expect a few unpleasant comments. That comes with the job.

A while later, I return to Mr. Leblanc to refill his coffee mug.

"You know this mountain of a man," he says, pointing with his chin towards Vic, "he's been watching you all this time. He likes you. I think." Mr. Leblanc winks at me.

I didn't notice, of course. I'm way too busy. I look in his direction, and sure enough, he is looking at me. I go towards him with a big smile plastered onto my face, with my big pot of coffee to refill the big mug I brought with his big breakfast plate.

"More coffee, Vic?" Then I startle; his plate is empty. "Woah! You ate it all! Were you deprived of food for the past week?" I keep my tone friendly, but play up my surprise, complete with bulging eyes.

"Was hungry, little one. And, Oliver, thanks for the extras and this big mug. Very thoughtful of you. Can I have my check, please? Gotta go work. Construction. Just down there." His big thumb points towards the new project down on René-Lévesque Blvd.

"No problem, sir." I take my electronic pad tucked in my apron and get his check. "You can pay by simply touching my pad, Vic." A sneaky smile paints my blushing face.

He gets his bank app on his phone, points to my tablet, and gives me a big smile. Then he asks, "What about the tip?"

"Next time, Vic," I tell him. I'd rather have the tip of his...

Down boy

, I tell myself.

The big guy pulls out his wallet and puts a twenty-dollar bill in my hand. By the time my jaw returns to its normal position, he's left. Peter, my boss and proprietor of the restaurant, stands next to me while looking at Vic rapidly walking away.

"I watched this bulk of testosterone who was looking at you all the time. Better be careful, Oliver. He's a twink eater. I'm sure of it. He grabs, uses, and disposes of them, without any regard for their feelings." He sounds paternalistic.

"Don't worry, Peter. I can take care of myself. And by the way, he's a very nice man. A bit rough around the edges, but he's a nice man." I look at Vic getting in his pickup truck.

Wow!

I think.

What a male! Oh, yum, yum!

"Not against a two-ton bull moose like that, you can't!" he says angrily, strutting rapidly away from me.

I dance around, filling up everybody's cup, getting smiles from everyone. They think I smile at them. If they only knew. All I can think about is that big piece of bear naked in my bed. Sing along with me:

la, la, la, la...

*** *** ***

Again, I notice that Reggie, who usually works on Friday nights, doesn't show up for his three-p.m. shift. Peter tries to call him and gets his voicemail on every single attempt he makes.

"Oliver?" Peter says loudly, trying to find me.

"I'm here, Peter." I get up from behind the bar. I'm looking for extra napkins for the evening supper.

"Oh! Oliver, there you are." Peter walks to the bar, leans on his elbows and asks, "Can you work this evening? I know it's been a long day, but I'm stuck. Reggie isn't in yet and will probably not come tonight."

Like me, Peter's been here since five-thirty a.m. We're both tired and it's too late to call Claude, another waiter, to come in.

"Of course, Peter. No problem." I'm pleased to help him. He treats everybody like real people, and he pays well, unlike most restaurant owners in this city.

"You know Oliver, I don't know what I would do without you. Thank you." Peter takes a deep breath and straightens up. He's thinking about something, so, I just wait. "Here's what we'll do, Oliver. I'll leave earlier tonight, say around eight, and you do the closing. Tomorrow, you take the day off. A paid day off. You've done this several times already. It's time for me to pay you back. How's that?"

"Wow! Okay boss. That's a deal." We high-five—high for me, low for him.

The evening is nice and warm and totally crazy, but we manage quite well. I close the place at one a.m. I get three days off in a row. I've never had three days off in a row!

*** *** ***

Saturday morning—The Village—Montréal

I'm sitting in the mini park across from where I live. Another beautiful, clear blue sky, on another warm morning. It feels great to be off work. Since I couldn't sleep, well, I took my coffee and my tablet here, under a maple tree. Then, to my surprise, Vic walks by.

"Hey, Vic!" I say, getting his attention. I stand up. He stops and looks in my direction.

"What are you doing around here?" I ask him. "And what a nice surprise to see you."

"Whoa! Oliver! Christ, it's nice to meet you. I'm looking for an apartment. I thought I'd look around where you work. It's a nice neighbourhood. Simple, clean. I saw a couple of signs down the street. Christ, I live in a cheap motel. I need a better place to live." Vic's green eyes are looking directly into my dark blue eyes.

Oh! What a feeling! You know that song. If it wasn't for Dan coming later today, I think I would have tried to get Vic into my boudoir.

"Well. I know a friend who has a little studio available at a good price. It's about three or four houses up. Come. I'll introduce you. He's gay, OK? Very gay if you know what I mean. I'm a bit exuberant, but nothing compared to him."

"No matter, Oliver," Vic says with his thick eyebrows furrowed. "I'm gay too."

I knock on Gilles' door and wait. I can imagine him sashaying down the hallway.

Gilles opens the door. "Oh, my gawwwdd! Oliver, sweetie. You've come to live with me, haven't you?" His cute, high-pitched voice forever intimates laughter. Then his attention shifts abruptly to Vic. "Ooh—la—la! Who have we here?"

"Good morning, Gilles. No, I'm not moving in. Can we come in?"

"Aaah! Silly me. Of course, please do so." He sounds quite excited. That's his normal state. I notice that at least he's dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. I was afraid he would wear his red wig and black satin kimono or whatever he calls it.

Gilles guides us to his kitchen. It's a beautiful, completely renovated space, with a triple patio door giving access to his large wooden patio. We sit down at the island, and Gilles, swinging his little derriere for the visitors to drool upon, prepares a fresh batch of coffee.

Vic is smiling—a broad smile that he seems to have difficulty controlling. I hit him on the shin, and he stops mimicking my friend.

"Gilles, is your studio still available?" I ask him while he prepares the coffee. I sure as hell don't want him to start dancing one of his show numbers.

"Is that for this beautiful virile man?" he asks, flapping his eyelashes up and down, looking like a clown.

"Yup, my cute little man," Vic says as seriously as he can. "That'd be for me if I fit in it?"

We all burst out laughing. Gilles almost cries, and wipes his made-up eyes, leaking mascara on his cheeks. After a few moments, we recover. Vic has a sense of humour, I'm pleased to note.

"Yeeesss, great Yeti. Come. I'll show you. It's upstairs." Gilles looks at me and winks.

He takes us through the triple patio door, across the patio to the right, then up the stairs to the second floor. He unlocks the door, and we get inside.

"Now, Vic, do you think you'll fit in?" He makes an artistic sweeping gesture ending with his long and thin index finger on his lips, giving Vic the look.

The studio is enormous and stunning. It's fully furnished with all brand-new furniture. Vic's jaw is on the verge of breaking. I'm looking at this spectacular space hardly believing what I'm seeing. Gilles is the designer of this space and the decorator. Surprisingly, the room is neutral, modern but homey, and very bright with the morning sun entering it through two large skylights.

Gilles stands with his hand on his hips looking very businesslike. "Okay. Friend of my great Oliver here, since you think you'll fit in, I'll rent it to you at a good price. Because, and only because, you're Oliver's friend. You have to promise me that you'll keep this place clean and be quiet when you make love to this little guy." Gilles looks at me with a big, dirty grin on his face. I return a scornful look.

Vic finally gets his mouth back into proper shape. He starts walking around. My cutie little friend starts to follow him. I grab his arms shaking my head. The big guy is speechless. He walks around the kitchen and looks at the pantry, the island, and the new appliances. He continues to a door facing the king-size bed. It's a big walk-in closet. Next to it is the bathroom. His face lights up. He waves at me to come and have a look. Gilles smiles and pushes me ahead. I reach Vic, and he nods towards the bathroom. Not a word comes out of his mouth. I look inside, and again I'm stunned. The shower is a double glassed-in space beautifully tiled and with a great number of shower jets from the three walls and the ceiling. Insane. One could drown in there.

"Well, Vic. You like it? Don't worry, honey, the rent is affordable because you're his lover."

Vic looks at me and Gilles. "I love it," Vic says seriously. "But I don't like the bed thing, cover, or whatever you call that. It's some kind of pink. Can I change that?" His look says that you'd better say yes, 'cause I hate pink. Gilles stands his ground.

I look at Vic, and man, I like this man. As a construction worker, he's well paid and can afford a place twice as big as this place. But I can see he's in love with it.

He finally turns around to look at me and tells Gilles, "I want it. Can I move in now?" He's still looking at me. "Will you help me move my stuff, Oliver?" The last few words were barely audible. My heart goes out to him.

Before I can answer him, Gilles breaks the enchantment. "Before you two get naked, you, big guy, come sign your lease. Oh, by the way, colourblind gorilla, the bedspread is fuchsia, not pink." Gilles turns around smiling from ear to ear and winks at me. Then he heads downstairs, and we follow his dancing buttocks.

*** *** ***

The lease is signed, Vic's got the keys, and we're moving his little possessions from his motel room into his new apartment.

I look at Vic, smiling like a big kid. I'm happy for him. He's got a great place to live, but it's time for me to go. Dan, my part-time lover, is coming to town for three nights.

"I've got to go, Vic," I regretfully tell him. "A friend's coming over for the weekend, and I'd like to get my place cleaned up and ready."

The big guy looks saddened. He swallows a sip of beer; Gilles put a six-pack in the fridge while we were getting Vic's stuff. His piercing green eyes soften somewhat, and he says, "Okay. I'll see you Tuesday morning. Have a good weekend, Oliver."

I feel like I have been politely dismissed. Feeling a little guilty, I briskly walk home, because I think Dan is already there. Three or four minutes later, I arrived. I step inside my apartment, and my hunch is confirmed. My lover is in the shower. I can picture his firm buttocks and that slight V-shaped back. I get hard at the thought. Every step or so, I lose a piece of clothing. Naked, I get in the shower and embrace my big Dan from the back.

"Ummm... Oliver," Dan coos, "my sweet little guy."

"I missed you, Dan," I reply, squeezing him tightly.

He just grunts and moves his buttocks against my body. Fuck me. I love this.

I take the soap from him and start washing his back. Dan raises his arms and puts his hands flat on the ceramic wall. I spread his legs with my right foot, and I soap his ass, not missing his crack and what hides in its depths. I extend the soaping between his legs and grab his firm and plump balls, rubbing them gently and with delight. I love to touch those big, full nuts of his. As I progress lower, I kiss his gorgeous, hairless rump. Big Dan moans. Of course, he moans like a moose in heat; he doesn't get that kind of kissing from anyone else but me.

"Turn around, lover boy," I say.

He slowly turns around. What a sight. That large, hairy body facing me makes me drool. My ministrations show their effect on him; his throbbing cock, nearly nine inches of it, points proudly—and I'm sure, expectantly—at me, at an impressive forty-five-degree angle. The meaty knob is half uncovered. I extend my hand to touch it. Dan slaps it away.

"You're not finished washing me," he says with a lusty grin, "my cute little soap-rubber."

He bends down a little and kisses me like only he knows how to kiss me. His lips cover mine and munch them deliciously. The tip of his tongue licks them all around. It's a sensual, passionate kiss that makes me crazy about him.

He looks at me and quietly says, "The candy is for you, but only when you're done washing me, darlin'."

I soap his thick, frizzy fur coat from his shoulders to his balls. I don't touch the candy. Seconds later, I'm finished. Dan's holding his huge manhood with a firm hand, looking at me and smiling. He raises his eyebrows a few times.

"Ah, fuck," I tell him, and without using my hand, I quickly mouth half his cock. Dreamland. I give him my best blow job. Dan moans, groans, grunts, and pleads for me to let him breathe a little. No way, mister. He releases his hot manhood juice down my throat within a few minutes, panting.

He grabs me under the arms, pushes me up against the wall, and deeply invades my mouth with his hard tongue. Christ! He's tongue-fucking my mouth. He grunts and growls. My legs circle his waist, and I squeeze as hard as I can. The kiss is furious, passionate, and obscene.

We dry each other and we put boxers on. I'm hungry, as always, and my stomach is growling loudly.

"We do lunch here, Dan?" I ask him, "Or do we go out?"

"Oh, no, sweety," he says, looking at my hard-on. "I need to take care of that."

He grabs me, easily picks me up, and brings me to the kitchen island. I'm sitting with my legs spread out. He grabs my dick through the opening of my boxers and starts licking it. I get the same blow job I gave him. The sucking is fast and hard. He swallows my whole cock—which is not that long—and I think for a moment that he's going to get my balls inside his hot and warm mouth. I only last a few minutes, and he slurps every bit of my sweet juice. I'm still panting trying to get my breath back when he plunges his hard tongue again in my throat.

He backs away, hands on his hips, his cock out of his boxers and dripping. What a sight!

"Christ, Oliver," he says growling, "I got so fucking excited, I fucking came with you."

I get down from the island, laughing at him. He takes me into his arms as I try to pass beside him. Kiss me on the head, and murmurs into my ear, "I love you," and then he lets me go.

We clean up his manhood mess on the floor, get dressed and go out for lunch. He wants hot dogs and fries, as always, at the same place.

"Okay," he tells me, "you know where the best place is, or did you forget?" A malicious grin appears on his face.

"Yup, I know where it is." Smiling, I cross the street and wait for him. "Well, come on. I want to go through here, then up the street." I don't wait and scram before he gets to the park.