The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.
This is a work of fiction. No similarity between the characters here and any real person is intended or should be inferred. Lake Polk is fictional too, though it is like many real communities.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks to a whole bunch of great guys: Evan, Patrick, Ash, Tommy W., Mickey, and Tom J. The final scene in this chapter was written by Tommy W, my friend, editor, and frequent co-author.
Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 3
BLAIR:
One day when we were having lunch, Doug said to me that if I ever needed a friend, I should remember he was there. I thanked him and didn't think anything more about it at the time. But I had a reason a few weeks later to take him up on it.
It was a Sunday morning, and I was on my way back to my apartment from church. Every time I used the brakes on my old Honda, there was this noise like there were loose pieces of metal in there somewhere. I HAD to be at school the next morning, but I couldn't get there without wheels. The only place I could think of that would be open on Sunday was Sears, and they didn't open until 1:00. All of my buddies had gone home for the weekend, and I didn't want to spend the whole afternoon at Sears while they got around to my car.
So I called Doug and explained the problem. When I asked if he could come to Sears and pick me up about 1:15 and then take me back later, he said he'd be glad to.
It cost me more than I can afford to get the repairs done. What really bugged me was that the damage had been done by another place in town recently when they were installing new pads and put the wrong things in.
Well, anyway, Doug appeared when he said he would, drove me back to my apartment, and then came back later to take me to pick up my car. He even asked me if I needed some money to pay for the brake work. I didn't, but it was cool that he offered.
When I thanked him, he said, "Listen, Blair, I meant what I said. I hope you'll think of me as a friend, a second dad, or whatever. I know how busy you are with your classes, your soccer, and that new job with Ashley and Crump." (They are the biggest local accounting firm, and I'd just landed a part-time job with them.) "So if you need me, I'm here. OK?"
"Yeah, Doug," I said, "Thanks, man." And I really meant it.
Doug was naked, spread-eagled on his back on his bed, his wrists and ankles tied down. Although he was not blindfolded, his head was restrained so that he could not turn it from side to side. Blair, also naked, was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at him.
Blair had powerful thighs and calves. His shoulders were broad. He had beautiful abs. But he was not very heavily muscled in his chest and shoulders. He had no hair on his chest. There was a blond trail from his navel to his slightly darker pubes. His arms and legs were lightly covered with blond, sun-bleached hair. He was erect. His cock, which looked to be about 9 inches, was arched a little, pointing back towards his abdomen. Doug's previously flaccid tool began to fill in response to the sight of Blair standing there, so beautiful, so obviously aroused.
A voice from someone Doug couldn't see said, "Well, Blair babe, the man is at your mercy. You aren't going to just stand there and look, are you?"
Blair continued to stare down at Doug, not moving.
"Come on, Blair. Here's your chance. What do you want to do now?"
Smiling shyly, Blair walked around to the side of the bed. He bent over Doug and gave him a very gentle kiss, barely touching his lips to Doug's. He rubbed the tip of his nose against Doug's. Then he began to nuzzle Doug's left nip, also with the tip of his nose.
For Doug this was exquisite, much more erotic than rougher treatment would have been. When the boy began to lick Doug's nip, Doug moaned his pleasure. Blair alternated between the two by-now-hard nubs as Doug's stiff cock began to ooze a little precum.
Then Blair worked his way slowly, licking and nuzzling, across the bound man's stomach to his navel. First he went around and around it with his nose, causing the ticklish Doug to giggle. The giggles turned back into moans of frustration and pleasure as Blair continued to nuzzle his way down Doug's treasure trail toward his pubes. Before he got to the pubes, however, Doug's erect cock with its moist head slapped into the left side of Blair's face. This time it was the young man's turn to giggle.
"Suck me, Blair, please. Put it in your mouth. You're driving me crazy."
"NOT YET," said the voice Doug had heard a few minutes before. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"Lick off his precum, and then just lick, very gently, the head of that beautiful dick."
Blair did as he was told, and Doug's moans turned to whimpers. "Please, suck me!"
Blair looked into a darkened corner of the bedroom, apparently for instructions.
"Lick on his balls a little, stud," the voice said.
Blair tried to take Doug's ball sac into his mouth, but the voice said, "No, Blair, just lick them. Use only the tip of your tongue, babe."
This time Blair got the idea. His own cock was leaking profusely as he gave Doug's balls light little flicks with the tip of his tongue.
"My God, what are you two doing? This is torture. I need to come. Please!"
"OK, Blair," the voice said, "I think we have Doug where we want him. You can go now."
Blair stood upright, cast a reproachful look into the corner, and walked dejectedly into the adjacent bathroom.
"You're ready for me now, aren't you Doug?" the voice asked.
" --- BY THE RIPPINGTONS. GOOD MORNING, TAMPA BAY, THIS IS WSJT, YOUR SMOOTH JAZZ STATION. IT'S ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL SUNNY DAY IN THE BAY AREA, WITH A HIGH OF 92 EXPECTED BY LATE AFTERNOON. IT'S NOW 7:00 AM."
Because he jacked off daily, Doug hadn't had wet dreams in years. This morning, however, his cock was again moist from precum.
`These dreams are getting weirder and weirder. I KNOW that voice, just can't place it. I guess I really need to get my ashes hauled,' Doug thought. He rolled over and humped the bed until he came. Then, as the cum soaked into the sheet, he lay there and drifted back off to sleep, thinking about the hot dream.
It was 12:10. Doug was sitting at the reception desk at the Gardens. It had been a quiet morning. A few tourists had wandered in, and there had been a phone call or two. The man from the air conditioning company had been there to check out a recurring problem with the system that was supposed to maintain constant temperature and humidity in the visitors' center and didn't. Doug preferred to be busy, but he knew from experience to bring a book, and he'd had time to read several chapters of Michael Craft's latest. He had taken the dust jacket off, however, so that no one would spot that he was reading a book with a gay detective.
I suppose,' he thought, anyone who knew Michael Craft would probably either be gay or would know that you don't have to be gay to read a novel with a gay `tec. Still . . . .'
Hearing the door across the lobby open, he looked up to see Hallie. She beamed at him, and said, "Doug! I forgot that this is your morning on the desk. I've just stopped by to give Gracie something."
Doug stood as Hallie approached the desk. "Hi, Hallie. It's nice to see you."
"Let me give this memo for Bruce to Gracie, dear, and I'll be right back."
"OK."
Five minutes later, true to her word, she was back.
"Do you have lunch plans, Doug?"
"Tuna salad at home, probably. You have a better idea?" he asked, smiling.
"Let's have lunch at Taffy's, my treat today."
Taffy's (as in "Taffy was a Welshman . . .") was a longtime landmark in Lake Polk's small downtown district.
"Hey, I think I've just been picked up. But I'm easy," Doug said with a perfectly straight face. "Let's go!"
"Wonderful!"
About that time, Brenda Howells, Doug's replacement on Tuesday afternoons, came in.
The three of them exchanged greetings. Doug went down the hall to say goodbye to Gracie. When he returned, he and Hallie went outside.
"Let's drive separately," Doug suggested. That way neither of us will have to come back here after lunch."
"Oh, you are SO logical," Hallie said, smiling at him with her large brown eyes.
She got into her gold-colored Mercedes and purred away. Doug followed.
It took a while for each of them to find a parking place downtown during the noon hour, but by 12:45 they were seated in the restaurant. They had been lucky, for a table by the window had just been bused and reset. The window looked out on Lake Polk's attractively-landscaped Payne Avenue, with its shops and professional offices.
Hallie knew the young woman server, called her by her name, DeeDee. She and Doug ordered wine, which DeeDee brought, along with some warm bread. Hallie ordered a chicken Caesar salad, Doug a cobb salad.
As they munched bread, sipped their wine, and waited for their salads, Hallie asked, "Where did you disappear off to after the reception the other night? I looked for you. Some of us were going to the new place on Scenic Highway, but you were gone."
"I was invited to dinner by Stan Mason. He introduced himself when he came over for wine, and later he asked me back to his place. Have you met him?"
"Oh, yes, I've met him. I was on the citizens' committee that helped screen the applicants for the city manager position. Tell me Doug," she asked, looking him in the eye, "what do you think of Stan?"
Careful, Doug!' he thought. "He's a bit of a dynamo, isn't he? Comes on really strong. But I enjoyed our evening together. He's a good host. He treated me like an old friend that evening, made me very comfortable. (Well,' Doug thought, `comfortable except for the hard-on I had all evening.') And we found that we share a lot of interests. So, Hallie, turnabout, and all that. What do you think of him?"
She lowered her eyelids briefly. "First of all, he's sex on wheels! I think he's the most attractive short man I've ever seen. But that's neither here nor there. He has an impeccable vita. He isn't here for the money, because he's got plenty put away. He is absolutely charming. And he has done all the right things since he's gotten here. It remains to be seen how he will work out, but my initial, gut feeling is that we've found a treasure."
`A treasure? Yeah. Good way to put it.' But Doug wasn't thinking about Stan as city manager. He was thinking that this was a guy he'd really like to get to know. Even if Stan wasn't gay, and he probably wasn't, Doug wanted Mr. Mason for a friend.
Trying not to appear too interested, Doug asked, "Can you tell me anything about his background? Anything that isn't confidential, that is?"
"Well, before taking this job, he was the city manager of Meadville, a town about twice the size of Lake Polk in western Pennsylvania somewhere."
"Oh, yes, I know Meadville. It's south of Erie. Allegheny College is there."
"I've heard of Allegheny, I think. How do you know about it?"
"Well, they play some of the schools I've been connected with in football and basketball."
"I thought your background was mostly Ohio."
"It is, but Allegheny is in the same conference as some of the Ohio schools."
"I see. Well, anyway, the Meadville people didn't want him to leave. They were very happy with the job he was doing there. Said leaving was entirely his idea."
Doug smiled at Hallie and said, "Maybe he got tired, as I did, of those godawful winters."
Hallie, who had gone to school at Bryn Mawr and had lived in upstate New York before her divorce, gave him a conspiratorial wink and said, "That was probably it. Why would anybody live up there who didn't have to?"
Their salads came, and they busied themselves with their food for a while.
Then Hallie continued, "Now, since the topic of the day is our new arrival in town, you tell me. I know you're pretty competent in the kitchen, Dougie. What kind of a cook is Stan?"
"To be honest, it's hard to say. He made chili and cornbread, both of which were quite good. But that takes no great talent. He offered key lime pie for dessert, which I refused, so I don't know whether it was home made or from the supermarket."
"Well, dear, one of us will just have to get invited back to find out what else Stan can do," she said with a mock leer.
Damn,' Doug thought. She's got her sights set on him. Damn. Damn. Damn.'
"Doug, a devious idea has just occurred to me. If I ask Stan to dinner, he'll probably reciprocate."
"No doubt. But he may just offer to take you out."
"Well, here's what I have in mind. Why don't I invite you and Stan and Virgie? I think he's probably met her by now. She is still close with the local legal community, and Stan's a lawyer by trade."
Virgie Crane was a close friend of Hallie's, the widow of a prominent local attorney.
"That sounds like a pleasant evening Hallie. But be careful, if you have designs on Stanley. Virgie may move in on him first."
She waved away his comment with her hand. "Darlin', I don't have designs on anybody. I like my life just the way it is. I think Virgie would say the same thing. But this will give us all a chance to get to know our newcomer better. And, who knows, maybe he will invite us all to his place. If he doesn't, we'll know his cooking's not up to it."
"Or else that he's too busy to fix for us."
She buttered another piece of bread and said, "Yes, well, that's a possibility, I suppose. But I'm still going to have our little diner a quatre."
"You know, dear, that I'm always glad for a chance to eat your cooking. Count me in. I'll look forward to seeing Virgie, too. How's she been?"
"Oh, she just got back from Birmingham where she was visiting Lesley and her husband. She seems to be in good health and enjoying life again."
DeeDee came back to ask if they wanted dessert.
Hallie looked at Doug inquiringly, he shook his head, and she said, "No, just bring the check, please."
DeeDee understood that meant the check was to go to Hallie. She was back with it quickly.
On the sidewalk outside Taffy's, they hugged, Doug thanked Hallie for the lunch, and they parted.
Good news and bad news,' Doug thought. If I cook for Stan, and Hallie has us both for dinner, that will give me two more chances to be with him. The bad news is that, despite what she said, she seems to be interested in him for herself. Well, if she goes after him and he responds, that will tell me something I need to know.'
Suddenly, he felt alone.
STAN:
Towns like Lake Polk have city commissions in Florida. They are rather like the city councils of many northern cities. The members of the city commission elect a mayor from their ranks for a one-year term. The mayor's job is mostly ceremonial, ribbon cuttings and things like that. I was, in effect, the chief administrator of the city's business. A part of my duties included being present at city commission meetings to answer questions. These meetings were held Wednesday each week at 7:00 in the commission's chambers. Members of the public were invited to attend, but in the heat of August, when everyone in town who could afford it was someplace north of here, who'd come? My experience with the first two meetings was that hardly any of the public came. If the pay of the commissioners hadn't depended on their being at meetings, I doubted that they would come.
Ceiling-mounted floodlights bathed the table where the commissioners sat in glare, as well as the desk where I sat. The seats for the public were in relative darkness.
The meeting was primarily about an old factory the city had condemned. We now owned it and planned to tear it down to make a small park where it had stood, adjacent to the southern entrance to the city on Scenic Highway. The problem was that the building was full of asbestos, so the cost of demolition was going to be much higher than the previous city manager had estimated.
He was now sitting in Cypress Haven, making twice what I was (though that wasn't particularly a problem for me), and I was expected to deal with his mistake.
Bill Spoleto, owner of the downtown hardware store, long-time member of the commission, and former mayor, looked at me with his piercing black eyes, and said, "Mr. Mason, I know you haven't had any time to come up with a plan to deal with this problem, but when do you think we can have some suggestions as to how to cope with this mess your predecessor has left us?"
"Fair question, Mr. Spoleto," I answered. "Would two weeks be a reasonable time-frame for coming up with those suggestions?"
He seemed impressed. "Yes, Mr. Mason, I think this commission would be happy to have some kind of plan in that time."
Now, of course, I had put myself in a box, but I was already aware of the problem and had some ideas that I could develop.
There were some zoning problems to be dealt with which didn't really involve me, and a long discussion of the city's "Settlers' Days" celebration in October. From what I could gather, this was like northern cities' homecomings combined with Oktoberfest. The problem was that many citizens wanted to expand Pioneer Days activities, and the commission wanted not to spend any more money than they had the previous year. That was a familiar problem, and when asked by the current mayor and member of the commission, Laurie Parks, I said I would work on that and have some suggestions for the next meeting of the commission.
At some point in the proceedings, I looked back into the sparse crowd of citizens who were observing and saw Doug Curtis. He was very attentive. I wondered why he was there. He hadn't come across to me as an activist. Much the opposite. I sensed that he was in some sort of exile in Lake Polk. I was determined to find out the rest of his story whenever I could.
I got hard sitting there looking at Doug. He had a young face, almost boyish, with fine features. His hair was a medium brown with not much gray, and I found his brown eyes very sexy. I noticed that he often looked at me, even when I wasn't speaking. Was that cause for hope, perhaps?
I don't think Doug had any idea how sexy he was. I got hard in church when he was reading the lessons. Something about his look, something about his voice, something about his general demeanor. I can't explain it, but it surely got to me that morning. Then, when I saw him there at the Chamber of Commerce reception, serving wine again, I just had to pull that prank with the cracker, as if it were the wafer. It was a risk, but he responded as I hoped he would, laughing delightedly.
Then he took me up on my dinner invitation. I'm glad I had made the chili. I scrambled to put on a decent meal, and it seemed to work out all right. He's so cute. I just wanted to snuggle him while at the same time I wanted to whup him upside the head and say, "Doug, wake up. Live a little. You're so repressed. A gray Buick? A hearse! Come on, guy!"
We did have a lot in common. I wanted to talk with him about ideas, religion, books, music. That first evening had gone well, I thought. Now, what could I do to keep things going forward? I had to be careful. After all, I was still the new guy in town. But, damn, I had never seen any guy, including the infamous Leigh, who turned me on the way Doug did. I needed to keep seeing him without doing anything to scare him off.
I remembered just then a warning passed on to me by Mark. He had made a new friend, the newly-arrived curate at St. Peter's there near the campus where Mark would be a senior in a few weeks. He says that Father Max had suggested he warn me about how conservative this area is. He specifically said, according to Mark, that, whereas the diocese in which I had lived in Pennsylvania was more or less middle of the road, the diocese here was among the most conservative in the country. Mark was worried that I'd do something to get in trouble, either with my fellow parishioners or with the citizens of Lake Polk because I'm gay. So I needed to be cautious about more than just scaring Doug, though that remained my first priority for the moment.
As he took his seat at the city commission meeting that evening, Doug thought to himself, `This is pretty silly. I've never come to one of these meetings before. What if I see someone I know? How would I explain why I'm here? I don't know anything about civic affairs. I'm just here to ogle the new city manager, Stan Mason, who gives me a hard-on whenever I think of him? I don't think so.'
Doug studied him. Stan always had about him this air of vivacity, a kind of permanent joie de vivre. He seemed alert, interested, delighted to observe what was going on around him. His curly, salt-and-pepper hair seemed to reflect the light from the ceiling floodlights. Like the hair on his head, his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee were a "sable silvered" as Hamlet described his father. His remarkably intense blue eyes sparkled at anyone he regarded. He was of lower-medium height, muscular in the upper torso, stocky, solid. Doug was sure Stan must work out regularly. He imagined what Stan must look like naked. He would be a bear, of course, with silver hair on his chest, with a treasure-trail still black, perhaps. He was wearing a tan tropical worsted suit that must have been tailor made. It hadn't a wrinkle in it. Stan's shoes were cordovan loafers, obviously Italian, with a mirror shine. He wore a dark blue shirt with a gold tie that had a small geometric pattern.
`Oh, take me daddy,' Doug thought. Then he realized that he was probably a few years older than the man he had the hots for. Another impediment to a possible relationship? It seemed that there were so many, including the likelihood that Stan was as straight as six o'clock.
When Stan was asked questions by members of the city commission, he answered with poise, charm, and confidence. Either he was extremely competent, or else he was a charlatan who had hoodwinked everyone. But what Hallie had told Doug earlier made him doubt that Stan was anything except what he appeared to be -- an appealing, sincere, and totally competent guy.
As the meeting was breaking up, Doug hurried to get outside. He didn't want Stan to see him because he couldn't think of any explanation for his presence.
`Oh, hello, Stan. I came because you turn me on and I just wanted to sit and watch you? Not very likely, Douglas!'
As he drove home, Doug was wondering about his next step. `Don't want to do anything too overt. Maybe I should just wait until Hallie invites us all to dinner. Or I could ask him to my house for dinner. Or ask him out. If I fuss too much over a dinner at my house, he'll know I'm gay. Perhaps I should take him to dinner at someplace nice.'
STAN:
I decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. I'd call Doug and ask if he would help me out by reading and commenting on a report I had written for presentation to the commission later in the month.
When we talked on the phone, I suggested that we go have lunch at the café at the Ridenour Gardens. I could explain to him the background of that report, fill him in on what I was trying to do. I thought his expertise as an English professor might be helpful. Actually, of course, I just wanted a chance to have lunch with the guy and maybe stroll the grounds and chat afterward.
He seemed pleased that I called. I suggested that, since he lived near the Gardens, I'd pick him up about noon on Saturday.
Saturday morning I put on a white, collared tee, white shorts, white socks, and some sturdy sneaks, since I knew we might be doing some walking. I had been working on my tan in Meadville before I moved, and had had the chance to work on it some more after arriving in Florida (though I learned quickly that you have to be very careful in the Florida sun. Even a guy who tans easily can get a burn in a hurry down here.)
I put the top down on my new red T-Bird. As I'd told Doug at my house, I knew his neighborhood, so I had no trouble finding his place. The houses in Colony Heights were all nicely landscaped and well tended. The house on one side of Doug's, however, showed evidence of neglect. The foundation plantings were full of weeds, and the grass looked as if it hadn't been cut in two weeks. (Grass can grow a lot more in two weeks in Florida than it does in Pennsylvania!)
When I pulled into the driveway, there was a car parked in it, not Doug's stodgy Buick, but a Honda. As I was getting out of my car, Doug came around the side of the house. He had on a yellow shirt of the same type as mine, khaki shorts, and sneaks. He looked fine. He, too, had a nice tan. And I finally got some idea of the body underneath the clothes. He was thin, which I knew, but his legs were muscular, nice calves. Big feet. His upper body didn't seem to be highly developed. Maybe I could get him to come to the Y with me. But that's getting ahead of the story.
With Doug was this really great-looking kid. He looked like a college guy. Six feet, or thereabouts, longish blond hair, pale blue eyes. He had on a sweat band, a tee two sizes too big, and those awful baggy shorts the kids are all wearing these days. I keep telling Mark he's hiding all his assets when he wears those things, but I guess at that age you'd rather be dead than out of fashion.
Anyway, the kid was pretty sweaty, looking sexy as hell.
Doug, by comparison, appeared cool. He obviously had not been working in the yard, looking instead as if he had just showered.
"Oh, he's here," Doug said. "Stan Mason, this is Blair Mercier, who's been helping me with the garden this summer."
"Hi, Mr. Mason. I've heard about you. You're the new city manager, right?" Blair had a brilliant smile.
"Yes, Blair," I said as we shook hands. "Can I assume you go to Lloyd?" (Lloyd is a small university with a campus near Lake Polk.)
"Yes, sir. I'll be a senior this year," he said, again with the smile.
"Blair plays soccer, Stan, and he's about to desert me for soccer practice and classes and all that."
"Hey, Doug," Blair said. "Maybe I can find some time to help you out after school starts. I will if I possibly can, you know."
"I appreciate that Blair. You have been a big help to me this summer. And you've got things looking great!"
Doug handed the kid some money, they shook hands, Blair jumped in his car, smiled again, waved, and drove off.
The look in Doug's eyes as he interacted with Blair gave me both hope and worry. It seemed to me to suggest that his relationship with the boy went beyond that of a homeowner and his garden helper.
I reached in the car and got the report, which I gave to him. "You might just leave this in the house. You won't want to carry it around the Gardens," I suggested.
He took it, smiled, said "Good idea." Then he strode rapidly on those long legs into his garage. He put the door down and a moment later came out the front door, locking it behind him.
He had grabbed a pair of sunglasses and put them on while he was in the house. And there he was, tall, tan, thin, looking like he never sweated a day in his life, and oh, so sexy.
When we got in the car, I asked him about the place next door.
"Rose Collins, who lived there, moved back to Indiana where her sons live. Then, a few months later, she died. I understand she didn't leave a will, so the property is tied up in probate." He grinned at me. "You'd probably know more about that than I do."
"Yeah," I said, "but someone should be looking after that property. I'd think your homeowners' association would be having a fit."
"You're right that someone ought to be keeping the grass cut, at least. But the homeowners' board is a group that doesn't want to make waves and hasn't managed to do anything. I've a mind to cut the grass over there myself."
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Let me talk with some people at city hall and see what I can find out."
"Thanks, Stan. My neighbors, the Prices, and I would appreciate that."
By that time we were at the gate to Lake Polk's famous memorial gardens. Doug really does live close. We stopped briefly at the gate, where I showed my membership card, and then drove slowly through orange groves the mile and a half between the entrance gate and the parking lot.
Most of the parking area was shaded by big old liveoaks. We left the top down, since there was no threat of rain and the car was out of the sun.
As we walked toward the cafe in the visitors' center, Doug said, "That car certainly suits you, Stan."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, well, uh, I didn't mean to be personal."
"Doug, it's OK. I'm just curious."
"Well, let's just say that that's a car for extroverts."
"Doug, it's an in-your-face kind of car. Is that what you meant?"
"Not exactly. But you seem so poised, so sure of yourself, and the car says that, too."
If he only knew how unsure of myself I was at that moment!
"Sometimes, you know, a car becomes a symbol of what a guy wishes he were."
He laughed at that. "You mean the penis he doesn't have?"
It was my turn to laugh. "For some, maybe," I said.
We walked companionably the short distance to the café.
Doug ordered soup and a sandwich, I ordered a salad. We could eat either inside or out. Though the August Florida day was warm, the outdoor patio was shaded under some vine-covered arbors, and there was a breeze blowing, so we opted to sit out there.
"It didn't take you long to discover this place," Doug remarked.
"Oh, I've been here fairly often on my trips to Florida. I love it. That's one reason why I sat up and took notice when I saw that the job was available in Lake Polk."
I was fascinated by all the butterflies that flitted about the garden just off the patio. There were shapes and colors I had never seen before. Most of the other tables were taken, and there was a hum of conversation, the noise of a chair scraping on the concrete occasionally, and over it all the sound of the breeze blowing through some tall pines nearby.
At Doug's back was a large clump of bamboo. "I'm surprised to see the bamboo," I said. "Doesn't it tend to take over?"
"Oh, there are non-invasive types of bamboo, and I'm sure that's what they've planted here."
I busied myself briefly with my salad. When I looked up, Doug was looking intently at me, as if he had been studying my face.
When he knew I had caught him, he didn't seem embarrassed. Instead, he smiled and asked, "Have you found a gym yet? I can tell that you work out."
"Yes, I joined the Y. Do you belong? It's an easy walk from your house."
"To my shame," he said, "I don't. I know I should, but I've never had much use for exercise for its own sake."
"Sheesh, Doug. Do you get ANY exercise?"
Now he looked embarrassed. "Well, I run a couple of miles by the lake most mornings. And I work up a good sweat in the garden two or three mornings a week. Other than that, I guess I'm pretty sedentary."
"At our age, Doug, we need to do more than that, you know. Not just for looks, but for our general health. Why don't you join the Y? Their trainer will set you up with a workout plan specifically for your needs. Maybe we could workout together, if that would be more comfortable for you."
"I know I should. Just lazy, I guess. I appreciate the offer, though. Let me think about it, OK? Oh, and thanks for the `our age' thing. I know you're a good bit younger than me."
"We're both in our fifties. So what if you're a few years older?"
"Doesn't matter, I guess. Thanks for the invitation to work out with you. I'll let you know, I promise. Now, don't you think you should tell me something about the report you want me to read?"
I almost said "What report?" Then I remembered the pretext for this meeting. "Yes. First of all, I won't insult you by asking you to proofread it. But, as I said the other night, you know the town much better than I do. I'll be very interested to see how you react to the report and how you think the commission might take it. Also, you seem to know some of the movers and shakers like Bruce and Hallie. You could give me some sense of how they might take it. And, if you should just happen to spot any language, errors," I said, winking at him, "feel free to use your red pencil if you must."
He chuckled at the last comment. "OK, I'll read it this weekend and drop it by your office Monday sometime, if that's all right."
"You don't need to be in that much rush, Doug. It isn't due for a while."
We took our dishes and napkins to a counter inside, and then decided to walk around the grounds to "work off" our lunch.
I asked him why, if he was born in Tampa, he didn't have a southern accent. He said that Florida natives have all sorts of different accents, depending on whether they come from urban or rural areas and on where their families came from. I asked if his going to school in Ohio had had an influence on how he talks, and he said he didn't think so, that his family had never had much southern accent. Said he'd never really thought of Tampa as "southern." I found that interesting.
Eventually we found ourselves at the top of a hill. There is a large level area with many huge old liveoaks and lots of benches. It was warm, and we sat for a while on one of the benches and talked about our memories of going to college in Ohio. He knew that Oberlin had never had fraternities and asked me if that had been a factor in my choosing to go there. I told him that it was a minor consideration, but that I was influenced mostly by the reputation of the college for getting people into good grad schools. He told me that Denison had fraternities, but that he had never joined one, being something of a loner as an undergraduate. He thought he might have felt more at home at Oberlin for that reason.
It didn't surprise me that he said he had been a loner. I had the distinct impression that Doug was shy, that he'd be naturally cautious about making new friends. I'll bet he even wondered why people would like him. If only he knew! He told me he and Hallie Hall were friends. I imagine she'd like to get him in the sack. `Hey, Mason, maybe she has? Ever think of that? Damnation! There's so much about this guy I have to learn.'
I can't believe what I did next. But I decided at the time, "In for a penny, in for a pound." I pulled a trick every high school guy has tried on a date at the movies. I casually put one arm across the back of the bench, allowing my fingers to brush his shoulder. He didn't flinch or anything. He seemed not to notice as he looked at the view from what is one of the few hilltops in Florida.
A loud clap of thunder startled us. It looked and sounded as if we were about to get one of the region's almost daily afternoon thunderstorms.
"Stan, maybe we should head back to the car?"
"Yeah, Doug, I left the top down, remember?" As we stood, I allowed my fingers to touch him again when I lifted my arm off the back of the bench. He didn't look directly at me as I did that, but I thought I saw the slightest little smile. My cock, which had been semi-hard just from sitting next to this guy I wanted so badly, began to harden and seep precum.
That is not a good thing to have happen when you're wearing white shorts. I stuck my hands in my pockets to hide my wood and to try to rearrange things down there. I wished the shorts had been baggier. So much for showing off my ass.
Here we were, then, walking rapidly down the hill to the parking lot, both of us with hands in pockets, scurrying to get back to the car before it rained. The lightning was flashing in earnest by now, and the thunder seemed only a few feet over our heads.
I love thunderstorms, and on a hot day such as that one, it would have been nice just to walk slowly and get rained on. I'd have loved to see Doug with his clothes plastered to his body, but we did need to get back and get the top up before the rain came.
Then I wondered why his hands were in his pockets. That makes walking pretty awkward, especially when you're in a hurry. The thought that he, too, might be hard made Sluggo stiffen up again, just when he'd begun to deflate a little.
In ten minutes we were once more in the parking lot as nature continued to put on a spectacular show. We jumped into the car. I started the engine and turned the switch to put the top up. We both belted up. When the top dropped neatly into place on the windshield, I fastened the latch on my side and reached over to fasten the one on the passenger side. What I grabbed, however, was Doug's hand, already on that latch.
"Woops!" I said. BOING! went Sluggo! "Sorry, Doug, I just do that instinctively."
He gave me a cute little smile and said, "No problem."
And then the heavens opened up. The wipers were going at full speed, yet the visibility was practically nothing as we crept the short distance back to Doug's house. When we got there, he invited me to come in for coffee or a drink. God! Would I have loved to do that. But I didn't trust myself. I was determined to take this slow, to avoid doing anything to mess this up. I knew that if we went inside, I might come on to him, and I still wasn't completely sure how he'd react. So I thanked him and told him I had to go back to the office and take care of some things.
He unfastened his seatbelt, we shook hands, and he loped through the rain to his front door. He unlocked the door, turned to give me a wave and a dick-hardening smile, and went inside. I went home to take care of Sluggo.
Doug was lying on his bed, face-down, draped over the firm, warm body of a man. Held by powerful arms, he could hear the man's heartbeat, steady and strong, and smell his cologne, a dry and very male scent. 1881 maybe?
As he opened his eyes, they zoomed in on a nipple, beige, not erect yet. He wanted to suck it, but found that he couldn't move his head, not the slightest bit. So he extended his tongue as far as it would go, which was just enough to reach that tempting bud with its tip. It took a while and was more exhausting than he would have imagined, but he managed to flick it into erection. It looked like a pebble, darker now, and shiny.
Gradually, the hands had loosened their hold on him, and finally he had enough leeway to suck his prize in. Ah, that was so good. How safe he felt in those arms, how sated. Content.
Suddenly there was a second set of hands, on his asscheeks, pulling them apart. Letting go of the nip, he tensed.
"Shh!" the man holding him murmured in a deep, soothing voice, "Let him get you ready for me."
"But I am ready! Send him away!"
All agitated, Doug extricated himself from those arms and turned around. He saw Blair backing away from him, a sad expression on his face.
"Blair, wait!" he exclaimed.
Then he looked back to the man who'd held him so close to his heart. Oh God! Stan Mason. So gorgeous with his broad shoulders and blazing blue eyes. Eyes that seemed unreadable.
"What do you want?" Stan asked, seemingly aloof.
"Yeah, what do you want?" Blair echoed, his tone reproachful, accusing.
It was Doug's turn to back away now. But they followed him, step by step, repeating the question over and over, getting louder all the time.
"What do you want? WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
Doug's two pursuers stopped. A new figure joined them. It was Hallie, in a black dress with pearls.
"Yes, Dougie darling, what DO you want?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" he yelled back, and awoke mid-scream, cold sweat all over his body.
[Watch for a new chapter of "Dr. Tim and the Boys" in about a week, and another chapter of "Night" in about two weeks. Thanks, everyone, for sticking with me. --T.M.]