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 a fictional town, though it may be 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 always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
I had originally planned to post this story in chronological sync with my story "Dr. Tim and the Boys" in the College section. What has happened to change my mind? Although this story was conceived and written about a year ago, events now (September 2003) are so close to what is going to happen to Doug and Stan, I want you all to see these chapters now. On September 20, 2003, the Episcopal Diocese of Central Florida will have a conference to deal with its "outrage" over the actions taken by the national Episcopal Church at its recent convention, i.e, confirming the first openly-gay bishop in the worldwide Anglican Communion and looking into a rite to bless same-sex unions. Resolutions being presented at the diocesan conference generally lambaste the national leadership of the church while piously pledging to remain in "amity and unity" with the national church.
All of this is so close to what happens to Doug and Stan, I think we should get on with the story without any delay.
Tom W., of the wicked imagination, wrote the scene with Stan, Doug, and the bowl of fruit. Thanks, Tommy, for ALL you do. Thanks also to Ash, Evan, Mickey, and Patrick.
Timmead88@Yahoo.com Chapter 6
On Friday, November 8, both men had their bags packed and waiting at Doug's house. As soon as Stan could get there after work (he had taken off a couple of hours early so the could get started by 3:00), he picked up Doug and they were on their way. They drove east to Waltersburg and then south on the Turnpike. After three hours or so they passed Miami, whizzing around the city on expressways. By the time they got to Florida City, they were hungry, so they stopped at a Burger King for something to eat. They filled the T-Bird's gas tank while they were there.
Doug offered to drive the last leg of the trip, and Stan took him up on it. Stan enjoyed being able to look at the Keys as they crossed them, the bridges and causeways, and the wonderful views of the water.
Despite -- or perhaps because of -- his LeSabre, Doug had been looking forward to letting the T-Bird out a little, seeing what the hot car could do. He was disappointed, though.
"Dammit, I should have remembered that this is mostly a two-lane highway and that the traffic would be heavy on a Friday evening."
"You want me to drive, babe?"
"No, you relax and enjoy the trip. I was just hoping to have some fun with this sexy machine of yours!"
Stan laughed. "OK, babe. I approve. I'm glad to see Dougie shedding his strict professorial demeanor. Maybe on the Turnpike going home you can satisfy your urge for speed."
"Yeah, right, with all those state troopers patrolling?"
"We'll see," Stan said.
They were both quiet for a while. Then Stan chuckled.
"What's funny?"
"Doug, I've been thinking back to that evening at Friday's, the scene with that cute little waiter. What's his name?"
"Adam."
"Yeah, Adam. You know he was the catalyst, he's what made me decide to grab you, literally, as soon as I could."
"Yeah?"
"Yep! I saw at once that each of you knew the other was gay. And that's all I'd been waiting for! I got hard for you the first time I saw you and just about every time I saw you after that. Sometimes just thinking about you."
Doug grinned. "Well, stud, I reacted to you the same way. But you know, after what we went through with Leigh and Rick, it's a wonder we both weren't more cautious."
"I understand what you're saying, Dougie, but look at it this way. We WERE cautious, even though we had the hots for each other. Not knowing whether the other guy was gay, though, gave us time to get to know each other. All those things we did together convinced me that I wanted your friendship, even if you turned out to be totally straight. That's one of the reasons why I moved so slowly."
"Stanley, I think you've just described how I felt better than I could have myself. So you don't just want me for my gorgeous bod?" he asked, grinning.
"I know you are being facetious, babe, but I love your bod, and it IS gorgeous. As I said, however, I know I love you, Doug, and when I'm with you I feel as if I've come home. Is that weird?"
"I hope not, babe, `cause that's just the way I feel, too. As if all my life has just been preparation for finally discovering you."
The place where Stan had reservations was on Fleming St. in Key West's Old Town district, within walking distance of most of Key West's attractions and handy to Duval Street and Mallory Square. Because of the number of guest houses and B & B's, Fleming Street is touted locally as being the "Gayest Street in America."
"The Retreat" was a beautifully renovated Victorian mansion. It had a pool and courtyard in the back where breakfast was served every morning, wine and hors d'oeuvres were available every evening, a spa, tanning room, gym, and all the amenities one could want. After they checked in, they were shown to their room by an extremely handsome black guy named Fred. Fred had gold hoops in both ears and obviously shaved his head. He looked like a black Mr. Clean.
As he handed Stan the keys, he said, "It's our custom to provide our guests with a complimentary bottle of wine and some snacks at check-in. Is it too late, or shall I send it up?"
Stan looked at Doug and, though no words had passed between them, said, "Fred, we'd love it. Would you like one of us to come back down with you to get it?"
"Definitely not, Mr. Mason. While you are here, we want to pamper you. Glenn will be up in just a moment." He paused a moment and smiled. "And if you gentlemen want to get comfortable, Glenn is probably incapable of being shocked and VERY discreet. We want you to enjoy your stay. Please let me know if there's anything we can do to make your visit with us a happy one. I assume you will be doing some of the island sights tomorrow?"
Doug finally found his voice. "Yes, that's the plan."
"Breakfast is available in the courtyard out back from seven until ten. If you will stop by the desk, someone there will be happy to assist you in planning your day."
He flashed them a brilliant smile and left. Minutes later there was a tap on the door.
"Come in," Stan said.
It was Glenn. Glenn was as hunky as Fred. In a purple collared tee, white bermudas, and sandals, he seemed to stretch all the fabric that was covering him. Obviously a body-builder, he had huge biceps, tree-like legs, pects that strained through his shirt, and a butt that stretched the fabric of his shorts.
"Would you gentlemen like me to open your wine now?" he said, smiling.
"Oh, yeah," Doug said, seeming a little weak in the knees.
Glenn had the cork pulled much sooner than the fascinated Stan and Doug would have liked. He set it on the coffee table, along with a plate of brie and a bowl of assorted crackers. "Just give a call downstairs if you need anything, gentlemen."
Stan had the presence of mind to hand Glenn a substantial tip before he left while Doug just stood there looking awestruck.
"Down, boy!" Stan laughed. "You can look, but not touch. You're MINE, remember?"
Doug cleared his throat and then chuckled. "Man, I'm moist in my shorts. If he's any example of the staff, I'm not sure I want to leave the place. We can do plenty of sightseeing right here."
"You wish! We came here to do' Key West, and that's what's gonna happen. Oh, yeah, and we're gonna do' each other several times a day, too. Got it?"
Doug clasped Stan behind the head with both hands, leaned down a little and initiated a long, wet, hot kiss.
When they broke, Doug said, "Stanley, this is going to be heaven. Now, how's about some wine?"
After a night of first torrid and later very relaxed love-making, the two men rose, shaved, showered, dressed in tees and shorts and went down to the patio for breakfast. The pool was surrounded by tall palms and beautiful landscaping. Single and double hibiscus bushes were in bloom in shades of red, pink, orange, and yellow all around. Cages with tropical birds of brilliant plumage were dotted around as well. Also dotted around were other men. Three couples. Two were swimming nude in the pool. Two others were sitting at a table having breakfast, also naked. A third couple, dressed in light-colored linen slacks and brightly-colored tropical sports shirts, were sipping coffee and having what appeared to be an intimate discussion. They would hold hands across the table, or one would touch the other's face. And they were playing footsie under the table. Both had slipped off their loafers and were rubbing them on their mate's legs.
"Well, Dougie," Stan said, "this is my idea of what Florida is supposed to be like."
"Yeah, it sure doesn't seem much like Imperial County any more, does it Dorothy?"
Later that morning the two men took the Old Town Trolley tour of the island. The weather was in the 70's, the sky was cloudless. The people on the trolley seemed friendly. There were elderly couples, families with kids, and a fair number of same-sex couples. The guide was a jovial old woman who larded the standard spiel about all of the local points of interest with tidbits of history and gossip. Everyone had a good time, and she received a number of healthy tips at the end of the tour.
Doug and Stan got off at Duval Street, the main street of the Old Town section. Two large cruise ships were docked at the nearby docks. Since there aren't any buildings on Key West more than a couple of stories tall, the ships looked mammoth in their berths.
The men toured the Truman Summer White House, which both found fascinating, though neither remembered Harry Truman except as a historical figure. Doug, though, had read David McCullough's excellent biography of Truman and had come to admire him.
Afterward, they tried to have lunch at Sloppy Joe's, supposedly a favorite hangout of Hemingway, but it was so crowded they decided to try someplace else. They found another place a little further down Duval Street that was less crowded, so they tried it. Conch chowder was on the menu, and Doug suggested that Stan sample it. They both had bowls of the steamy, spicy concoction, and Stan pronounced it delicious.
They noted that many of the restaurants, bars, and shops in the area were wide open. It was almost like being in a mall where there were no doors, the whole street side of the shop or restaurant seeming to be missing.
After lunch they visited the Audubon House and the Atocha Museum. Having prowled around both to their hearts' content, they walked back to The Retreat. Fred was on the desk again. He greeted them warmly and asked what they had done.
"You ARE going to watch the sunset, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, Fred, we wouldn't miss that!" Doug exclaimed.
"What's so special about the sunset?" Stan asked.
"I'll never tell. That's something you just have to experience!"
"Yes, we'll be serving wine and `heavy' hors d'oeuvres on the patio in half an hour," Fred informed them. "Actually, you could probably make do with that as your supper unless you are really hungry. Then go see the sunset. We can always send something up to your room later if you fancy a sweet."
Stan flashed his brilliant smile at Fred, who smiled brilliantly back. "Sounds great, Fred. Thanks for all the information."
Back in their room, Stan asked, "What's all this about sunset?"
Doug smirked at him and said, "Honestly, you just have to wait and see. Now, I feel like a shower, how about you?"
"Beast. I don't know whether I want to get naked with someone who withholds vital information from me. No, cancel that. I always want to get naked with you."
Doug took Stan's mind off of what happened at sunset by giving him a blowjob in the shower. Stan wasn't so pissed he refused to reciprocate. Then they slowly and lovingly washed each other. It was a long shower. Afterward, they put on fresh underwear and shirts, pulled on their Bermudas again, and went down to the patio for the wine party.
As Fred had promised, there were red, white, and even blush wines ("Who drinks that crap?" Stan asked. "That's only for women, isn't it?"). And tables laden with shrimp, little sausages, all kinds of cheeses, warm bread, crudités and dip, melons, tropical fruit, battered deep-fried squid.
"No wonder Fred said this could be dinner," Doug said.
"Oh, is there food?" Stan asked, his eyes raking their assembled fellow guests, a casually-dressed assemblage of great looking guys ranging in age from their 30's to one couple who must have been pushing 70.
"Watch it, Stanley!"
"That's just what I'm doing, Dougie. No harm in lookin', is there?"
Doug laughed. "OK, horndog, so long as you just look."
After chatting with several of their fellow guests, including one really cute pair from Morristown, NJ, and having more wine and finger-food than they should have, Stan and Doug checked with Fred to see when sunset was supposed to be.
"Well, gentlemen, you want to get to Mallory Square about a half an hour before sunset, so you'd best go now."
It took only ten minutes by foot to get to the Square. Stan couldn't believe what he saw there. First of all, the cruise ships had left. Out in the harbor, parading in both directions parallel to the shore were all sorts of pleasure craft, both power and sail. People were partying on those boats, yelling and waving to friends -- or perhaps strangers -- on shore.
Along the docks Stan was amazed to see all sorts of people vending food. There were entertainers from sword-swallowers and acrobats to buskers and musicians. A pair of young men in very tight tights with very nice butts were tossing flaming torches back and forth. A woman in Caribbean garb was selling cookies and spouting amusing rhymes about them. Others were hawking shell jewelry, sandals, clothing, and other island products.
"Damn, Dougie," Stan exclaimed, it looks like a combination of fair and block party."
Doug chuckled. "That's as good a description as any. This is what I remember most about my first visit here. It happens every night, you know."
The two men wandered around, enjoying the musicians, inspecting the vendors' wares, keeping an eye on the western sky as the colors of the sunset deepened.
Before they knew it, the sun had dropped into the Gulf of Mexico.
What happened next startled Stan. Everyone broke into applause.
Laughing and applauding, he asked, "Do they always do that?"
"Yep. That's the custom."
After the applause, everything seemed to close down with surprising speed.
"Now, babe, what usually happens next is that people cruise up and down Duval Street, checking out the shops and galleries or stopping by the bars and restaurants. You game?"
Stan twinkled at his lover. "You bet, studly, but first there's something I want to do."
He put his arms around Doug's chest and gave him a kiss that bordered on tongue-raping. Doug started to protest but then remembered where they were. They were in Key West, where it was all right to be gay. They had seen both straight and gay couples holding hands, hugging, and kissing in public all afternoon, so he relaxed and let his mind shut down as he enjoyed his lover's kiss.
The kiss over, they wandered down Duval street, going into all sorts of shops. In one, owned by an actor who used to be a star of "General Hospital," they found exquisite glassware and paintings. In a separate room, there were oils and watercolors of naked men, beautifully, erotically done.
In another store, they found a fifteen-foot rack of postcards with naked men on them and bins of pasta in the form of boobs and men's cock and balls.
"Wow," Stan exclaimed, "this is a different world, isn't it babe?"
"Stanley, it's hard to think this is the same state as Lake Polk, isn't it?"
Stan took his hand and squeezed it. "This is the way it ought to be, sweetheart."
They found they were passing Sloppy Joe's, so they stopped in for a beer. The place was mobbed. Doug found a tall table with stools beside it while Stan fought his way to the bar. He enjoyed the trip, slithering through what appeared to be an army of hunky men. Apparently the straight set had gone elsewhere for the evening. Finally he was able to get a couple of icy draughts and squirm his way to where Doug was sitting.
They didn't say much, content instead to enjoy the eye candy in the bar.
When the beers were gone, Doug asked, "Want another, hot stuff?"
"Nah. I have a suggestion. Let's go back to The Retreat and take a swim."
"Great idea, studly!"
When they got back to the guest house, a new guy was on the desk. He was a slim, willowy redhead with green eyes. When they asked if the pool was still open, he said it was until 11:00. "And bathing suits are optional, you know," he said, batting his eyelids at them.
Doug and Stan didn't even go to their room. They went to the pool, stripped, and dived in. No one else was there. The area around the pool was subtly lighted. There were lights under the water in the pool.
The two men enjoyed swimming, playing grabass like a couple of kids, actually, until they were both relaxed and ready to go up to their rooms. Stacks of fluffy towels were on a table near the pool. There was also a shower where they could rinse off the chlorinated water from the pool. They rinsed off, dried themselves, pulled their Bermudas on, and went back to their room.
The next morning, Sunday, they stayed in bed late, cuddling, licking, sucking, generally having fun.
They had a leisurely breakfast by the pool, eating more than either would have had at home. Then they had a swim in the pool.
At about 9:30, Doug said, "Sweetheart, there's an Episcopal church a couple of blocks away. I'd like to attend their Eucharist if that's OK with you."
"By all means, babe. Let's go shave and get dressed."
So they went back to their room, shaved, showered, dressed, and went to the 10:30 service at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, just a couple of blocks from The Retreat.
It was a beautiful old church. Stan and Doug were struck by the number of same-sex couples in attendance. They wished things were like that at St. John's in Lake Polk. The priest was about 35, a tall, thin strawberry blond. After the service, after they had shaken the rector's hand, and they were walking back to The Retreat, Doug said, "I've never had reliable gaydar, but I'd bet that man was gay."
"Well, it would certainly be appropriate if he were, and, for what it's worth, I agree with you."
They stopped into a promising-looking restaurant that hadn't filled up yet for lunch. The food was good but the service was slow.
Stan was inclined to be fidgety, but Doug reminded him that this was the South, and that folks in these parts weren't generally in a hurry.
"Besides, hotshot, where are we going? You are a damn Yankee, I guess."
Stan smiled and said "OK, I suppose I am. I just hope the food's worth waiting for."
It was. Doug had grouper and Stan had red snapper. Both were excellent.
After they had eaten, they went back to the guest house and changed into tees and shorts.
They walked to what was for Doug one of the high points of the weekend, Hemingway's House. Even Stan had read many of Hemingway's novels, and both were fascinated by the study that was accessible only by a walkway from the second-story bedroom of the house, by the 60 or so cats, most of whom had, by some genetic aberration, an extra toe on each foot, and by all the Hemingway memorabilia in the house.
After they left the house, they went across the street to investigate the Key West lighthouse.
"Wouldn't you know," Stan laughed, "that Papa Hemingway would have a big phallus across the street from his house?"
Doug, who'd never thought of it that way, laughed and said, "Well, macho WAS his thing."
Stan wanted to swim in salt water, so they went back to the guest house, put on their swimming trunks under their Bermudas, and hiked clear to the end of Duvall Street to South Beach. Because of Key West's unique location, they went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, whereas, if they were at the north or west end of the island, they'd be in the Gulf of Mexico.
South Beach wasn't crowded at that point. Doug explained that natives wouldn't normally be swimming in November and that only tourists were at the beach that day. There were, however, several male couples and a number of teen guys who were obviously hoping to be picked up. Doug explained that Key West was a kind of Mecca for runaways. If you are homeless, you might as well be somewhere you can sleep outdoors. Many of these kids wound up selling their bodies for food or a little spending money while living rough in the benign climate. Tears came to Stan's eyes as Doug explained all this to him.
"Shit, Dougie. Here I thought we were in paradise. I guess there's no such place, is there?"
"'fraid not, lover."
After swimming for a while and lying in the still warm November sun, the two walked back to The Retreat. There, they showered, changed clothes again, and went down to the patio for the wine and food they had enjoyed so much the previous evening. After they had eaten, they sat around talking with several guys they had seen during their weekend.
Finally, about 9:00, things around the pool began to slow down, and the two men went back to their room.
Doug:
Back in our room, we found a large crystal bowl with cut-up fruit, and a smaller one with whipped cream, both put in larger bowls with ice cubes to keep them fresh. The air was heavy with the perfume of pineapple, mangos, star fruit, oranges, peaches, and bananas, mixed with the vanilla flavour of the cream.
"Hmm! Why does that make me think of forbidden fruits?" I murmured, casting a sidelong glance at Stan.
"Yes, why indeed? Here all things fruity are allowed. No snakes, no angels with flaming swords," Stan retorted, smiling widely at me.
"But there is temptation," I whispered, taking a juicy slice of peach between my fingers, offering it to him.
He took it gently with his lips, chewed slowly, his face showing bliss, and when he was done, he licked my sticky fingers clean.
"More?" I asked.
He nodded, blue eyes blazing at me.
"Well," I smiled, "if you want me to feed you properly, we'd better get naked."
I could see he loved the idea. He undressed in record time. Sluggo was already so hard that when Stan pulled his briefs down, he got caught in them and then slapped back at Stan's belly. That made us both giggle.
While I shed my clothes at a more sedate speed, Stan pulled the coffee table close to the bed, and then draped himself all over the mattress. Arms flung out wide, legs spread lasciviously, a vision totally sensual, perhaps even debauched. No wonder that spiked my interest! And Spikey-Boy, too, was completely hard when he appeared.
I jumped on the bed so that I was between Stan and the table with the bowls. Then I took an orange segment with my lips and offered it to him.
He lifted his head to take it. Our lips touched. We moved the juicy bit back and forth, from my mouth to his, and vice versa, till I bit it through. We each chewed, and swallowed, grinning at each other somewhat ferociously, I think.
Next was a slice of banana. I let Stan open his mouth, and just dropped it in. Hmm, what else could I do, besides feeding him? I had an idea. Weren't we gays said to be good at decorating? Up till now, I hadn't thought myself very talented that way, but these fruits seemed very inspiring to me.
So I took the spoon, and with a confident turn of my hand landed a nice-sized glob of cream on each of Stan's nips.
"Hey!" he yelped. "That's cold!"
"Don't be a baby," I said, placing a slice of star fruit on the globs. Then I did the same with his belly-button. First cream, then three cubes of mango.
"You look delicious, baby!" I said.
"Then feed on me!" said he.
And I did. With my tongue and lips I lifted the star fruit from his right nip and into my mouth. The tart, citrusy flavor exploded on my taste buds, mellowed by the bit of cream that had come off with the fruit. I licked my lips. Stan watched it with a hungry gaze. Then I licked all the remaining cream from his nipple, thoroughly, taking my time with it. He was really squirming when I was done. But he still had that hungry look . . .
So, when I had the second slice of carambola between my teeth, I offered it to him. Lips locked together, we sucked and munched on it, generating a considerable mess and an equal amount of heat. Then I licked that nipple clean, too.
Now to his belly-button. Stan got two pieces of mango, I got one. And all the cream, which I gobbled up meticulously, while he grew a bit wild under me.
And I hadn't even paid homage to Sluggo yet, whose one eager eye kept on trying to hypnotize me, waving and pulsing invitingly.
So I smacked a broad layer of cream on him, holding him steady with my fingers at his head. My mouth watered as I could see he was adding his own cream, too. I hurried up with the fruits, four chunks of pineapple, and then I devoured his cock, eating up all the décor, chewing fruits and sucking Stan's banana alternately.
He was whining and bucking by the time I was finished, his fists holding the sheets in a deathgrip.
"Spread your legs," I ordered. "Knees up, and lift your hiney!"
He complied, and I put two pillows under him. With a spoon full of cream in my hand, I looked into my lover's eyes.
"Yesss! Do it!" he hissed, and lifted his ass up some more.
I landed the cream dead center, bull's eye, on his twinkling bud. Smack!! And I went down on him, licking, nibbling, munching on his succulent ass, even pushing some of the cream into him with my tongue, which he seemed to like especially, if his moans were any indication. He bucked up, meeting the thrusts of my tongue. "More, baby!" he moaned.
Taking another glob of cream on my fingers, I began prepping him, lubing him up good. Two fingers, then three. Twisting them, scissoring him open. When he seemed relaxed enough, I pulled them out. And his ass smelled of vanilla . . .
I slicked my cock up with the stuff, too, and positioned it at the edge of his opening. Holding his eyes with mine, I pushed into him, slowly, up to the hilt. A high, strained moan escaped him as he dealt with the sudden feeling of fullness. I held still until he nodded at me to continue. I fucked him with slow deep thrusts for a while, till I was close to coming. He'd been groaning and panting all the time, his body flushed. He looked so vibrantly alive.
Reaching out one more time, I deposited a goodly amount of cream on Sluggo. "Jack yourself, hot stuff," I said, "I want us to finish together, and I'm so close!"
Grinning, but with dazed eyes, Stan complied, working his rod with two hands, producing strange, squishy sounds. I remained motionless for a while, enjoying the pulsing of his assring that resulted from his actions. His muscles were really milking me! Then I couldn't hold back any longer! I resumed my fucking with a vengeance, jamming Spike into him with all that I had. Now we were both moaning louder and louder, crying out our pleasure, our passion.
It didn't take long then. My body went rigid, and my hot cum jetted into Stan's steamy hole. At the same time I saw him shooting long ropes all over his chest and stomach. When my orgasm subsided, my arms were trembling from the exertion. So I collapsed on my lover, and Spike popped out of Stan's hole with the same motion.
"Ouff!" Stan wheezed, a bit surprised I guess, but he put his arms around me and hugged me tight. I lifted my head, and we kissed, tenderly, the flavor of fruit still strong on our tongues.
"That was delicious, baby," he said.
"YOU were delicious!" I replied. For a while we lay, silent, satisfied, in tune with each other, enjoying the afterglow. Then the stickiness got to be too much, so we took another shower.
The sheets, however, were impossible. Wearing one of the fluffy white terry robes provided, Stan picked up the phone and spoke briefly with the desk. Very soon, there was a knock on the door. I quickly put on the other robe and opened it to find Glenn, again in purple tee and white shorts, still straining his seams in all the right places. He grinned at me and said, "The fruit got your sheets messed up, I hear. I've brought you fresh linens. Would you like me to change them for you?"
"Uh, no, er, that's all right, Glenn, we can --- "
"Doug, let the man do his job. Come on in, Glenn," Stan said.
I was really embarrassed because the sheets had both whipped cream and cum all over them. I hated for Glenn to have to handle the sheets.
"Here," I said, "at least let us strip the bed for you."
"Not necessary, Dr. Curtis," he said. He reached in his pocket (I don't know how he got his hand in there) and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, which he put on. "It's all part of our service."
Stan chuckled. "You mean, Glenn, that you expect this after the `fruit service'?"
Well, that was too much and I broke out laughing. Glenn looked at him, winked, and said, "Happens every time, Mr. Mason."
So we let Glenn do his work. He changed that bed faster than I've ever seen it done before, and you could have bounced a condom off it when he was finished. I never saw Stan go for his wallet, but he handed Glenn a bill when he'd finished.
"Thank you, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
My breath caught as I thought of a three-way with Glenn, but Stan said, "No, guy, but thanks for saving us from those unsavory linens."
"It's our pleasure. Sleep well." And with another grin, he left.
Stan and I shed our robes, turned off the lights, got into bed, cuddled up to each other, and, all entwined, we fell asleep.
STAN:
What a night that was! That Dougie is a real devil. He seems so staid sometimes, so much the professor. But he has a delicious imagination, and I use that word intentionally. You know, sometimes things do work out for the best. If it hadn't been for the thing with Leigh, I'd never have come to Florida, never have met this sweet, sexy man who turned me on with a look, with the sound of his voice, who didn't need a bowl of fruit to excite me, though he managed that to perfection the previous evening as well.
We slept late, lolled around in bed after we woke, traded blowjobs, showered, and went down to the pool. We swam and played around in the water for an hour or so, lay in the sun naked, trying to at least minimize our tan lines. Doug has the cutest ass. Sorry! I got distracted there for a minute!
I was about to doze off lying there soaking up the rays, when a couple of guys came down and jumped into the water. They were laughing, splashing, playing grabass, and Doug and I turned over to watch them. He looked at me and nodded his head toward the pool. I knew what he meant, so we jumped in and joined the melee like a couple of teens. After a while we all climbed out and introduced ourselves properly. They were in their late thirties, both hunky, lived in Philadelphia. We chatted with them for a while. Then we all pulled on our suits and had crab salad with a glass of chilled pinot grigio by the pool.
After that, Doug and I went upstairs, changed into khakis, tees, and topsiders, checked out, jumped in the car, and headed north.
On the way back to Lake Polk, I drove the first leg, up across the keys. We stopped in Homestead for something to eat mid-afternoon.
As we munched a burger and fries, Doug looked across the table at me. "You know, Stanley, I just love to look at your face."
"Oh?"
"You often have this expression that says, `Hello. What's up? I'm ready for anything, and won't it be fun!'"
"You can tell that from my face?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Well, babe," I said, "maybe that sums me up pretty well."
When we left the restaurant, Doug took the keys. He wanted to risk a speeding ticket and get the feel of the T-Bird on the straightaway that is called, for some reason, "Florida's Turnpike" in the signage.
He was obviously enjoying the car, so I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun and the air rushing over me. At one point, he said, "Man, Stan, this is a far cry from my big ol' Buick! I didn't know what I was missing."
"You ready to go car shopping, Dougie?" I asked, opening one eye and grinning at him.
"Perhaps. Don't think I can afford one of these, though. Besides, how would it look if both of us had new T-Birds?"
"Probably not too good. How about a Mustang? Or, if you want something good looking but a little tamer, how about a Sebring?"
"I don't know from Mustangs and Sebrings. If I decide to get rid of my sedan, you'll have to help me shop."
"Oh, I won't let you buy a car without having veto rights, babe. You might wind up with another old fart car like the one you have."
"Old fart car? Now wait just a minute, Mason! My Buick has solidity, dignity, befitting my age and station in life."
"A gray four-door sedan is befitting a funeral home, Dr. Curtis. You NEED my input if you're going to get a new car."
He chuckled. "OK, OK, I'll let you tag along IF I decide to part with my behemoth."
He drove on a while in silence. I opened an eye again and noticed he was doing 85. "Dougie, so far as I'm concerned, you are driving at a perfectly safe speed in this car on this highway. But it wouldn't sound too good in Lake Polk if their city manager and his boyfriend got a ticket speeding on the turnpike."
"Do you want me to slow down, Stanley? Or would you rather drive?"
"No, babe. Just keep a sharp lookout for bears, OK?"
"Roger, cap'n."
He put a hand on my thigh. I opened both eyes.
"Stan, there's something I have to tell you."
`Oh, God,' I wondered. Was he going to confess something terrible? I had no idea what was coming.
"You want to step into the confessional, my son?" I asked.
He laughed. "No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to tell you how great this weekend was. I don't think I've ever been as happy as I have been these last three days. You've brought magic into my life."
I put my hand on his thigh -- well, in his crotch, actually. "Babe, with you I know I've come home. And just think, the happiness is only beginning."
To be continued.