Fiction--description of a description of sexual encounters between adults. If reading or possession of this sort of material is unlawful or offensive to you, I wish you well on your journey, but you should leave now. These are fictitious characters. No identification with any individual, living or dead, is intended.
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THE STEPS
I have determined to confide in Lassiter. He is one of my oldest friends. Of all my acquaintances, he is the one I know to be the most rational and the least likely to leap to hasty conclusions. He is also, fortunately, a man of the world. I invited him to lunch at my club, so that we could converse in privacy.
Lassiter, whose behavior has always been appropriate to the situation, greeted me warmly and, intuiting that the matter about which I intended to speak with him was a sensitive one, engaged in idle pleasantries until our waiter had seated us and taken our orders. "Well, my friend," he said at last, smiling warmly, "I believe you've a more serious matter to discuss than the new exhibit at Madame Tussaud's."
I laced my fingers together in front of me, cleared my throat, and forced out the words I had memorized, lest I should find myself tongue-tied before I'd even started. "Let me begin by insisting to you that I am not inclined to homosexuality," I said.
Lassiter nodded. "I had not thought you were."
Lassiter's calm response strengthened my resolve. "As you know, I have a cottage at Lake N---," I went on. "It is somewhat isolated, on a bluff overlooking the southeast end of the lake."
Lassiter nodded. "I was there, some years ago. A lovely place."
"You recall the wooden steps that lead from the top of the bluff to the lakeshore?"
"I do."
"These stairs, although technically on my property, are often used by the public for access from the beach to the road. They demand, admittedly, more strenuous effort than the path around the bluff, but save considerable time. I have planted shrubbery along the path where it skirts my lawn; hikers inevitably honor my privacy and follow that path."
"You did explain all this to me when I visited," Lassiter said.
Sensing a hint of impatience in his tone, I apologized. "I only want to be certain that you have a clear picture of the setting, as it were, for the incidents I am about to describe." I took a deep breath, and continued. "I have been in the habit of sitting on the back porch in the evening, watching the transformation of day to night, just as the sun drops below the line of trees: the reddening of the sky, the rise of the evening breeze, the sounds of night's creatures awakening, and at last the appearance of the stars."
"You describe it quite well."
I smiled. "At the middle of June last, I was about to rise from my chair and go inside, the night being upon me, while the rising moon laid a path across the lake. As I was studying this, a body rose from the stairs. He was silhouetted, at first, by the moonlight on the water. When he had reached the top of the bluff, I perceived that he was a man of perhaps twenty-five years, well-formed, with close-cropped dark hair--the sort one might describe as handsome. And he was nude. In itself, nudity is not unheard of there: that particular stretch of beach is relatively private. During the summer, one sometimes sees young men sunbathing in the nude. But they inevitably cover their private parts with a towel or robe afterwards, and often take the path around the bluff, rather than climbing the stairs. This young man had neither towel nor robe, yet his attitude was so serene that I was not shocked by his appearance.
"He did not follow the path, however, but walked forward through the opening in the hedge, and approached the porch. I said good evening, and asked if he needed assistance. 'No,' he said. 'I merely wanted to thank you for your hospitality.' He smiled, turned away, and resumed his journey. He appeared again, at almost the same time, the following night, and the one after that. On each occasion, his behavior and his words were the same. The fourth evening, he did not appear, nor the fifth. I admit I was relieved."
"No doubt," Lassiter responded, smiling.
I shook my head. "I was not free of him. He appeared on the sixth night, and randomly thereafter."
"Curious. Perhaps he was an athlete on some sort of training regimen."
"I considered that. Upon his next visit, I ventured to ask him if that was the case. 'No,' he replied. 'I come merely to thank you.' And before I could reply, or even think of what my reply might be, he had gone. I decided he was some sort of eccentric: a poet, perhaps. I grew used to his arbitrary appearances, and his greeting. About a month after his first appearance, however, something..."
I did not know how to continue. Thankfully, at that moment our lunches appeared, and we spent some time with them. I toyed with my meal, signaled to the waiter for another glass of wine, studied my own hands.
"I daresay," Lassiter prompted at last, setting his fork aside, "that you have something more to reveal which you find difficult to express. Might I suggest that you not worry about how you say it: your silence and discomfort distress me more than any words you might elect to use. Continue, I pray, my friend."
I took a grateful breath and was about to reply when the waiter appeared with the wine. I waited until he was gone, then leaned forward and whispered. "On the occasion I referred to, he made his usual speech of thanks, but then added--" Here, I hesitated, until Lassiter's kindly smile encouraged me to continue. "After his usual expression of gratitude, he said, 'I wonder if you might like to examine my...' " I could not go on.
"Had he something with him, then?" Lassiter probed, gently.
"No. He invited me to examine his...manhood." Having said this, it was as if a dam had burst. "His privates," I went on. "His genitalia. His member--"
"His penis?" Lassiter did his best to disguise his astonishment. I nodded. "And you replied?" he urged, when it had become apparent that I would otherwise remain silent.
"I--I leaned forward to examine it, not intending to actually touch it. It occurred to me that he might have some injury or anomaly worth studying. He did not. It was, so far as I could tell in the lamplight, a perfectly ordinary member, slightly tumescent and perhaps a bit larger than my own, but otherwise essentially identical. 'It appears normal,' I said. He simply smiled at me, and departed."
"Admittedly, quite peculiar: a sexual deviant. I trust--"
"I vowed to ask him not to return, should he reappear. I vowed to insist that he stay upon the public path and not address me." I took a mouthful of wine. "But I did not. He returned two nights later, approached the porch, thanked me for my hospitality--all as usual--and once again invited me to examine his...parts. And this time, to my horror, I found myself touching it. I lifted it to see if there might be something of concern on its underside. But it remained, as I said, perfectly ordinary. Once again, he smiled and departed. I was about to speak, to admonish him as I had intended, but examined my hand, instead. It looked as it always has, but felt as if it were still touching him."
"Peculiar. An effect of the shock of the event, perhaps."
"Perhaps. In any case, I hurried to the bedroom, quickly accomplished my evening toilette, and went to bed. I slept poorly, intermittently. I saw his member, erect, lying on my palm. I caressed it, only to awaken and find myself gripping my own erect member."
Lassiter smiled, just slightly. "I confess, Sir, that this has happened to me as well--not the dream you describe, but awakening to find myself...engaged, as you were. I was under the impression that this sort of thing ended when one reached adulthood." Lassiter chuckled. "Apparently, that is not necessarily the case. Such things are awkward, but hardly--"
"There is more," I said, striving for calm. But my face, rather than my words, had stopped Lassiter from speaking.
"Good heavens, man! Are you all right? You've gone quite pale. Here!" And to my astonishment, he pushed my dessert fork off the table.
I instinctively bent over and reached for it, and immediately felt better. I stayed in this position for a few seconds, retrieved the fork, and gradually raised my head.
"A little trick I learned in the corps," Lassiter explained. "Although one usually drops one's own fork." He smiled. "Perhaps we should leave the remainder of your story for another time."
"No," I protested. "There is more. You've been most kind to listen thus far. In fact, I daresay I should never have been able to put the matter into words without your assistance. I cannot force you to stay, of course. But if you could see yourself clear to do so--"
"I am at your disposal," Lassiter assured me. "I was merely concerned for your welfare. Such matters might better be discussed in small doses, as it were."
"Perhaps. But in this case, I haven't the time."
A shadow of a frown passed across Lassiter's face. But then he smiled once again. "Very well. Pray continue. You were speaking of your dreams."
"I managed to fall back to sleep, but awoke exhausted. Even though it was the height of summer, I determined to close the cottage and return to town. As you might imagine, however, this is a somewhat complicated effort to undertake impulsively. I therefore took myself to the lake for a swim, and as I'd hoped, the chilly water restored me to my senses." I sipped the wine and continued, firmly. "Once fully awake, I determined that I was not about to be driven from my own property by some pervert or madman. My first step, I decided, must be to somehow close the gap in the shrubbery which connected the cottage to the public path. I left the water, dried myself and wrapped the towel around my waist, then advanced to the stairs. As I approached them, however, a strange dread seemed to take hold. I could not bring myself to touch the worn railing. I could not bear to put my foot upon the first step. Without further hesitation, I turned away and made my way down the beach past the bluff, where the path winds its way to the road. I returned to the cottage thus."
"But you said you had descended--"
"Yes. I had experienced no such feelings earlier, when I began my descent. I resolved to experiment, and took the steps down to the first landing, with no difficulty. I theorized that it might have something to do with the direction of travel, but returned to the top with no problem. I concluded that it must have been a momentary trick of the mind that I had experienced at the beach. No matter. There was work to be done.
"I had no posts set in the ground to which I could attach any sort of gate, even if I could find or fashion one. I therefore gathered all the potted plants I had, and arranged them across the opening. They were obviously not impervious, but their message was clear: outsiders were not welcome. On the off chance that my visitor might fail to understand my message, I spent the next few hours putting away everything I did not expect to need beyond the next morning. There would necessarily be some wasted food, but most of it would no doubt survive the drive back to the city. There, the fences were iron, and locked. There, one's life was concealed behind mature hedges some six feet tall. There, no stranger could gain entry without ringing the bell.
"I had a late lunch, and lay down for a nap. The morning's exertions had apparently been more stressful than I had realized at the time."
"And this was at the end of July?"
"Early August." Lassiter's interruption irritated me. I had been able to tell the story thus far and had been prepared to go on. Now, it seemed I had suddenly lost my momentum.
"You said you had taken a nap?" Lassiter urged, noticing that I had stopped. "Pray continue."
"I...I awoke later than I had intended: the afternoon sun was visible through the west window. I arose and went to the porch. I chided myself for having barricaded the gap on what I now resolved, once again, would be my last evening at the lake. Still, it was beautiful: the sun painted everything in brilliant colors, the breeze carried the scent of wildflowers, the silence was a benediction, interrupted only by the sound of a fish breaking the surface of the lake. Again, I seriously questioned my plan to leave. And then, just as the light faded to dusk, he appeared. I watched carefully to see when he would notice the barrier, anticipated some casual response, had planned, should it be necessary, the simple explanation that I'd been called away on business.
"And then, somehow, he was at my side! 'You may kiss it, if you wish,' he whispered."
"I turned toward the voice before I could stop myself. His member, rigid, was directly in front of me. It seemed to fill my eyes. I looked up at him, his face golden in the last rays of the sun, turned my sight back to his...I kissed it, gently at first, barely brushed it with my lips and then felt my mouth open, felt my tongue moisten his glans, felt the shaft glide across my lips. I couldn't tell if it was my head moving toward him, or his shaft penetrating me, but somehow..." I stopped. Hearing myself say the words, describe out loud what I had hitherto only remembered, was too much. I was frozen, tears pouring from my eyes.
Lassiter reached across the table and put his hands on mine. I realized that I was clutching the table cloth, gathering it towards myself, and the dishes and all with it. I gradually uncoiled my fingers, staring at his face through the tears.
"Hold yourself together, man," Lassiter said. His voice was soft, but commanding, and I felt my body relaxing, sinking back into my chair. "That's better," he assured me. "Just breathe slowly."
Time passed: a moment, no doubt, but it seemed much longer. I couldn't tell. Neither of us moved.
"Are you ready to continue?" Lassiter said, at last. "Or shall we leave? I think I'd best accompany you to your flat."
"I'm not done," I pleaded, determined to fight through the pain to the end.
"Very well. I'm listening." The tension around his mouth, however, was obvious.
"I've no idea how I did it. His member slid into my throat with no problem. He...he must have ejaculated, I think. I felt...no matter. He drew out, and I watched him move away, glide over the barrier of plants, pass from my sight. I must have passed out: I awoke to darkness, save for the familiar blanket of stars. I stumbled inside and lay on my bed, still fully dressed, and awoke midmorning. Happily, I felt strangely refreshed, energetic. I had not dreamt, so far as I could recall. I rose, washed, and changed into fresh clothes. I made myself a large breakfast. I finished packing, but due to my late start, by the time I was ready to load my car, it was late afternoon. I tried to convince myself I could depart, drive through the night, and arrive home safely, but my body seemed to rebel. I set out the necessities for another morning, and went to bed. Though the thought of going out to the porch terrified me, the urge would not let me sleep. I felt myself a coward. At last, desperate, I resolved to go out to the porch for a few moments, and then return to my bed.
"I went to the porch, sat in my usual place, and was awakened by the morning sun. I had slept through the night, undisturbed and without dreaming. There was no sign that my...that he had returned."
"You said his appearances were at random intervals, I believe."
I nodded at Lassiter. "Yes. It occurred to me that having satisfied himself, perhaps my...visitor would return no more; that the nightmarish adventure might be over. I went into the cottage, packed the breakfast dishes, the pans, the teakettle. By the time I was finished, however, there was a storm on the horizon: roiling clouds were advancing rapidly, and there was a chill in the wind."
"August is a strange month," Lassiter conceded. "It can be uncomfortably hot, and then, suddenly, a storm such as you describe breaks."
I nodded agreement. "Though they rarely last for long, they make for dangerous driving. I was not troubled. The day was young, the weather would no doubt clear by luncheon. But it didn't!" I raised my agonized face to Lassiter. "The storm poured water onto the cottage, swelled the creek and attacked the bridge to the paved road. As soon as the storm was over, I started out, only to discover that the bridge was entirely gone and the creek impassible. I was a prisoner. I could not reach the road. I could not escape."
"And he came?"
"He did not! I stayed off the porch, made a light supper, went to bed. I slept not well, but enough. The next day quickly turned hot, humid and bright. The creek had subsided considerably, but the bridge was still impassible. Eventually, someone from the county was bound to inspect it and order repairs, but since it served only my cottage and two others, long vacant, that was not likely to happen soon. I unpacked reluctantly, leaving as much as I thought prudent still secured. I vowed to stay away from the porch, thought even of barring the back door, but I already felt trapped, and did not wish to intensify the feeling. And in my deepest soul, I knew, somehow, that it would be futile. At last, lured by a sunset of breathtaking beauty, I ventured to the porch."
"He returned?"
I nodded. "Again, he somehow appeared at my side, offering me his member. And again, I took it." I reached for Lassiter's hands. "I swear," I told him, "I felt none of the passion a man feels for a woman. None! And yet, I felt compelled to accept him, and after, I felt completed, somehow. Content, even fulfilled. God knows I did not want to feel that way: I prayed that night for revulsion, but none came. I awoke the next morning terrified: I was becoming unrecognizable to myself. I wandered the woods, allowed myself to be bitten by insects, hoping that stings and venom might somehow help. I went to the lakeshore, allowed my back and shoulders to burn. There were others at the shore: it was August, and hot. But I seemed to walk among them as if they were not there. And once again, I was unable to climb the steps, though others came and went without hesitation.
"I am a rational man, Lassiter! I do not believe in fairies, ghosts, incubi or succubae! I do not believe in curses. I know that magicians' tricks are just that: tricks. But I cannot explain this! And--" I raised my hand to forestall a reply-- "there is more."
Lassiter looked at me with the kindly expression of one's priest or lawyer. "Go on, then."
"He came to me two evenings later. 'If you wish, you could show me to your bed,' he said. I looked at his crotch, but it was lost in shadow. I stood and moved silently to the bedroom, feeling him behind me. I opened the door. He moved past me, pulled back the counterpane and slipped between the sheets. 'Come, if you like,' he said. I cannot explain the look on his face, except to say that at one instant it reminded me of my nephew's, upon seeing presents under the tree Christmas morning; at another of a playful boyhood friend who'd just discovered something remarkable and mildly salacious; at another of an abject worshipper; and yet again of a teacher I once had with a passion for Socratic dialog. I moved to the bed--almost glided, in a way; he flipped back the sheet and I slipped in next to him. Perhaps it was my sunburn, but he felt warm. We moved closer, his chest to my back: whether he moved or I, I cannot say. I had a vague presentiment of what was to come, but only the crudest sense of what might be involved.
"There was a strange trembling between my buttocks, pressure against my anus, a sharp flash of pain, and a sense of fullness I cannot describe, except to say that it was entirely...comfortable. I realized that my own member was swelling rapidly. The sense of fullness somehow pulsed, growing stronger at each peak of pressure. I felt, under the sheet, something like a hand on my penis, stroking me as I had stroked myself as a child, before...Most astonishing, there was what I can only call an absence of shame, a sense not of evil or violation, but...perhaps the word is blessing.
"I found myself a few moments later penetrating his anus, feeling my member embraced as it had never been before, felt almost as if all of me had entered him, felt for a few moments as if I was riding a horse, runaway, galloping. I slept.
"I awoke with my mouth once again filled with his cock, and felt his mouth on mine. I thrust into him passionately, craving him as I had never wanted anything before, at the same time drawing him into me. Our juices poured between us as if commingled; there was not a hair's breadth of distance between our bodies. Or between our souls. I felt sleep once again overcoming me, and heard him say, 'Thank you for your hospitality.' "
I stopped. Deep in my memories, I'd somehow lost track of Lassiter's face, which now stared at me, wide-eyed and pale. I waited while his lips began to move.
"My God, man!" His voice was not angry, but terrified. "This is...I am sorry, but I simply cannot...I suggest that you find an alienist to discuss this with. I cannot...forgive me." Apparently genuinely regretful, he rose and hurried from the room. I watched him leave, then stared toward the lobby until the waiter's voice interrupted.
"Sir? Is everything to your satisfaction?"
I turned to the voice, saw his familiar eyes and smiled, ready at last to take the first step.