This story is about male/male relationships and contains graphic descriptions of sex. You should not read this story if it is in any way illegal due to your age or residence.
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TRAGEDY ON THE POTOMAC by Steven H. Davis
Chapter 4
My grandmother Vedzma pulled out all the stops when it came to making me feel welcome in my new Maryland home. After an enormous dinner of Russian cutlets with savory gravy, homemade mashed potatoes and mountains of green peas, she took all my clothes downstairs to the cavernous laundry room -- over my objections -- and began hand-washing each item in the large double sinks. I tried to tell her that it wasn't necessary, but she was so happy to have me there after years of battling my mother for the chance to see me that I couldn't dissuade her.
While she fussed over my clothes, I explored the rest of the downstairs. The house was a split-level, so only one story was apparent from the hilly street which sloped downward toward the back yard in such a way as to reveal the bottom floor. There were three rooms downstairs. The enormous laundry room also included a small restroom with toilet and sink as well as my grandfather's work bench and all of his tools, as the house had no garage.
There was a large finished basement rec room which was filled with bookcases, probably twenty of them, crammed to capacity with books and files. With my grandmother's twenty-plus years of research and teaching, combined with my grandfather's many decades as an economist and journalist for Radio Liberty, there was a lot of material in that room.
My grandparents never threw anything away, and as I picked my way through boxes and boxes of papers and files, I found every toy and stuffed animal which I had ever owned growing up. Most of my grandparents' books and papers were in Russian, so I didn't spend much time on them, but I did find a number of odd knick-knacks and souvenirs from their extensive world travels, as well as my grandfather's stamp collection, which seemed to go back to the 1920s.
It was the third room which stunned me, even though it was the smallest of the three. It was apparently intended as a guest bedroom, and would have been great in that capacity, as there was even a separate entrance which led to the back yard. That was the intention, but my grandmother had begun using it as an office when they purchased the house seven years earlier after moving down from New York. Of course, that was after bringing the contents of what was an enormous four-level Victorian manor in Queens to a modest suburban house.
There were three large oaken desks in the room, and a dozen more bookcases, but I couldn't really see any of the furniture if I didn't know it was there. That was because the entire room was filled with books, papers, boxes of files and assorted manuscripts from floor to about a foot shy of the ceiling. The room was an impenetrable jungle of paper, and looked like a heap outside a recycling center rather than a small guest room.
Between it and the rec room, there was probably three tons of paper and books down there, and the whole thing struck me as an enormous fire hazard. That's when I realized I should probably finish my cigarette outside, so I opened the back door and stepped out into the yard.
As messy as the inside of the house was, the back yard looked like a botanical garden had gone insane. Flowers and shrubs and weeds of every description and color filled the large circular "garden" in the middle of the back yard, and bushes and ivy ran riot along the entire perimeter. As I walked along the back wall of the house, I stopped to look under the small deck which led from the upstairs dining room, with rotting and perilous steps leading down to the yard.
It was humid and earthy under the deck, and there were worms and bugs crawling over wet rocks and bags of mulch and fertilizer. The support beams were also wet and rotting, and I saw termites nesting in the wood. I retreated when I almost walked face-first into a black widow's web and stumbled quickly back into the yard.
"Not very pretty, is it?"
I looked behind me to see Jason leaning on the fence between our yards, wearing a look of amused sympathy.
"No, it isn't," I agreed. "I almost got a black widow to the face. This is going to take some fixing up."
Jason laughed and walked around the fence to join me. As he reached the spot where I was standing, he grinned, checked for the spider-web's location, and pulled me under the stairs by the hand. Checking that my Hungarian neighbors on the other side of the house weren't able to see, we snuck a few furtive, passionate kisses. I broke away, because I was really concerned that someone would see us, but not before we were able to grab quick feels of each other's rigid cocks through our jeans.
"I'm going to get all of that tomorrow," he growled, his voice husky with desire. "Then I just might help you get started."
"Get started with what?"
Jason made a broad, sweeping gesture with his tanned, muscular left arm, indicating the riot of plant life surrounding our damp and shaded oasis.
"This disaster," he explained. "My mom has been waiting for you to get here and clean all this shit up, or she's threatening to call the county. She says it brings down everybody's property values and she's completely obsessed about it."
I grimaced, jutting my chin toward the other neighbors' house.
"What about them?"
Jason shrugged.
"All I know is that you've got a really busy summer ahead if we're going to get this in shape by the time you move down to DC for school."
I nodded in glum resignation. My grandparents were both typical absent-minded professor types, so completely consumed with scholarly research and the life of the mind that their attentions rarely emerged from between their own ears to anything surrounding them. If I didn't clean up this mess by the time classes started, Jason's mother would make sure that everyone would pay for it.
"Don't look so defeated," Jason chuckled. "I said I'd help, and besides... I'm going to keep you busy in all kinds of interesting ways, so it shouldn't be that hard."
I arched a mischievous eyebrow.
"With you keeping me busy," I said teasingly, "I'm sure it's going to be really hard all summer long."
Jason winked and headed back over to his house.
"See you tomorrow, Ricky," he laughed. "We'll get started on that hard, hard project."
I watched the muscular globes of Jason's nicely-developed ass as he jogged toward his yard, realizing as I adjusted myself that my "hard, hard project" was already well under way.
I watched some TV with my grandfather later on, then took a shower and got ready for bed. Vedzma was already asleep, as the exhaustions of picking me up from the airport, making dinner, and doing every single bit of my laundry by hand had worn her out by eight o'clock. Not only was the laundry part unnecessary, but the fact that she had done it by hand seemed nuts to me, as the laundry room contained a perfectly good washing machine and dryer.
I knew what she was doing, though. She was trying to prove her devotion to me. Although she loved my biological father, and hadn't yet said much negative to me about my mother, I knew she was appalled at the way my childhood had gone, and had been frustrated by my mother's refusal to let me visit or even to accept the money and gifts she had sent over the years.
When Rex and Tynah had adopted me and my mother had gone off to the army, Vedzma's unwavering commitment to getting back in my life had finally been rewarded, as I was allowed to write to her, accept her gifts, and even spend the better part of two summers in DC for the Georgetown Speech & Debate Summer Workshop.
I knew that she had been working behind the scenes for a long time to wrangle my special provost's scholarship to George Washington University, and she knew that -- although my grades had been good enough to get me accepted at every other college to which I had applied -- I couldn't afford to go anywhere without a full ride. Vedzma had been planning to get me, her "Solnyshko/Sunshine," back for keeps ever since my mother and I had left New York for South Carolina in 1973. Now, eleven years later, she had succeeded. So, yes, she was exhausted from the day's exertions, but she hadn't stopped smiling all day.
Thanks to Jason, I had been doing my fair share of smiling as well, and as I climbed into my bed, I decided that I had to relieve the insistent erection which had been straining at my zipper for most of the evening. Knowing that my grandparents' penchant for neglecting their housekeeping must have extended to my room, I reached down in the space between my bed and the wall, where I had secreted a container of Vaseline the previous summer.
Luck was with me, and it was still there. There was only a little left, and as I slathered it on my aching cock, I made a mental note to pick some more up at the local pharmacy the next day. Stroking my rock-hard eight-inch erection, I started to picture Jason's tanned, muscular body, the sizable cock I had felt through his pants, and every single thing I planned to do with him the following day.
But, as had been the case for most of the previous four years, Jason's image began to quickly dissipate in my mind. The sculpted blonde Adonis was soon replaced by the image of a tall, skinny, pale boy with sparkling emerald-green eyes and perfect, perfect hands, his long, slender fingers dancing delicately across my skin as I kissed, sucked and nibbled at his soft, cupid's-bow lips.
I tried not to think of him as I stroked and pumped my way toward orgasm, tried to recapture my fantasies of Jason, but his hold on me was still so powerful, so all-consuming, that it was only that angelic boy who could take me over the edge. My yearning and desire and aching sense of emptiness and loss poured out of me as my body shuddered and shook, eight strong, arcing jets of semen shooting from my throbbing cock even as tears were streaming from my eyes.
"Taine," I gasped, moaning his name in equal parts desire and despair. "Oh, Taine..."
I lay there sobbing for a few minutes, my cock softening in my hand as my breathing returned to something close to normal. Then I reached for some tissues, cleaned the come from my chest and stomach, and cried myself to sleep.
Thank you for reading Chapter 4. To be continued...
I'm always happy to hear from readers at DJAkeeba@aol.com. You have all been so supportive and encouraging, and I thank you all for your e-mails.
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