A Second Chance
(Copyrighted by the author)
Editor: Radio Rancher
This is a story of love between two men. As such there is some sex but it is really more about their relationship. If you're into romance, I hope this story pleases you.
The following story has to do with graphically explicit sexual descriptions of sexuality between consenting adults. It is intended for the entertainment of mature adults, is entirely fictitious and is only intended to be a fantasy. The names are fictitious as well. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If you are not at least 18 years old please do not read any further down in this story.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are
allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
Life goes on . . . it's been a long time since I
lost my love, but we must live on. It took me a couple of years
before I could sleep through the night. Being alone in bed dreaming
of Jim, and how much I longed for him, his warmth, his smile and
those deep dark blue eyes. I still, to this day, look up at Casper
Mountain, thinking of him, and whispering under my breath. "I'll
always love you cowboy. Someday ... yes ... someday, we'll be together
The company reverted to me as its sole owner. James had not made a will; we so intermingled our funds with the company's it would have taken years to figure it out. The legal documents that we both had signed, were so specific that no one could undo what we did, except by the death of either partner.
I did what I felt right, and gave the Andersen's a million dollars as a life insurance policy, which I told them it was, knowing that this would not relieve the terrible sorrow. I knew that James would have approved of it.
I wrote a long letter to David, about his brother and emphasized the love that James and I really had for each other. I told him that if he ever needed someone, we could be stand-in brothers; "just ask, and I'll be there!" I wrote. I enclosed a photo of James and myself, taken with us standing in front of the ranch house with Casper Mountain in the background.
I was very close to Jim's parents, spending many Christmases together, and other occasions as well; they were, until they passed on, my Mom and Dad. I won't go into that story here.
David got married, from what they told me, and had a son; I don't remember the name, but I think it was Joshua or Justin, something like that. I don't even know where he lives now; we never spoke after I sent him the letter. I guess he'll never like me; it's a shame, 'cause I think we could have been good friends.
Over the next few years we (the company) did get into the computer age. Greg and Carrie -- those two are exceptional -- they helped me turn the company into what it is today, and I pay them very well. We have two custom-built Boeing 737/700's. I'm just sentimental, so we call one Cowboy, and the other is Buckaroo. I like how their call signs sound over the radio as well. It's been nearly thirty-five years, and I'm getting on in age.
This trip to Paris was something of a surprise to me, and coincidentally, both of the jets, were in for maintenance, so Greg and I had to use Delta Airlines for the trip over. We would be returning on Cowboy, as Capt. Richard Lane, head pilot and chief of our aviation department, would be arriving the next day. Richard, an excellent pilot, had just turned thirty, so I stole him from United Airlines, offering a much better salary. Greg and I were sitting in first class. The flight to Paris was uneventful. We talked about the up coming meeting, and Greg asked, "Charles, what do you think of their offer, on the hotel?"
I replied, "I think they're trying to get in with a low bid, but I want that job done right." We were planning a major remodel of the Munich hotel. It was becoming quite run down. It had had many minor remodels through the years, and James had acquired it more than forty years ago.
Greg said, "I agree; I think they're trying to get in low, then use inferior materials. That's what Carrie told me. She's keeping a close eye on them." He was thinking, 'Yes, my wife went over last week checking on the progress, and would be meeting us in the morning, coming in from Munich on Cowboy.'
We were about two hours out from Paris and had just finished dinner; even the first class meal sucked. I guess I'm spoiled by having my personal chef to prepare meals. I'd bet good money that Clyde Summers could take a shoe and make it taste like a prime rib. I still call him a cook; he just puts up with an old man, I guess, or the money I pay him keeps him silent. I was tired, and said to Greg, "Think I'm gonna get a few winks before we get in."
When I was awakened, I seemed to be in a daze, as someone was gently shaking me. I felt something touching my shoulder. Forgetting for a moment that I was aboard a commercial jet, the flight attendant said, "Sir, buckle up, please; we're on final approach to Paris."
I looked up at him, thinking, 'Oh what a beautiful young man.' He looked to be in his early thirties. He was the mirror image of Jim; it was as if time had stood still for all those years! 'God ... how could you be so cruel?' I thought. But then again, maybe God was going to give me a second chance. I quickly tried to forget the memories that came flooding back. Greg must have noticed, too.
Greg said with surprise, "Charles! My God, that looks like James." He first looked at the young man, then he looked at me, shaking his head in disbelief.
I said to Greg, "Do me a favor and see if he'll come back and talk to me." I was puzzled.
Greg replied, "Sure, Charles!" thinking, 'What do I say to him? Oh, well; I'll really have to wing this one for Charlie.'
Greg got up and went to the front of the cabin and spoke with the young man; as they talked, Greg pointed toward me. Then Greg came back to his seat, and said, "Charles, his name is JC Andersen; I saw his name tag, and he said that it would be a few minutes,"
I thought to myself, 'Wonder if this could be James' nephew, his brothers' son? No way; that's impossible.'
I just sat there in a stupor, all sorts of thoughts running through my head ... Josh, Justin, could that be his name? Could this be David's son?' I was just staring at him, looking for some indication. I spoke to Greg, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Greg replied, "Yes, but the odds of that are one in a million."
About that time, the young man approached, and my heart burst with emotion, and tears welled up in my eyes. Greg grabbed my hand and said, "Easy, Charles, easy."
The Flight Attendant, saw what was going on, and sat in an empty seat next to Charles and asked, "Sir, is there something wrong?" He looked a little uneasy when he got a good look at me.
Greg spoke saying, "He'll be ok. You just remind him of someone from his past," and then he thought to himself, 'I still can't believe what I'm seeing.' "Your name is JC Andersen ... we can see that from your name tag, but may we ask where you're from?"
JC replied, "Tempe, Arizona; is there something I can do for him?" nodding at me, looking helpless.
I pulled myself together and asked him, "What's the JC stand for?" I just knew he wasn't; it couldn't be.
JC said, "I just prefer to be called JC," looking happy and confused. He just looked at me for a few minutes too long, and then he spoke, saying "Sir's, I have to take care of the other passengers; can we talk later?"
I put my hand on his bare arm, and felt something familiar; I just pushed it aside in my mind, and said, "One second, please?" I took out a business card and handed it to him, saying, "Please call me at the toll-free number when you have time."
JC simply replied, "Ok, Sir; will do," then left.
JC, thought to himself as he walked away, 'That man -- I know him from somewhere; but where?' Then he was interrupted by another passenger asking a question.
I turned and looked at Greg and asked, "You think he'll call me? Oh, God, I hope he calls; there's so much I want to know. I know there's a connection to Jim; I just know it!"
Greg replied, "Charles, I think so; but if he doesn't, I'll find him for you -- I promise!" He was again thinking to himself, 'I have this strange feeling that something wonderful's about to happen, call it intuition, call it whatever you want, but I can feel it in my bones.'
There was an announcement over the public address system. "Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention, please? This is your captain speaking. We're on final approach to Paris, the temperature is a mild 75 degrees Fahrenheit, or 23 Celsius, and we should arrive at the gate in about thirty minutes, so please return to your seats, put your seat backs in an upright position, and fasten your seatbelts securely. Thank you."
I told Greg, "I certainly hope so. I feel strange, like something is about to happen, and I don't know what it is." And then I thought, 'Could it be something rekindling? Oh, no, he could be my son.' "For God's sake, don't go there, Charlie," a little voice told me.
'There's something ... something about the way he looked at me; I just have to wait,' I thought to myself, and then I had a strange feeling of guilt. 'Where did that come from?'
Greg and I deplaned at the terminal, heading for customs; after clearing customs we headed to baggage claims. Carl, my chauffeur/bodyguard, met us. Oh yes, when you're worth the kind of money I am, you need a bodyguard. There's always some nut out there looking to make a quick buck.
We arrived at Le Meurice, a magnificent 5-Star Parisian hotel, and Greg checked us in. We had two adjoining suites and four or five extra rooms for the others. Greg and Carl each had their own rooms, and I was always in a private suite. It was getting late. I told Greg, "Get a good night's sleep; if I need you, I'll call." He knew that to be true, 'cause I'd done that occasionally in the past. We had arranged a meeting the following morning with the contractors.
It wasn't more than five minutes and Greg called, telling me, "Charles, JC called. He wanted to know if you can go see him at the airport; he only has about an hour-and-a-half before the return leg of his flight leaves. I have his location and phone number." He paused.
Thinking for a second, I replied, "Yes, YES! Tell him I'm on my way, and I'll be there as soon as I can! Have Carl meet me in the lobby."
Greg said, "Ok, well, I'll get Carl on his way, and Charles, good luck," thinking, 'I hope this works out for Charlie.' Carl was standing there in the room with Greg, and hearing half of the conversation, was on his way before Greg could tell him anything. Greg just chuckled, knowing Carl as well as he did.
I told Greg, "Thanks, but I'm not sure where this is going; I kind of feel guilty about something,"
Things were still floating around in my head; JC could be the son I've always wanted, the one we couldn't have.
I hurried and changed, from pajamas to something casual, then down to the lobby.
I met Carl in the lobby and we drove to the airport, and to the Delta Airlines terminal building. I said, "Please wait for me, Carl; I'll call you when I'm ready to leave ... at the most, about an hour. JC's flight will depart by then."
I was getting nervous, and I could feel butterflies gathering in my stomach. I just kept telling myself to be calm and all will be OK.
I was in suspense, you'd think I was a little kid getting ready to go to the dentist; my stomach tied up in knots; I was sweating, but it wasn't warm; the Parisian night air had a chill to it. I entered the terminal building an asked a skycap where the employee's lounge was; he pointed me in the right direction and I was off, down a long hall way. I saw the door and paused for a moment trying to gather my thoughts.
Then I opened the door ... and I saw him. He truly was gorgeous, the mirror image of James. Then I had a strange feeling of guilt again, still not knowing why. The room was empty except for the two of us. He spotted me and stood. As we approached each other, I put out my hand and, rather uncomfortably, asked, "Hello, JC, how are you this evening?"
JC replied, "Just fine, thank you; are you Mr. Lambert?"
I thought, 'I wonder where this is going? He's an attractive looking gentleman and he might be someone I know, but I still can't put my finger on it.'
At that moment, a thought must have hit JC like a thunder-bolt, for he said, "Oh my! Are you Charles Lambert, James Andersen's partner?" He looked shocked beyond belief, thinking, 'This could not be the same man my dad told me about.' His face flushed, and he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.
I was startled, JC knew something, and I was about to find out what it was. Then I replied, "Oh, my God, yes! Yes, I am," the tears just started to flow, as my thoughts went back to James and how much I really loved him, and missed him. "And I loved him so, there's not a day goes by I don't think of him!" I said, sniffling, trying to hold back the tears.
JC just watched me for a few minutes then said, "Oh, Mr. Lambert, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to open old wounds!" He was thinking, 'He must've really loved him, this man has to be someone very special, not the wicked man my father told me about; I want to know him better.'
Then I asked JC, "What does the JC stand for, is it Joshua or Justin? I'm thinking you're David Andersen's son; am I correct?" I just knew I was, but there was still a question in my mind, and I needed to know.
JC replied, "Well, you're close, the J. stands for Justyn, and the C. for Case, but I prefer to be called JC. Yes, I WAS David's son!" He had the look of evil in his eyes. Then thinking to himself, 'Good guess; I wonder how much more he knows about me?'
Shocked, I asked, "WAS ... David's son? Has David passed away?" I wondered, 'What's going on here? There's something more to this.'
JC responded in a cool, matter of fact tone, "No, not that I know of." He didn't seem to want to talk about it with me, a stranger, and he was thinking, 'He's a stranger, but is he?'
Still questioning, I said, "You speak of him in the past tense; I don't want to pry, if you're not comfortable with it, son?" 'Oh, why did I just call him, son? That's not right.' Then I apologized, blushing, "Sorry for being presumptuous; you're not my son."
JC was fidgeting with his hands, and looking at his watch when he said. "Mr. Lambert, I don't mind, but don't really have a lot more time; I must be leaving in a few minutes" thinking to himself, 'I wish I had more time to talk to him; I really do want to get to know him better.'
I glanced at my watch and spoke, "JC, I'd really like to get to know you. I have a beautiful Ranch in Casper, Wyoming, and I also have a couple 737s at my disposal. I'd really like to continue this discussion with you." I was beginning to like this young man, and maybe he could be the son I never had.
JC looked at me with an understanding smile, and said, "Mr. Lambert, may I call you Charles? You're my uncle by marriage." Then he thought, 'Gees, I shouldn't have said that.' "Forgive me; that came out wrong," And again he thought to himself, 'I'm embarrassing him and myself; Charles doesn't even know me; at least I don't think so, but I sure hope so.'
In total amazement I replied, "Of course you can call me Charlie; I would be honored that you consider me your uncle." I thought, 'I've always wished I had a son, and now I have a nephew, well, sort of; all this because of a chance flight to Paris. What a lucky man I am.'
JC again looked at his watch, with a smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes, said, "Thank you, Uncle Charlie. I would like many things explained to me about my Uncle James, which my father would never discuss with me." Then he thought, 'I really want to get together with him again.'
Not wanting to see him go, I told him, "Look, JC, I meant what I just said. Call me. You have my number, and I don't care where in the world you are, someone will come and get you and bring you to me; please believe me. You'll always have a place at the ranch if you need it."
It was time for JC to leave, as much as I didn't want him to. We reached out to shake hands, and when we did, both of our left arms pulled us together in a friendly sort of hug, not passionately, but just a friendly good-bye hug. I just stood there and watched as he swiped his ID card in the employees' security door. He pushed it open, then he looked back at me, saying, "I'll be taking you up on your offer, Uncle Charlie." I was so full of emotions when he said that, I just sat there, tears flowing, my heart pounding rapidly, and I was thinking that I now had a family again.
Coming back to reality, I noticed that I'd been sitting there for about twenty minutes; opening my cell phone, I called Carl telling him I would soon be ready to be picked up in front of the terminal. Then, a few minutes later, I just got into the car, and we were off.
Carl asked, "Everything ok, Charles? You look upset." He looked worried when he saw me. I could almost imagine him thinking to himself, 'I wonder if the boss is ok?'
"Just the contrary, Carl; just the contrary. Right now, I'm the happiest man in the world. I found a Nephew." I guess it was the tears in my eyes that made him think I was upset.
When we got back to the hotel I told Carl, "Don't forget to pick up Carrie at the airport in the morning."
"Ok, boss," Carl said, as he went to park the car.
I went to my room and changed into my pajamas, hashing through my mind, trying to make some sense of what David did to his son, to make him not care if he were alive or dead. I could only imagine what might have happened. 'One day, I'll find out when I see JC again. I WILL see him again.'
I thought of calling Greg and letting him know we were back, but I pushed that out of my mind thinking that he was asleep, so I went to bed hoping for a good night's sleep. Nevertheless, dreams of James came back with fury, but they were pleasant dreams, thinking back on them.
I was rushed getting ready for my return flight from Paris. Nevertheless, it was worth every moment of it; I had found Charlie, the person my father seemed to hate, or at least would never talk about. But then, neither would my Uncle James. In some respects, I knew why -- 'My father was homophobic; he didn't just hate gays, he went out of his way to make their lives miserable. I think that's what he tried to do with Uncle Jim and Charlie. That's what he did with...' he suddenly interrupted his train of thought, but after a moment, he continued, 'I don't even wanna think about it; it's too painful.'
What little I knew of James and Charlie, my Grandma and Grandpa Andersen had told me, although it wasn't much, 'cause Mom and Dad moved away when I was a baby, so I only got to see my grandparents a few times before they, too, were gone.
My return flight was okay, if you call dealing with a flock of geese okay, we call passengers 'geese,' I would prefer to call it 'taxing,' to say the least. Otherwise, the flight was uneventful.
I was nearing the end of my shift, for our shifts run for two weeks at a time, consisting of several different flights. I only had one round-trip flight to Hawaii, and then I would have a two-week break.
I thought, 'If Charlie's going to be available, I might try to take him up on his offer.' I had never been back to Casper since we moved away, so I really had no idea what the place was like. I could only imagine, and I do remember a photograph of James and Charlie I found in a drawer when I was younger. I remember Dad was really mad at me when he caught me with the photograph, but I could never understand why.
The phone was ringing, waking me up; I answered, saying, "Hello."
Greg spoke, "Good morning, Charles! May I ask how your meeting with JC went last night?" He was thinking, 'It's strange. I think I know the answer, but my own curiosity makes me ask.'
"Oh, Greg, it felt like the world lifted off my chest; it was as we suspected -- he's David's son!" I said with joy in my voice.
Greg said, "Great, sounds like you had a good visit then." He was happy for me, I could hear it in his voice when he continued, "but we have a meeting to get to."
It was going to be in one of the conference rooms there at the hotel. The construction company was from Paris, so we were holding the meeting there, not in Munich.
I answered, "Yes, we do; I'll tell you more about it later. Did Carrie get in ok?" I wanted to tell him, and the world, about JC ... but business was important, too. Therefore, my tale had to wait.
Greg answered, "Yes, they had a good flight, and they're servicing Cowboy right now. Richard will be ready to leave when we're ready; he already has his flight plan, and the departure has already been approved."
I told Greg, "Ok, have the others on board. I want to leave as soon as possible after the meeting. I'll be in the conference room in fifteen minutes; catch you there." I wanted to get this over with and get back home.
It's funny, we never used the name of the ranch; we always just called it 'the ranch.' Oh, yes, it had a name, my Dad named it 'The Lazy L' before I was born, but 'the ranch' was all we ever used. Why did I just think of that? Could it be, 'cause of JC, my new nephew?
The meeting went well, and the contractor guaranteed that all materials would be of good quality, and the job would be done on time; of course, we required a bond, with penalties for not completing on time. The hotel would be closed for almost a year -- ten months to be exact. This was going to be hard on Greg and Carrie, so I told them that I would have Mike and his wife take a vacation and rotate with them, switch places, relieve'em for a spell. However, Greg and Carrie both refused to allow that. They told me that it was their job, and that they would manage.
Greg checked us out of the hotel, and Carl drove us to the private aircraft terminal where Richard was waiting; the others boarded Cowboy while Richard and I spoke.
I asked, "All set for the trip home, Richard?" Knowing it would be, but I always ask 'cause he always enjoys telling me. And I like hearing it.
Richard replied, "Oh, yes Charles, all set; flight plans are all filed, and we should have wheels up in about fifteen minutes; ground clearance is all set. The weather is clear the entire trip. Of course, there might be some turbulence going into Casper, depending on how fast the storm moves." Then he smiled at me.
I asked, "Who's flying second seat tonight?" Then, I silently questioned my own self, 'Why do I ask? He's in charge of that, and he's damn good, too.'
"Alex Lother, good man, too," he answered, waving me aboard.
I walked up the stairs onto Cowboy. As you enter the door of the cabin, you find yourself looking at a wet bar, standing in the lounge. Two long leather western style couches, one on each side of the cabin, and four swivel recliners, two on each side of the cabin; and on the bulkhead just before you enter the main cabin area, there is a painting of James with an engraved plate that reads:
Boeing 737 - 700
Leaving the lounge, you go down a hall that has the galley or as I call it the kitchen. Then comes a large restroom. Then the conference room with a long table offset enough so there is a passage on the left side, with six overstuffed swivel chairs on both sides of the conference table. Then you would go into the forward bedroom, with a passage on the right side of the cabin, back to the rear master bedroom. With a Jacuzzi tub and shower. The entire interior has light oak paneling accented with real leather padding.
Buckaroo is a duplicate to Cowboy except the painting is of me, with an engraved plate that reads.
737 - 700
I was standing at the bar when Richard came aboard, and, smiling at him, I asked, "What's the flight time tonight?"
Richard just said with firmness, "Eight hours, give or take about thirty minutes, depending on the weather, Charlie." Looking at me with his steel gray eyes, with an ever present looked of confidence, he was truly a professional at what he did.
I looked around the lounge, seeing Carl, Greg, Carrie, and Clyde, the most important one there at the moment, my cook. "Clyde," I asked, "what's on the menu for dinner?"
Clyde just said with a cute grin, "Oh, I threw a little something together; it's a surprise. Dinner will be served in about an hour after we lift off." He stared straight at me, looking like Cheshire Cat, and then broke out in a huge chuckle.
The cabin speakers came on and Richard said, "Okay, everybody, time to get in your saddles and buckle up. We're a-headin' for the North Forty."
I enjoyed his humor, and I think most everyone else did as well, he was an old cowboy at heart. Cowboy started to roll, picking up speed and as we approached the end of the runway, you could feel it turn, and then the thrust the powerful engines pushed us into the wild blue yonder; we were a-headin' back home.
To be continued . . .
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