Date: Tue, 27 Dec 2005 22:17:28 -0800 (PST) From: kevin Donovan Subject: Closets The following is a work of gay erotic fiction. It does contain descriptions of sexual acts between males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if possessing it is illegal where you are, then stop reading now! On the other hand, if you are just looking to get off quickly, beware-plot and character development lie ahead!. The Budweiser delivery truck ran over my grand-daddy in the vicinity of Fourth and Lafayette. It was Tuesday afternoon, around 4:30. Its driver had made his stock-up delivery at some little store-front near-by, and he was backing from the side street into the avenue. The back-up alarm was beeping, but Grand-daddy had not put in his hearing aid that day. Apparently, he was heading towards his DeVille on the opposite curb, looking toward any oncoming traffic with cane in the air as a warning and guard against all dangers, as was the habit that had worked for him perfectly for at least 25 years in the little two-horse burg where everyone knew him, when he got creamed from his blind side. It made quite a mess, they said. Grand-daddy would not have liked that. He was an impeccable dresser of the old school, a lawyer, local real estate tycoon, and all-around entrepreneur of some prominence in the region. Every item of his clothing came from New York or London, and he was the only man in town who continued to wear a hat (a Panama, on the occasion of his death, this being June)-but never, never the barbarous base-ball cap! Now, Wednesday morning, I was a family entourage of one, my mother having opted for the safety of her home in West Chester over participating in her ex-father-in- law's burial, landing at the little local airstrip in a wavering crop-duster of a prop plane with half a dozen other grim-looking passengers and a gum-popping, blase flight attendant. If my Yankees cap did not announce the distance in relationship with Grand- daddy, the cargo-shorts, black tee shirt, and battered Birkenstocks would do it. I'm twenty-four, just received my law degree from Columbia, and I'm gay. Still in the closet south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but with Grand-daddy gone now, I've no family left down here to come out to. We deplaned outside of Gate 1. There was no Gate 2. But there would have been no gate confusion for my welcome party, anyway. I had no one in town to meet me. I snagged my carry-on bag at the foot of the steps, and strode all the way through the tiny terminal, by-passing the luggage carousel for the moment in my quest for "the" taxi-I knew there would not be more than one, if that. Bingo. A faded blue Impala rested at the curb, with a formerly impressive- looking gold medallion on the door, surrounded by the legend "Cranshaw Livery Service-Taxi, Limo, Speedy Delivery." This was obviously not the limo, but if it would deliver me to Grand-daddy's house, speedy or not, it would do. The driver's door stood open, and a slender young man, maybe a year or two younger than I, dressed incongruously in denim shorts, flip-flops, NYPD cap, and tee- shirt emblazoned "COCKS," stood beside the vehicle. (Only in the University of South Carolina colors could one possibly get away with such a shirt in this part of the country!) He was in the midst of a debate with one of my fellow passengers, who had rushed ahead of me with the same intention as I had. But the driver was telling him that he was already taken, that the fellow would have to call Ed Hackett, the other cabbie, for a ride into town. "You're booked already, then?" I repeated stupidly, as my competitor stalked off sullenly, flipping open his cell-phone. "By whom?" "If you're Jamie Carter, by 'youm'," he smirked. And oh, god, what a smirk. This guy was hands down the handsomest taxi driver I ever encountered in any city. Probably six feet tall, long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, greenish eyes, swimmer's build, great legs and feet. I began to look forward to this twenty-minute ride into town. "But who sent you?" "Well...Undertaker told the Reverend you'd be here. Reverend told Ruth Ann, the housekeeper-you remember Ruth Ann? She told Calvin, the yard man, he's her son. He told me. I knew you wouldn't rent a car with Mr. Carter's Caddy sitting in the garage. So here I am. You got more luggage?" In five minutes, as Lonnie chatted away in the local manner about people in town that I never heard of, we fetched the other two suitcases, which the airline agent had scowled over, but which I knew I would need for a stay of several weeks, and stowed them in the Impala. I wanted to see more of Lonnie's legs and feet as we drove, and maybe check out his basket, so I hopped in the front ("Hope you don't mind?") and we were off. Lonnie kicked the flops onto the floorboard and drove barefoot (about size 11, I would say). He talked to me the whole trip, and he's the type who likes to look at whoever he's talking to, meaning that he rarely glanced at the road. But soon enough, we pulled into the driveway at 515 Willow Glen Drive, and the enormity of my mission swept over me. I'm the only living descendant of James Pendleton Carter III (I'm number V, by the way), a stuffy old codger I hardly knew, life-long resident of a town where I am a virtual stranger, particularly in recent years. It is my duty to bury him, handle probate, execute his estate, dispose of all his effects-and inherit his considerable, but unknown assets. It was a good thing I'd decided to take it slow on the job front, since I now knew I'd be buried here for the summer, at least. I wouldn't be slumming, though. Grand-daddy was a rich old coot. I gazed up at the Colonial manor house before me-no tacky ante-bellum columns for dear old J. P. III, no sir. This was right out of Williamsburg, complete with boxwoods and ivy. The grounds inside the iron fence were immaculate, and inside, I knew the carpets were all hand-knotted and Persian. Lonnie was unloading suitcases. When I reached for my wallet, he shook his head. "I'll put it on Mr. Carter's bill." Grand-daddy has an account with the local cabbie? "I always take-took--Mr. C. to and from the airport. Other places, too, when he doesn't want to drive. Of course, we usually use the Caddy. Used." He shooed me away when I reached for a suitcase, so I sauntered on up to the front steps and gave the door a push. It opened, and I entered my house. The king is dead. Long live the king. * * * * * * * * * * * Ruth Ann came scurrying when she heard the door open. A tall, imposing black woman in her early sixties, she wore a black dress with gauzy white apron, just like in the old movies. Thank God, no lace cap-I wouldn't have put that past Grand-daddy. With a multitude of "Law's" and "My, my how handsome you've grown up to be!" and "Oh, if your Grand-daddy could have seen you now!" she just about crushed my ribs with her welcoming embrace. Of course, I remembered Ruth Ann well, as she had been in J. P. III's employ all of my life, and I had spent several months cumulatively, summers and holidays, visiting this house under her supervision. Visits had been less frequent since my grandmother's death when I was fourteen. "And you do look so much like Jimmy." She just couldn't help it, I guess. "Yeah, everyone says so." My parents divorced when I was ten. It was my dad, Jim, himself who told me why, so I wouldn't think I had caused it, or blame my mom. He had a boyfriend on the side, and Mother had found out about it. Apparently, it was not the first time. He moved out of our house, and in with Andre. But within three years, there was some kind of blow-up with Andre, this episode never explained, and Dad put a bullet in his head. Age forty-four. We all thought the tragic loss of her only child was what brought about Grandmother's stroke just ten months later. Yes, we'd known tragedy on this side of my family. Now I was the only one left to change that pattern, and it looked like I might be even less inclined to reproduce than my fore-bearers. Behind my back, I heard Lonnie's bare feet padding up the stairs with a couple of suitcases. In a couple of minutes, as Ruth Ann was forcing a cup of coffee and a buttered biscuit with home-made peach preserves on me in the dining room, I heard the front door close as he returned to the taxi, then open again as he made a second trip upstairs. With a thirty-three inch waist to maintain, I drew the line at a bite-no, two-- of the biscuit, but drank down most of Ruth Ann's excellent coffee. Meanwhile, Ruth Ann recited the list of food items that had been delivered so far this morning. The refrigerator would be popping and the dining table groaning by the end of the day, as the people of the town sought to kill the last remaining Carter with foods their doctors had forbidden them ever to consume themselves. It dawned on me that Ruth Ann would have her own business to attend to in preparation for Grand-daddy's funeral, and I asked her about that. It took some doing, but I gradually finagled the admission that she did indeed have a few personal needs, like getting her hair done and purchasing a dress or two for the coming funereal events. Faced with the fact that the house was immaculate and filling up with prepared food, she finally consented to take the rest of the day off. That was a relief since, much as I liked and respected Ruth Ann, I was eager to be alone and naked to enjoy the house, enclosed garden, and pool this afternoon and evening-with Lonnie if possible! Several minutes had passed, and Lonnie had not reappeared. I wondered absently what he might be doing-surely, he was not unpacking my bags for me! But mostly, by now, I needed the john, the coffee having tipped the balance in my bladder. Ruth Ann having headed for the kitchen, from which she would shortly depart the premises, I headed up to the bedroom I had used on my childhood visits, at the far right front corner of the upstairs corridor. The room was dark and empty. I turned and retraced my steps, but glanced into the much larger guest suite on the back of the house. My belongings were there. Of course-I had received a promotion due to my new status as adult and heir. I stepped inside and surveyed this unfamiliar and formerly forbidden space. The decor was twenty years old, but luxurious and little used. Lonnie must have opened the silk drapes, as sunlight streamed in from long side windows. The bed was queen-size (nice of them not to call it "queer-size," I thought), and beyond was a large, marble bathroom, which I entered, urinating forcefully into the pristine toilet. There was a whirl- pool tub the size of a swimming pool, AND a large shower stall as well. This would make a very welcome refuge during my stay, I reflected. Still no sign of Lonnie. Leaving behind my own sandals, I wandered down the hallway, ending at the master suite in the ell balancing the guest quarters. There stood Lonnie, barefoot, at the foot of Grand-daddy's big four-poster bed, head down and shoulders hunched over. He heard me behind him and turned, almost guiltily. His face was red and tears were rolling down his handsome cheeks. "I'm sorry. It was the smell. I shouldn't have come in here." Now that he mentioned it, the scent hit me, too, of lavender and something else, some spice or flower fragrance. It smelled like Grand-daddy. How odd that I felt nothing but nostalgia, while this stranger was overcome with emotion over the loss of my relative. I moved toward Lonnie and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He turned toward me and slowly laid his head on my shoulder. Somehow, his arms wrapped around me, and mine around him. I think I may have nuzzled his neck slightly. The next thing I knew, Lonnie was kissing me on the lips. My tongue found his, and both of us familiarized ourselves with one another's dental work. The faint stubble of his morning- shaved chin brushed mine. We somehow maneuvered to the side of the bed and more or less collapsed onto it. From that point, we rolled around like earthworms on the fluffy satin-covered duvet, until I came up for air. "Let's get out of these clothes." "Isn't Ruth Ann in the house" "Gone for the day," I grinned. He smiled alluringly, but then a hesitant frown swept his face. "I have to tell you a couple of things first." I nodded. "Where to begin. Well, I've wanted to be in a bed with you since I saw the graduation photo album your mother sent. Some of those pictures-do you have any idea how hot you look in a swim suit, or in that damn rowing outfit? J. P. made fun of me for staring at it so much, acted jealous and mad and all. But really, he was proud of you, not only how you look, but also your degree and all. Summa cum laude, whatever that is." "Jealous?" He didn't look at me now. "I've been in this bed before, Jamie. A lot. For about three years now." This thunderbolt was slow to sink in. It seemed unimaginable. This incredibly good-looking, erotic young man, my grand-daddy's lover? It could only be about... "Yes, it was for money, at first anyway." He sat up, defensive, almost angry. "Look, Ace, I didn't get the silver spoon up the ass background. My family is what's called poor white. I know your daddy is dead. But mine-he's in jail. See these teeth?" he bared perfect pearly whites at me. "It wasn't my grand-daddy who got braces for me, it was yours. And when he found out I was turning tricks on the side, sometimes in that very back seat you just rode in on-just like he found out about everything that happens in this town before long-and he also found out why I was doing it, to pay tuition at the community college over in Spartanburg-- he never once scolded me or put me down. What he did was, he transferred me over to the University, and he paid my tuition and books himself. But he never asked me to go to bed with him. It just happened. I was so damn grateful." The tears began to flow again. "And I'll tell you this, though you might not want to know it. J. P. was one hell of an accomplished lover. Even at his age, he was not bad looking, for an old guy. But turn the lights out, and what you've got is a damn good fuck. Although, so much of the time, all he wanted was someone to put his arms around. And something else-your grand-daddy had an eye for the male form, you know? He really liked to look. So what the hell, if anybody wants to get off on just looking at me nekkid, what the fuck is that to me? I'd stay nekkid all day and all night, to make someone like him happy so easy. And I often did." Lonnie scooted over to the far side of the bed and stood. He turned to look appraisingly at me, wondering, I suppose, if he had just sacrificed his next fuck as well as his next term's tuition. I was almost, but not quite, too shocked to be thinking that I, too, would like to look at Lonnie "nekkid." He wasn't quite finished, though. "And you might as well know this, too, Jamie-as long as I'm ratting on your grand-daddy. I wasn't the only one, OK?" "How many? Who?" "Look, I only confess my sins, not theirs. It's for them to say, if they want to, not for me. But between you and me, I don't want secrets that will come out later anyway. If I'm throwing too much at you all at once, I'm sorry. I just need to be honest with you." Luckily for both of us, I have a great appreciation for forthrightness, and maybe not all that much in the way of sexual scruples. I returned his gaze. "Sounds like we have a lot to talk about." I sat up and pulled my shirt over my head. Lonnie didn't even try not to look at my smooth chest and sculpted pecs. He nodded, that erotic smirk now partially returning to his lips. He began to pull his shirt off as well. "I have something to tell you, too. Though it will soon be apparent anyway." His head pulled out of the bottom hem of his shirt and he looked at me quizzically. "I'm a damn good fuck, too. With the lights on." Now we were both grinning. He flopped back down on the bed beside me. In unison, we rocked our legs up into the air and slid our shorts over our feet. I laughed. Neither of us was wearing any underwear. Our lips locked again. We were two well-matched kissers, Lonnie and me, and both obviously gourmands of labio-lingual stimulation. I pulled back after several minutes, though, to study Lonnie's naked body for the first time. It was worthy of extended perusal. Lonnie's face is handsome rather than beautiful, as I far prefer. Beauty is attractive, but its fragility and femininity have less appeal to me than the strong, lean jaw of masculinity. His features were proportional and balanced. His depth of forehead spoke to me of intelligence, his crinkling eyes of wit and humor, his bold nose and wide mouth of character, expressiveness, and good nature. There was just enough of the weathered look about his tanned complexion to indicate manliness. With the "Cocks" shirt gone, I could now see well-muscled, bronzed shoulders, rounded biceps, and a wide, powerful chest. He had brown hair lightly scattered just between the small, brown tits, then a gap as the chest narrowed dramatically to a slender, rippling waist, resuming from the delicate navel into a narrow trail swooping down to the darker brown pubic triangle. The pubes themselves looked like they had been trimmed to half-length and cut back from the sides into a narrower patch. At the base of his penis, there were definite signs of shaving back to expose the root to fullest advantage. And the penis itself-now there was a "cock" to crow about! At the moment, it was only partially inflated from our kisses and light caresses. Even so, it was showing great promise as a love tool, lying across his long, powerful thigh at about six meaty inches. He was cut, and showed a hefty, substantial head with a generous piss-slit. I'd be a leg man if I wasn't so turned on by chests, shoulders, butts, cocks, and abs, and Lonnie had terrific, long, shapely legs, and beautifully formed feet. In all, he made a sensational specimen of young manhood. I felt my dick start expanding as I realized suddenly that Lonnie was giving me the same admiring visual examination that I was giving him. His face was a mirror image of my expression of admiring lust. Simultaneously, we reached for one another's dicks, and both responded with instant full erection. "You're even more gorgeous in the flesh than you were in those pictures," Lonnie declared, drinking me in with his eyes as he manipulated my hard-on. "You'll be a sensation down at the club." "Club?" I pulled at his dick with one hand and looked up at him. "Yeah. Private place. For men. Gay men." "Here?" I was honestly surprised. "Fourth Street. It's members and guests only, extremely discreet." "Ah, so you're a member. But surely Grand-daddy wasn't....Was he?" "It's at Fourth and Lafayette." At my incredulous look, he nodded. "Yeah, he had just come out of there when he got hit. Don't worry, it won't be talked about in town. The members won't say a word, and anyone else who might know or guess-well, you know, certain things are just not talked about here." My hand still grasped his dick, but I stopped stroking while I digested this new tidbit. "Can you take me as a guest?" "No need. You're a member. For life." "Huh? How...?" "Actually, you're more than that. You own the place. Well, it supports itself. But you're the landlord." I finally let go of Lonnie's dick and lay back on the pillow, staring upward. "I just thought you'd want to know, that's all." "Yeah. I want to know, " I murmured. Suddenly, my dickhead was engulfed in warmth and moisture. I glanced down to see the shaft as well slowly disappearing into Lonnie's mouth. I'd had a series of surprises out of my cabbie this morning, but this one was a particularly enjoyable one, and I decided not to fret over the others just now. There would be time for that later, and besides, none of it was all that distressing to me. I pulled my hands up behind my head and just lay there, letting Lonnie blow me, his fingers caressing my scrotum. It's been awhile, I thought, eyes closed and the hint of a smile curling my mouth. Let's see-almost three days since I even had the time to jerk off, and that was only in the shower. Lonnie had the entire length of my penis in his gullet, and it was difficult to remember clearly. Well, anyway, I was definitely due for a spew. Should I let him have his reward quickly, or make him work for it? I glanced over at the bedside clock. Shit. 12:55. I was due at the undertakers in just over half an hour. I let my mind clear, and released myself completely to the sensual bliss of this handsome young man's lips, tongue, and throat massaging my rod. I focused my eyes on his shiny brown hair bobbing smoothly over my crotch. He bent upward to get a look at my face, and our eyes and smiles fused. "Pull my balls. Now." As soon as they felt themselves being grasped by Lonnie's firm, strong fingers, my full testicles let go of their load of nectar. He pulled authoritatively, and the orgasm rocked my entire pelvic region. My sphincter clenched, my thighs quivered, my lower abdomen tingled. The spurts of fertilizer fluid erupted into Lonnie's throat-one, two, three...pause...four...five...six, then a long dribble. Each spasm sent a new wave of ecstasy up the trunk of my body. Lonnie finally lay still with my cock resting quietly in his mouth, his tongue gently stroking out the final drops of my ejaculation. "Damn. That was good. Tastes like strawberries." I chuckled. Lots of people watch their diet, but not many choose their foods according to the effect they will have on the flavor of their ejaculate. I do! I do eat lots of fruit, especially strawberries, and I wouldn't touch garlic, asparagus, or fish if I were starving. "I'd love to linger here all day, but I have to go to the funeral home," I broke in. "So please excuse my haste, but would you roll over for me?" "I'll roll any way you want, stud!" Lonnie pushed up higher on the bed and flopped down face first on the pillow next to me, arms under his chin, a big grin on his face. A little glob of my cum moistened the corner of his mouth, and I couldn't resist it-I wiped if off with my little finger, and popped it into my mouth. Hmmm. Some of my better vintage, and it did have a hint of strawberry flavor. I ran my fingers down his long torso from shoulder to butt as I moved down to his lower body. Man, what a view. His may be the prettiest ass I had ever seen, exquisitely rounded and smooth, just a light strip of hair creeping from the ball-sack to the crack. "Hell, if I'd-a-known you was a top stud, I'd-a-shaved that. I'm so used to being on top myself-especially in this bed. But this is a refreshing change!" "Don't worry, you'll be on top soon enough. I'm just in the mood to fuck ass. I gotta be quick, though. I'll give you the full treatment later." "You just came a huge load. Can you go again so soon?" My oral response was to plant my lips squarely around Lonnie's puckered asshole and slide my slimy tongue across it. He was about to find out that I can, indeed, "go again." I'm bragging now a little, I guess, but I can back this up-I'm one of those rare men who, when horny, pack a six-shooter. If he had kept sucking me, I'd have given him another mouthful in just a few minutes without ever deflating. And even then, I could have fucked him and a few other guys within the hour. But I would let my new buddy find all this out for himself. At the moment, I was slurping away on the hottest ass of my career. I got my tongue in about half-way, though his ring was strong and tight. He was muttering some kind of incantation of a religious nature, that started out, "Oh, God in heaven..." and ended with "Jesus, Oh Lord." Suddenly, he came to himself enough to add, "'there's supplies in that night table drawer," I reached across and easily drew out a tube of lube and a rubber. Rolling him back over, I laid the condom on his abdomen while I flipped the top on the lube and reached under his low-hanging balls, and smeared some on his hole. He tore open the package with his teeth and expertly unrolled the sheath onto my cock. It fit sleekly, not too tight. I glanced at the package-Magnums. Either Grand-daddy was an optimist, or he knew what to expect from his partners! It occurred to me that my inheritance was ideally suited to me on just about all fronts. I pressed the head of my dick against Lonnie's anus and I slid it in, smiling as the long sigh emanating from Lonnie's throat almost seemed to be pushed out by my cock invading from the opposite end, like a plunger effect. When my pubes hit his ball-sack, he had nine inches of thick phallus inside him. I lay flat across his body, tits to tits and toes to toes, and tongue to tongue as I waited quietly for his muscles to relax around their invader. "Ummm. Any time, stud." I began to flex my hips slowly, like a steam engine building up a head of steam. First an inch in, an inch out, then two, then three. My tits still lay on his, my belly plastered to his. He gradually drew his feet upward to my hips, then planted his heels atop my buns. Finally, as I was long-dicking him rhythmically, pulling out all the way to the corona before plunging back inside the depths of his bowel, I raised my chest up and pulled his knees around my shoulders so that his feet flopped above my back at every thrust. I turned my head left and planted a big, wet kiss on his instep, then ran my tongue upward to his big toe. Without missing a beat, I let his toe slide into my mouth, and I sucked it like a cock while I fucked him. Lonnie didn't say much, but his expression was one of pure bliss. I gave him a pretty good ride, but then-OK, this is crass, but-I glanced over at the clock again, and saw it was now 12:15. Time to fill the skin! I doubled my speed and slammed hard against Lon's firm buttocks, slapping my balls wetly against his tailbone. In one minute, I was again ejaculating forcefully, this time into the reservoir end of the Magnum. After a few final, jism-stripping butt grinds, I pulled out and rolled over. "I'm sorry, I really hate to fuck and run, but I do need to be at the funeral home fast. Can we finish this later? You free?" "Oh, I need to work a little, too, I guess. Yeah, I'm free by 4:00, 4:30. Back here?" "Come to the pool. I'll be out there." Lonnie grinned. "Today is Calvin's pool maintenance day. He comes around 3:00. But don't worry, he's cool. By the way, did I tell you Calvin is Ruth Ann's son? A very late-in-life one, though, because he's only 20. And no, J. P. was not doing him, not 'far as I know. But Calvin does belong to the club." I looked at him quizzically. "Yep, most racially integrated institution in the state, and has been from the beginning. Hell, the straight men never had a problem fucking colored women! Why should the gay ones be any different?" My stay in South Carolina was nothing if not educational. "So how about you? And Calvin?" "We get along real well. The two of you will, too. See both of you later on." By now I was off the bed and slipping into my clothes. I came around and gave Lonnie a deep farewell kiss, then headed for the door, as he also sat up and reached for his shorts. "Oh, but tonight...Let's go to the club, OK? Things start up there around eight, this is a kind of early-night town. And tonight is "strip pool" night. Play Eight-ball?" "Where do you think I got my spending money at Columbia?" "From your grand-daddy." "Well, yes, mostly. But I picked up some extra playing Eight-ball." "You might get to see me nekkid, then. But there aren't many left in town who haven't." Lonnie laughed, sitting on Grand-daddy's bed, still naked. I laughed too, then turned and walked off quickly to see the undertaker and finish planning that same grand- daddy's final rites.