I'm quite sure the flight attendant thought I was a total basket case. I barely ate the rubbery chicken they put in front of me, and, though I ordered a couple of drinks from the passing trolley, I did little more than sip desultorily at them, letting the ice melt and dilute the fine single malt I had asked for.
I tried to sleep and maybe dozed off for thirty-forty minutes at a time. I stuck a pair of uncomfortable earphones on my head and attempted to get into the alleged comedy that was playing.
I even made an effort to start up a conversation with my seat mate, a three-piece suited drone who turned out to be an investment banker from Norfolk, Virginia. His trip to Ireland had been a total failure and apparently the rest of Mr. Three-piece's life was falling into the toilet too, so I got to listen to ninety minutes of misery masquerading as a plea for help. This time when I ordered the single malt I finished it before the ice had time to think about melting.
I made all the proper noises and I actually think his funk had lifted a little by the time he finished his fifth drink and lay his head back against his seat and passed out. This time when the flight attendant walked by I got a sympathetic look. Apparently she'd been listening in on the conversation.
"Another drink, sir?"
"No, thanks. How about a coffee instead? Strong and black."
"You're in luck, sir." She smiled. "What we've got in the galley is both."
She was right. It was strong. And it had the desired affect of perking me up. This time when the trolley made its way by I got a few bags of peanuts from it and a second coffee.
My next attempt at sleep met with more success. I woke up on the approach to Kennedy where I would switch planes to Gatlinburg.
My seat mate looked decidedly worse for wear when he got up and stumbled towards the toilets. When he came back it was obvious he had tried to splash water on his face and only succeeded in getting it all over his now rumpled suit. He sat and nursed a black coffee and didn't even look at me.
Customs took forever. I finally got to my terminal and began another round of hurry up and wait. It was nearly ten o'clock before I got aboard and another twenty minutes before we took off.
Another terminal, another counter. This one for a rental car. They had nothing but an older Honda Civic available. I tossed the woman my Master Card and asked her to make sure it was gassed up.
I crammed all my luggage into the hatchback, except for the painting, which I tucked away in the front seat on the floor, where it couldn't accidentally fall anywhere. Then I drove south.
I itched to ram my foot down on the gas pedal but knowing that southern cops loved giving tourists speeding tickets I forced myself to keep the needle on sixty. The fifteen mile trip seemed interminable.
There were no lights on in or outside the house when I pulled into the driveway. Feeling a strong sense of déja vu I crunched to a stop behind Charlie's Harley and threw the car into park. The engine whined into silence and all I could hear through the closed window was the somnolent roar of hundreds of crickets.
I climbed out. Another car was parked on the grass. A Lexus. Charlie's winter vehicle? I don't imagine he drove the Harley once the snow started flying.
After a brief debate on whether to unload my luggage I compromised. I wasn't leaving the painting in the car, so I retrieved it, left the other stuff in the hatch and climbed the steps to the verandah.
I had barely reached the top when the door flew open and Charlie stepped out.
"I'm glad you came." His gaze darted over the wrapped painting in my hand then back to my face. "I'm glad you got my message."
Did he mean something deeper than that? I carefully propped the painting up against he wall of the house. When I straightened Charlie was staring at me avidly. I returned his look and wasn't happy with what I saw. He looked haggard, as though sleep and food had eluded him. Just what had he gone through before he had sent me that note?
"What meaning is that, Charlie?"
"You're pissed at me, aren't you?"
I shrugged. "You blame me? I've been getting the runaround from you for months now. Am I asking too much to finally know what's going on?"
"No, you deserve that much at least." Charlie held the door open for me. "Come in for a while?"
I grabbed the painting and followed him inside.
The house looked exactly as it had the last time I'd seen it. I glanced up the stairs toward his bedroom, but the door was closed. I couldn't tell whether I'd woken him up or not.
I set the painting down on top of the dining room table, beside a bowl of real apples. Their just-picked smell permeated the spacious room.
I picked one up and rubbed the shiny red and green surface against my sleeve before taking a bite.
Following him further into the old house I noticed lights burning in the rear. Charlie's studio. So I hadn't woken him. I nodded toward it.
"Working on something new?"
"Whitstone wants to do another show, so I'm doing an expanded series on the surrounding area." He fingered the torn fringe of his jean's pocket. "After the dedication I went up to the Bruce Peninsula for a few days. Ever been to Flowerpot Island?"
"It's quite the sight. I plan to go back in the spring. I understand it's especially nice that time of year."
"I imagine Lynx Woods is too. The trilliums will be out then."
"I'll have to make sure I do both. What about you, do you have any plans?"
"Nothing solid. Thurlow may have some contacts for me. With any luck another project will come of it."
"Well I hope so. You're too talented to be sitting around idle."
We stepped into his studio and I immediately gravitated to what he was currently working on. There were several on what I assumed was Flowerpot Island, a small island in Georgian Bay famous mostly for its seastacks, towering formations of stone topped by greenery, looking exactly like the items they were named after.
One painting in particular drew my eye. A close up view of the largest flowerpot, back dropped by the normally crystal clear waters of the Georgian Bay. But in this one a storm was brewing out over the lake. Ponderous black thunder heads reared over the horizon and a line of common terns winged their way inland, seeking shelter. I expected to hear the growl of thunder at any moment and I swore I heard the hiss of surf on the stony beach below the seastack.
"Beautiful," I murmured.
We were standing shoulder to shoulder now, nearly touching. The heat from his body caressed mine. It was all I could do not to reach over and touch him. I refused to succumb to my body's base desires. I wanted to know where I stood with Charlie Reid this time.
But I was terrified to ask.
"How have you been, Ty? For real?"
"Hurt," I said softly. "What do you expect? I thought we had something, then I find you don't want to have anything to do with me. How am I supposed to feel?"
"That's not true," Charlie protested, but then he fell silent.
"Come on, Charlie. Talk to me."
"He can't. He's still too damned afraid you're going to reject him."
I spun around at the strange voice and watched a petite blond woman walk over from the far side of the studio. Had she been there the whole time? Heard it all?
"Trish," Charlie sounded less than happy.
She stuck out her hand. I took it gingerly. "Trish Reid- Phillips. Maybe this lunk told you about me? It sure took him long enough to tell me about you."
"Does that mean he finally did tell you?"
"About being gay -- two weeks ago." Her pretty face lit up in a smile. "About you? Yesterday. What can I say, he's slow."
Charlie looked like he was chewing something bitter. His little sister ignored him.
I smiled. I was still holding her hand. "He's right, you two don't look alike at all."
"Charlie's from the deep end of the gene pool, I'm more the shallow, in your face type. I don't take shit from him and sure hope I don't have to take it from you, Tyler McKay."
"Oh, call me Ty." I grinned. "I make it a point not to give anyone shit. Did he surprise you?"
"Being gay? A little. But not really. It ended up explaining so much that it's almost like I knew, but didn't know. Does that make sense?"
"More than you know." I finally dropped her hand and turned to face Charlie. "What's this about my rejecting you? I'm here, aren't I? I came running the minute you gave me a sign -- what more do you want? Blood? My heart on a platter?"
"I don't know what you think I'm asking for, but maybe I'll tell you, just so there are no misunderstandings." I stepped closer so I was right in Charlie's face. His eyes followed my every move. "I don't expect you or anyone to march down the middle of Main Street U.S.A wearing a little pink triangle. I don't expect you to kiss me in public or hold my hand in the middle of the grocery store. But I do want to live with you. I want us to be partners, sharing our lives. I don't want to have to run away from that partnership at the first sign someone suspects what's going on. More important, I don't want to have to pretend I don't know you, or don't love you just to cater to some phobics wet dream."
"Bravo!" Trish clapped and grinned at her brother. "Oh, very well put, Ty."
"Anything else?" Charlie asked in a tension filled voice. His eyes were dilated and his skin was flushed.
"Just this: I love you, Charlie Reid. I want to marry you and barring that, I want to spend the rest of my life being with you." When I reached out to take his hand he clutched at my fingers. "Why did you tell your sister about us, Charlie?"
"I wanted to come out. At least to the people I love. I figured I owed them that much. And I wanted them to know about you, so that they wouldn't be surprised when they found you living here. With me."
"My home is in Toronto."
Charlie's face fell. Even Trish looked disappointed. I brought Charlie's hand to my mouth, touching my bearded lips to his calloused skin. I couldn't torment him any more.
"Maybe we should split the living arrangements up. Couldn't you spend half a year in Toronto? My place is big enough."
The smile on his face was heartbreaking. I wanted to kiss him. But the kind of kiss I had in mind might be more than his little sister could handle, so I held back.
"At least let's try it for a while, okay?" I used my hold on his hand to draw him closer. "I'll warn you now, Charlie. I won't run away this time. Don't try to send me packing because of some redneck cracker."
"Crackers are Georgian," both Trish and Charlie said at the same time.
All three of us burst out laughing.
"Well, if you guys don't mind, I'm going to run home." Trish took my hand again. "Thank you, Ty. I know you're going to be good for him. Hell, if you can put up with him as long as you have, I already know you have something special going. Don't let him screw it up."
"I'll do my best."
When she left the room I turned to face Charlie. I reached up to touch his face, tracing the outline of his mouth with my fingertip.
His response was to fold me into his embrace and ram his mouth down on mine.
Kissing Charlie was better than sex with anybody else had ever been. He held my head between his hands and tackled my mouth with the same dedication that he gave to his paintings. Even before he broke from the first round I was raging hard and threatening to come in my boxers.
When he did break I groaned and reached for him. He responded by crying out my name and attacking my lips again. Our tongues met and caressed, tangling together then exploring teeth, gums and lips. I ate his wild cries, reducing them to moans that vibrated through me.
His fingers tangled in my hair, then moved down my back, pressing against my ass, pushing the throbbing bulge between his legs into my stomach. His agile hands moved back up, then slid under my T-shirt, skating over bare skin. He wedged the shirt up and I broke away from him long enough to discard it on the floor between us. While I did that he dragged his own shirt off. Hot bare skin met hot bare skin. I groaned deep in my throat. I could feel the driving force of Charlie's heart thundering in his chest. Sweat slicked his bronze skin and he slid over me like satin coated steel; his nipples were bullet hard knobs of brown flesh that drilled into my own damp skin.
His mouth left mine and traveled up and down my throat. Teeth nibbled on the skin above my carotid, whispered words of lust and love into my ear while softly biting the skin around my lobe. I wrapped one leg around his hip, trying desperately to push my pulsing, stone-hard cock into him. He grabbed my ass in both hands and lifted me off the floor. Both legs went around his hips and I rocked against him, grunting at the rising pressure in my cock and balls.
Charlie started walking with me wrapped around him like that. He made it into he dining room where he set me down on the edge of the dining room table. Feverishly his hands attached the button and fly on my jeans. He wrenched the tight material down around my hips and tossed it aside. Then he stripped off my wet boxers. I cried out as cool air hit my damp skin but he was there, burrowing between my legs, rubbing his massive basket into my sweat stippled stomach.
"Charlie," I groaned and tugged at his jeans, but with only one good hand I couldn't get them undone. "Please..."
He obliged and I stared avidly as he slid jockeys and jeans off in one motion. In another he was back between my legs but now his swollen cock was free to rub against my rigid stomach muscles.
I cupped his ass in my good hand, sliding my fingers between his cheeks and playing with the puckered flesh guarding his back door. I inserted one finger and his hips jerked. He slammed his mouth back down on mine and kissed me so hard I was leaking pre-cum in a running stream.
As soon as he saw that he pulled me forward on the table and slid to his knees on the hardwood floor. His tongue stole out and circled my swollen cock head, lapping up a stream of nacreous fluid. Then he wrapped his lips around my helmet and dove down until his nose was in my pubes. I curved forward, rocketing my hips so that my cock went down his throat. At the same time I screamed his name.
He fucked me with his mouth, his hot, wet lips sliding up and down on my pole. My balls tightened and I could feel the cum boiling up in them, ready to explode out of me. I tried to warn Charlie but words wouldn't come. I was beyond speech, beyond coherent thought. Eyes closed, I leaned back on the table and surrendered to pure sensation. I felt the slide of his mouth on my rock hard cock, the teasing glide of his waist length hair over my cock and balls, the brush of his tongue on my piss slit and twirling around my shaft, milking me.
I exploded. My balls blasted their hot load into my hard tube and I shot my load into Charlie's greedy mouth. My consciousness blurred and faded as he drained me beyond dry. Again and again I thrashed and pulsed, load after load of white hot jism poured down Charlie's throat and he took it all and came back demanding more.
Finally there was no more. I leaned back in Charlie's embrace only dimly aware of the table under me, my only awareness that of Charlie. His arms around me, his hard body rocking against mine. His mouth traveled back up to my face where he covered me with kisses and let me taste myself in him. I became acutely aware of the steel pole of his cock nudging between my thighs, poking against the puckered skin behind my balls.
"Oh baby," he said hoarsely. He nuzzled my ear and nipped my earlobe. "I've missed you so. Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to fuck you."
I did. More than anything. I captured his mouth with mine, using my tongue as a battering ram down his throat. He growled and the pre-cum soaked head of his cock rubbed against my hole. I humped my hips up to give him better access.
"I'm clean, Charlie," I whispered, wrapping my hand around his cock and smearing him with pre-cum. "I've been tested and I'm clean. What about you?"
"Oh Jesus, Ty. I got tested the day after I begged you to give me a blow job. I don't know if I was just scared or if I was hoping... I'm clean too. What does that mean?"
"Fuck me, Charlie. No rubber, just bare skin. I want to feel you against the walls of my fuck hole. Bare skin. Only you."
He groaned and his cock jerked in my hand. I guided his self-lubricated pole into me. He eased the fat head through the tight ring of muscle and paused while my body adjusted to the invasion. But not for long. He rocked gently, pushing more of himself into my tight channel. He muttered against my damp throat, "Baby, oh baby, you are always so tight. You are so fucking hot."
The first time he brushed up against my prostate I twitched. My cock stirred and started getting hard again, though I would have sworn there was nothing left in me.
When his balls came up against the crack of my ass he stopped. He rested his forehead against mine. Eyes screwed shut his breathing was labored. Hot air swept over my face and cooled the sheen of sweat on my chest.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first, his rhythm easy, almost gentle. He slid out until his head nearly popped out and I grabbed his hips to keep him in me, then back in until his balls slapped against my ass. Repeat again and again. Sliding his pole over my prostate, pushing my buttons so that I began thrusting back, breathing in ragged gasps as my cock rose between us. It bobbed there, slapping against his stomach and mine. When Charlie reached down and wrapped his hand around my dick I cried out at the dual sensation.
Pressure rose. I tightened my ass muscles, squeezing his fat cock and rousing a guttural groan from deep inside him. He pumped harder, driving deeper into me, riding me unmercifully now. I bucked against him, my hips undulating beneath him. Tighter. Harder. Faster.
Charlie was slamming into me now, losing all semblance of control. I held his hips and urged him on, bucking into him, pinioned on his hard flesh. Wanting him even deeper. He rammed me again and again, his lips on mine, his breath a blast furnace on my face, his tongue hammering into my mouth. The heavy oak table under us began to rock across the floor. Each lunge jack hammered into me. He was grunting with each thrust, his chest hitching and his heart pounding so hard I could feel it through the table. His cock swelled even bigger and his balls grew tight and hard. His grunts became low guttural groans that wracked his body and sent my own cock throbbing toward release.
He lost control completely. He grabbed my hips and started slamming into me, his mouth buried against my throat. Then he froze, buried so far inside me I could feel his cock nudge my stomach. I felt his orgasm. The walls of my fuck hole tightened around his cock and his cum blew out of him and hit my prostate, flooding my channel with white hot jism. Again and again he exploded and I squeezed him until there was nothing more.
I came then, shooting my load across my stomach and his, drenching us both in my sticky effluence.
He sagged, his head resting on my shoulder. His breath was shallow and panting and his skin felt hot. He was shaking.
So was I.
He raised his head to meet my eyes. His were wet with unshed tears. I reached up to brush one away.
"Please don't, Charlie," I whispered. "Don't cry. I can take anything from you but that."
He swallowed and brushed my face with his lips. "Can you, Ty? Can you take the fact that I love you yet I almost let you go rather than face that it meant being gay? That I tried so hard to deny that this meant anything." He kissed my mouth and lifted me off the table, holding me tight against him. "That I couldn't admit to myself let alone anyone else that the thing I wanted most in the world was to fuck another man and be fucked by him?"
"Yes," I murmured against his mouth. "I can, because you're here and you made your choice. And I'm going to love you enough that you'll never doubt it for a minute, or wonder if you made the right choice."
"I love you, Ty."
The only words I wanted to hear. I held him close then gently pushed him away.
"Let's go to bed, Charlie. I can barely stand here."
So he scooped me up in his arms and carried me upstairs to his bedroom. Our bedroom now. Where he tucked me into bed and crawled in beside me.
And held me all night long.
[More to come]
If you like this story so far, let me know at Patrick I'm always happy to hear comments, suggestions, anything. You can also read all my stories at Archerland