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The Lavender Line, Part 2
by Greg Scott


All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.

This is the twenty-sixth story in the series, The Lavender Line.


"We better get started on Thanksgiving Dinner," Keith said.

"Right," agreed his oldest brother, Kevin.  "I'll get my lists."

"I thought we would hold Thanksgiving for when your parents come back," I said.

"We can't wait," explained Karl.  "We have guests coming."

"While you're parents are away?" I was flabbergasted.

Karl explained that there was a Wilson family tradition associated with all major holidays.  A few strangers were always added to the guest list.  They had to be people who were away from their traditional homes, people who either had no real families of their own or those who were forced to be away from whatever family they had.

The group today was to be quite mixed.  Mr. Wilson had met a single father who had just moved to the city a week before at the super market and invited him and his little daughter.  

The boys' mother had run into a mother and five year old son in the children's wing of the hospital where she worked.  They lived several hours away and could not go home for the holiday, as they needed to be close to the hospital so the boy could receive daily dialysis treatments as he awaited a new kidney.

Karl had called a local senior center.  The director there had nominated an elderly married couple who had no family and almost no living friends.

This was definitely not going to be the kind of quiet, lazy Thanksgiving that I had always known.  I was already attracted to the fascinating tradition, and it contributed to my affection for this remarkable family.

Kevin returned with his list of jobs.  More precisely, he returned with multiple lists.  He had a master schedule and a separate list of duties for each of us.  He explained that we needed to be finished by 4:00 p.m. so that we could have time to rotate through the two showers and be ready to greet the guests by five o'clock.

We set to work.  I noticed that Kevin had arranged the tasks so that Karl and I were working in different parts of the house.  I had kitchen duties, while Karl cleaned the public areas, although they already looked clean to me.  Sometimes we would pass briefly and sneak a kiss, although Kevin would always notice and jovially tell us to get back to work.

When we sat down to dinner, I looked around the table in amazement.  Essentially we were five adolescents entertaining a very mixed concoction of strangers.  The two parents were not much older than we hosts.  The man, Jonathon, showed obvious pride with his arm around his new five year old daughter.  The woman, Debra, appeared more tired than the obviously weak little boy seated next to her.  

The couple from the senior center were the only two dressed up for the occasion.  The man wore a suit that was shiny from age, with a tie that may have been stylish thirty or forty years ago.  He also had a massive hearing aid stuffed into one hairy ear, although I would come to wonder if it was just for decoration.

His wife sported three strands of pearls around her neck with approximately matching pearl earrings.  Her dress was quite stylish and contemporary.  Sitting atop her nose, the only part of her face that wasn't wrinkled, sat a pair of glasses that were thicker than any I had seen before.

Had Mr. and Mrs. Wilson been home, I don't know where they would have been able to sit.  Around the table were the dining room chairs and three folding chairs, crammed together in such a way that if any of us had to stand it would mean that half the others would need to arise to make it possible.  Of course, as I was beginning to truly know this family, I suppose they would have found a way to make room for the two additional diners without any complaints from anyone.

Just as we had become settled from wedging ourselves into our assigned positions, Mr. Landis turned to his wife, looking a bit befuddled.

"Why's the girl so dark?" he practically shouted.

"She's from Africa, and you don't have to talk so loudly," she replied.

"She's from Akron?" asked Mr. Landis no less confused by the girl's complexion.

"Africa, dear; Kenya.  That's in Africa."

Kevin assumed his role as senior host, raised his hand and asked everyone to be quiet for a moment.

"We don't pray, but if anyone here would like to, we would be happy for you to do so," Kevin said in a voice I hadn't heard him use.

When no one offered to lead a prayer, Kevin continued.

"Our tradition before all meals and especially before our Thanksgiving dinner is for each of us to reflect in silence on good things that have come into our lives and to remember those who do not enjoy the same treasures that we have."

I noticed that the two parents at the table closed their eyes and folded their hands.  Both little kids looked around the table confused by the silence.  Karl looked directly at me, took my hand and squeezed if.  Others at the table seemed to choose an object at which to stare during this quiet time, perhaps to clear their thoughts.  Mr. Landis looked around the table and finally let his gaze settle on his wife.

"Is somebody praying?" he said to her somewhere around the volume of a rock concert.

"It's a moment of silence, dear," she replied unperturbed.

"No wonder I couldn't hear anything," he said.

When we began to eat, an organized conversation began but quickly deteriorated to about four separate side conversations.  Every once in a while there would be one of those inexplicable moments of quiet, a period when each conversation seemed to come to a pause.

It was at one of those quiet moments when Mrs. Landis looked directly at me.

She asked, "Are all five of you boys queer?"

Everyone else at the table laughed, except for Mr. Landis, whose eyes didn't leave his plate.

"No," I answered.  "Just Karl and I."

"I see," said Mrs. Landis, seemingly content with the answer.

"Well, I am too," said Jonathon from across the table.

"My brother was a queer," announced the elderly woman.  Then she added, "Rest his soul."

No one said anything, so Mrs. Landis continued her report.

"He had a friend, too," she said looking directly at me and then Karl.

"Of course, we all knew that Edward was more than a friend.  I mean they lived together for more than forty years, and we knew what they were up to."

"I see," said Karl softly.

"In all those years, my brother never brought Edward to one of our holiday celebrations.  I guess it was out of respect for the rest of us."

"I see," Karl repeated amid the tense silence around us.

"Wasn't that foolish," she said as a statement rather than a question.  "I don't know why we just didn't insist that he come, but we never did.  So foolish."

"Well things were different back then," Kevin said.

"So foolish.  Poor Edward must have felt so left out."

Then she turned fully toward Karl and me.  She stretched out her arms, and she asked us each to grasp a hand.  Karl took her fragile left hand, and I took the right.

She looked down at our hands and then up to our faces.  

"Do you boys like being queer?" she asked a question that nobody had ever asked me and certainly never asked during Thanksgiving dinner.

"Yes," Karl said, while I nodded my head affirmatively.

"Well then you should go right on being queer, and if anybody doesn't like it just tell them that it's none of their business."

At this point, she brought our hands together.

"Okay," said Karl.  "We'll do that."

"And you should be allowed to get married," she said.  "I don't mean right now.  You're both too young for that.  But if you want to, whose right is it to tell you not to?  Just go ahead and do it.  And take each other to any dinners where you want to be together."

"Thank you, Mrs. Landis," Karl said.

"That's my point," she went on.  "You don't have to thank me.  You don't need anybody's permission for anything, including being as queer as you want to be."

"What are you talking about," Mr. Landis interrupted.

"Queers loving," she said.

"Deer hunting?" asked her husband, looking confused.  "I used to go deer hunting, but I haven't even thought about that for years.  What made you think of that?"

"Not deer," she corrected him loudly.  "Queer."

"Queer?  No, I never hunted queers.  Live and let live, I've always said."

By this point everyone around the table was visibly shaking trying to control their quiet giggles to keep them from erupting into full-blown guffaws.

"I keep telling him that he needs a new hearing aid, but he insists this one is fine," she said showing her frustration.  "Who won the football game today?"

The dinner resumed.

Karl and I headed upstairs to our room early, around ten o'clock.  Kevin hadn't even come back from dropping off Mr. and Mrs. Landis, yet.

"How queer do you want to be tonight?" Karl asked me with a huge grin after we had undressed each other.

"As queer as possible," I replied.

Karl walked to the guest room closet and returned with a wildly colored beach towel, which he spread out on the bed.  He opened the drawer of the bedside table and withdrew a bottle of baby oil.

"You have all sorts of amenities in here for your guests, don't you?" I teased.

"I brought it in from my room this afternoon," he admitted.

He told me to lay with my back on the towel.  I watched as he poured some of the oil into his palm and blew on it to warm it.  Then he sat next to my right calf, leaned forward and started an amazingly thorough massage of my foot.  He repeated the process with my left foot, and eventually moved his way up both calves to my knees, using one hand on each.  He worked beyond my waist without ever touching my standing cock or hanging balls.

As he began to spread the lotion across my belly, and he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around my navel.  He applied more pressure as he worked over the muscles of my chest, shoulders and biceps.  

I had closed my eyes in order to more fully concentrate on the tactile sensations, but it was as if I could still see every move he made.  I mentally admired his perfect body and lovely face as he worked the magic of his hands across my body.

I was surprised when he bypassed my hands, but I soon knew why.  He raised my right hand to his mouth and gently licked my palm, barely touching it with the tip of his tongue.  I felt a shiver through my spine and into my erect cock.  He then sucked each finger as if he were deep throating it, finishing with my thumb.

He reversed the order with my left hand, sucking my thumb first, followed by each of my fingers and finally swirling his practiced tongue around my palm.  I felt almost as if I could cum simply by the loving attention he lavished on my hands.

He instructed me to roll onto my stomach, which I accomplished without straying off the large towel.  In the same order that he had physically worshipped my front side, he now rubbed and carressed my backside.  He gave extra attention to the cheeks of my butt.

I noticed that, just as he had avoided my genitals earlier, he used care to not allow any lotion to touch my hole.  He pressed hardest of all against my back, so that the massage was almost theraputic without losing any of the element of sexual arousal.

I opened my eyes to look back at him.  He was on all fours, putting his weight into his hands that pressed into me.  His cock, pointing at about a forty-five degree angle between his face and the bed below, was leaking precum.  I was sure that mine was too.  I followed a drop with my vision as it became a strand that eventually reached onto the towel.

I wanted to devour my lover's penis to claim all its nectar for myself, but I knew that he was in charge of this act, and that was not in his script.  I contented myself by just taking in his beauty and the heavy pressure of his touch.

His hands instructed me to roll onto my back, again.  I complied, pointing my cock toward the ceiling as he came downward and impaled his mouth on it.  The suddeness of the act took my breath as I inhaled sharply in response.

He purposefully allowed his teeth to close just enough to make contact with my pole, as he brought his head upward.  The careful movement felt like fingernails brushing my cock with just the right amout of scratching until, at the top of his ascension, I felt only lips.  He repeated that process another eight or ten times.

He reached for my thigh and pulled it upward, as my cock cooled while his saliva evaporated.  He placed his head on the towel near my butt and inched forward until I felt his magical tongue make contact with my exposed hole.  He lapped at it as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot, summer day.

I sighed, but my utterance was so quiet that I'm not sure that he could hear it.  Regardless, he continued with his technique, applying just a bit more pressure as he maintained the perfect pace of a slow metronome.

I felt the bed move to signal me that he was changing position slightly, but I did not look to see what he did.  When his oil covered hand grasped my eager cock, I quivered all over.  I actually opened my eyes to glance down at myself just to make sure that I hadn't cum.

His hand glided up and down across my cock with only enough friction to be noticeable.  It was merely a whisper of touch, and my pleasure was excruciating.  
He continued his light tongue lashes of my ass.  With each brush of his tongue, my balls tingled.  With each stroke of his oily hand, my nipples agonized.  It was as if each part of me was electrically connected to a different part.

I became almost disoriented, unsure of what was being stimulated by which part of my attentive lover.  As I was lost in that limbo of interactive sensory stimulation, I began to ejaculate.  My first shot climbed into the air, hung suspended at the apex of its arc and landed next to my mouth.  I reached for it, I think, as a snake's tongue senses its surroundings.  The texture of my own secretion added one more piece of data for me to process.  

By the time of my second offering shot into the air, I felt Karl press his lips fully around my hole as he pushed into me.  I was unaware of the destination of the second glob of semen, if it ever landed at all.

It was only with the third throb that I reached my peak, and I reacted with what was more of a gush of air than a voiced sound.  I felt dizzy from the exertion.

As my climax neared its end, I clawed at the bed as a drowning man might thrash in an attempt to break the surface of the water.  My goal though was not the fresh air waiting on the other side of the clear barrier but Karl's cock.  When at last I found it, I was reassured of my survival.  I sucked and caressed it with my gasping mouth.  I soon found my reward pouring into my throat, as my lover clawed my slippery back.

We landed on top of the bed fully sated.  I could not tell you now any more than I could have told you then who was on top of whom.  I only know that the lotion moved from my body to his as our lips urgently sought out the other.

I don't know whether Karl fell asleep as quickly as I did, and I didn't bother to ask him the next day either.  I just know that he never gave any indication that he had been offended because I had slumbered through the remainder of our kiss.

* * * * *

Do you know the way some vacations just end too soon, and you're almost depressed to have to go back to real life?  Then there are those getaways that are just so full of warmth and joy that you feel completely fulfilled and reenergized. When Sunday morning arrived and it was time to leave, I realized that the latter was my state of mind.  I felt completely satisfied with the world.

I'm sure that it helped my attitude that I knew that Karl and I would be together again in less than a month.  The last time that the Wilson parents called their sons, they each asked to speak to me.  They invited me to visit the week prior to Christmas so that they would be able to meet me in person.  I quickly accepted, of course.

Later Jeremy and I called our parents to ask if we could invite the Wilson boys, all three of them, on our New Year's Caribbean cruise.  It was an annual event for our family, and this year would prove to be much more fun than recent years when Jeremy and I had only each other to entertain us.

So it was, when Karl and I kissed good-bye that brisk November Sunday, we had a spectacular winter break ahead of us.  It made parting much easier.

The kiss itself must have made quite a spectacle for the neighbor family.  They were getting in the car in the next door driveway, clearly on their way to church.  But it couldn't have shocked them.  Karl had always had enough self-confidence that he had never hidden his sexual identity from anyone.  Still, I had the sense that he was showing off his new boyfriend for everyone to see.  I took that as the ultimate compliment.

Karl and I were both grinning as Kevin and I pulled away from the curb to begin our journey back to campus.

"He loves you, you know," Kevin said.

"I hope so," I replied.

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