Date: Thu, 8 May 2014 15:10:59 -0400 (EDT)
From: DJAkeeba@aol.com
Subject: Tragedy on the Potomac, Chapter 4

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.

This is a work of pure fiction. This story is the sole property of its
author and may not be copied in whole or in part or posted on any website
without the permission of the author.

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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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