Autumn Adventure
Copyright © 2007
By Lee Mariner

This fantasy will depict erotic homosexual activities.  It is intended for ADULT readers only.  If you are not of legal age in  your locality to be reading the story or should you find erotic material objectionable, PLEASE LEAVE.

The author retains the copyright ©, and all Rights are reserved.  The story is not to be copied, reproduced, archived or posted on any web site without the specific written consent of the author.

My friend, Dean, has edited this work, and his expertise is invaluable.

The author can be contacted at


Chapter #1

Of the four seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter, I enjoy the autumn months the most.   The seasonal change in Vermont from summer to autumn is almost unmatched by any of the northern states and is one of the reasons that I enjoy visiting friends in Stowe and Montpelier during late September and early October.  Interstate 87 North is one of the busier highways carrying traffic from the New York City area to Canada.  The trip was usually uneventful, and to break the boredom and fatigue I quite often stayed at the family owned Catskill Motel just outside of Lake George, N.Y.   The motel was within sight of the interstate and located on a quiet tree dominated parcel of land that could be accessed from the off ramp of the interstate. In addition to the immediate egress and access to and from the interstate and its being at the approximate halfway point in my trip, the family atmosphere combined with the attention given to its guests as compared to some other motels was unsurpassed.


There was a large scaffold across the front of the building and a sign directing guest traffic to parking spaces away from the building. Workmen were replacing the caulking around the windows with a crew of painters following them up. When I entered the lobby, I could see that a full scale refurbishing was in process.

A temporary check-in desk had been erected to the right of the door, and a young man with his back toward me was busy typing on the keyboard of a reservation computer that was sitting on top of one of the apartment sized refrigerators that had become standard features in the rooms of many motels.  The busily engaged room clerk was not yet aware of my presence but as I waited from him to complete the reservation he was making, I was enjoying the view of tight fitting trousers and attempting to visualize what the thin cloth concealed. He had neatly trimmed sandy blonde hair and was wearing a dark blue blazer, khaki trousers and a light blue shirt.  A dark blue tie with wide red stripes and penny loafers completed what could be taken as typical Ivy League college attire.  Leaning over the computer tightly stretched the fabric of his blazer revealing the breadth of his shoulders and his torso that tapered to a small waist and narrow hips.  He was probably in his early twenties, one hundred fifty-five pounds or so and around six-feet tall.

When he turned and saw me, his azure blue eyes widened in surprise but then quickly recovered. Pursing his lips, his Adams apple danced as he swallowed and said, "I am sorry, Sir, I didn't realize you were behind me."

"I should be surprised if you had been aware of my coming in, what with all of the clatter," I replied, glancing around the lobby and rolling my eyes in feigned amazement.  "I have a reservation for tonight; the name is Collier, Steven Collier."

"Collier, Collier, Collier," he mused in a subdued singsong tone as his fingers flipped through the cards of an obviously cumbersome temporary registration system. "Yes, Sir, I have it," he said in an almost triumphant tone, smiling and reading the card before continuing in a suddenly crestfallen tone. "Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Collier.  You asked for a double bed; but   unfortunately, we have discontinued that style and upgraded to queen or king size," he said apologetically, hesitating before sliding the registration card with a pen toward me.

"That shouldn't be a problem, Darryl," I replied reading his name from the tag pinned to his lapel as I took the pen from his fingers. "A queen size bed is just a little larger playpen," I said, bolder than it was my normal wont to be.

"A wha...,what, oh yeah, yeah," Darryl stammered briefly, his eyes twinkling and a hint of pink appearing in his cheeks as he absorbed the meaning of what I had said.  "I've never thought of it that way."

"Really...," I said, feigning surprise and hesitating for a moment.  "I wouldn't think that of a good looking young man such as yourself," I said in a sensuous tone.

"I'm sure some men do think in that vein, Sir; but it usually depends on the time, the individuals involved and when the opportunity presents itself," he replied softly, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his full succulent lips and an impish glint in the depths of his blue eyes.  Extending his hand with a small envelope between his fingers, he said, "Room eleven ten in the rear, Mr. Collier; you shouldn't have any difficulty finding it.  I hope you enjoy our new accommodations, especially the remodeled restaurant and the new all-weather spa and the pool which have been added to the recreation atrium."

"I'm sure that I will, Darryl, particularly the spa. I enjoy hot bubbling water and its invigorating properties after a long strenuous day of traveling," I said, holding his eyes with mine and enjoying the lingering intimacy of our fingers touching as I took the magnetic door-key pass card.

"If you need anything don't hesitate to call," he said in a demur tone as I turned to leave.

Glancing back, I said, "I will not hesitate."


The accommodations were greatly improved from my last stay.  Walls were painted a pastel green with chestnut brown moldings, and the floor length forest green drapes were imprinted with a waving sea grass design.   The furnishings matched the chestnut brown trim, and the bed was, as Darryl had said, a queen size with a coverlet that matched the drapes and the thick dark green carpet. The double sliding glass door panel opened onto a small concrete patio with two all weather heavy-duty chairs and matching tables. A compacted gravel pathway circumvented the, unfortunately, fenced in swimming pool. The chain-link fencing was very likely a local or state requirement for safety purposes, but it did detract from the attractiveness of the landscape. Flower beds had been geometrically placed in the four corners of the rectangular courtyard, and azalea bushes had been planted adjacent to the fence in an attempt to hide its ugliness, but the bushes did not hide the children's play area that had been constructed adjacent to, and with access to, the children's swimming pool.  One of the reasons that I preferred traveling in late autumn was the lack of children cluttering up the dining and recreational facilities with their incessantly inane caterwauling that parents or guardians seem to so conveniently ignore much to the chagrin of the other patrons. 

I was surprised to see that the sun lounges, chairs and tables with folding umbrellas were still available. Evenings would be a little cool for bathing, but since the afternoons were still warm enough for the more hardy travelers, that could be the only reason the equipment had not been placed in storage and the pool drained for the winter months. In any case, I wasn't a big swimming fan although I have found during my travels that swimming pools did provided a wide variety of eye candy of which I was a devoted fan, and there was at the time a delightful and excellent example taking advantage of the Catskill facilities.

A balding over-weight middle aged man wearing knee length shorts with a crumpled white shirt and a woman whom I assumed was his wife were seated at one of the tables talking. Between talking, and sips of what was probably iced tea, they would occasionally glance at the two well-developed young men frolicking in and out of the water. The young men appeared to be five feet eight or nine inches tall, and, from their lithe appearance, somewhere around one hundred forty-five or fifty pounds.  If the amount of hair that could be seen in their armpits when they dove from the low board was any indication, they both were in their middle teenage years, probably sixteen or seventeen.  Although the water darkened it, it was easy to see each of them had thick blond hair.  That led to the obvious conclusion that their eyes were probably blue.  Their skill levels at diving from the board and the pool coping suggested they were perhaps athletes in school, and more than likely they were training in swimming or some of the other water programs. They both cut through the water like knives, and their glistening muscles rippled beautifully when they left the pool in one athletic movement, shaking the water from their hair.

Their tight fitting Charles Atlas style swimsuits were probably made of a spandex material.  There was no "pinch an inch" at the waistband, but even at the distance they were from me, there was an impressive bulge where a bulge should be that was clearly noticeable. It was difficult to make a more definitive assessment, but that didn't forestall the tingling feeling that erupted in my groin.  I am not a pedophile, but what intelligent person could classify young men, gorgeous or not, who were in the mid to twilight of their teen years as being children.  Prepubescent children however are, for the most part, incapable of responding to, or intelligently understanding, the mysterious urges that, with proper training and supervision, will eventually lead to vast new physical experiences. In the case of the two young vibrant male specimens frolicking in the pool, I had no doubt they were more than aware of their physical and sexual abilities.

Unconsciously while admiring the two swimmers, I had been staring appreciatively, but the quick glances of one and then the other in my direction brought me back to reality.  In an attempt to not be obvious, I turned my head away and, pretended to be examining the exterior of the motel while covertly trying to see what their reaction was.  They appeared to be grinning and whispering to each other but as one dove into the pool the other seemed to deliberately move his hand over his crotch before following his companion.  It was difficult to determine whether he was being a tease, but his not unsubtle actions were ages old and designed to get one's attention. He had gotten mine, and there was a definite swelling in my crotch as I watched his slim, gorgeously muscled body disappear into the depths of the pool.

Both boys emerged from the water onto the pool coping with the grace of the dolphins at Water World in Southern California. After quickly adjusting their equipment, they accepted large bath towels from the adults, and started to vigorously dry off.  As they were drying off there seemed to be an animated conversation between the four of them, which was suddenly and very obviously concluded by a swift downward chop of the man's hand as he turned and moved toward the fence gate. Although the two boys were still talking and drying themselves, the woman followed the man. Upon reaching the gate, she turned, and I distinctly heard the name "Bryan" followed by another name, which I didn't hear distinctly.  Throwing their towels around their shoulders, they walked quickly to where she was waiting.  They spoke for a few moments until she opened the gate and walked in the direction of the man who was quite a distance ahead of them.  The boys followed, but the one whom I believe had made the suggestive motion lingered and looked in my direction.  The devil got the most of me, and improving on his earlier motion I deliberately readjusted my testicles and the hard length of my cock straining against the khaki fabric of my trousers.  He rewarded me by laughing and throwing his head back, the setting sun reflecting golden-red on his hair as he raced to rejoin the others.

The adults were wearing flip-flop sandals and when they reached the gravel pathway proceeded directly across the gravel pathway disappearing through one set of sliding glass doors.  The boys were unshod and walked on the grass rather than the pathway.  They went through the door of an adjacent room.  Inhaling the smoke from my cigarette, I was wishing that I had brought my high-powered German binoculars with me as the drapes of the two young Adonises's room were left open.

A feeling of disappointment washed over me as exhaling slowly, I reentered my room.


"Interesting," I mused as I left the door open but closed the sliding screen door behind me. The room was air-conditioned, but while it was in the interim period between fall and summer I preferred the mountain air.

As I opened my bags to remove clothing and my toilet kit, my thoughts continued to stray to the two young men in the swimming pool, particularly the one who had made the erotic teasing motion, and my cock was pressing against the zipper of my jeans demanding release.  "Dammit," I exclaimed loudly to myself, dropping the toilet kit on the bed and pulling my shirt off. My fingers trembled with excitement as I undid the waistband clasp, and in my haste to free my throbbing cock from confinement I had difficulty opening the zipper.  My breathing had increased perceptibly as I stripped, and my heart was beating rapidly. My throbbing cock sprang free from the combined restraint of my Haines briefs and Haggar denim jeans. Grabbing its turgid, pre-cum drooling eight-inch uncut length, I kicked my penny loafers off and discarded what was left of my clothing to the center of the room.

Gripping my cock tightly as waves of ecstatic excitement swept over me, I moved to the bathroom, my hand settling into a slow teasing tempo. I was horny as hell and didn't need further stimulation, but in the intensity of the surreal sexual atmosphere I created a fantasy of two naked blond male Grecian Sprites dancing around me. They laughed, their eyes gleaming with excitement and their golden gleaming muscles rippling, as they arched their backs, their hard cocks bouncing erotically to the movements of their dance.

Feelings of lust, desire and excitement increased in intensity permeating the erotic fantasy, and leaning over the commode I moved my hand with the tempo of a piston engine. I felt my testicles tightening as I raced to the ecstatic pleasures of ejaculation. In the fantastic brief moment between erotic and the supreme ecstasy of physical climax I inhaled and held my breath as wave after wave of surreal exotic fire flowed through the veins of my body.  I felt my muscles straining, sweat running in rivulets from my armpits down over my ribs and down from my back into the crack between the cheeks of my ass.  Rushing to the ultimate climatic sensation, I felt as if my cock had morphed from a pleasure-inducing instrument into a living entity gushing thick creamy streams of life producing sperm.  "Oh, Jesus, Jesus," I mused to myself, gritting my teeth as the creamy nectar flowed from my tight testicles in a slowly diminishing stream.

Flushed with excitement and breathing heavily, I leaned forward and flushed the toilet before dampening one of the face towels and cleaning up the sperm that had missed the commode bowl.  Opening the shower curtain I spread the used towel over the floor of the tub under the shower head before stepping under the warm water.


Finishing my shower and shaving, I selected a mint green open throated shirt and dark brown Haggar slacks with a matching leather belt. Retracting and adjusting the foreskin of my still partially flaccid cock, I slipped on fresh briefs.  I usually wore a t-shirt when wearing a shirt with an open collar, but as I was still feeling horny I knew that most men preferred looking at the throat and even more so if chest hair was visible. Dressing quickly, I splashed on English Leather Cologne and checked my image in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.  I never considered my self as being vain or a Charles Atlas muscle type; but the well built, dark haired, hazel eyed, thirty-six year old image looking back at me had nothing to be ashamed of, at least not in normal society or the gay circles I occasionally frequented. I had frequently been complimented by being compared to Rock Hudson, but, he had been one of only one in the world, and very few men could ever hope to compare themselves to him or even try. When he had unfortunately succumbed to AIDS, it was a great loss to the gay community as well as the theatrical world.   

Darryl at the temporary reception desk had recommended the motel's newly renovated restaurant, but I had made it a long standing practice to visit The Hanover House restaurant located on highway S9 to the south of Lake George. There were several good restaurants in the area, but they were there mainly for the summer influx of tourists. The Hanover House did entertain tourists but primarily catered to the local residents' tastes in the delicious German cuisine and a wide variety of entrees that they prepared. I was not a gourmet by any means, but I did enjoy the food and friendly ambiance of the restaurant.

It was a little past seven o'clock when I passed the motel restaurant.  The dining room appeared to be full, and even though it would have been more convenient than driving to another restaurant, I enjoyed dining at the Hanover House. However, having made my decision for the evening, I decided that the motel restaurant would do for breakfast before leaving on the final leg of my journey.


The Hanover House sat on a knoll that was back off of the highway some two hundred feet.  The knoll was fully landscaped with a wide variety of shrubs, pine trees and plants that were indigenous to the northern regions.  A three-tiered stairway had been cut into the side of the knoll to lead to the wide walkway leading to the stairway that led to the main entrance. A dark green canvas awning with interior lights covered the entire length of the stairway. During inclement weather, patrons could disembark from their cars, and a valet provided during such situations would park their cars.  The walkway and stairs, with the exception of the final wooden stairs leading to the entrance, were constructed of black granite slabs taken from a nearby quarry.  The building was constructed of cedar logs and had wide colonial style lead paned windows.  Each of the oaken twin entrance doors was nine feet in height and five feet in width. The large boulders and granite used in the construction of two huge walk-in fireplaces had dictated the dimensions of the doors.

The building had been designed in the form of a large "H" with two dining rooms and with the kitchens and general serving and public accommodation areas occupying the central area between the dining rooms.  Oversized cast iron chandeliers hung from the mammoth cedar crossbeams with matching wall sconces placed strategically around the dining room walls. Slightly oversized tables and high-backed leather cushioned chairs had been set in geometric patterns with foot traffic in mind for both patrons and servers.  Each table was covered with a snow-white cloth and a small shaded hurricane lamp fueled by alcohol was placed in the center of a lazy Susan which was in the center of the table.  If was one available, I had always dined at an outside table with an unobstructed view of the hallway between the two dining rooms.   My usual table, if available, gave an excellent view of any eye candy using the conveniences or entering the dining room.


The drive was about thirty minutes, but as I approached the Hanover House, the parking lot appeared to be full. I wasn't really surprised because of prior experiences.  On the off chance there might be a space or two open on the far side, I drove slowly through the lanes of parked cars and was rewarded by finding an empty space close to one of the restaurant's emergency exits.

The sun was slowly dipping behind the tree covered Catskills, but it was still light enough for walking. The circular walkway around the entire knoll was of concrete to avoid ankle mishaps that might occur had its surface been made of the same slate material as the main walkway into the restaurant. Exterior lights had been installed in great numbers and strategically placed throughout the parking area and walkways to allow more than enough light for walking or driving in the inky darkness that would follow the setting sun.

Wide beds of multi-colored pansies had been planted on either side of the granite walkway leading to the wooden stairs. Several groups were descending the stairs as I ascended to the wide podium where Harold, the maitre d', had always been standing on my previous visits; he was engaged with an elderly couple.

As I approached, he looked up and hesitated for a moment before his face lit up in a broad smile as he exclaimed, "Mr. Collier, so good to see you again.  How have you been?"

It always amazed me that for the seven years that I frequented the restaurant on an annual basis, Harold was able to remember my name.  I had heard that a good maitre d' was able to memorize certain characteristics that they could file away in a mental data bank that, even after a long absence, would enable instant recognition. Being recognized was a compliment that customers enjoyed, and I was no different.

"I'm doing very well, Harold," I replied as I extended my hand. "How have you been?"

Harold was an attractive man probably in his middle to late forties.  His well-groomed, dark brown hair had a touch of silver at the temples, and his clean-shaven, unblemished facial features were Romanesque.  His well-developed and well taken care of body was clad in an expensively tailored tuxedo with a snow white shirt front, pearl studs, black tie, and a dark blue cummerbund encircling his small but not quite petite waist. In his zeal for perfection, the tailor had, unfortunately, eliminated the excitement of subtlety displaying Harold's endowment. I had been fortunate enough to be intimately involved with Harold on my second trip north, and I knew what hidden delights were concealed by the expensive fabric.  

"The winters are becoming harsher, but we endure," he replied, smiling brilliantly as we shook hands.

"I shouldn't think the weather would bother a man of your years and with your energy," I quipped with a twinkle in my eye.

"You are too kind," he replied. Turning to a stunning dark-haired young man who was standing at his elbow and handing him the burgundy leather bound menu, he said," Stanley, table number thirty-two for Mr. Collier.  Also, unless he has changed his drinks since his last visit with us, he will start dinner with a Jack Daniel's Black Label over the rocks with a light dash of soda water and a lime garnish."

"Harold," I said grinning, ''Your memory astounds me,"

With a twinkle in his dark brown eyes," he said, "I always try to remember what pleases Hanover's patrons and my friends, especially my close friends."

There was a tingling sensation in my loins, but before I could make a reply a deep voice from behind me boomed, "Kershimer's the name; we called for a table for six, four adults and two kids."

A shiver went up my spine at the arrogant authoritative tone of voice, and I said a quick prayer that they would be in the opposite dining room from me. An adolescent female voice, straining to be heard, squealed, "Daddy, we are not kids."

"That is your opinion, young lady, and I'll thank you to keep it to yourself," the booming voice replied brusquely."

I saw Harold's body tense briefly, and then with a look of utter disdain in his eyes he glanced over my shoulder.  I moved away from the podium, but not before Harold looked at me and gave me a subtle wink. Quickly returning his subtle salute as I moved away, I heard him exhale softly as he looked down at the list of reservations resting on the podium before replying to the person who had moved up behind me. "Yes, Sir, Mr. Kershimer, table twelve in the West Wing should be ready for your party," he said, glancing at me and winking as if he had read my mind, as he handed several menus to another young man who, from the pained expression on his face, did not seem to be too happy with his assignment. "Kevin will be your server."

My favorite table accommodated two persons, and since Harold had not said anything to the contrary it must be available or he would have made a comment to the contrary. I breathed a sigh of relief when the Kershimer party was escorted to the wing opposite to where I would be dining.  Following Stanley was an absolute delight that verged on being erotic.  His wavy auburn hair was tightly coifed and evenly tapered on the nape of his neck. The tight, black gabardine tunic and trousers of the uniform he was wearing fit like a glove, and I had noticed earlier there was the tantalizing hint of a bulge in his groin.  The faint hints of red in his auburn hair complimented his jade green eyes. In their depths there was a glimmer of impish arrogance, and he moved with an air of self-confidence.  He was indeed one of Harold's better selections; but the piece de resistance was the symmetrical beauty of his buttocks tantalizingly rising and falling in perfect rhythm as he strode, or more appropriately, glided across the floor. I fought the indelicate urge to reach out and gently squeeze them as if testing for the freshness of melons. 

Moving with a distinctly natural athletic grace, he pulled my chair back slightly from the table before stepping aside with the menu held at the ready.  He seated me, and then placing the menu on the table he said, "While you are perusing the menu, Mr. Collier, I'll fetch your drink."

"There's no rush, Stanley," I said, glancing up at his youthful face as I moved the chair closer to the table.

"Yes, Sir," he replied demurely, his soft jade green eyes holding mine for a brief moment before he moved away into the steady traffic that led to and fro from the bar, kitchens and other pantry serving rooms.


There was a distinct tingling in my loins as I gazed after Stanley.  His athletic gait was strong and confident, and his tunic stretching over his broad back accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, and the perfectly symmetric beauty of his torso and narrow waist.  The black gabardine fabric revealed the dimples in his buttocks, and the thickness of his thigh and calf muscles.

"Yes," I mused silently to myself as I took a sip of water from the glass on my table. "It might be well worth exploring to see what might lie beneath that cool yet charismatic exterior."

I was so entranced by the masculine beauty of Stanley and salacious desire-filled thoughts that I had become oblivious to the other diners in the room.  I had spread a snow white napkin over my lap and under its protective cover was rearranging my swollen cock and balls into a more comfortable position when the sudden unexpected scream of a child pierced my thoughts, and I jerked my head away from the vision of loveliness that had almost reached the bar area.  

Three tables removed from mine, a young girl probably three or four years old was vehemently refusing to eat the salad her mother had prepared for her at the salad buffet.  Several shards of lettuce, tomato and a fork had fallen to the floor when the offering had been proffered and promptly slapped away by the little girl.  A sharp slap to the girl's upper thigh had elicited the scream that had interrupted my thoughts and was followed by the child's immediate removal from her place at the table by her mother, who headed in the general direction of the ladies powder room.

There were several sharp gasps from surrounding tables, and I heard one not very subtlety whispered "well, I never" after which the room returned to its usual hubbub with the topic of conversation at most tables probably concerning the scene they had witnessed. It was apparent that the gentleman at the table in question was embarrassed, but the two pre-pubescent boys sitting with him continued enthusiastically eating their meal as if the altercation between their sister and her mother was a common occurrence, which it very well may have been.

As if timed by the fates, Stanley was at my table with my drink at the same instant that a young, attractive, blond-headed busboy appeared with a small hand whisk brush and dustpan to remove the salad debris from the floor.  He seemed to be quite adroit at his task and in moments the floor was returned to its original immaculate condition.

Stanley startled me when he said, "Clifford is quite good, Mr. Collier."

"Wha...oh, yes, yes," I replied, gathering my composure and glancing between the young man cleaning the floor and Stanley.  "From the manner he took care of that chore, I imagine he does most things well."

"From what I know of Clifford, he is an exemplary person," he replied with a momentary almost indiscernible twinkle in his green eyes and the barest hint of a grin flitting across his lips before he asked, "Have you decided on dinner?"

I was hoping that he had picked up on my play with words, but if he had I wasn't sure of it. Feigning interest, I gave the menu a cursory glance before saying, "I'll have the Chateaubriand with a small baked potato, no dressing or condiments; and I'd like a small house salad with blue cheese dressing on the side."

"An excellent selection, Mr. Collier; I know you will enjoy it," he said softly, melodiously. "Will you have coffee with your dinner?"

"After dinner, yes, but I think a room temperature bottle of Beringer Merlot will be better with the Chateaubriand."  I replied, musing briefly before asking, "Don't you think so?"

His green eyes lightened, twinkling merrily as he said, "Like minds think great thoughts, Mr. Collier.  Beringer wines are always an excellent choice."

"I agree," I replied, glancing into the green depths of his mesmerizing eyes while biting my lower lip and quietly inhaling and swallowing rapidly, to avoid drowning in the flood of saliva suddenly generated by the tantalizingly mysterious bulge hidden within less than an arm's reach under the thin covering of his gabardine trousers.

The large linen napkin in my lap covered the throbbing length of my pre-seminal oozing cock from view although in certain places and under different circumstances, a steel-hard cock would be a visual enticement drawing hungry looks, wolfish grins and lecherous smiles. The Hanover House, unfortunately, was not such a place.  I could, however, attest to one Hanover employee who excelled in the erotic arts of Eros, and, knowing that person, I would wager that more than one of his subordinates would also be of the same vein.


The meal was beyond excellent; it was a superb example of culinary art, and in addition to its excellence, I imagine Stanley's serving it helped the gastric juices immensely. At least, for a time, I had been able to dispense with the agitated state of rut that was all but overwhelming. Meeting the strikingly good-looking Darryl at the motel desk followed by two gorgeous young men wearing only swimming suits and then being served by an almost irresistible yet very unlikely unavailable Stanley would stimulate any gay man's libido or at the very least upset his equilibrium.

While I was twirling the final glass of Merlot by the stem, Stanley approached with my coffee and dessert.  Placing the cup and saucer with the creamer and sugar containers to my right, he passed around behind my chair.  Placing a portion of Banana Cream Cheesecake on the table, he said, "Harold asked me to tell you that the cheesecake is made in our bakery and the coffee is from his private stock."

Inhaling, I hesitated for a moment before exhaling and saying,  "Thanks, Stanley, I really appreciate it.  Would you convey my thanks to Harold, and tell him the meal was excellent."

"Yes, Sir, I will," he replied discreetly placing an embossed leather check folder to my right and moving behind my chair.

Finishing the last of the Merlot, I slipped my American Express card in the provided plastic pocket and handed it to Stanley. He gave a slight almost imperceptible bow of his head before moving away as I added cream and sugar to my coffee. It was an excellent blend, and it enhanced the flavor of the cheesecake.  

Stanley returned as I was finishing the dessert and delicious coffee.  I quickly completed the transaction he had returned with and included a substantial gratuity in appreciation for his more than exceptional service.  

"It was a real pleasure serving you, Mr. Collier," he said as he pulled my chair back from the table. "Will we be seeing you again?"

"I really enjoyed my dinner, Stanley. Unfortunately, I only travel this way in the early autumn.  I stay at the Catskill Motel and make it a point of having dinner at the Hanover.  If you and Harold are here next year, I'll be sure to ask for you."

"We both will probably be here," he replied as I moved away.


Harold was still at the podium taking care of The Hanover's patrons and, like a good general, quickly assigning them to his excellent cadre of servers. In the course of an evening, he would probably have to contend with two or three Kirshimers, but he never seemed to allow their rudeness to disrupt the efficiency he was known for among the several excellent restaurants in the Catskills.

He had an uncanny sixth-sense that was attuned to the immediate area around where he was standing.  When I was only a few feet from him he turned his head, and smiled as he asked, "Leaving so soon?  I was hoping that we might have a brandy together a little later."

"That would be nice, Harold, but I hope you will give me a rain check," I said as we shook hands. "I want to get an early start in the morning and hopefully get ahead of the early morning ferry traffic to Burlington; you know how it is."

Feigning disappointment, his lower lip curled into the perfect resemblance of a pout, and he said while not missing a beat as he continued welcoming his guests, "I am devastated, Steven, really. It's been a year since you were here last, and I was so hoping we could have a warm brandy, chat a little, and catch up."

"I am sorry, Harold, but I started a little later this year than last, and after I leave Montpelier I am meeting a friend in Montreal."

"A Canadian friend?" he inquired inquisitively with a twinkle in his eyes.

"We met in Halifax several years ago, and we've had an on again off again correspondence," I replied.  "It's a long story, but it will have to wait for another time."

"I'll be waiting on pins and needles," he said, his cheerful demeanor returning.

Turning to go around Harold's work area, I saw Stanley standing off to the side holding a menu with both hands, to cover his crotch.  When I nodded in his direction, he nodded in return. With a twinkle in his beautiful green eyes, he smiled radiantly and slipped the menu under his arm, briefly revealing the tantalizing bulge in his crotch before clasping his hands together in front of him, effectively concealing the fascinating mystery.

As I drove to the Catskill, my mind was in turmoil, and I was wondering whether I made a blunder when I refused Harold's oblique invitation.