Comedy of Errors

Chapter 1


Written By: Justin Case

Edited By: Sarah


March 30, 2001


Disclaimer: Uh, oh, now you've gone and done it. You have wandered on to a sexually explicit site. I hope it's what you meant to do, if it wasn't, come along for the journey. I will take you places that are familiar to you; I will take you on a ride. If you are not of legal age you need to leave this site. I can not, and will not be responsible for you. You must take your own initiative to do what is right. I want to assure you that this story is fiction. It may sound familiar, because it was meant to. Any similarities to actual persons, places, or things are pure coincidence. This story is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and all rights are reserved to the author exclusively. ©JCPCo2001


SoapBox: Hey, here I am. Yep, yep in the flesh. This story is my very latest. Can you keep up? I barely can. There is a free visit to my web site if you can tell me how many stories I have written, or am currently writing. LOL. You heard it first!

I want to thank you all for your constant support. I have already have 100, yes one hundred people visiting a day. I just had to give you something special. So with out further ado, here ya go. Just for you. Drop me a letter if you like, the addy is


It all started when they moved to our private island. That's right, our private island, and the island of Nantucket. We here in Buzzard's Bay enjoy the simple life; well we did until they arrived. Now, we're going the way the rest of the country seems to be headed, straight to the depths of Hell.

I remember when we could leave our keys in the car and the back door to our house unlocked. Ever since they came, things have changed. Trust is something we no longer have for our neighbors, and they have lost their trust for us. Can you believe it? The Winslow's are no longer the well respected members of this private community any longer. I'll never forget the day that it all started...

"James, did you see the new family?" Tom asked, while I was checking out at the local market, `Peron's Fruits and Vegetables.'

"No, what family is that Tom?" I asked him, while I helped put my groceries in the brown paper bag. I hate those plastic bags, the handles cut into my fingers.

Tom was a man I had known all my life. He was a quiet sort of guy, originally from New York. Tom was shorter than I was; he only stood about five foot six. He was a spectacle to look at, really. He was balding, and his head always shined from the oils in his skin. In the peak of the season, his dome was bright lobster red. He did have brown and gray hair growing around the sides and back of his head, but the top was as bald as could be.

Tom probably weighed about two hundred pounds; his shirts were always so tight, especially where they met his pants. His pants were always falling down, while his shirt was riding up. When he bent over to the boxes to get the merchandise for the shelves, he'd crack a smile. I have to tell you, it was not the prettiest site here in Nantucket, but surely, one you couldn't soon forget.

Don't get me wrong, Tom was a likable man. He just lacked that certain social standard like so many of us here on Nantucket, especially we Winslows have. He wore glasses, too. His big brown eyes were always peering above the chrome frames that were constantly half way down his bulbous nose. I could only surmise that the gray and black ear frames to the spectacles where too large or his ears too small. It drove me crazy just looking at him.

Tom stopped ringing the register and he looked at me intently. He moved so his pudgy body bent over the conveyor, where he could talk privately. I don't know why, Tom was the biggest gossip on the island. If you wanted to make sure some news got delivered, just tell Tom. If you made it a secret, it would travel within a few hours to at least thirty of the locals. If you stated something casually, you could count on more than fifty finding out.

"Puerto Ricans." He whispered to me, like it was just between he and I.

"Really? You don't say. Here on `our' island? From the city, I presume?"

"Yeah. What's the world coming to?" He asked rhetorically, and began ringing my wares again.

I couldn't believe it. I had to tell Father. Could you imagine the shock he would feel? I laughed inside. Oh the fun I could have, never mind that; the fun I will have.

I left Peron's market with purpose. The heat of the July day was immense as I stepped from the air-conditioned store to the parking lot. I got a blast of scorching humidity

in the face. I couldn't wait to get home. I saw my Porsche, and then I thought I wouldn't be able to leave the keys in it anymore.

My sundries loaded securely in the trunk and my designer sunglasses placed firmly on my face, I started my car. I eased it out of the lot, and decided to open the sunroof. I pushed the controller. Nothing. I pushed the button again, nothing. `What the hell?' I thought to myself. I just got it back from Clyde.

I couldn't help being a little distracted. I had paid seventy thousand for the automobile. I was diligent about taking it to Clyde's, the Porsche dealer here on the island. I had it there earlier in the week for the ten thousand-mile check up. What's happened to quality? Where's the pride in workmanship? I certainly would call Clyde as soon as I got home, just after I told Father about the new family. I pushed down on the accelerator.

As I rounded the corner into our drive, I suddenly realized that this new family had moved right next to us. It had to be. You see, there are only so many houses here on Nantucket, we all know each other and what's what. The Balentines had sold their place last season, no one knew to whom. I guess, now we know. How did we miss it? How did the Winslows miss who moved in to our former neighbor's home?

I mean it's not like we Winslows are busy with work. We're self-made. Except for the club, tennis and golf we're always home. That's what makes it so hard to imagine. We didn't even know who our newest neighbors were, let alone, had a clue to their presence.

I saw our dignified mansion as I rolled the Porsche to a stop. It rose above the hedgerow that lined the sea shell drive. It stood in all its magnificence below the crystal clear blue sky. The black slate roof-line glistened in the bright sunlight. The white brick of the exterior walls reflected the rays of the sun into my Oakley's. I had to squint to make out the location of the stately chestnut doors to our home.

I rushed into the doors, almost dropping the groceries on to the marble floor of the formal entrance. I was sweating; my heart was racing with excitement. I loved to fuck with Father. Father? Oh shit, that's right he and Mother would be at the club until seven, it was Thursday. Thursday at the Nantucket Country Club was couples day. My parents went there every Thursday with all the other mucky mucks. Oh well, I'd just have to settle telling Charles.

Charles is our butler, but we treat him like part of the family. He's been with us Winslows since before I was born, some seventeen years ago. Charles was born in England and has a really neat accent.

Charles is a gentleman in every sense of the word. He towers over me with his six-foot six frame. I'm only five foot nine. Charles has silver hair, not gray, silver. His face is smooth

and free of age lines. I don't really know how old Charles is; he never has a birthday. Well not one that we have celebrated or known about. Charles is a very private person. I have confided all my deepest and darkest secrets in him. He has the softest blue-gray eyes that instill a sense of dignity to his face. I have plain brown eyes, nothing special about them. The nicest feature on Charles' face is his smile. He has broad cheekbones and thick lips, so when he flashes his pearly whites they're all you see. His chin is squared like John Travolta; he even has a cleft in it too.

"Charles! Charles!" Bubbling with excitement, I called out.

I hurried towards the kitchen, knowing that's where he would be. I was practically pissing in my pants; I just had to tell someone about the new people on the island. I charged through the dining hall, and flew through the kitchen door.

"James, was that you shouting at me?" Charles asked with all the seriousness the Englishman could muster.

"Oh, Charles, you just have to know. I've got to tell you."

"What is it? What has your shorts all knotted now?"

"Have you seen our new neighbors? They're Ricans. Can you believe it? Right here on Nantucket. I hear they multiply like rabbits. I wonder if they have switchblades? No probably glocks, yeah guns. I bet they have guns. Do you think they sell drugs?" I snapped off the words like it was my last chance to ever speak.

"James Arthur Winslow the third, what on earth are you talking about? How presumptuous of you? You sound as though you're prejudice. Haven't I told you before to think before you speak? Otherwise you may let others know just how intelligent you are." Charles quietly said to me, as his eyes glared into mine.

"Charles, I'm not bragging about my grades. I'm telling you we have Puerto Ricans living right next door. I never mentioned my grades."

"Certainly James." The butler said, as he turned away and privately rolled his eyes.

"How did you get that?"

"What's that sir?"

"Never mind. What's for lunch?" I finally gave up. He didn't seem to understand.

"I was going to make some tuna salad, James. Would you like a sandwich on a hard roll?"

"Yeah, I'll take it in my room. I got to go call Stevie. I got to tell him the news."

I sat in my bedroom wondering how long it would be before more of those kinds of people moved here. What was the world coming too? I just had to talk to Stevie; he was my best friend. He's like me; we can keep a secret. Not like Tom. We respect each other and others too. That's why we get along so well and have so many friends.

I jumped onto my king-size bed. It was the in the center of my bedroom. On either side of the bed, I had a nightstand. My bedroom set was a family heirloom, we Winslows came over on the Mayflower. The bedroom furniture was about one hundred and fifty years old. It was solid maple made right here on Nantucket. The headboard to the bed was hand carved with quite an ornate design. The night stands and dresser all had the same design etched into them.

The best thing in my room was the window seat. I could sit there for hours on end just watching the ocean. I also like my computer center; it's where I spend most of my time. I love cruising the net, especially reading the great stories they have. One site I go to all the time is called Nifty; I like it because I'm gay. It's no big deal, everyone knows. I told my parents last year, they got over it. Father isn't really, oh he says he is, but I know better. Who cares?

I grabbed my cordless. I had to call Stevie. I had to tell him about these Ricans. I'll bet he shits himself, I remember thinking as I dialed the phone.

"Hey, Stevie? Is that you?" I sputtered into the phone.

"Yeah, James, how's it hanging?"

"Same as always."

"Hey, James, did you hear? We got spics on the island."

"Yeah, I know." I said, as it was nothing. Damn, he took the wind out of my sails.

Stevie is a great guy. I've known him since I was five. We used to play at the beach together all summer long. He was an inch shorter than I was. His birthday was two weeks after mine. My birthday is August seventh and Stevie's is August twenty first. He's a great looking guy, unfortunately he's not gay.

Stevie has a nice body. He's all-smooth like me. He had brown hair, almost black but he lightened last summer. Now he has short bleached, blonde hair He has dark brown eyes, and the cutest smile you ever saw. He has a little birthmark just above his thin lips, and below his little button nose. I have drooled over him on more than one occasion.

"Did you hear me?" I heard his voice; shit I forgot where I was.

"Uh, no what'd you say?" I stuttered.

"I said, they have a kid our age. I heard he's gay. His name is Danny."

"Danny? That doesn't sound Rican to me."

"I know." Stevie laughed.

"Well, let me let you go. I think I hear Charles calling me." I lied.

I could see the new kid in his back yard. He was sun bathing. Man was he a hunk. I had to get to know my new neighbor. No time like the present. I always liked the Spanish people.


OMG, can you believe it? I'll leave you with your thoughts. I hope you like this tale, it my very first attempt at writing comedy.

I'd like to thank my assistant editor, Sarah for the fine job she did. I hope there aren't too many mistakes. I'll have Ed, my final copy editor revise it as soon as he has a free moment. He edits more than I write.

As always, but not forever.