This on-going series has now continued for almost two years, far longer than I ever imagined when it began.

I've appreciated the incredible loyalty of readers who've stayed with me from the beginning and those new readers who contact me from time to time saying that they've discovered the series and ventured through the collected chapters. I am always glad to receive comments, questions, criticism and encouragement and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it is only because of the pressures of work.

Andrew continues to give much needed proofing and editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful. I could not post chapters as quickly as I've been doing without his invaluable assistance.

This work is copyright © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

All the stories I've posted on NIFTY can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, previews of upcoming stories, and other bits and pieces, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

The day went quickly, filled with activities which Peter had not only planned with care, but also executed with the managerial skills for which he was famous.

Before going down to breakfast, I'd insisted on showering alone and removing the packing from my rear with out assistance. William, sensing my embarrassment, left me to my own devices. I had to admit that I felt much better. In fact, I felt completely healed, and credited it to his care as much as to time alone.

When we'd both showered and shaved and dressed, we went down together to find Peter and Roger having breakfast on a sunlit terrace overlooking a vast green lawn.

"So, there you are," Peter said, pouring coffee for both of us before we'd even reached the table.

Simon was hovering with a pitcher of fresh squeezed juice and then soon returned with sausages and eggs, along with bread and fresh tomatoes just off the grill.

As William and I ate, Peter laid out his plans for the day, interspersed with occasional comments from Roger.

We were driving, we were informed, to an nearby village for lunch at an ancient inn known for the authenticity of its architecture and the excellence of its cuisine.

There was tennis and the availability of the swimming pool as well as rowing on the little river which flowed along the west side of the estate.

Dinner would not be strictly formal but coats and ties were in order. In addition to ourselves, Peter had invited four other men to join us, all members of his production company.

I looked over at William with a raised eye brow. Reading my meaning, he said at once, "Rob and I are planning a little excursion of our own this afternoon, so don't expect to see much of us between lunch and dinner."

As it turned out the four of us did get in a hard fought round of doubles later in the morning. Roger and I were teamed against Peter and William, and, despite our best efforts, we were eventually sent down to defeat.

Roger, I discovered, was a good tennis player, a sport I'd never known he played. I barely held my own. I have a strong, but rather erratic serve but Peter was a good and predictable player and I was no match for William's greater speed.

By the end of the match we all dripping with sweat and went off to shower again before leaving for lunch.

"Do you want privacy?" William said as we climbed the stairs.

"Well, if we are going to be ready to leave for lunch in twenty minutes, I guess we'd better go our own ways," I said, smiling at the thought of showering with him.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he grinned as I ducked into my bedroom and he continued on down the hall toward his own room.

Half an hour later the four of us were in Peter's Jaguar and on our way to the inn he'd described.

The place was quite remarkable and the food was excellent. We sat for almost two hours over lunch while Roger and Peter did most of the talking. They discussed actresses whom they thought would be good choices for the key roles in the film version of Call the Dark Water and then moved on to choices of locations. I had little background for the discussion and didn't really enter into it, although William did make a few suggestions.

After lunch we took a leisurely route back, driving through the beautiful countryside.

As soon as we returned William said he and I were going for a hike and might do some boating on the river. Dinner was planned for eight o'clock and he assured his father that we'd be back in good time.

After changing into shorts, polo shirts and walking shoes, we met on the back terrace and set out. William led us across the vast lawn and through a narrow grove of huge old trees. We emerged on the banks of the stream, which was wider than I'd expected. We followed the bank to our right, going through some thicker woods and then into a clearing where an ancient boathouse stood.

"Have you ever been punting?" William asked.

"Probably not in the sense you mean," I laughed.

"Well then," he smiled. "I'll introduce you to a venerable old English sport."

We went into the boathouse where several boats were stored. Between us we carried one of the flat-bottomed, square-ended punts to the water and put it in.

"Stay here and hold the line," William said as he went back in to the boathouse, returning a moment later with a stack of cushions and a long pole.

"No oars?" I asked.

"No, punting is done with a pole."

"Oh, just like our Long Johns in the bayous back home in Mississippi."

"Really? I thought we invented this."

"Maybe you did, for all I know. What do you want me to do?"

"Take a pair of these cushions to the front end of the boat and just lie back and relax. I'll do all the work from the rear."

"That sounds interesting," I grinned, "but not exactly a fair division of labor."

"Well, actually, punting is often done by a gentleman as a way of romancing his lady friend, but in this case, I'm romancing you."

"Ah," I said. "I'm flattered."

"You should be."

"So, William, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Oh no. I figure no effort is required on that front."

"You must think I'm easy," I laughed, lying back on the cushions.

William smiled as he moved us out from the bank. "I just think it was clear last night that we were both very open to the idea of having sex together. What I want with you, though, isn't just having sex. When the time is right, I want us to make love."

"That's very sweet, William," I smiled. "I agree completely, but don't go getting all romantic and sentimental on me."

"I'm afraid it's too late to stop me getting romantic. I was probably born that way, but you seem to bring it out in me."

We were both silent for a few minutes as William maneuvered the punt with obvious skill. Eventually he spoke again, his voice low, little more than a whisper, but strong enough to carry the length of the craft.

"Have you always been called Rob?"

"You mean as opposed to Robert?"

"Yes."

"Always Rob," I said. "Robert was also my grandfather's name, my mother's father. I guess at first I was called Rob, just to distinguish me from him."

"So no one calls you Robert?"

"Nope," I grinned, guessing where the conversation was heading. "I've always been Rob. Have you always been William?"

"No, actually. When I was little my parents called me Billy. My mother's parents called me Will, and still do when I'm with them. It was only when I was sent off to school that I was first called William. I rather liked it.

It sounded more mature, and at that age I was very interested in being mature. The first time I was back from school I announced that at school I was called William and, henceforth, I wanted to be called William at home as well. For a year or two my father made a sort of joke of it, pronouncing it Will 'yam. I just ignored it and eventually he gave it up."

"Yes," I said, "I can imagine his doing that. But why did you ask me about my name?"

"Because," he said, "if you don't mind, I'd like to call you Robert. It would be my own name for you, even if others eventually picked it up."

"I think that would be nice, William, as long as you don't pronounce it Rob'ert."

"No, just Robert, pronounced correctly," he  said, then went on as if it were a chant,  "Robert . . . Robert . . . Robert . . ."

"Yes, William . . .  William . . .  William," I replied, the hint of laughter in my voice, despite my attempt to be serious.

"I'm just getting used to it."

We drifted slowly along the river, under the overhanging boughs of some huge old trees, until we came to a little bend where the green banks swept down to the water in a gentle slope. William propelled the punt out a little further into the river until he could turn it so my end was pointed directly toward the back.

"Hold on," he said as he laid into the pole. "I'm beaching us." I grasped the sides of the boat and, with two or three powerful thrusts, he drove the boat up onto the nearly level bank. "Step out, Robert," he said, "and tie the line to that tree behind you."

"Yes, captain," I said, and did as he said as he hauled the boat a little further up the bank. Then, catching up with me, William took my hand and led me further back from the stream into a shady grove of trees.

He stopped some distance back into the trees where the sun shone through the branches, forming a pattern of dappled light on the soft, green grass. Dropping my hand, he pulled off his shirt and laid it on the ground, then reached for mine, tugging it from the waist of my shorts. I lifted my hands so he could pull it off over my head.

Without a word said, he placed my shirt next to his, forming a rudimentary pallet. With his hands on my shoulders, he pushed me gently down. I stretched out with my back on the shirts, my legs bent at the knees, and looked up at him as he stood at my feet, his eyes locked on mine.

William's bare chest shone with a light film of sweat from his exertion. He was not massive but the muscles of his chest and arms were beautifully proportioned and well defined. His blue eyes sparkled and the sun glinted in the golden hues of his hair. Beautiful, I thought to myself, he's a beautiful guy.

Still, without speaking, he knelt between my spread legs and leaned forward, placing his hands on the edges of our shirts where they emerged from under my body, one hand on either side of my chest. Then, supporting his weight on his arms, he lowered his lips to mine. I received his kiss with willingness and delight, putting my arms around him, stroking his back, and gently pulling him down until his chest pressed against mine and my body bore the full weight of his.

"Yes," we both moaned as our lips briefly parted, only to be joined again.

We lay in that position for a moment or an hour. I lost all sense of time. Our mouths joined and our tongues danced.

"Oh, Robert," William moaned when he finally lifted himself from me. The sun had slipped further to the west and the light slanted through the trees. There was a light in his eyes I'd not seen before and his face was flushed.

"Oh, William," I responded, echoing his tone. He rolled onto his side and snuggled against me.

It was clear from the protrusions in our shorts that we were both very aroused. William reached over and stroked my pulsing cock through the thin, damp fabric. "This, regrettably, will have to wait," he smiled.

To be continued.