Date: Sat, 22 Jul 2017 08:44:26 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Lake Desolation 18

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/lake-desolation/)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against
your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like,
but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

A voice that is far too high and far too desperate to be my beautiful prey
for the evening rings across the savannah, "NoNo! No! Oh God!
OhGodOhGodOhGod! No. You, y-y-y-you have, have, have t-t-t-tooooooo, UHN!
No-no-no-no-no-no GAH!!" I am shocked back to conscious thought as the
first explosive volley hits the roof of my mouth, but that spark is
extinguished in the drenching lust of the taste. The salt and the sweet and
the bitter and the so, so, SO utterly male flavour! I suck it down like the
elixir of life that it truly has become for me. His essence and my
sacrament in a single, blessed nectar. For the very first time in my life,
I feel complete. A circle without end, but a circle with Logan as it's
essential centre in all things. My very own circle of life.

*****

Lake Desolation 18: Giving Up / Giving In

By Bear Pup

Thursday (11)

*****

I'm already up, sitting on the couch and watching the Freedom Tower start
to glow as the sun rises. I woke perhaps an hour ago, mentally reviewing
everything that could go right or wrong from this point. An hour of
fretting, worrying, torturing myself all to the same conclusion: Either
everything will work, or everything will fall apart. There are no
additional precautions to take or preparations to make for either scenario.

At 8:00, I call Christopher and ask a very groggy young man if he is booked
this morning. He agrees to pick us up at noon. I get a genuine laugh when I
tell him I will be offended if he takes the time to dress in the uniform,
and it will be our secret. The call wakes Logan who showers, then comes and
snuggles next to me, giving me a long kiss of good morning. I cuddle with
him like that until 9:00 and call Jennifer. She is delayed and the
receptionist promises that I'll be her first call.

She's not kidding. The phone rings not ten minutes later. Jennifer has been
delayed by someone who apparently was practicing for the Olympic Train
Diving event, doing a header *into an oncoming train* in Long Island
City. It backed up the MTA 7 for nearly 30 minutes. After that, she's all
business.

"So, Jennifer, what happens if I have a bequest amount that is higher than
my net worth at the time of my death? Assume both the will and the death
occur in New York State."

"It goes into abatement, which is costly but not disastrous. I write into
the will which bequests have the higher claim, and make sure that ones that
affect the vulnerability of the will to challenges are satisfied early."

"And if the last bequest is the one short-changed?"

"Then it gets easier. That person gets whatever is left over, after the
other bequests. The fees will likely be significant but not crippling."

"Define 'significant but not crippling ', please."

"Up to five percent?"

"Fine. Please rewrite my will as follows: Cancel the bequest for the Museum
at Eldridge Street. Take all of the other bequests that are percentages and
make them fixed-dollar. Use figures as if I had died today. Make all
existing bequests superior to the new bequest. Make a new bequest in the
name of Larry Mallory -- you have the info -- in the amount of
eighteen-million dollars." Logan gasps and shakes his head. "Also, he gets
the cabin and all related property and chattels, whatever you call it. The
cabin and everything that goes with it or in it. At the very end, the
Museum on Eldridge Street gets 100% of anything left."

It takes perhaps ten more minutes to iron out details. We conclude the call
and Logan is pacing, fully dressed, obviously furious. "Why would you DO
that?"

"Shut up and sit down. You make me nervous and jerky when you pace like
that. Better. Okay. Because, when I checked yesterday, I had a net worth of
about twenty-seven million. The cabin is worth, at best, three-quarters of
a million, depending on what folks will pay for all that land. I think that
the bequests Maria and I had built into the will would come to someplace
around five million at most. That leaves over two million for the Eldridge,
more than I'd planned anyways. And a lot more if they don't have to do that
abatement thing, which they won't if I keep writing."

"But I don't NEED all that!" he wails.

"No, you don't. But if you park everything in something utterly safe,
you'll still make nearly half a million in income each year. If you meet
and fall in love again -- shut up, and do it NOW. Just listen -- you leave
it that person. If not, promise me that you'll give at least a quarter to
the Eldridge in Maria's name. Logan? Logan!" The door into the hall doesn't
slam (it's a Marriott after all) but he's gone.

I sit and brood for a while, then call down and tell them that I'd like a
bellman at 11:00. I pack and realise our Macy's Raid will swamp the luggage
we brought. I make another quick call and a darling little girl shows up
about eleven seconds later, handing me six dry-clean/laundry bags which I
proceed to stuff with clothes. That brings me to 10:00, so I have at least
an hour to brood some more.

It's about 10:45 when something tickles the back of my brain. Something
Logan said about the iPhones. Something about them never getting lost or
stolen. I start to randomly search the screens and find one called, "Find
My iPhone". I check contacts and enter Logan's number. I heave a huge sigh
of relief. He's still in the hotel, or close to it.

I think for a minute and then pull up the texting app. 'I'm sorry. Cane we
talk on wax to cabin? Christopher hear @12'. I don't even see the
rather-humiliating typos until I've hit send. Damned spell check!

My heart soars when I get 'FINE' in return. At least he responded. It's
amazing just how small the good news can be when you're in dumpsville. When
the bellhop arrives (literally at eleven; the clock ticked over as he
knocked), I slip him a medium-sized bill and tell him the driver will be
here around noon. I make a final sweep of the room, all the drawers and
such, just to be sure. After a... memorable event when Maria and I were in
the 'playing with toys' stage and we realised after we got on the plane
what we'd left in a bedside table, it has become an iron-clad ritual.

I stop into the Concierge Lounge and am pleased to find Marq working. I
thank him profusely (with both words and cash) for the perfect night, and
grab a cold bottle of water. I go down to find Logan in the lobby in such a
brown study I can visualise the storm clouds over his head. I sit opposite
him and say nothing. I just look at him as he looks everywhere but at me.

In a way, it hurts me that I upset him, but it also hurts me that he would
be upset by what I've done. If it wouldn't be on CNN by nightfall, I'd
write him a check for the 18 million and be done with it. How can he
imagine that there is anyone out there that I want to have my money when
I'm gone more than him? It hurts that he thinks so little of me, and of
himself, that he would begrudge me the privilege of dying with the
knowledge that he, the person I love more than the world itself, would
never need for anything.

"People are staring."

"What?" His words crash through my contemplation.

"You. You're looking at me like I kicked your favourite puppy-dog. People
are noticing."

I keep my voice low, even and steady. "You did. Metaphorically at least."

He looks at me finally, sighs, "Explain."

"I have money -- a lot of money -- because I've tricked people for four
decades into believing that I know what love really is. And now that I've
actually found it, the person I love won't even take that money when I
leave this world and have no use for it. How can you not see that hurts
me?"

"And how can you not see that your 'planning' makes me think of nothing
except losing you? Jake, I didn't really understand what the lawyer was
about. As soon as I did, I nearly puked right there in her office. You're
planning to DIE, Jake. I'm losing it at the very thought -- and you're
acting like you're making plans for a, a, a book signing!"

"Christopher is coming to pick us up. He's probably entering The City about
now. What happens if he dies?" There is a growing edge in my voice.

The bizarre slash of that question makes Logan shake his head like a dog
with wet ears. "I don't know. Why?"

"He's about your age. Probably has people who love him; I know he does, in
fact. He probably loves a lot of them and worries about them. Don't you
think so?"

"Of course. What the--?" I cut him off hard, and the edge in my voice has
frozen into shards.

"If he's in an accident, he's probably going to agonise over the fact that
he doesn't know if they'll be okay. That he can't do anything to help
them. It's not like he wanted a car to T-bone the limo. He wasn't planning
to die. But don't you think he would do what he could to make sure that, if
something terrible happens, the people he loves are protected, at least a
little?" Logan falls still and silent; there is actual rage in his eyes.

"The difference, Logan, is that I'm not 19 like Christopher with nothing
but a job, a string of girlfriends and an apartment built out with
milk-crate furniture and second-hand chairs. Christopher would be able to
die in peace regretting he couldn't protect those he loved, but also
knowing he'd done everything he could. I don't have that luxury. If it's me
in that accident, my last thoughts would be that I could have saved you
from a life of want... And. Did. Nothing. That I couldn't be bothered to
tell Jennifer that, that... that you were important and I wanted you to be
happy. And you're actually mad that I care about you that much."

I find that I'm no longer a love-struck suitor; instead, I'm an enraged old
curmudgeon and done with foolishness. I am tired, insulted and upset, and
not willing to hide it any more. "Well, fuck that and fuck YOU. I will do
what I goddamned well please with my money. And if you don't think I
c-c-c.... that I *love* you, fine! Then just chalk it up to a selfish old
coot buying himself a moment's peace on his eventual deathbed and bedamned
to you." Logan's eyes are round and if he wasn't right before -- about
people noticing -- they do now. I apparently have not been as calm an
equanimous as normal. Actually... there are echoes.

I jam my hat down so tight I damned near take off my own ears and storm out
front, not quite snarling at the doorman as I swivel and walk in the damp,
cold wind down to the corner, pause to breathe for a minute then head
back. "I'm sorry, Jerold, bad morning."

"Don't mention it, Mr McKay. If this is you on a *bad* morning, I wish
you'd give lessons to some of the other guests!" He smiles broadly. Logan
steps out, cheeks bright-red. From the brutally-cold wind? From the
shit-storm I dumped on him? I'm not really sure I care right now.

Before anyone can say something, almost like some ludicrous movie script,
Christopher pulls up in the limo. He jumps out smiling and starts to say
something, then sees my face. I can't imagine what I must look like to get
the always-eager and delighted Christopher to look at me like I was his
executioner, but I turn to Jerold, tip him generously and ask that he see
if my bags are down. I haven't finished the question when the bellhop
pushes the cart out and Christopher, having opened the door for us, turns
to help load.

I get in and scoot across to the far door. I hear Logan's soft voice and
that of Christopher, then Logan gets in and Christopher closes the door for
him. The boy is driving in moments. I'm a bit shocked, though, when the
privacy partition slides silently up, turning the passenger section into a
silent, separate island.

Logan turns to me and I can hear a little of my own anger is his
voice. "You are really great with words, Jake.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Now.

"You are really, really good at making your point. I won't do as good, but
I'll try, and if you say one fucking word before I'm done, I swear to God
that I'll chew your nuts off in your sleep." My eyes must be huge at this
point. I can't even imagine what I look like.

"Yes, I really do," he adds a singsong to his voice, "think you ca-ca-care
and lu-lu-love me. And you insist on treating me like an ignorant child. If
you thought of me as anything important, you would have ASKED ME about,
well, *everything*! I am not a doll or a plaything, Jake. Yeah, I was a
fucking druggie and an ignorant savage and a wetback punk and whatever the
fuck else you think. But I'm a *person*. Did you ASK me if I thought it was
a good idea to marry? NO! You decided we would be married and I had to talk
sense into you. Did you ASK about the will? Did you ASK about fucking
ANYTHING?" I can't breathe. I can't think. But I can't fail to hear every
word and see every shake of his body.

"Since you found me. Since you stopped me from, from what I was about to
do. Have you asked me what I think about ANYTHING? I was on Morphine for
over four years. It ran my life. And I made more fucking choices every day
than I have since we met. Can you HONESTLY tell me ONE thing that you have
let ME decide that wasn't on a fucking MENU?

"Well, I'm done, Jake. I love you more than anything I have ever known,
ever thought, ever imagined. And it just hurts too much. And it's hurting
you, too. I can't do this. I won't do this." He pulls his wallet full of
very expensive paper out and tosses it on the seat. "Larry Mallory will go
back with you to Lake Desolation. Christopher has agreed to drop Logan
Mendez where he belongs. Saratoga Springs; Jefferson and Worth.

"I can find a fix. I can pawn the watch, the clothes, maybe the phone. You
go back to being the brilliant fucking writer and make your money. But
leave money to Larry Mallory? He doesn't EXIST 'Mr Stettler McKay'. He
NEVER existed!  And you know what? I think Larry is the one you LOVED. You
create characters, Jake! It's what you do. And you have, have... you
created one that I can't BE, Jake. One, day, Jake... one day I pray to God
that you find someone you can love and who can love you. Not as a character
in a book, but as a real person. I love you, Jake. I love you desperately.
But I'm not him. I can't be him. I won't try to be him."

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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Beaux Thibodaux: 24 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 25 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 18 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Shark Reef: 11 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 8 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 7 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 2 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/