Perilous Journey 6

PERILOUS JOURNEY - 6

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[Author's Note: Thanks for joining me on another adventure! I look forward to hearing from you and comparing thoughts. And, say, where would we be without Nifty...especially when the times are rough and the crazies are out in full force? Will you join me in making even a small financial contribution to the Archive in order to keep this site free and, as it has always been, an important part of our lives? Thanks again, friend!]

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, please respect yourself and those around you by practicing safe sex.

CHAPTER 6

(Revisiting Chapter 5)

In all this there had been only one miscalculation. The warmth and light of mid-fall days peak rather early. Hence, by the time they had completed their work, cleaned and stored their tools, and quickly washed off with the aid of a hose at the back of the house, the pool looked less and less attractive. Turning to the human being for whom Scott had been waiting all his life, he simply smiled and said, "Come with me, son." Arms around each other, they made their way up a small hill that rose on the eastern side of their home. Enjoying the lingering warmth of the day, they lay close together in a protected spot on the slope, kissing, laughing about moments of humor that always are waiting to be noticed, and looking forward to their next life adventure. Even the storm clouds rolling in couldn't dampen their spirits.

(Continuing Our Story: The View from the Window)

For a moment, Robbie was sure that he was on a train, joined to the man whom he never thought he'd find. He could still feel the heavy weather as it actually caused the house to shudder. He could still feel Scott's heavy quads as he stroked the thighs of his protector...his great love. With wondrous timing - however unintended - Scottie moaned as he rubbed his hand across the velvet flesh of Robbie's derriere. In fact, evidently finding him lying a millimeter or so too far away, he reached out, vigorously pulled the young athlete closer, and began playing with everything within reach. It was Robbie's turn to moan! Not even waiting to hit the bathroom, he raised his head, passionately kissed his love, and mumbled, "Oh Dad, yesterday was the greatest, but I'm so glad we're home!" "Me, too," responded his father, "but we're going to be soaking wet in about ten seconds unless we sprint for the bathroom...NOW!"

After spending the next three-quarters of an hour making sure that every vestige of tension in their lover's body had been...relieved, that every part was squeaky clean, and that every...system was again ready for immediate service, they helped each other dry off and then headed downstairs for the kitchen. As they passed the tall window in the stairwell, Scottie growled, "Guess that whatever we do today has to be scheduled for indoors." Peering at the torrential rain and wind-swept trees, he continued, "Rather early for a nor’easter, Rob, but that's sure as hell what it is! I don't remember many of these before we're well into September, and here it's only August." "Yeah," Robbie grunted. "Weird... Glad I'm not still involved in harvesting late summer crops." Grinning, he added, "Now I can worry about the effect of these storms on the beginning of the football season!"

So it was a really late breakfast...but so what! After pouring coffee, Scottie atypically stood at the counter, preparing a few slices of cinnamon toast. (Normally, breakfast was a "catch as catch can" meal. Typically, neither man was sufficiently awake at that early hour to do much beyond grabbing something and automatically biting, munching, and swallowing.) And Robbie? Sipping his morning brew, his eyes atypically open and casting about, he sat splayed out on a wooden chair at the table. His eyes didn't stray far (or for more than a second or two) from Scott's muscular, hairless buttocks. "Wow!" he thought. For a man who was well into the "dangerous thirties", they were really something - and the whole reverse side of his body wasn't that far behind!

A lecherous grin flitting across the youngster's face, he suddenly exclaimed, "Dad, I've got an idea for the kitchen!" "How so, Muscles?" responded Scottie...cautiously. "Well, you know, Dad, when we bring our shopping bags in from the SUV, we need something heavy to load them on. Like this table," he added, loudly pounding a big fist down on the table at which he sat. "Yeah?" Scot asked. "But, Dad, we've got a big kitchen, a kitchen that could hold ten tables...or more," he added lamely. "We've got plenty of room for a glass table, a table that would let us really enjoy breakfast! How about it?" Loading the last of the cinnamon toast onto a plate, Scottie placed it on the table between them...before running a hand down his son's broad back from his neck to the top of his crack. "Oh, yeah... That's it!" Robbie moaned, pivoting and playfully driving the thick curls on his head into Scott's midsection. "Hah!" yelped the long-suffering one. "Henry VIII may have had the right idea. Detach it...right here...and you've got a dandy mop!"

(Miss Wendy Greene)

Their ongoing repartee was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the brass doorknocker on the front door. "Son?" Scott groaned, clearly passing the responsibility onto Robbie for answering it...promptly. "Yep," his boy snapped and took off up the front stairs. (In truth, Scottie enjoyed the view from the rear every much as Rob had a short time ago.) The older man heard the return trip and the opening of the door, but could only make out the gist of the ensuing conversation. Briefly, Professor Thayer was ill and regretted not being able to come to the door. An express letter for Thayer had been received in the Administration building with a request that it be delivered immediately. Inasmuch as a University messenger had not been available, the Assistant Provost had asked a junior secretary in his office to take it over to Mt. Baxter. The manuscript having evidently been passed to Robbie, the conversation took a "slight" turn.

"You're new here?" a young female voice asked solicitously. Clad only in a pair of old, abbreviated shorts and a badly torn T-shirt...seriously embarrassed and off balance... Rob still managed to choke out a polite "Yes?" "An athlete?" she continued. "Yeah, I'm into football and some wrestling," Rob answered, just the slightest note of "Cummon, girl, get the f✺ck outta here" tinging his words. Showing feminine determination, she plunged ahead: "I'm Wendy Greene," she cooed. "My Tau Tau sisters and I are sponsoring a mixer at our house over in the Greek Village at 8:00 p.m. on Friday next. New students usually meet some really nice people, people who want to be friends. Besides, I'd personally love to see you." Firmly, even brusquely - with no more than the bare minimum of courtesy - Rob growled, "Thanks for delivering the letter. I'll see to it that Professor Thayer receives it. I'm afraid, however, that mixers are just not my thing. Good luck." As he began slowly to close the door, the young lady lashed out in complete exasperation, "I'm sorry. Our mixers are the talk of the East Coast. I think you might be very popular." Pointing to the panes of lightly-curtained glass that bordered the sides of the main door, she added, "I saw you, you know, as you ran upstairs to find some clothes. You really ought to reconsider. You and I could have some fun - unless, of course, girls are just not your thing." With that, Miss Wendy Greene turned and walked stiffly away.

Immediately returning to the kitchen and handing the letter to Scott, Robbie threw himself back into his chair, furiously burying his head into his brawny arms. His heavy breathing resounded throughout the room. (Pause.)

Exerting every bit of self-control he possessed, Scott took a knife from the counter, opened the official envelope, and stood while he read the message. (Pause.) Sent at the request of his friend, Superior Court judge August Durand, it said that he had been most impressed by Scott's petition and the supporting materials provided by Robert Lewis. He intended to approve the young man's adoption and name change (to Robert Thayer), but, unfortunately, the matter could not possibly appear on his docket for several weeks. "Let the young man immediately assume his new (and honored) name," he wrote. Further, the two of them should join him for lunch at the Court House as soon as the beginning of the school year allowed. He closed with "Congratulations, friends!" Quietly, Scott refolded the letter, inserted it into the envelope, and placed it on the table near Robbie's hands. Before walking into his study, he gently lay his hand on the back of the boy's neck, murmured, "You should read this."

A good half hour later, Robbie appeared at the open door of the study. Sitting in a comfortable chair, attempting to read, Scott was shocked. Other than on one occasion when called upon to identify a student's body in the morgue, he had never before seen a human being whose color - dead or alive - was an unrelieved "dingy white". Robbie's naked flesh - the heavy muscles of his torso and thighs, his prominent genitals...even his hair - looked as if it had been made up for a horror movie! Framed against the dim light of the hallway, his face weighed down with despair, the youth began to wail, "D-a-a-d-d", but broke it off abruptly.

Suddenly bringing himself back under some degree of control, the lad swallowed and stood a little straighter before hoarsely whispering, "I'll be out of here before first light, sir. There's no way that I'll embarrass you further before your friends in the community and at Timothy. I hope you realize how much I regret the story that will get back to staff in the Administration Building - or what your friend, Judge Durand, will think of my stability and your judgment. You keep trying to teach me, to help me grow up...and I keep screwing up. I also hope you have some feeling for how much I worship you..." (He paused before saying firmly, "'Worship'...yes, that's the word.") Taking a great gulp of air, he completed his sentence,"and for how furious I am that I have failed you...and myself...so disastrously." Reluctantly...as if his feet and his heart were glued to the floor...the youth turned to leave the doorway.

In a voice whose volume reverberated throughout the room, his facial expression rather impassive, the Professor exclaimed, "Mr. Thayer!" "Have you, by chance, noticed that when you find yourself out on a shaky limb - especially when the issue is of great importance to you - that you tend to think of leaving 'before the first light'? Further, have you noticed that in these situations, that the sins of the whole world rest on your shoulders? You and you alone are responsible for whatever is wrong. Chance, others, some combination of factors have played no part. Then, too, you have told me that you like your history. How about Winston Churchill's words, 'Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts'."

Scott rose, walked over to the youth, and fiercely hugged him. "Do remember," he said with more than a touch of humor in his voice that the sun may not rise tomorrow morning. Want to try Churchill one more time? Here... Come, sit with me on the couch." (Pause.)

For nearly an hour, the Professor (now all but officially a very proud father) worked with his boy who had been thrown into a state of shock by the girl's words. He read the judge's letter aloud when he discovered the young man hadn't read it. As he began to "get through" to the vulnerable teen, he continued. "You've really got to read my lecture on "Historical Approaches to the Care and Feeding of Young Women". It's good stuff, but I fear it's a bit provocative for this evening. We also have to face the fact that classes start soon. Simply put, I need to spend some time in my office." Trying hard to get a grip on his emotions, Robbie interrupted, "Yeah, Dad. You're not alone. I need to touch bases with some friends, pick up my class list, and talk with Coach Lawson about football-wrestling conflicts. If you still think I should live in a dorm for at least the first year, I'd also like to meet my roommate. Maybe we could go over to Timothy on the same day?" Scottie nodded before murmuring, "There are a lot of things we need to discuss, yes?" Reaching over and nibbling on the boy's ear, he added, "The thought comes to me, however, that there may be something considerably more enjoyable on our docket after supper."

(To Be Continued)