Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2023 16:56:12 +0000
From: JD in SFO <sfzero94114@protonmail.com>
Subject: Making New Memories - Chapter Two

Making New Memories - Two


Thank you, Gentle Reader, for continuing to read this story, a series
about a man who confronts his past to find a new future. Dave, Jim, and
the rest of the cast of characters are fictional, and do not represent
any person living or dead. The story is fantasy and exists in that realm,


Elements in this story include sex between men, some racier elements
might include some kinky sex, but for the most part just good
old-fashioned cocksucking and fucking. If you enjoy this story, and
others like it, please consider making a donation to keep the Nifty
archive free and accessible! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


My eyes opened. It was another sunny morning. Stumbling out of bed, I
grabbed my cell phone to check the time.  6:15. `Why?' I wonder `Why
am I up?' Connie was coming by at 9 and Jim at 10, so I knew I had a
little time this morning to myself. Shower and coffee, and I am down at
the dock again.

It really is a beautiful lake. It's cold and deep, and doesn't have the
plant life of many other lakes in Michigan -- too cold for most plants or
algae to grow. With the lack of all that decomposing vegetation, the
water is crystal clear. As a result it mirrors the blue of the sky, and
reflects it back. As the lake deepens so does its colors: turquoise near
the shore, aquamarine as it gets deeper, royal blue, and finally deep
midnight blue in its deepest places. I unlocked the shed and took out one
of the kayaks and a paddle.

The lakes of Northwestern Michigan contain some rocks with a particular
kind of fossil. Petoskey stones, they are called. Their distinct pattern
makes them collectable and interesting. I waded into the lake, the
wavelets lapping against my calves, and stooped over, searching for
petoskeys. After an hour, I had about 6, ranging from quarter-sized to
golf ball-sized. I brought them up to the house and put them on the
table. The funny thing about petoskeys is that you can only see them in
the water, or if they are polished. When they dry, they're just grey or
brown. I put them in a glass. A good morning's work.

Connie came right on time, and over a cup of coffee she talked about the
house.

"Torch Lake has always been a competitive market. It's Michigan's most
beautiful lake, and property tends to stay in the family. Two bedrooms,
two baths, the fireplace, and the big lot with 400 feet of lakefront will
get you a lot, a lot more than your parents' paid for it, and since
it's part of an estate, you won't get fleeced by those capital gains."
She was quite a sales lady. "Of course, if you were to update the
kitchen and the baths, I could get you a lot more..."

"What are we talking about here, Connie?"

"$1.2Million, update the kitchen, and expand it out, and you could get
$1.5Million, easily, of course the winter market is slow, so it would
probably stay on the market `til June, once you got the repairs
completed,"

That gave me a lot to think about, and I thanked Connie for her time. I
told her that I'd come see her tomorrow when I was coming through town.

Connie's car had just left when I heard Jim's truck approach. I ran my
fingers through my hair, swallowed some more coffee and went to the porch
to greet him.

He leaned up against the railing, he was finishing his smoke. He wore a
tshirt today, and khaki cargo shorts with workboots -- a funny look, I
thought, but it looked good on him.  Another day without shaving, I
noticed.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Just fine, kinda weird sleeping in my old bed -- first time in nearly
20 years," I replied. Then, as an afterthought, "n'you?"

"How'd *I* sleep?" he asked? "Ok, I guess. It was warm last night,
and I was too lazy to open the window."

`He sleeps alone, maybe,' I thought to myself. `Why am I even
wondering about that?' "Yeah, I hear ya," It was a noncommittal
response. "So, um, would you like to see the stairs and the dock?"

Again, those grey eyes, smiling, "Sure, but first, could I trouble you
for some coffee? I didn't get a cup this morning."

I disappeared into the house, and brought him back a cup: "Milk, ok? I
don't have any sugar in the house, I guess."

"It'll do fine, thanks," he smiled.  He finished the last drag, and
looked around for where to put it. He looked up at me and smiled again.

"Here, put it in my mug, I am done with my java," I handed it to him.

He drank the hot coffee in a few big gulps, and set his mug down next to
mine on the railing. "Let's get to work," he said.

We worked well together. Side by side. I had imagined that, in hiring
him, he would do the work, but I wasn't doing much else, and so I stuck
around to help. Cutting wood, replacing the boards that were wrecked. We
also strengthened the railing. At the dock he was a pro -- measuring and
fitting. We had easy conversation, talking about weather and fishing and
sports and woodworking. Finally, it was late in the afternoon, and he
laid out the boards that would go into the deck, treating them with
varnish and water sealer. "Tomorrow we can put these in," he said.

I went up to the house to get us some beers. My phone registered a new
message. It was from the realtor downstate. There had been an offer on my
parents' home for exactly the asking price. I called back and left her a
voicemail. "I accept. Fill out the paperwork, call me with next steps,"
I said, eagerly. `That was quick,' I thought to myself. I wandered back
down to the dock, two beers in hand. Jim was standing at the waters'
edge, smoking.  I handed him a beer and he accepted with a grateful nod.

We watched the small waves roll into the shore and drank our beer. He
cleared his throat and looked at me. "So, maybe it's not my place to
ask, but your folks aren't here for the first time in 40 summers, and
you're sprucing the place up with quick fixes. Seems like you're
getting ready to sell. What happened?" It was a lot to say for a man who
uses so few words.

I walked into the water a bit, and hopped up on the dock, sitting, facing
him, my feet in the water. I took a deep breath and a long pull on my
beer. "They're dead," I replied, "and I am gonna sell this old place
and put it all behind me." I realized, just after I'd said it, that I
had probably said more than I should have, but the words were out there.

He didn't ask the customary questions, in fact he didn't say anything
at all. His grey eyes locked with mine. He showed compassion. Sympathy.
Kindness. I let the moment sit for a while and then started speaking
again. "They killed themselves a few months ago," and I let those words
hang in the air, and splash into the lake.

He removed his cigarettes and shook one out. It was the practiced move of
a smoker: an auto-response to a deep conversation, and quickly it was
lit. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. "Do you want to say more
about that? It's ok if you do, or you don't."

I looked up at him and met his gaze. "My dad's cancer returned, and
this time it wasn't going away again. They always said they would die
together, so they mixed up a kool-aid and died together. They left a note
for the police, and had left a message for my aunt to let her know what
had happened and why. They left me a note, too, and made me executor,
which baffles me. I had figured that had written me out a long time ago.
I guess it was a very easy way to go, my aunt said they looked peaceful.
It's taken a few weeks to get things handled with the court and the
estate, and so now I am out here in Michigan to clean things up" It was
a lot to say all at once. I let it sit there for a moment. "I'm ok with
it. I really am," I felt the need to comfort him somehow, to let him
know he didn't need to comfort me.

"That's what I would do, too," he said, suddenly. "I would go like
that before I let sickness take me." He exhaled his smoke, and folded
his arms. "I'd rather be the one in control of my destiny, you know?"

I did know.

We let the moment sit, and then pass. It was easy and gentle. "Do you
know why this lake is called Torch Lake?" he asked.

I didn't know. All the years of coming up here, and I'd wondered that.
"Nope, you gonna tell me, I s'pose?" I was feeling punchy. I chalked
it up to beer.

"Tell ya what, you promise to clean what I catch, and cook it up
tonight, and I'll show you." With that, he got up and went to his
truck. He came down with a net, some sticks, a bag. I went to the boat
and started to remove the canvas. "Nope, we need to be motorless," and
he headed over to the shed and pulled out the Old Town canoe. I grabbed
paddles, and we loaded up the canoe with his stuff and we pushed off.

It was starting to darken when we paddled out. He was sitting in the
front, which meant I was steering. "Where are we going, chief?" I
asked. "Down to Ball Point, and then out." We paddled in silence down
the lake.

When we arrived at Ball Point we went out into the lake, clearly it was
deep here. I knew the lake reached depths of 200+ feet, and we must be
over one of those spots now, for the water was dark blue. We floated for
a moment, watching the sun set over the trees. Jim finished his cigarette
and said "It's time." He opened the bag and pulled out a canning jar.
Wrapping a big piece of cloth around the end of the stick, he dipped it
into the jar. "Kerosene," he pointed at the jar. He lit the end of the
stick and it burst into flame. With his right hand he held the stick
close to the surface of the water. "Keep us still, pointed this
direction, but don't make any noise," he instructed me. I watched.

With his left hand he held a net. I kept us pointed straight, giving
short paddles when necessary. I saw him hunch over. With a swift
movement, he scooped the net into the water, and pulled out a fat lake
trout.  He tossed the fish into the pail. "That one's yours," he
said.  He held the torch back over the surface of the water, and soon
enough was pulling out a second trout. "Let's head for home, unless you
think you want more than one fish," he winked at me.  We paddled towards
the lake house, and he lit another cigarette. "See, the Indians who
lived on these shores took advantage of the clarity of the water. At
night they'd come out with torches and coax the trout up from the cool
safety of the deep water. The light tricks `em into thinking it's
sunny, but since the light is localized, they can't see the shadow of
the boat in the water. No hooks. No line. Just dinner. And that's why
it's called Torch Lake."

I gutted the fish when we got home, and we made a fire in the firepit and
grilled the fish.  I had nothing to go with it, no veggies, no sides, but
it was such a good, simple meal. Jim had brought out a cooler with more
beer from the back of his truck, "Never know when it would come in
handy," he winked at me again.

I slept well that night. Jim left around 10, we had finished the six pack
he brought, and laughed into the night. Stupid stories about being on the
lake as a kid. Scary tricks he and his friends would play on the YMCA
boys camp -- sneaking into the camp, pretending to be bears or wolves to
the city kids who were coming up to camp for 2 weeks in the summer. A few
times I thought I caught him looking at me funny, his grin turning more
serious, but it might have been the firelight and the shadows. All I know
is that I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

That night I thought about him while I was falling asleep. His laugh and
his dancing grey eyes. I fantasized about his lips on mine. His rough
stubble on my beard. My cock in hand, I slid my fist up and down my dick.
Thick and meaty, I'd been well-endowed. Some good things come from dad,
I suppose. I imagined him fucking me, slow and easy at first, building up
his speed and rhythm. I could feel the power in his thighs as he bent and
flexed, and in his back as he pushed into me. My legs around his torso,
my hands on his strong forearms. The smell of him, the taste of him, and
then he was exploding inside me, nutting deep in me, and he was
penetrating me with his long, thick dick, and his cool, grey eyes. My cum
splashed onto my belly and chest and chin -- a good load for me.

As my breathing returned to normal, I laid on my back, stunned. I am
usually on top. It's been years since I was fucked. I wondered how that
image got in my head! And with four beers, a belly full of fish, and a
long day in the sun, I fell asleep, the cum drying on my belly.

Coffee.  I smelled coffee. I took my cell phone off the bedside table. It
read 7:30. `That's an improvement,' I thought to myself. `Wait,
coffee! Who's in my kitchen?' I threw on my boxers, and ran out of my
room to the railing of the loft.  "Hello? Who's there?"

Jim came out into the open room. "Just came by to put another coat of
weather proofing on those boards, and thought you might want some coffee
-- I sure could use some. Brought you some sugar, too," he said,
wandering back toward the kitchen.

`What the fuck? Why doesn't he just move in?' I wondered. I headed to
the bathroom took a piss, grabbed my shorts, and came downstairs, rubbing
the sleep out of my eyes. Jim was sitting at the table looking at my
collection of petoskeys. He had two mugs of coffee. I grabbed one, sat
down hard, and thanked him.

He raised his eyes, looked at my chest, and smirked. "Looks like you had
sweet dreams last night, Dave," his eyes smiled.

I looked down. Telltale cumsplash was stuck in my dark chest hair.
"Thanks for pointing that out, big guy," I put my shirt on, and grabbed
some coffee. Jim was fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. Something
about the logo and look of Marlboro Reds always got my attention,
although I was never much for tobacco. He followed my gaze, "you mind if
I smoke," he asked?

"I haven't minded up `til now, have I?" I smiled back. He eased back
in his chair, contemplating what I'd said, and lit up.

"Quite a collection of stones. Did you pick those up yesterday?" He
popped a stone into his mouth to wet it, and spit it out. It's a funny
custom, but since the stones show off their fossil best when wet, this
was how the locals did it.

"Yup," I said. "You want breakfast?"

"I guess it doesn't look like I skip many meals, does it?" His belly,
a bit firmer than mine, had a nice sway to it in his shirt. "I'd love
some."

I put some bacon in the cast iron skillet, and when it was about half way
through, cracked three eggs into the skillet, seasoning them. When they
were through, I slipped them onto a plate and cracked three more. Three
eggs, and several pieces of bacon on each plate, I brought over the
plates. He dug in, slurping up the sunny side up eggs with his bacon.

Pushing his empty plate back, he said, "Welp, thanks for the meal, big
Dave. I need to get over to DeWitt's this morning for a few hours, but
I'll be back late this afternoon to replace those boards on the dock.
Sound good?"

I nodded, and stood up. He stood and pushed in his chair. He caught my
gaze for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it,
and smiled. Winking, he said "See ya later," and walked out the front
door.

`He really did wink at me, right?' I wondered. I stood for a couple of
seconds, and then ran to the door, and walked onto the front porch.
"Wait," I shouted after him. "How'd you get in? The door was
locked!"  I was curious, not angry.

"Everyone knows where your old man kept the key. Hanging right there,
between those two posts in the railing," he pointed.

"Hmm. I didn't know that," I said to no one -- he had already climbed
into his truck, and was pulling out of the driveway.

End of Chapter Two


I wonder if there are sparks between Jim and Dave? We'll learn more in
the next chapter...

As always, your feedback is welcome. Please send comments, improvements,
ideas to sfzero94114@protonmail.com