Date: Tue, 04 Jul 2023 19:22:02 +0000 From: JD in SFO Subject: Making New Memories - Chapter Five Making New Memories - Five Thank you, Gentle Reader, for opening 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 It rained again that night, but it must have been a gentle, quiet rain. I awoke to a bright morning and a clean, fresh smell blowing in through the windows. I allowed myself to lie on my back for a moment, taking in the day and the events of the day before. My cock hardened beneath the sheets, lengthening against my belly. I ran my hand over my belly and chest as I grabbed my cock and felt my full balls with my other hand, and I let my mind take over. I flashed back to that kiss on the porch. The storm and thunder and rain. All that power around us, as Jim had taken me into his arms and probed my mouth with his tongue. He was an amazing kisser, and could get me horny just by his smell and touch and taste. I fantasized: clearly this was heading in a good direction, I wondered if tonight would be the night I would feel him between my legs, feel his mouth on my dick, taste his body. As my palm slid across the head of my cock I felt precum -- damn, this is one hot guy, I am not usually a precummer; of course, I am not usually a bottom either, but all I could think of was him lifting my legs over his shoulders, and sliding into me. In sync with my fantasy, I let my eyes roll back in my head as I imagined him fucking me. Long, slow, purposeful strokes. Just as I thought he had bottomed out, he found more of me -- his dick pushing deeper. That feeling of fullness -- I moaned out loud. My balls were tightening, and my belly was tingling. No chance at all of this being a slow jack-off, I was ready. Giving into the moment I let my fist slide up and down my shaft, faster, tighter, driving me toward that place I knew I wanted. I heard myself groan, I felt my breathing quicken, and the first splat of cum shot against my cheek. FUCK! As I inhaled, another rope shot to my chest, and I kept pumping my dick furiously. Ungh, Ungh, I couldn't stop -- and the cum continued to pump out of my balls and spread across my chest and belly. Spent, I dropped my hand to my chest, and rubbed the cum through my chest hair. As my breathing returned to normal, I looked around me. The world seemed a bit brighter. I stumbled downstairs, switched on the coffee pot, and came back up for a shower. I let the water wash down my body, and thought about the wonderful adventure I was starting. There were a dozen things on my to-do list, but I wanted to do none of them. I had been going nonstop for three weeks since arriving back home in Michigan, it was time for a day of rest. After a quick breakfast, I took another mug of coffee and went down to the boat lift. I turned the rusty wheel and lowered the old beauty into the water. She was a magnificent craft, built in the golden days of wooden personal watercrafts. She was worth a small fortune. I hopped in, started her elegant inboard motor, and moved slowly out to from the shore and headed down the lake. Stopping at DeWitt's for some gas and some lunch fixings, I filled up the tank, and then took her out. Torch Lake is Michigan's largest inland lake. It's about 20 miles from top to bottom, but narrow: perhaps only 2 miles at its widest. As I eased into the deepest part of the lake, I pushed her to full throttle. She tore out over the smooth surface of the water, and we flew across the lake. It was a true feeling of freedom. Heading down the lake, then back up the West side of the lake, I stopped at a quiet park to make a sandwich or two and have a pop. I laughed at myself: White bread, bologna, yellow mustard, and Vernor's Ginger Ale. This tasted like childhood. Soon I was on my way, again. When I got back to the house there was a message on my voicemail. It was from Connie asking me to please call her back as soon as possible. "Hello, Connie, this is Dave Bishop. Sorry I missed your call, I was out on the lake," I said when I heard her pick up. "Hello Dave. I'll make this quick." She got right to the point, forsaking the usual northern Michigan small talk. "I had a couple come into my office today. They've been renting a place up in Eastport this summer, and are thinking of buying a place up here. I'd like to show them your home. They are going back downstate tomorrow, and, if it works out, I'd like to bring them by today." She was speaking quickly, she must think they were a good lead. I looked at my watch -- it was already 3:30, and I had at least a 45-minute drive to Charlevoix, and I still needed to shower. "Well, if you can be here in the next hour, that'll be best, as I need to be on the road by 5:30," I offered. "Great, I will see what I can do, and call you back. Thanks," and she hung up. Within 3 minutes she called back. "We're on our way, we'll be there in 45 minutes." She certainly sounded chipper. They must be ready to buy. That was the way things had to work in real estate up here, though. The best deals on houses came after families spent the summer up here, and wanted to keep the memory alive. Forty-five minutes gave me just enough time to shower and put on some clothes. As I was going into town later, I decided on jeans and a polo shirt. I had just enough time to straighten up the downstairs a little before I heard a car in the driveway. I walked out onto the porch to meet Connie and a nice looking couple. "Hello Dave, thanks for agreeing to see us." Connie offered a handshake. "Krieger and Ollie Johansen are heading back to Grosse Pointe tomorrow, and were hoping to see a few properties on the lake before they left for the summer. They've been staying up in Eastport. Krieger and Ollie, please meet Dave Bishop," she said by way of introduction. We shook hands. They seemed nice enough. "Well, welcome, have a look around. I am not sure what I am supposed to do, here, Connie. Do you want me to stick around to answer questions, or make myself scarce?" I asked. "I'll take care of the inside, but if you would show them the dock and the lakefront and the boat lift after we're done, that would be great," she replied. It wasn't long before they were back outside. We walked down to the lakefront. With more than 400 feet of lakefront, it was an unusually large lot, and they were impressed. The improvements to the dock, and the large boat lift were definite bonuses. Krieger approached over to the Riva and ran his hand over the smooth finish in a fond caress. "I, uh, I," he was stuttering, "I don't suppose you're selling this, too, are you?" His wife rolled her eyes. "This here is a 1959 Riva Ariston, and I will likely be looking to sell it. I don't anticipate coming back up this way much," I answered. "I'd be happy to talk about selling it as a separate agreement." He let out a low whistle, his mind figuring the possible price for such a beautiful boat. "A 1959, eh? She's a real beaut." I laughed, "Yeah, that she is." We all headed back up to the house together, and as we approached the porch Connie asked, "Is there anything else you all would like to see?" "No," Ollie replied, "I think we've seen what we came to see," she said with a smile. "Then I'll leave this in your capable hands, Connie," I smiled back, hoping that this deal was going to close. They were gone a few moments later, and I hoped that I'd be getting a call from Connie soon with an offer. Wednesday evenings at the Villager Pub were busy in the summertime. Charlevoix is a tourist town, and has to do most of its business during the warm months of the year. Winter is long and cold in Northern Michigan. I ducked into the Villager and saw Jim and others setting up and doing a sound check. He caught my eye and winked at me, and I felt my face go warm. Was I blushing? I hung out close to the stage, and he waved me up to join him. Making a quick introduction to his other band mates, he said he was finished up, and that we could go get some food. The restaurants are known for serving Whitefish, a particularly flakey fish common to the cold waters of the Great Lakes. We went to an old standard, The Dockside, for some Whitefish. The conversation was easy, as he told me about his music and his band and some of the artists and legends who had inspired him. The band, I found out, did an interesting mix of rock and bluegrass, using a bass violin to strum out what a rock band would use to make bass chord progressions and riffs. I felt like I was going to be in for a real good show. We had time before we needed to be back to walk up Bridge Street, Charlevoix's main commercial drag. At the end of the street is a drawbridge which opens on the half-hour to allow taller boats access between Lake Charlevoix and Lake Michigan. We went up to it and leaned against the railing looking out at the channel. "My mom used to take me here, usually with an ice cream cone, to wait for the bridge to go up when I was a boy," I reminisced. Jim chuckled as he lit up a cigarette. Taking a long inhale and letting the smoke out slowly, he began, "It's not my place to say this ..." I laughed quietly, "Uh oh! Always a good way to start a conversation." "Well, it's a good way to start saying something that you might need to hear, Dave," he turned his gaze toward me and met my eyes. I nodded my head, in a request for him to go on. "I have no idea what it's like to be rejected by your parents, or what it was like for you ..." "You're right," I interjected, "you don't know what it's like." I felt bitterness rising inside me. "Would you let me finish, or would you like to change the topic and talk about ice cream?" I sighed, "Yes, go on -- I will listen," I was annoyed, but I trusted him. "You're angry at your folks -- I get that, but there are some good times that you had which maybe you don't want to forget about. You had a fuckin' great childhood, up here on the lake every summer. Even the way, for a moment, you looked out at the channel here and remembered your mom ... it feels like you're holding onto more anger than you are pleasant memories. That one awful act of rejection didn't have to negate all the good memories in the past." He was on a roll, and I was trying hard to listen to what he was saying. "I think maybe what angers you the most is that there's no one left to be angry at now. It's all over." Then he added, softly, realizing that he might have crossed a line, "It's time for a new plan." He looked up at me, took a deep inhale and tossed the spent cork butt in the channel. Squinting over the smoke as he exhaled, he met my gaze and waited for me to speak. "Fuck," I spat the word out. It was a good way to begin. "You don't say much, but when you do, it's big, man. How do you do that?" I was stalling for time. "I think I want to be pissed at what you said, but there's something that is true about it. I definitely know I haven't figured out what the new plan is, but I know I need one," I smiled. "Fuck." It was a good way to end. "Whew," he sighed in relief, "I was afraid you were gonna haul off and hit me, which is exactly what I would have done if someone had said that to me." I liked the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. I reached out and grabbed his hand quickly, gave it a squeeze, and let it go again. "The bridge is about to go up -- we have just enough time to watch it before we have to get you back to the Villager," I said, turning toward the bridge. Sure enough, the claxon began to sound and the gates came down as the bridge creaked up, allowing a couple of sailboats through. We turned and walked back down Bridge Street and into the Villager. From my seat at the end of the bar I could see the show well, and they were good. I loved watching Jim laugh as he picked his banjo, or bite his lips when he was concentrating on a riff. They ended the first set with a great cover of King Wilkie's "Wrecking Ball," with its bluesy rock chords and driving beat. It was modern bluegrass at its best. They announced a break, set down their instruments, and Jim came over to see me. I had a beer waiting for him and he took a long pull from it, licking his lips when he swallowed. Grabbing his Marlboros off the bar, he pulled one out and lit it up, exhaling into the smoky bar, and drained the rest of his beer. "Would you like another?" I asked. He nodded yes, his elbows and back resting on the bar while he surveyed the crowd. "Not a bad night. We'll pull in a bit, enough to pay for the gas and beer, I suppose!" He looked over at me, "You're the best thing in this bar tonight, though." He flashed his smile at me. I blushed. All too soon, he was back up on stage and I was left to think about how amazing he looked in his jeans. Jim's build was comfortable. His strong upper body continued its fullness through his torso, where his belly filled out his shirt nicely. This man was a real bear of a man. His muscular thighs, strong from all the work he did, were clearly visible in the contour of his jeans. I think I was staring, because as he was playing his next song, he caught my eye and winked at me. Into the second set, someone came up and sat beside me. "Is this seat taken?" he asked. I glanced at him and shook my head no, and indicated it was free, and went back to watching the show and tapping my foot. Half way through the next song, I saw Jim look up again and glance in my direction, giving me a strange look. Thirty seconds later I heard the man next to me order a drink, and I knew why Jim had given me the strange look. "I'll take a pint of stout, and a pint of the IPA -- is that what Jim's drinking tonight?" the man sitting next to me ordered drinks from the bartender. I smiled to myself. This was either going to be really awful, or really funny. I was looking forward to seeing how it played out. I had just enough beer to be feeling punchy, I was going to play dumb for a moment, so I did the same thing and ordered Jim a drink. "Two IPA's, please," I signaled the bartender. Two songs later, and the set ended, and I saw Jim talk with his band mates and set down his banjo. He came over. On his way over, I debated: should I speak before the other guy does, placing a beer in his hand, or should I just relax and wait to see what happened? "Hey Jim! That sounded great! Here's a beer for you to wet your whistle after all that singing!" The eager guy next to meet stood up and thrust a beer into Jim's hand. I was instantly glad that I had decided to wait. "Um, Will, it's good to see you, buddy," he extended his hand to shake it. Will brushed it out of the way, and gave him a big hug, "What, don't I get a hug anymore?" Will threw his arms over Jim's big shoulders and gave a squeeze. "Mmm, I just love hugging on you, big old bear!" Jim's eyes caught mine, he raised his eyebrows, and then looked down, awkwardly. As the hug broke, Jim came over to the bar, and reached for his cigarettes. Will's hand covered the pack, and he shook his head. "Smoking's bad for your singing voice, Jim," Will used almost a lecturing tone of voice. I smiled into my beer waiting to see how this would play out. "Your hand is between me and something I want," Jim said, trying to be playful. He made another attempt. "Ok, just this once, but you gotta promise me you'll quit these things," Will countered. Jim snatched his pack of Marlboros from the bar,and lit up quickly. Taking a mighty pull, he leaned over me. "Will, you've been standing next to my friend, Dave, who's also watching the show tonight," he nodded his head toward me. Looking at both of us, he introduced us. I was pleasant. We stood quietly, Will not knowing what to say, and Jim feeling out of place. He quickly drained his beer, and I offered him the other one. "Looks like maybe you could use this, bud." "So, Will, do you live here in Charlevoix? I am not a townie, I am just here closing down my parents' cottage on Torch Lake. Jim here," I nodded toward the embarrassed bearded man next to me, "has been doing some work for me, and suggested I come into town and see a show. I am glad I did," shifting my attention toward Jim, "you guys are really good," I smiled as I ended. Jim relaxed some. "I live up in Petoskey, and like to catch Jim's shows whenever I can," Will wasn't sure what to make of this situation. He didn't quite believe that Jim was just doing work for me, but he couldn't be certain. "It's worth the price of gas, I think! They're a good band," I said, offering up more small talk. "So, you're closing up your parents' cottage for the season?" Will asked, easing into small talk. "Nope, I am getting it ready to sell. Some folks came by today to take a look at it, as a matter of fact. I am hoping they made an offer before they left town." "You had an offer?" Jim asked. "Not yet, but they seemed to like the place. Connie brought them by just before I left to come here. If they're ready to buy, I am ready to sell," I responded. "Ah," Jim said, quietly. "That's cool," Will said. I think he was happy to know that I might be out of the picture. "I've been comin to see Jim play for about a year now. Here at the Villager, and at Sleder's in TC," he said, using the jargon for Traverse City. The band was reassembling for the last set, and I glanced at my watch: it was ten. I drained my beer and cleared my throat to speak, "I am ..." "Nah, don't leave yet, Dave, stick around for the final number," Jim's eyes were almost pleading, and Will caught it. "Oh, shit, I see what's happening here. Fuck, Jim," Will said, in a voice that was loud enough to be heard by the people nearest the bar, "Whenever some summer fuck shows up, Will gets the shaft, right? Then winter comes, and suddenly you're back. No more, Jim, I am done with it. I am done with you," Will drained his beer, turned, and walked away, exiting the bar. Jim sighed. "I gotta get back on, but, don't leave just yet, ok? Let's talk about this," Jim asked. I nodded affirmatively. The last set was the best one. They were really performing well, and the crowd responded. The set ended but the applause was so heavy that they played two more songs. Finally, an exhausted Jim packed up his banjo, settled up with his buds for the night, and came down off the stage. "Don't you need to collect your piece of the door?" I inquired when I realized he was ready to leave then. "Nah, Al will see that I get my share, I need to clear my head outta this place tonight," he said, placing his hand on the small of my back and steering me toward the door. He walked me to my car and pointed to his truck. "Follow me," he said, then added, "please." Before turning to walk to his truck, he leaned in and kissed me. It was quick, but it was hot, promising. How could I not follow him for more of that? I followed his truck back down the highway towards home. I was quiet -- I didn't have the radio on, and I had rolled down the windows. It felt nice to get fresh air after being cooped up in that smokey bar for a few hours. At Eastport we turned onto East Torch Lake Drive for a couple of miles, then left to Springstead Road, a small dirt road that led away from the lake. The suspension in my rental car was not made for dirt roads, but I followed anyway, turning right off the road onto an unmarked road consisting of just two car-width ruts in the grass. We jolted and bounced along, up a hill, to the top. It was all coming back to me: this had been the hill where we used to come as kids to get high and drink stolen beer. At the top of the hill we both got out. I walked over to him. Taking a deep breath, I stood next to him, and began "You know, you don't need to explain yourself to me. It's not like I imagine that you don't have a life here ..." He put his finger to my lips and faced me. "Shhh, I do need to explain," he interrupted. "I didn't know Will was going to be there tonight. He doesn't come every time I play as he indicated. I would not have put you, either of you, in that position if I'd known. "He's right, Will is. He's convenient, and I treat him that way. Cuddle up to him in the winter, and wander away in the summer when there are other things and other people to distract me. It's no way to be, it's no way to treat someone. I hadn't quite put it all together `til this evening, I don't think. Man, I have hurt him." Jim's awareness was earnest. "I thought I was just uncomplicated, I guess." I sputtered in a choked laugh, trying not to be so obvious. "You are anything but uncomplicated, Jim. You're a dark horse," I smirked. Walking over to the passenger side of my rental car, I stuck my hand in the open window and opened the glovebox. I had brought a flask of bourbon for the memorial service, but had forgotten to put it in my jacket pocket on the day of the funeral. It was still full. I pulled off the cap and took a long pull. I returned to Jim, and handed it to him. "C'mere," I climbed up on the rock and patted the spot next to me. "The lake is beautiful from up here." And it was. From this high hill, the highest in the area, you could look out over the lake and across the couple of miles of land that separated Torch Lake from the great Lake Michigan. There was a half a moon, and its pale light cast strange shadows. It felt like a night for magic. Jim sat down next to me, and I handed him the flask. Taking a long drink of bourbon he swallowed loudly, licked his lips and contemplated the moment. He lit a Marlboro and exhaled forcefully. I sat quietly beside him, trying to allow him to continue if he wanted. We sat in silence, passing the flask back and forth for a few more minutes. Finally, I spoke. "Jim, you don't owe me anything. I leave at the end of the week, and your life here continues on. Will seems to care about you..." He cut me off. "I don't like Will that way. It's companionship and sex. You don't understand what it's like to live up here. There isn't a gay neighborhood, apps and websites. The only gay bar up here is over an hour's drive in Traverse City, and cars parked outside it still get their windshields bashed in. We couple off up here not because we're meant to be together, but because we'd rather not be alone." He swallowed some more bourbon, and tossing his cork filter aside, lit up another Marlboro. I put my arm around him and pulled him close to me. "It's not so different in the big City, Jim. Sex is easier to find than love. Sometimes finding someone with whom you don't have to be alone is enough," I said this as if it made sense to me, even though I didn't believe it. He turned toward me and kissed me, his lips searching mine for truth, his tongue knowing I had lied to him just then, but forgiving me with his passionate probing. Quickly the kiss turned hot, and we lost ourselves in it. Finally he pulled back, and looked me in the eyes. "It's still summer," I winked at him. "and we're both up here on Heartbreak Hill." He laughed. "I forgot that's what the kids call it." He kissed me again. When we broke apart, we were breathing hard and I couldn't help feeling the length of his dick through his jeans. He reached down and pushed my hand aside, shoving his fingers deep between my legs and pulling my whole package forward, squeezing gently. "Oh, yeah," I groaned and leaned into him, my hands spread across his broad chest. I nuzzled into his neck with my lips and felt his dick lurch in his jeans. He pushed me back a step, far enough to yank my belt apart, popped the buttons down, and stuck his hand in my pants. These were not gentle caresses, these were quick and hot with need. My cock sprang up to meet his gesture, slapping into his hand with a satisfying smack. He purred as I moved my hands to his nipples, teasing them gently through his shirt. He said nothing as he pushed my boxers down so that he could see me. My cock was engorged, dark pink, fat, and meaty like the rest of my body, with a head larger than the shaft. My furry nuts were heavy ovals that hung low over the front of my jeans when he lifted them free. His right hand tossed my cock rhythmically while he unfastened his pants and sank to his knees in front of me. As he buried his face in my groin, I ran my fingers over his head, through his short hair then cupped my hand around his head and slid my other hand down his chest. He sucked on my balls and licked my furry belly, occasionally running his tongue up my dick. While he was circling the tip of my cock with his tongue, I was looking out at the light of the moon shining on the lake. I realized that he was searching my face for my gaze. He slowed down and waited `til my eyes looked down upon him. Coming back into the moment, I saw him wink at me, and continue. This was when he took all of me into his mouth. I spread my feet and gripped the edge of the rock. I couldn't help it, and began fucking his mouth. He wet his finger, and reached behind me and found my pucker. A strangled cry escaped my throat, and I began to pump harder, ramming my length down his throat. He swallowed me as I poured myself into him, shouting out to the night, my cries reaching the moon, bouncing off the lake, resting in the trees. He rose to stand in front of me and held my head in his hands. I pushed my face towards his and kissed him, tasting myself on him. His breath a mix of sweet bourbon and spicy tobacco and the salty, yeasty flavor of my seed. He groaned into my kiss as I searched his mouth for my cum, burying my tongue in the mouth that had just held my cock. Against my bare leg I felt his rock hard dick, the length hot, but the tip cool from a bead of precum. As my breathing calmed, I returned my attention to him. Keeping my lips locked to his, I swirled my hand through his chest hair and across his rigid nipples, pausing occasionally to squeeze the nub between my fingers. With my other hand I held his stiff cock. I gently stroked his cock, letting the palm glide against the plump head of his thick cock. He sucked in air as I slide across the tender head, circling my hand around his shaft. He twisted into me as I turned my hand around his cock, feeling the heat and the warmth. Holding his shoulders to me, I hopped off the rock, and stood in front of him. Dancing an ancient step, we moved in a half circle, his back now against the rock. I dropped to my knees in front of him, and when I had his dick at my lips, I looked up at him. He was looking down at me, his lips parted ever so slightly in anticipation. Where my palm had played circles on the head of his ample cock, now my lips and tongue fluttered, and he moaned in appreciation. I licked along his shaft all the way to his balls. His nuts were full, ripe. The scent of them was more than intoxicating, it was an entire addiction. Musky from hours of being pressed against his thighs, it was a primal scent, awakening in me a lust that had been dormant for many seasons. I gave him my best blowjob ever. Frustrating his cock with quick, nut-blasting strokes followed by teasing licks against the head, I felt more of his precum against my tongue. Finally, he pulled me off his dick. He pulled me up to him so that our lips once again met. He kissed me briefly, then pulled his head away enough to look in both my eyes. "May I fuck you, Dave?" I was struck by the honesty and the tenderness of the question. Clearly, the moment had arrived, he could have spun me around and thrown me over the rock and fucked me without an invitation. We had passed the point of needing to ask. There was a vulnerability in his question. My answer came quickly. I clenched his shoulders, and pulled my lips to his ear and said "I want the moon to know you're fucking me tonight. Make it good, babe." I slid my hand down, grabbing a handful of his nuts and cock, and drooled a gob of spit onto his shaft, twisting it in my palm. He spun me around and I faced the rock. He was on his knees again, pulling my cheeks apart with his meaty hands. Before his tongue and lips found their mark, his mustache and beard preceded, tickling my tender pucker. Sloppy wet licks and kisses made my ass tingle. Before long, I was pushing back into his face. I was ready. I moaned when he ran his tongue from my balls again up to my hole and circled a couple times. Grabbing my hips, Jim pulled me back toward him until my asshole hit the tip of his cock, and then he stopped, giving over control to me. It had been so many years since I felt a cock begging entrance to my ass, but I didn't let that stop me from coming back slowly until the head of his dick popped past the tight ring of my pucker. Taking several deep breaths, I slid down another couple inches, then a little more, until pretty soon my ass was settled against his belly. He gripped my shoulders and pulled me slowly back against his chest, wrapping his arms around me as I relaxed. He must have felt that my heart was pounding hard and that I was shaking a little. Instinctively, he sat still for a couple moments before flexing inside me. I grunted my approval, he grunted his appetite. He grabbed me around the waist, and held me tight against his lap, pushing me forward, and wrapping his hands around the front of my thighs. He pulled my hips back, yanking me back against him, driving his cock deep. I gasped and dropped my head, stretching myself a little farther forward over the rock as he started pounding into me, fucking me hard. "I'm gonna, explode!" he hissed between clenched teeth before he held me tight against him and froze for a second, just on the edge. I had one last trick, and clamped my ass tight, and his nuts emptied into me. We fell back, our backs against the rock together. "Fuck," was all he said, the words spilling over the hillside. Before long, the cool evening began to chill us, and we started to get dressed. My mind was spinning. That was a connection I hadn't expected: sure I thought we'd fuck eventually, all week long we'd been building up to that, but I was not expecting to like it so much, to feel anything more than satisfaction. What I felt, however, was a warmth, a compassion that I had been missing for a long time. Lost in thought, I didn't hear Jim the first time he spoke. "... I said, when are you heading back downstate, hello, Earth to Dave," he was chuckling. "Ah, well, Friday night my plane leaves, but if there's going to be an offer on the lake house, I'd rather delay my trip back a couple of days to get it settled in," I was thinking out loud. Leaving wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about right now, however, and changing topics, I sighed, and looked him in the eye. "Ah, I was thinking that it would be real nice to hold you tonight, and wake up with you tomorrow?" It was a statement that came out as a question. Stepping up to me, his belly rubbing against mine, he kissed me fully. His beard smelled of the sweetness of his smoke and his belly fur, still wet with the sweat of our bodies, tickled my torso. "I think that could be arranged, Dave," he kissed my hair. It didn't take long to head back to my place, take a quick shower to wash the smell of the bar off us, and to slide between the sheets on my bed. I rolled over and took the inside spoon -- another position I don't normally take. Feeling Jim's belly in the small of my back as I drifted off to sleep made me feel that all was right with the world. I guess maybe he was an old-fashioned guy after all. End Chapter Five Our boys are making more of a connection. If they're not careful, feelings will be on the line as they will eventually have to part ways, right? Let's see what happens next in the sixth chapter.