One Dark and Stormy Night - 1. Chapter 1

PREFACE

Ever have one of those days? Y’all know what I am talking about. A day that simply confirms that the Fates have decided to conspire against you; your best-laid plans lay in ruins at your feet. A day that reminds you that joy is fleeting, and, at the same time, misery can be a cold, faithful and steady companion. A day you need all your strength to keep your head down, forge ahead, and remember perseverance might be rewarded if you keep your focus on the goal.

Part 1

Finally, it was Wednesday, hump day signaling that the freaking wonderful week’s ending was in sight. Making Thursday tolerable and then, thank fucking God…Friday and an entire weekend, trying my hardest not letting the upcoming Monday, spoil my Saturday and Sunday into my train of thought.

The best part of Wednesday was getting home and cleaning up, supper with the folks and then a couple of hours down at Pete’s Bar and Grill. If you haven’t been there before, it is a step back in time. It’s a classic dive bar with its best features being affordable drinks and eye candy. To enter, you have to go down four steps from the sidewalk. And going through that door was like taking ten or so steps back socially. Speaking of which, anything that fell to the floor, was better left staying there. Looking down at the flooring was to get a glimpse of the history of the place. In some spots the multiple layers of cheap linoleum were worn just so exposing the original concrete floor, at least we all thought it was concrete flooring.

Topping it all off, there were places where if you stood too long your footwear would protest mightily when you went to move. Novices to Pete’s were known to actually slip out of their footwear if the laces were loose. Adding to the charm was the sheen of nicotine that gave every unattended surface a dingy, brown, and sticky patina. At one time, most likely a century ago, the ceiling tiles were white, or so the rumor goes.

Hanging out of the ceiling was a mechanical smoke eater half the size of a Volkswagen bug. If the tag on the nameplate was original, it was a device that was the pride of the 1940’s…There were all sorts of stories surrounding that behemoth, of lost beer coasters, cigarette butts, and some lose change from the bar that was tossed up there. One never knew if it actually performed its intended purpose. Occasionally, it would cough and belch sparks. When it was running, anyone who was standing under the device was in danger of an inadvertent change of hairstyle.

I can’t speak to the conditions of the Ladies Room having never frequented the place. How those who did got past the brooms, mop bucket and mops, was to run a gauntlet of rarely used cleaning implements and supplies. The Men’s Room on the other hand had been safe from any intrusion of said cleaning implements for several generations. After one afternoon of conversing with friends at Pete’s, I was sitting on the porch with my father after supper, semi listening to President Regan drone on what a great guy Oliver North was. Dad asked me if the middle stall toilet of Pete’s, was still missing half of its seat, it was I confirmed. Well, that led to a couple of stories, one like the time he took mother there when they were just beginning to date. Taking one look at the place she grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the car, they ended up a Mario’s, an upscale Italian restaurant. While I think he knew and he never let on, Pete’s clientele had morphed over the years to a ‘gentleman’s’ bar.

The other story was rumor, but he had heard it from a couple of other folks who were there that night. Apparently, a molecular biologist from the university across town was meeting a friend and after using the bathroom asked the owner if he could take samples from the floor around the urinal. A bit of background, the men’s room at Pete’s was original to the building. This porcelain behemoth of a urinal rose up from the tile floor, ending where it was convenient to rest a drink while relieving oneself.

He was fascinated by the unkempt conditions, talking some such nonsense about microbes thriving in such an ammonia rich environment. Possibly mimicking early evolution…go figure dad said as we both chuckled at the thought.

Despite all the obvious flaws of Pete’s, the smog layer of cigarette smoke about a foot above your head, ashtrays on the bar that dated to President Grant’s administration, that whenever possible you never let bare skin touch any surface excluding the bar, was the enticement of that ice cold bottle of beer coming out of the ginormous beer coolers. Many of us thought it was the only thing Pete ever spent money on their upkeep.

It was, hands down, the coldest bottle of beer to be had anywhere. Ice chips clung to the sides, and on occasion the beer in the bottle was a hairsbreadth from being frozen. Best of all, at seventy-five cents a pop ensured your budget wasn’t busted at the end of the night.

~~~

Fortune was with me this Wednesday night, my supervisor had been called into Human Resources, one of the office girls had complained about his roaming hands and rushing fingers. To put it bluntly, the man was a complete a-hole. He thought he was god’s gift to the universe when in actuality he was universally hated. He had been warned about riding my ass and a few other warehouse employees. I was a wiz with the forklift, scooting about placing incoming deliveries where needed and in reverse, able to reload trucks in a jiff. I had the warehouse organized so everything worked in the most efficient manner.

Upper management kept an eye on the warehouse floor, they had their spies everywhere. They weren’t stupid, what happened on the floor affected their bottom line. They also knew I wasn’t planning on staying. The job was a means to an end, and that I was saving so I could afford college even if it was part-time. I had been approached to see if there was any interest in the business side of things and a career with the firm.

Dad and I had a long discussion on the pros and cons, not having the chance to go himself as WW2 intervened. Then a career stateside overseeing military supply depots and a growing family. In the end it was a no-brainer, I just had to sign the offer letter. Once I graduated, they would have my services and eventually I would be on a senior management track. Needless to say, the news wouldn’t be received warmly by my supervisor. He was the son-in-law of one of the retiring partners and thought he was untouchable. Once he found out, sparks were going to fly. I was told not to worry about him, he’d be taken aside.

My shift over, I handed my log and load sheets in and clocked out with a smile on my face. A quick meal with the folks after cleaning up and an evening at Pete’s to look forward to. We regulars had all chipped in and bought a couple of dart boards, making Wednesdays dart nights. The ancient slate-topped pool table was badly in need of some loving and as such it had been regulated, shunted to a remote corner of a disused dining room where its new purpose was to hold boxes of all sorts of stuff. Legend had it that the last cheeseburger came out of the kitchen when John F Kennedy was president.

~~~

My luck wasn’t with me at darts that night, after losing a couple of close games I headed over to the bar holding four fingers up. The beers were ready before I could get my wallet out. My darts debt settled, I returned to the bar to take a break and enjoy a couple of cold ones. The Celtics were on and like most of the season, were crushing their opponents. There were some nights when they could have run out the Little Brothers of the Indigent as their line-up and win handily. For the most part it was a quiet night, many regulars were missing or late to show up.

The lopsided game didn’t bother me, I had much on my mind, while I contemplated the signed offer letter, old Pete came up to me, bar rag in hand. I’ll never know how he could do it and to this day it still amazes me. A half-smoked Chesterfield clung to his lower lip, the ash easily as long as the unsmoked part. His Buddy Holly glasses perched near the end of his nose and a voice that sounded like he gargled with Drano. Reaching into one of the beer coolers in one well practiced move, he came out with two bottles of beer, the other hand grabbed a bar rag and cleaned the counter in front of me while setting those bottles down. Just as the bottle opener did its job, the bar rag finally caught the cigarette and ash before it burned his lips.

“Did ya make a decision Zippy” Using one of his two favorite nicknames he had for me, the other being Zip-Zip. Apparently, some of the guys from the warehouse had regaled him with some of my forklift exploits.

Knowing he had heard every lie or tale that could be told in a bar, with Pete the truth was always the quickest way to an answer. “I discussed it with the old man, and we looked at it every way possible, it was just too good a chance to pass up. Sides it’ll save me a fortune”.

“Smart move son, you’ve got too many brains to be spinning your wheels. Speaking of which, what are you gonna do with the pile of junk you keep parking in my lot?”

“Hey’” I replied a bit defensively, “That pile of junk as you so lovingly refer to is paid for and gets me where I need to be.”

“Look Zippy, I know this place ain’t much to look at, but ya gotta realize your bringing down my property values, couldn’t you park that thing a bit further down the block?’’

“I suppose I could, but you’d be losing some beer sales,” With all the false modesty I could manage, “The time I’d spend walking back and forth would cost ya at the end of the night.”

We both started laughing and when the giggles subsided, I went over the offer in a bit more detail, answering some very insightful questions from Pete. While we were nattering his bar-back Mikey came sauntering in, the unabashed object of my desires, leastways that’s the way I saw it. Mikey was Pete’s nephew and piqued a bit more than my curiosity. Newly turned eighteen, he was now legal to work and do more than keep the bar stocked and the beer mugs and glasses clean. He’d often be behind the bar serving on busy nights flitting from one customer to another. Like many others I found him to be very desirable. Mikey knew the patrons wanted in his pants, the crude innuendos masquerading as jocular banter were difficult to ignore at times.

While I wanted nothing but a night with Mikey, I simply couldn’t act that crass towards him. I didn’t over tip when he served me, and kept the conversation focused on what was going on around us. I spent months cultivating a rapport with Mikey, finding common interests, having conversations about things that sparked our interests. He knew all about me, the job, the offer that came, encouraging me to take it up. It was frustrating to say the least, this slow denouement invariably leading towards the end of the night, both of us going our separate ways, me…a self-imposed curfew as work responsibilities loomed, Mikey on duty till closing, staying after with Pete to set the bar up for another days’ worth of business.

I’d stay long enough to watch the ’86 Celtics invariably win another game as the season was winding down, getting the most out of Bill Walton. They had lost only one game at home that year and as we were halfway through the month of May and tonight wasn’t any exception as they beat the Milwaukee Bucks 122 to 111. It was a busier night than usual, Pete had Mikey continuously running fresh cases of beer and liquor from the stockroom. He had just sent Mikey back when he noticed he needed several bottles of liquor. Tossing me his scribbled notes he asked me to give Mikey a hand.

It wasn’t the first time I had pitched in on a busy night and as I wove my way through the crowd of patrons, dodging half-filled bottles of beer, mixed drink glasses, and the invariable lit cigarette. Skirting the line for the Men’s bathroom I made it to the door of the stockroom. What I saw made my blood boil. Mind you I am slow to anger, and it takes much to upset me, but I knew without a doubt someone was in for a rude awakening.

~~~

Tommy Johnson at the best of times was and is insufferable. His father owned a supermarket in the next town over and he loved to flaunt his ‘social’ status as one of the ‘in-crowd’ leaders. Possessing no manners or consideration for others, he simply was an unmitigated jerk of the first rank. He had pissed off a friend, I wasn’t there to see it and heard about it from someone who was there. Scooter Roberts was shopping for his disabled mother, using her food stamps to buy the weeks groceries. His father was lost behind a bottle, living in an alley somewhere trying to drink away the memories of combat, and self-medicating the cancer that was caused from Agent Orange during his tour in Viet Nam.

With food stamps one was restricted as to what could be bought. They couldn’t be used for non-essential items like booze, junk food or cigarettes. Tommy, spotting Scooter just had to wend his way over to the checkout line and proceeded to loudly examine each and every item being purchased, embarrassing the living crap out of Scooter. Standing behind the unfortunate boy was Maggie Hopkins, a grandmother no one wanted to cross. She lit into Tommy, letting him know just what she thought. Not content or finishing with that, she thought perhaps a call to the local welfare office was in order suggesting an audit was needed. She and others knew firsthand his father accepted them for anything the store sold.

Tommy never found out who sliced two of his tires or carved designs into the paintwork of his new car.

~~~

Wednesday nights were interesting at Pete’s, one never knew if it would be a ghost town or mobbed. There was a crowd of regulars, mostly old timers from the neighborhood but tonight’s crowd was insane. Shortly after I had given up at darts and discussed the job offer with Pete, he sent Mikey back to grab a few cases of beer, the crowd was growing. Pete looked at me a bit concerned, handing me his list for additional bar stock, mumbling about the size of the crowd.

Pete’s stockroom has a large walk-in cooler, it is one of the secrets as to how his beer stays so cold. The door to the walk-in cooler was open, there were a couple of cases of beer that looked like they had been dropped. Off to the side was Tommy Johnson pants, and underwear down around his knees. He had Mikey on his knees, holding him by his hair. I could hear him demanding Mikey to satisfy him.

It was obvious he had slapped him a couple of times, as I approached, I could see the handprints on his cheeks as I got near. When Mikey saw me coming, I could see the relief on his face as he looked at me. Tommy noticed Mikey’s attention was focused elsewhere and started to turn, giving my right fist an opening and in so many words, the fat lady sang.

Tommy was out cold, collapsed against the night’s trash bags, how fitting I thought ironically. I couldn’t help but notice that if one were to consider him from the waist down, he wasn’t bad looking, hey…a gay guy is gonna take notice of such things.

Mikey on the other hand was in a bit of shock, shaking as I helped him to his feet. As soon as he was up his arms were around me, squeezing as hard as he could, his head against my chest as he whispered his thanks repeatedly, wondering how he could ever repay me. It may have been wrong of me, most likely I was guilty of the most injudicious sense of timing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I asked him if he was free Friday night and if he would like to go out for dinner, promising to behave myself.

Leaning back, placing his hands behind my head, rising up on his toes, he gave me a quick kiss on the lips, chiding me for taking so long to ask him out.

~~~

I admit it, it wasn’t my best thought in ages but after we got the bar stock back up on the cart, I had Mikey help me toss Tommy on top, just as I found him. Wheeling him out to the bar you could have heard a pin drop and then the anger of the crowd once they realized what had taken place. I simply asked Pete after explaining, was I to put him out with the trash or call the police? After some back and forth, Pete decided to call his father and have him deal with his ‘golden child’. So out with the trash he went waiting for pickup.

Me, I was over it or so I thought, what was done was done, my only concerns were what was I going to wear and what time was I picking Mikey up. Well, that and everyone wanting to shout me a beer or two, Pete ripped up my tab letting me know my credit was good for some time to come. Honestly, I was so wound up, it was taking some time for my nerves to settle. I took several rainchecks on having any more to drink. The smoke was getting to me, the larger than average crowd made what would have been a normal night that much worse.

While I was settling myself down at a quiet corner of the bar, Mikey came up to me and asked me to follow him outside. He led me to my car and told me to go home and relax, after pushing me against my car and placing a lip-lock on me, I was to pick him up here at five Friday night he told me, wherever we went would be fine, he’d trust my judgement. After one last scorching kiss he opened my door and watched me leave the parking lot.

~~~

At the next red light, I had to seriously rearrange myself, I never would have made it home otherwise.

~~~

Work seemed to fly by Thursday, I had a smile that would make an undertaker jealous. I was in a zone and had one of my best days yet. Thursdays were always hectic, many of the products that came into our warehouse went out to point of sale establishments. Anything to fresh produce, to items needed for restocking hardware, sporting goods, retail, clothing stores, and the like. The best part was my supervisor was nowhere to be found and was told he was in another meeting. As I was walking out to my car, I caught a glimpse and heard him berating the second shift workers. I made it a point to get out of there just as fast as I could.

I managed to avoid the temptation to swing by Pete’s for a couple of reasons, if I stopped in the beers would be flowing and I felt I wouldn’t be at my best, if Friday proved to be busy at work. I made reservations for Mario’s and booked a time at the candlepin bowling alley and looking forward to watching him bowl several frames wearing those tight jeans he favored.

It was a good thing I had taken it easy Thursday after work, Friday was a complete and total shitshow at work. My supervisor, Mr. Glendin, I found out, got wind of the offer the company made to me after I left for the day Thursday. He saw the writing was on the wall for him and decided to mess with me. I was up early that Friday morning and decided to go in, thinking I could get out a bit earlier at the end of the day. I would go over my car during lunch break and skedaddle home as soon as my shift ended.

My forklift was missing, my load and log sheets made no sense and more to the point, nothing was where it was supposed to be. It took me till nine that morning, just a whisker over three hours to come to terms with the mess that was left to me and put things to rights. Apparently, Mr. Glendin forgot, or didn’t know, the night shift, like me, kept a separate log of each day’s incoming and outgoings. Once I identified where things had been moved to it was just a matter of time before I set things to right.

I thought his head would explode, he had come in expecting to embarrass me and when I handed my worksheets in at the end of the day, there wasn’t much he could have said or done. I told him to have a great weekend and after I saw Mr. Burton, his supervisor, dropping off the acceptance paperwork, I’d be on my way.

Things were looking up, I just made the bank before it closed, cashed my check and was on my way. It had been raining off and on during the day and traffic was a bit slow. I knew I would make up some time once I could get to the first of a couple of backroad shortcuts. I was about a half a mile from home when I hit a pothole and heard the roar, then saw my muffler laying on the road behind me. Once again it seemed as if the gods were conspiring against me today.

Ok, so some of this was my fault, if not all of it. My ’67 Volvo station wagon had, if I could believe the odometer and service history of the car, close to 230 thousand miles on it. I had gotten the car at least fourth-hand, for free. I did the brakes over and put tires on it and other than changing the oil, and other routine maintenance I had no complaints.

I picked up the scattered pieces and cursed my fates as I came up the driveway. No one was home, Mom and Dad were on their own date night, the parts store would be closed by the time I could get there, I was screwed. The light rain turned into a downpour, and I had to think of something fast. Sarcastically thinking and wondering if this day could have gotten any better.

Connecting the house and the carriage shed was the old workroom for what was once a thriving farm. All the tools and everything I needed would be in this room, I just had to be clever enough to figure it out. The first order of business was to grab the broken muffler and tailpipe.

The second was figuring out how I was going to connect the broken parts together. The front end of the muffler had about six inches of exhaust pipe connected to it. That meant there would be enough exhaust pipe coming down from the engine to connect the two ends together.

Spying an empty Maxwell House coffee can holding a bunch of nails, I dumped it out, cut the bottom off it, then cut it down the side. Rolling and squeezing the can I was able to approximate the diameter of the exhaust pipe. Grabbing a couple of clamps, the type used to secure a car radiator hose, using them to jury rig my ‘patch. A couple of sheet metal screws on either end of the coffee can and along the seam would serve to fasten it securely in place.

Dad had a wood stove we used on the coldest of winter days to save on the oil bill. Each year he’d pull the stove pipes apart to clean for the upcoming season. When he reassembled the stove pipe, he used a heat resistant caulking to seal the seams at the pipe joints. After I patched the bent part of the tailpipe, I caulked the living bejeebers out of both patches. It would ruin my evening to have the car fill up with exhaust from the engine.

The third step was trying to figure out just how I was going to rehang the danged thing. Time was getting to be of the essence if I was going to pull this jury-rigged repair off. I had a couple of car stands, the kind you drove up on to. Putting one in front of the driver’s front wheel and the other in front of the driver’s rear wheel and drove the car up on the stands. I wasn’t a fool or going to take any unnecessary chances, chocking the wheels on the other side of the car, I was ready to finish my mickey mouse repair.

Before I crawled under, I put a hydraulic jack under the high side of the car to hold it in case anything slipped. By this time, I was soaked, crawling under the car wasn’t going to make any difference now. After looking, I was pretty discouraged. The Volvo was a unibody frame unlike other cars where the body was dropped on to a large metal frame.

What this meant was there was very little to fasten the muffler system to, as the fittings that were attached to the unibody had rusted off. My only option was to try and make and fasten some metal strips, attach them with sheet metal screws to the muffler pipes and then to the underside of the car. It was a great plan till I discovered that an old, cracked, and frayed extension cord lying on the soaked ground, wasn’t such a good idea after all as my electric drill and shocked arms would attest to.

That left only one option, I connected the front end of the rebuilt muffler assembly to the exhaust pipe coming down from the engine and using the radiator hose clamps with plenty of caulking, made that connection as secure as I could. The rebuilt assembly ran parallel to the driveshaft and a lightbulb had turned on. I was out of time; I simply could not pick up Mikey in a car with no muffler and no car available to borrow. Grabbing a handful of coat hangers, I hung the repaired assembly from the driveshaft. I wouldn’t be driving far tonight and would have to hope it would last till the morning. Where four of five coat hangers would have been sufficient, I went overboard. Just hoping Mom won’t miss the coat hangers. Got the car back down off the stands, let it run for a few minutes to cure the caulking and went in to clean up.

~~~

In one way the rest of the night was anti-climactic. Well on second thought, it was pretty danged good. The food at Mario’s was superb and bowling was everything I thought it would be. Mikey wore pants that left nothing to the imagination, if you knew what you were looking for.

The plan after bowling was to park on a backroad somewhere, there were miles of old dirt roads to choose from. I had a cooler with just a couple of beers in it along with some water and sodas. In the ashtray was a joint if the mood struck.

We found a spot overlooking the old town reservoir, the rain had stopped, and the moon was peeking out from behind some clouds. We shared one of the two beers, leaning side by side against the side of the car. The night was warm, and we found ourselves running out of things to say, forcing some conversation. I was entranced by the way the moonlight reflected in Mikeys eyes, and as I looked closer our lips found each other.

Mikey’s hands were pulling at my shirt, untucking, and unbuttoning it so he could run his hands over the bare skin he exposed. I had cupped my hands over his backside, pulling his firmness closer, lodging it next to mine. My hands found the bottom of Mikey’s shirt and they glide up his sides, my fingers dancing over his ribs and the spaces between. He shudders as I find his breasts and make the little nubs grow. Somehow, I moved south from his lips after laving his ears. My efforts force his head back as I trace around his Adam’s apple and find the cleft at the top of his ribcage just below.

Standing here isn’t gonna work. I whisper in his ear, more likely cajoling the willing that we should move to the back of the car. I’m a veteran of following the Bluegrass circuit as it traverses New England and upstate New York. To that point I’ve a six-inch foam pad cut to fit the back of my station wagon, sheets, pillows, and comforter included when the back seats are folded down. All my other gear and coolers would firmly secure to the roof rack. Last night I made sure the sheets, pillowcases and comforter were fresh and clean, hoping I’d come to this moment and anticipation had me on edge.

Mikey is three or four inches shorter than my six-foot-2-inches. Perhaps a hundred-sixty-pounds to my one-hundred-ninety-pounds. Hair the color of straw, with light brown eyes, in the right light you’d swear they were golden. His complexion was like the cream you would skim off fresh milk. His tan in the summer was more golden than anything else and I knew from observing him his nipples were the color of the finest milk chocolate. If I had to guess from seeing on occasion glimpses of his sparse underarm hair his pubes would be a light brown. All of this simply drove me crazy, there were times he would wear a crop top coming into work, with his jeans riding just low enough to cover the essentials and the sight would burn images in your retinas.

I had had many chances to hook-up, but I wasn’t built that way. Of course, there was the obvious fumbling with others growing up, nothing more serious than a couple of hand jobs after high school which left me unfulfilled. Anita Bryant, Jerry Fallwell, Newt Gingrich along with the not so moral majority, with the contract on America was unsettling to say the least. Gay boys and men were dying, and no one knew why, and much less interested in finding out why. To the best of my understanding, it was virtually impossible to catch venereal disease from your hand, warts maybe, eyeglasses were a risk I’d take. Then Mikey entered my life…

Somehow while our lips were engaged in the back of my station wagon our clothes fell off. Days, nights, weeks, and frigging months of wanting to have come to pass and suddenly I’m afraid. Scared as to make another move. Mikey senses my trepidation and begins to take me on a voyage of discovery with him, and I follow willingly. The warm spring night wafts through the partially open windows, while the breeze is caressing our flesh, there is a bluegrass instrumental tape playing softly, the various instruments matching the sensuous mood of the night, there will be time for raucous fiddling later.

I marvel at the boy, no correct that…the man beneath me, encouraging me, urging me on, to fully seat myself and make him mine. In the back of my head, I know the time isn’t right, I want our coupling to be so much more than a denouement in the back of a car, Mikey deserves so much better…and so much more, as much as I can show him how deep my love runs. Seeing the disappointment rising in his eyes as I explain my thoughts, I stemmed that tide of frustration, asking him to go away with me next weekend to my uncle’s fishing cabin, that there was still plenty of fun to be had before this night was over.

A mischievous grin crosses his face, and, in an instant, he flips me over, damn those lips, he knows I’d follow them anywhere. Scooting down, coming face to face with my rampant erection, asking just what in the heck was I feeding it, or was this a result of too much exercise…my retort ended quickly, lost with a groan as he begins to orally minister to me. Suddenly it’s all too much…too many fantasies coming true, my base yearnings upon me, too many nerve endings being stimulated, my mind lost in a state of euphoria as my body does what seems time immemorial demanded. My incoherent warning is lost as the blood and hormones rush through me, demanding culmination, expending myself as I writhe helplessly on that foam mattress.

Mikey continues his ministrations holding my hands down by my side, ignoring my week pleas of tenderness, that it is all too much, thrashing about as he finally stops. Before I know it, his lips have found mine again, and once again he lays under me. I’ve been challenged not in so many words, but in actions. Determined to give as good as I got, I more than returned the favor. His smell was electrifying, my tender touches igniting irrepressible responses. Teasing, tasting, bringing to the forefront the need for release, and slowing down. I’m thrilled in the dappled moonlight to run my fingers from his knees to his groin, my fingers crossing the line of his tan, a demarcation previously denied me. I could only look and wonder what it would be like before this magical night. I am lost in the beauty of his being, how it moves with the beating of his heart, lost in the perfection of his construction, to fully admire those coltish legs. A gentle tug drawing back those wonderful orbs, fully exposing the crown of his being, the taste as I engulf his length, his hips slowly setting the pace of his yearnings. We both are expressing our common needs, I suckle to bring forth what makes him unique as he gently, yet with increasing urgency labors to bring forth the offering he has for me. The hands that were slowly caressing my head become strident, like me we’ve crossed the Rubicon, he’s close he whispers, to stay the course…please don’t stop he mews…he’s so close, ever so close…and then the magic happens, and he gives me the most precious gift of all.

~~~

I’ve just dropped Mikey off, we’ve confirmed plans for next weekend, and as I drive home a couple of tunes speak to my mood and elation. While I listen, in my head I’m not really hearing the lyrics, it’s the music that speaks to my mood…Charlie Daniels Orange Blossom Special is playing as I drive home, followed by Marshal Tucker’s Heard it in a Love Song as I pull in the driveway. I’m not sure if this night could have gotten any better. One thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, there’s nobody else for me.