Date: Wed, 9 Jul 2003 18:55:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Mead <timmead88@yahoo.com>
Subject: Out of the Night 02

The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between
men.  If you are offended by such material, are too young, or live in an
area where such things aren't allowed, don't read it.

This is a work of fiction.  No similarity to any person living or dead is
intended or should be inferred.  Lake Polk is also fictitious, though it
may be like many real communities.

In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms.  In
the real world, everyone should practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites
are allowed without the author's consent.

As always, my thanks to Tom, Mickey, Patrick, Ash, and Evan.

Timmead88@yahoo.com
Chapter 2


That same Sunday evening, Stan Mason and his son, Mark, were having their
weekly phone conversation.

"So, Dad," Mark asked, "how are you liking Lake Polk?  How's the new job
going?"

"Taking your questions in reverse order, the guy who had this job before
was supposed to be some sort of hot shot.  He moved to Cypress Haven, which
is a bigger town, leaving some major problems behind.  But we'll get them
straightened out."

"I'm sure you will," Mark replied.

"As for Lake Polk, it's really beautiful here.  I went to church this
morning, and everyone seemed very friendly, but I had to run to the office
afterward and check on some faxes, so I didn't stick around for coffee
hour."  He paused, then continued, "I did see a guy I am going to get to
know better."

His son offered a noncommittal "Oh?"

"Yeah.  He was the LEM this morning.  I turned on to him as I sat there
watching and listening to him read the lessons."

"Sheesh, Dad, you and Ced!  What am I gonna do with the two of you?"

"Why, what's Ced up to now?"

"Oh, it's just that he and Tim are all over each other constantly.  They're
gonna out themselves if they aren't careful."

"Have you warned them to be more cautious?"

"Better than that.  Dr. Fairchild warned them."

"Good for Gwen!  Tim and Ced do need to be discreet.  As for me, you can
relax, Markie.  I haven't seduced this guy or anything.  I'm just
interested and intend to get to know him."

"So tell me about him.  What's he like?  Do you know his name?"

"His name was in the bulletin.  He's Douglas Curtis.  He's about your
height, I'd say, a couple of inches taller than me.  But he was wearing the
cassock and cotta, so I couldn't get much fix on his bod, though I'd guess
he's thin.  He's got brown hair and these really sexy dark brown eyes.
Good looking.  But it was his voice that grabbed me.  Listening to him
read, I knew I had to meet this guy.  I really hated to run off after the
service, but, believe me, I'll track down Mr. Curtis."

"Do you know he's gay?"

"Alas, no.  I can only hope.  Maybe if he isn't, I can work on him."

Mark chuckled.  "My Pops, the Casanova."

"Let me tell you what I did."

"OK."

"When it came time for him to serve me the wine, instead of drinking from
the chalice, I left the wafer in my hand."

"You dawg, you!  So he had to dip the wafer and put it in your mouth."

"Yeah, Mark, your old man can be pretty devious when he sees a guy he
wants.  As he put the wafer on my tongue, I looked right at him and gave
him my best twinkle.  I THINK we connected.  I sure hope we did."

"Well, good luck, Pops.  Listen, Lori's comin' over.  Gotta go!"

"Give her a hug for me, stud," Stan said, chuckling.  "Have a good week,
Mark.  Talk to you next Sunday, if not sooner."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, guy."


         * * *


Wednesday morning was Doug's day to be at the reception desk at Lake Polk's
Ridenour Gardens.  This was one of several things he did for the Gardens.
He was working on grant writing with Jack Hanson, another volunteer, he was
currently the Director of Volunteers, and he was doing several other unpaid
jobs to help out.  Bruce Porter, the director of the Gardens, had come to
rely on Doug for a number of things, including advice from time to time.

When Doug arrived that morning, Gracie, Bruce's assistant, said, "Good
morning, Doug.  Bruce wants to see you before you get too comfortable out
at the desk."

"Morning, Gracie.  How are you?"

She flashed him a smile.  "OK so far, but then the day is young.  We never
know what's going to happen around here, do we?"

Doug smiled back at her and said, "No, I guess we don't.  I'll go see Bruce
now, if that's OK."

"Sure, go on in."

When Doug got to Bruce's office, the director was on the phone.  He
motioned Doug to come in and sit down.

Bruce Porter's office was the essence of clutter.  Papers were stacked on
every horizontal surface.  Books spilled from the bookcases.  There was a
case that held about 20 cd's, but it was full, and there were probably 20
more stacked on top of the case or lying on the shelf around it.  Bruce
would never allow anyone to tidy up his office, saying that he understood
his "piling system" and that anyone else would merely mess it up.

"Yes, Wilma, I'll take care of it.  No, you don't need to do that.  It will
all be OK, I promise.  Yes, well, thank you, too, Wilma."

When he put down the phone, he looked at Doug and rolled his eyes.

"Wilma on her high horse again?" Doug asked, smiling at Bruce.

"Isn't she always?" Bruce replied with a sigh.

They chatted for a few minutes.  Then Bruce said, "Do you have any plans
for Thursday evening?"

"I'm coming to the Chamber reception, if that's what you mean."

The local Chamber of Commerce had a "Business After Hours" reception once a
month.  It was the Gardens' turn to host the thing, so the hospitality
committee was planning to serve hors d'oeuvres, punch, wine, and some sort
of cookies or petits fours.  Doug usually came to these affairs.  He had by
this time made a number of friends in town, and he always looked forward to
meeting them as well as making new acquaintances.  "Since you're coming
anyway," Bruce said, "I wonder if you'd do a job for me."

"Sure, Bruce, what is it?"

"Well, as you know, I've always poured the wine when we host these
affairs."

"Yeah, I know.  You're a fixture there with the wine."

"Well, Doug, it occurs to me that I could be schmoozing the people with
deep pockets if I weren't stuck behind that table."

"And you want me to pour the wine?"

"Would you mind?"

"Of course not.  I'd be happy to.  I will see lots of friends and probably
meet some interesting new people as well.  What do I need to do?"

"Get there about a quarter to five, open a bottle each of cabernet, white
zin, and chard.  I see to the buying the wines, so all you have to do is
open bottles and pour as needed.  We'll probably go through several bottles
of each."

"Gee, I don't know, Bruce, whether I'm up to anything that complicated or
not," Doug said, smiling at his friend.

"Well, give it a try, and if you aren't up to it, I'll replace you," Bruce
said, returning the smile with a wink.

The two chatted about other matters, mostly about the new city manager.

"Have you met Stan Mason yet?" Bruce asked.

"Not yet.  What's he like?"

"I'm impressed.  He's an Episcopalian, by the way, so you'll probably see
him at church.  He had an excellent record in Meadville, Pennsylvania,
where he had his former job.  They told us they hated to see him leave.  He
seems to be a really nice guy.  Personality plus, if you know what I mean."

"I don't like those flashy types much," Doug said.  "Wonder why he left
Pennsylvania."

"Personal reasons, he said.  Whatever it was, he comes well recommended.
And he didn't haggle over the salary, which I suspect is less than he was
making up there.  I gather he has money.  He's an attorney, you know,
practiced in a big firm in Pittsburgh for a long time before he went to
Meadville."

"Sounds fishy to me.  How old a guy is he?"

"Late forties, early fifties, I'd guess.  But believe me, Doug, the city
commission checked him out in every possible way.  This guy has excellent
credentials, a spotless record.  We just wonder why he agreed to come
here."

"Yeah, that's what sounds strange to me.  Oh, well, I guess we'll have to
give him the benefit of the doubt, won't we?"

"Wait `till you meet him, Doug.  Then I think you'll be singing a different
tune.  This guy is impressive."

"I trust your judgment, Bruce.  But then I don't suppose this guy will
affect my life much one way or the other."


* * *

As Doug came into the room, he saw Blair lying naked on his back on the
bed.  Doug's bed.  The boy was apparently asleep, but he had a full
erection.  Doug paused for a moment, admiring what he saw.  Blair's uncut
cock must have stood at eight inches, and it was indeed standing.  The
pubes were a bit darker than the boy's blond hair, which must have been
bleached from the Florida sun.  Blair had a farmer's tan.  His arms and
legs were nicely browned, but he apparently seldom took off his shirt
outside.  He was not excessively muscular, but his shoulders and arms were
nicely muscled, and his abs were perfectly delineated.  He lay there,
breathing slowly, his head turned to one side.

Lying on the nightstand was a large white feather.  Doug picked it up,
hesitated a moment, and began to stroke Blair's chest with it.  He worked
each nipple, watching them stiffen up into hard little nubs.  The boy
smiled, but gave no indication that he was waking up.

Doug moved the feather over the boy's chest, down the trench which bisected
his abs, and around his navel.  Blair moved a hand to cover his navel.
Apparently he was ticklish there.

Then Doug began to run the feather slowly along the insides of Blair's
thighs.  Awakening, the beautiful boy fluttered his eyelashes, then smiled
at Doug.  "Umm, that's nice."

"Good morning, babe," Doug said.

"Dougie, do me!  I know you've wanted to."

"We aim to please," Doug said.  "Roll over on your stomach, hunk."

Doug climbed onto the bed.  He had Blair put his head down on the pillow
and stick his ass in the air.  Then he grabbed Blair's hard cock with his
right hand as he began to slurp on the boy's dangling balls.

"Dougie, you do that sooo good, man.  Yeah, babe.  Lick me, suck me!"

Doug held Blair's cock so that he could lick the under side of the shaft.

"Oh, Doug.  That's fantastic.  Where've you been all my life, man?"

As he was licking Blair's tool, Doug's nose was tantalizingly close to the
boy's rosebud, so he shifted his attention and his tongue.  Still holding
Blair by the cock, he began to circle the boy's anus with his tongue.

Blair gasped, then groaned loudly, and pushed his butt back.

"You like that, do you, Blairbabe?"

"Oh, daddy, I never thought anything like that could feel so good.  Don't
stop, please!"

"Hang on, young'un, you're really gonna like this."

Doug began to work his tongue, probing ever deeper into Blair's hole as the
boy writhed and moaned.  Blair began to move his butt back to meet the
thrusts of the older man's tongue.  Meanwhile, Doug, who had never let go
of it, began pumping Blair's rigid cock in rhythm with his and Blair's
thrusts.  It didn't take much of that to bring the horny boy to a climax.
Doug felt him go tense.  He could feel the cum traveling down Blair's hot,
throbbing cock, and then Blair sprayed cum all over the sheet under him.

"OOOOHHHH!" he yelled.  Then he collapsed onto the bed, motionless except
for his heavy breathing.

GOOD MORNING, TAMPA BAY!  IT'S ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL DAY HERE IN THE BAY AREA!

`Oh, shit,' Doug thought as he turned off the radio.  He didn't want to
return to the real world from that dream of Blair.  But the real world in
the form of his own upright cock called for his attention.  The top sheet
was tented, and there was a spot damp from precum at the apex of the tent.
"Shit, shit, shit," he said aloud as he got up and stalked toward the
bathroom.


* * *


Thursday evening Doug wondered as he tied his tie whether he should have
eaten something.  The reception wasn't over until 7:00, and he didn't want
to load up on the goodies.  On the other hand, the temptation would be to
keep drinking wine so long as he was standing there for two hours pouring
for everyone else.  He decided to keep track of how much wine he drank, to
make himself eat some of the hors d'oeuvres, and to have a bowl of soup or
something light when he got home.

Of course, he could have gone out for dinner at one of the local
restaurants, but he hated to eat out alone.

He slipped on his blazer, grabbed his keys, and went to his car, a year-old
gray Buick LeSabre.

As he drove the short distance to the Chamber of Commerce building, he
thought back to the hot dream he had had just before waking that morning,
the dream of Blair.

`After the disaster with Rick, you know better than to get involved with
another college kid, Douglas,' he said to himself.  `But,' the devil on his
other shoulder said, `Blair is so fuckin' gorgeous.'

`You promised.  No more young guys.  You know you should be looking for
someone your own age.'

`Yeah, yeah, I hear you.  But damn it's hard to have him around and not get
hard.  I know he's off limits, but a guy can dream, can't he?'

Doug snorted at that.  `Yeah, Dougie, you can have wet dreams, even, but
you must keep your hands off Blair, got it?'

`Okay, I know.'

Arriving at 4:45, he interrupted his internal dialog as he parked near the
building and went directly to the kitchen.  Marcie Ross, the chair of the
hostess committee, said, "There he is!  Our sommelier."  She gave him a hug
and asked how he was doing.  Without giving him a chance to reply, she
continued, "Bruce told us you'd be doing the wine this evening.  Thanks so
much, Doug.  I know Bruce is thankful for the reprieve."

"No problem, Marcie.  I'm glad to help out.  I was going to be here anyway,
and this will give me a chance to say hello to everybody.  Who knows, I
might meet someone interesting."

"I dare say you will," she replied.  "I always do."  Then she excused
herself to go back to getting the food and punch ready, along with several
other members of her committee.

A large number of people arrived at 5:00 when the reception was scheduled
to begin, and more came steadily for about a half an hour.  Doug was busy
saying hello to friends, pouring wine, and introducing himself to strangers
who wanted wine.  Marcie, who was wielding the punch ladle, was equally
busy serving the non-alcoholic punch and visiting.

There was a lull about 5:45.  The ladies who were assisting Marcie had
replenished the goodies and the punch.  Doug had opened a new bottle of the
chardonnay, which seemed to be the most popular of the three wines that
were standard at these affairs.  Where he was stationed, Doug overheard
snippets of many conversations.  Many of them were about various business
ventures in the community.  One, however, he would remember for a long
time:

"My doctor really botched my operation, but then I found out later he was
gay."

With nothing to do, Doug began to think back once more to the morning's
dream, of Blair lying there naked on his back, of Blair on his hands and
knees with his butt in the air, of licking Blair's pucker.  Naturally
enough, he got an erection.  Since he wasn't serving anyone at the moment,
he put his hands in his pockets.

Just then, a group of ten or so people came in together.  They had probably
met in the parking lot, for they all seemed to know one another and there
was a lot of laughing and talking.  They split up when they came into the
gallery.  Some spotted friends and went to talk with them while others came
directly for the refreshments.  The tables were set up so that visitors got
to the hors d'oeuvres first and then to the drinks.

Others quickly followed the first group in.  Doug assumed that these were
people who were going out to dinner later and decided to hit the reception
on the way.  He found himself busy pouring wine and chatting with people.
Still half-hard, though, he tried to position himself so that the three 1.5
liter bottles of wine screened his bulging pants.

He handed a glass of the cabernet to someone who then moved away to look at
the exhibit.

Next in line was THE GUY FROM THE CHURCH, THE HOTTIE.  He was standing
there with his hands cupped together with a cracker in his palm.  When Doug
looked at him, he winked.  Doug immediately roared with laughter.  The
other man burst out laughing then, too.  People around the room stopped
their chatting to see what was going on.

Hastily putting the cracker on a tray of empties someone was carrying back
to the kitchen, the man offered his hand to Doug and said, "Hi.  I'm Stan
Mason."

Shaking his hand, Doug started to introduce himself, when Stan interrupted,
"And you're Douglas Curtis.  I saw your name in the bulletin Sunday."

"Oh, of course you would have," Doug stammered.  Standing there beaming,
Stan was just as sexy as Doug remembered.

"I, uh, I tried to introduce myself to you after the service, but I didn't
see you anywhere in the parish hall."

"Yeah, I'm sorry to pull a stunt like that on you and then run off, but I
had to get back to the office.  It seems to have worked, though.  You
remembered me."  Putting his hand on Doug's arm, he continued, "I hope you
weren't shocked or offended by what I did."

"Not at all," Doug replied, smiling.  "Lots of people want the LEM to dip
their wafer.  All you did different was to wink at me.  But you sure did
get my attention."

So this was Stan Mason, the new city manager.  Doug had been predisposed
from what Bruce had told him not to like the guy, but in the flesh, Doug
found him, he admitted to himself, irresistible.

Stan smiled at Doug again, took his glass of cabernet, and excused himself.
Doug watched as Stan walked up to Bruce and said hello.  Bruce then
introduced Stan to some of the Chamber members.

Hallie came in about 6:30.  Doug poured her a glass of chardonnay even
before she asked.

"Doug, what are you doing?  You aren't a member of the Chamber, are you?"
she asked.

"I've been drafted, but I think I may enlist for a while.  I'm liking this
job."

"Wonderful, darling.  Now I need to go say hello to some of these people."

"Uh, Hallie, would you like to pick up something to eat after this is
over?"

"Doug, I'd LOVE to, but I have an AAUW meeting to get to by 7:30, since I'm
introducing the guest speaker.  But let's do dinner soon, sweetheart."

"Sure, Hallie.  I'll call you."

"Oh, please do."

At about ten minutes to seven, Stan came back past the drinks table.

"Doug, do you have dinner plans?"

Doug, who had spent a good part of his life as a college professor, found
himself tongue-tied.

"Uh, well, no, actually."

Stan looked him steadily in the eye, and Doug felt light-headed.  He
couldn't remember ever being affected this way by anyone before.

He was taking a deep breath as Stan said, "I fixed a pot of chili this
afternoon.  Would you like to come to my place and have some with me?  I'd
like to get to know you.  We could have another drink, if you'd like, while
I make some corn bread, and we could just visit.  What do you say?"

Thinking that he'd like to skip the food and jump Stan's bones, Doug
cleared his throat.

"Uh, if you're sure you don't mind, I, er, think that would be nice, Stan."

"Great, let me help you and the ladies with the clean-up," Stan said,
smiling broadly.

Marcie, who had overheard the whole exchange interrupted.  "That won't be
necessary.  Doug, if you'll just recork the bottles that still have wine in
them and put them in the fridge, my committee and I will take care of
everything else.  We don't need any men in the kitchen, thanks.  We've
never let Bruce help with that, and we're not going to make you do it
either."

Stan said, "Marcie, I'll bet you have poor old Ralph helping at home in the
kitchen every evening."

`So,' Doug thought, `Stan has met Marcie and Ralph.  He hasn't wasted any
time getting to know people, has he?'

"Ralph knows his way around the kitchen, Stanley.  I'm not going to take
any chances with you and Doug."

"You just wait, sweetheart.  One of these days you two will have to come
over for supper and let me show you what I can do in the kitchen," Stan
said.

"Oh, Stan, that sounds lovely."

Doug suspected that maybe Marcie's panties were as moist as his briefs.
Stan must affect both sexes that way.

"I'll call you soon, then," Stan said to Marcie.

Bruce had instructed Doug to put the wine away at 7:00 even if people were
still arriving.  None were, so Doug recorked the bottles, put them in the
fridge, and went back to the lobby.  Stan was waiting for him.

He handed Doug a card.  "Here's where I'm living.  You want to follow me?"

"Oh," Doug said, "the Country Club.  I know where you are -- in one of
the condos?.  I'll just say goodbye to some people, and I'll be right
there."

"Right.  I didn't see you drinking any wine.  Can I open something?  What's
your preference?"

"Since we're having chili, I'd think a hefty red would be best."

"Gotcha, Doug.  I'll have it breathing by the time you get there.  Oh, and
I'll give the guard at the gate your name so he'll let you in."


As he was fastening his seat belt, Doug realized that he had a puddle of
pre-cum in his pants and that he had been half hard ever since Stan had
first appeared with the cracker in his hand.  He wondered why Stan had
asked him to dinner.  Why him?  What could possibly interest Stan about
him?  Doug knew very well why HE had accepted.  He had had the hots for
Stan from the moment he saw him in church.  He cautioned himself to be
cool.  There was no reason to think that Stan was gay.  How likely was it,
after all, that the new city manager was of that persuasion?

Stan's address was at the Lake Polk Country Club, which was a gated
community with separate houses and some nice town houses, or villas, as
they are usually called in Florida.  Doug knew several widows from
St. Johns' who lived in the town houses there.

He drove slowly, looking for Building D, #4.  When he found it, there was a
bright red 2002 Thunderbird parked in the slot for that condo.  The
visitors' parking space was next to it.  Doug thought the flamboyant little
car suited Stan.  `I wonder what he will think when he sees my gray Buick.
Stodgy car, stodgy guy, probably.'

When Doug rang the bell, there was a brief pause, and then Stan opened the
door.

"Doug, I'm so glad you were free.  Come on in!"  They shook hands, and then
Stan ushered Doug inside.  "Now, it's just us guys, so lose the blazer and
tie, okay?"

"Fine by me," Doug said, doing as requested.

Doug noticed that Stan's place did not have a lived-in look.  Rather, it
resembled a hotel suite.

"I've discovered that my screen porch is pretty useless during the day this
time of year, so we'll stay inside.  I've opened a bottle of merlot that
will do the job, I think.  I've just turned on the oven."

He put two balloon wine glasses and the bottle on the counter.  Doug noted
that it was Ravenswood's San Giacomo merlot.  He knew that wasn't available
locally and probably not outside California.

"Sit here on a barstool and talk to me while I mix up the cornbread, Doug."

Doug perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter and poured some of
the wine into each glass.  He took a sip of his.

"Stan, this wine is too good to serve with chili."

Stan twinkled.  "Oh, you know that wine?  I brought a case back with me
when my son Mark and I drove to San Francisco last summer.  I'm glad I'm
sharing it with someone who will appreciate it."  Stan set the table, put
the cornbread in the oven, set the timer, and took the other glass of wine.

"Well, Doug, here's to new friends!"

"To new friends," Doug said, smiling back at his host.

Stan put out a bowl of fingerling carrots and some ranch dip and suggested
they go sit in the living room while the cornbread baked.  As they munched
on the veggies and sipped the extraordinary merlot, they made small talk
about the Chamber reception, the good work Bruce was doing both as Chamber
president and as director of the Ridenour Gardens.  In no time, it seemed,
a chime went off in the kitchen.

Stan bustled about, getting the cornbread out of the oven, pouring water,
and ladling up big bowls of the chili.  He put a bowl of grated cheddar on
the table.

"Smells wonderful, Stan."

"OK, Doug.  Come sit."

As the two sat, Stan put his hands out to Doug, who knew what that meant.
He grasped both of Stan's hands as the host said a familiar grace: "Give us
grateful hearts, Our Father, for all thy mercies, and make us ever mindful
of the needs of others."

"Amen."

They passed the cheddar, the basket with squares of corn bread, butter, and
apple butter.  "Dig in, my friend," Stan said.

"This is real comfort food, Stan," Doug said, "and it's all delicious.
Thanks for having me."

Stan put his spoon down and looked at Doug with his blazing blue eyes.
"Doug, when I saw you in church, heard you read the lessons, I decided that
I wanted to know you better.  I really hated that I had to run off.  But I
knew who you were, and I figured we'd bump into each other again soon.  If
not, I would have called you."

"But why?"

"Let's just say I thought you were a guy I wanted to know."  Stan paused.
"Now, the last time I had a meal with a guy I didn't know very well, I
asked him too many questions about himself and pissed him off.  I sure as
hell don't want to do that again.  So if, in my interest in getting to know
you better, I go too far, I trust you'll tell me."

"OK, Stan.  We're getting to know each other.  You will be equally
forthright with me, I trust," Doug said, smiling at his host.

"You bet!"

Having cleared the way, the two went back to their food for a while.

Doug was trying to think which of the questions that teemed in his brain he
wanted to ask his host when Stan beat him to it and asked, "How long have
you lived in Lake Polk?"

"About four years."

"And where were you before that?"

"I was teaching at a small college in northwestern Ohio."

"Ohio?  Which one?"

"Cranmer."

"Oh, I've been there."

"You have?"

"Yeah.  I went to Oberlin, and we played Cranmer in most sports.  Usually
lost, by the way.  Moreover, I'm on the board of trustees of Kenyon, and
those two schools are connected through their church affiliation."

"Oberlin, huh," Doug said, smiling.  "Well, I went to Denison."

"So, are you an Ohioan?"

"No, I was born and grew up in Tampa.  How about you?"

"I grew up in Pittsburgh.  I only lived in Ohio for the four years at
Oberlin.  My son Mark's in Ohio now, though, at one of the state
universities."

Doug could sense Stan's pride as he mentioned Mark.

"What brings you to Lake Polk, or Florida, for that matter?"

"Well, Doug, I'd been city manager in Meadville, Pennsylvania since '97,
and I decided to move on, try someplace different."

"Forgive me if I seem to pry," Doug said, "but you haven't mentioned Mark's
mother."

Stan smiled at his guest.  "No problem.  Sylvia is teaching at Emory.  She
found a guy she liked better than me in '90 and we were divorced.  She got
custody, but Markie decided when he was 13 that he wanted to live with me,
and she didn't fight his decision.  Now, my turn.  What did you teach at
Cranmer?"

"English, and please don't say anything about being careful how you talk.
English profs get that all the time."

"Doug, you underestimate me.  I know enough about you already to believe
that you wouldn't be rude enough to correct someone's grammar.  Besides, I
have a JD, and I'm not at all worried about my ability to handle the
language."

Doug laughed.  "Stan, that's wonderfully refreshing."

"What is your field?"

"Early twentieth-century fiction.  I taught a Faulkner course every other
year at Cranmer, and that was my favorite."

"Interesting.  I have a young friend on the faculty at Mark's university
whose specialty is dos Passos.  I hope you get to meet Tim sometime."

"I'd like to.  I've never known anyone who specialized in dos Passos.  I'd
really enjoy talking with him."

Then Stan asked the question Doug had known was coming.

"Doug, I'm going to presume, on the basis of a very young and tender
friendship, to ask a pushy question."

"No need to apologize, Stan.  You want to know what I'm doing in Lake Polk,
unemployed, and not yet retirement age."

"If it's not too forward, yes."  Again, the blue eyes scintillated.  Doug's
cock twitched.

Doug finished chewing a piece of corn bread and took a long swallow of
water.  "As I said, I'm 58.  I was at Cranmer for a long time, had
considerable seniority there.  But there was an unfortunate affaire de
coeur.  It was uncomfortable for me there after that.  Then my parents were
killed in an auto accident.  The upshot was, I inherited enough money to
live comfortably, or so I thought at the time.  I came back to Tampa, sold
my interest in my dad's business, disposed of the house, and decided to
hole up somewhere, lick my wounds, and perhaps do some writing.  I've
always wanted to write a novel.  In fact, I have drafts of several on
various floppies.  I had driven through Lake Polk often and knew it was a
beautiful spot and a quiet little town.  Just what I thought I needed.  So
I moved here."

"Have you ever been sorry?"

Doug thought for a moment.  "No, not really.  I have lots of friends,
people I have met through church and the Gardens.  Small-town life can be
pretty confining in some ways, to be sure.  This is a small community, one
where everybody knows everybody else's business.  Oh, and Stan, you may
have to go to Tampa or Waltersburg to find kitchen supplies, since you are
obviously a cook."

Stan raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Honest to God.  You can't make tiramisu unless you go out of the county to
buy mascarpone -- and lady fingers, for that matter^ืand I couldn't
find savory at any of the local supermarkets.  Had to get that on my last
trip to Tampa."

"How far is it to Tampa?"

"Takes about an hour and twenty minutes to get downtown."

"From what you've just said, Doug, I take it that you are a cook, too."

"Oh, I don't think I'm much of a cook.  But when you have lived alone all
of your adult life, you learn to do some things out of sheer desperation."

"Tell me about it!" Stan replied.

Doug was relieved that the conversation had turned away from why he had
left Cranmer.  He wasn't about to explain that the affair gone wrong had
been with a male student.  He still had no clue as to Stan's sexual
orientation, so he would do as he usually did and assume the man was
straight.  He liked Stan too much to do anything at this point to alienate
him.

When the meal was finished, Stan offered key lime pie and coffee.  Doug
begged off on the pie, but did ask for coffee.

They had dawdled over their dinner so long that it was after 9:00.

"You know, it might be nice on the porch now.  Want to have our coffee out
there?"

"Sure."

The two men sat on the screen porch, sipping their coffee and talking.  The
night insects were close and noisy, though not loud enough to interfere
with conversation.

As people getting to know one another will do, they compared notes on their
past.  It was established that Stan had gotten his law degree at Michigan
and that Doug's PhD was from Case Western Reserve in Cleveland.  They found
that they both loved classical music and jazz, musicals, and that both had
a passion for Gilbert and Sullivan.  They talked long and with pleasure
about concerts, performances, recordings, favorite artists and composers,
going through several cups of decaf apiece in the process.

They both followed college and professional football.  Stan rooted for the
University Of Michigan and the Steelers, Doug for Florida State and the
Buccaneers.

Doug couldn't believe how quickly the evening passed.  He was embarrassed
when he realized that it was after 11:00.  Fearful that he had overstayed
his welcome, he rose to go.

"Stan, thanks.  This has been great.  Your cornbread reminded me of home,
and the chili was fantastic!  I hope we can do something like this at my
place, if you're not afraid to risk my cooking.  Or, better yet, let me
take you to my favorite restaurant."

"I'd love that, Doug.  By the way, I don't even know where you live."

"Oh, I'm in Colony Heights, off of Auburn Avenue."

"I know that area.  In fact, I'm house hunting.  I just rented this place
for six months so I could take my time looking around.  If a nice house
comes on the market up that way, please let me know.  That card I gave you
earlier has my numbers, here, cell, and work.  Call me.  We've got to keep
this conversation going, my friend."

"You sure you won't be too busy?  I'd hate to intrude."

"Doug, stop that!  In case you hadn't figured it out, I like you.  I really
want us to be friends.  If I don't hear from you soon, I'll call you.  Got
it?"

Doug laughed.  "Yeah, Stan, I get the idea.  And thanks -- for the meal,
and for wanting to be my friend."

"Oh, I may make you sick of me, Doug.  I hope you will be my guide to Lake
Polk, to the restaurants, to things that are going on around the community
that I ought to know about."

"Stan, I'm not a native, remember.  I've only been here four years.  But
it's a friendly little town, so long as you are the `right kind of people,'
and I feel pretty well plugged into the community.  If I can help you get
acclimated, I'll be glad to.  Just let me know how I can help."

Stan walked with his guest out to his car.  "Sheesh, Doug, you must have
hunted around to find a car that stodgy.  You need to loosen up a little,
guy!"  He popped Doug on the shoulder as he said it to show he was teasing.

"Well, just because you've got that adolescent's wet dream of a car, you
don't have to make fun of my dignified sedan," Doug laughed.

"You aren't old enough to worry about being dignified.  Live life!  Enjoy,
my friend!"

Laughing, they shook hands.  Having thanked Stan once more for dinner and
for the evening, Doug drove away.


* * *


STAN:



`He had a stiffie when I was walking up to him at the reception,' I thought
after Doug had left.  `There was a lovely tent in his britches.  Wonder
what brought that on?`

`All things considered, that didn't go too badly.  At least I don't think I
made him mad or scared him off.  He's a Ph.D. with no trace of intellectual
arrogance.  And there's that lanky frame, those gorgeous brown eyes.  Nice
bulge.  Great ass.'

"But, there's the $64,000 question.  Is he of the right persuasion?  My
gaydar just isn't working here.  I got hot in church that morning just
looking at him in a cassock and cotta, for Pete's sake, and when I heard
his sexy baritone voice, I nearly came.  There's something about his lips.
And he's so cute because he just hasn't a clue about his sexiness.'

`Gotta take this very slowly.  Even if I can't climb that frame of his, I
want him for a friend.  After all, hope springs eternal -- at least for
us gays.'

`Doug's mature, solid, smart.  He seems a bit repressed, and I'll have to
try to loosen him up a bit, but I feel as if I've come home when I'm around
him.  Safe.  Easy.  After being a dad for Mark all my life -- hell,
after being Pops for Mark's whole gang, and that includes Tim now --
maybe a guy older than me is exactly what I need.  Maybe I can relax, not
have to be always on guard.'

`Yeah.  If I don't hear from him soon, I'll have to call him.'


* * *


DOUG:


i lay awake in bed for a while, thinking back over the evening with Stan.

`Damn, he's sexy.  His smile not only makes my dick jump, it almost takes
my breath away.  Apart from our being so different in looks and
personality, we do seem to have a lot in common.  Enough to build a
relationship on?'

`Woah, Doug, relationship?  You just met the guy.  So far as you know he's
straight, and you're talking about a relationship?'

`Besides, even if he did invite you to dinner, he may very well have been
disappointed after you were there for a while.  Why would a guy like that
be interested in you anyway?  He hasn't been in town long, but he seemed to
know a lot of people at the reception.  He talked to Marcie and Ralph as if
they were old friends.  He's charming, well to do, apparently, and has sex
appeal to burn.  So, again, Curtis, what could he possibly see in you?'

`On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to invite him to dinner.  If he turns
you down, you'll know where you stand.'

Trying to picture what Stan might look like naked, he took his hard cock in
his hand and began to pump it slowly . . .


[Thanks for checking back.  I neglected to say at the end of chapter 1 that
the story would be continued.  It will take 10 chapters in all to tell the
story of Doug and Stan.  I will try to keep this story and the Dr. Tim
story running parallel.  There will be a chapter of one or the other every
two weeks. "Tim" ch. 23 is next.  My thanks to all of you who have been
generous enough of your time to write me.  --T.M.]