Date: Wed, 17 Sep 2003 08:23:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Mead <timmead88@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Out of the Night," ch. 6

The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men.
If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.

This is a work of fiction.  No similarity between the characters here and
any real person is intended or should be inferred.  Lake Polk is a
fictional town, 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, you should care enough about yourself and others to always
practice safe sex.

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

I had originally planned to post this story in chronological sync with my
story "Dr. Tim and the Boys" in the College section.  What has happened to
change my mind?  Although this story was conceived and written about a year
ago, events now (September 2003) are so close to what is going to happen to
Doug and Stan, I want you all to see these chapters now.  On September 20,
2003, the Episcopal Diocese of Central Florida will have a conference to
deal with its "outrage" over the actions taken by the national Episcopal
Church at its recent convention, i.e, confirming the first openly-gay
bishop in the worldwide Anglican Communion and looking into a rite to bless
same-sex unions.  Resolutions being presented at the diocesan conference
generally lambaste the national leadership of the church while piously
pledging to remain in "amity and unity" with the national church.

All of this is so close to what happens to Doug and Stan, I think we should
get on with the story without any delay.

Tom W., of the wicked imagination, wrote the scene with Stan, Doug, and the
bowl of fruit.  Thanks, Tommy, for ALL you do.  Thanks also to Ash, Evan,
Mickey, and Patrick.

Timmead88@Yahoo.com
Chapter 6

On Friday, November 8, both men had their bags packed and waiting at Doug's
house.  As soon as Stan could get there after work (he had taken off a
couple of hours early so the could get started by 3:00), he picked up Doug
and they were on their way.  They drove east to Waltersburg and then south
on the Turnpike.  After three hours or so they passed Miami, whizzing
around the city on expressways.  By the time they got to Florida City, they
were hungry, so they stopped at a Burger King for something to eat.  They
filled the T-Bird's gas tank while they were there.

Doug offered to drive the last leg of the trip, and Stan took him up on it.
Stan enjoyed being able to look at the Keys as they crossed them, the
bridges and causeways, and the wonderful views of the water.

Despite -- or perhaps because of -- his LeSabre, Doug had been looking
forward to letting the T-Bird out a little, seeing what the hot car could
do.  He was disappointed, though.

"Dammit, I should have remembered that this is mostly a two-lane highway
and that the traffic would be heavy on a Friday evening."

"You want me to drive, babe?"

"No, you relax and enjoy the trip.  I was just hoping to have some fun with
this sexy machine of yours!"

Stan laughed.  "OK, babe.  I approve.  I'm glad to see Dougie shedding his
strict professorial demeanor.  Maybe on the Turnpike going home you can
satisfy your urge for speed."

"Yeah, right, with all those state troopers patrolling?"

"We'll see," Stan said.

They were both quiet for a while.  Then Stan chuckled.

"What's funny?"

"Doug, I've been thinking back to that evening at Friday's, the scene with
that cute little waiter.  What's his name?"

"Adam."

"Yeah, Adam.  You know he was the catalyst, he's what made me decide to
grab you, literally, as soon as I could."

"Yeah?"

"Yep!  I saw at once that each of you knew the other was gay.  And that's
all I'd been waiting for!  I got hard for you the first time I saw you and
just about every time I saw you after that.  Sometimes just thinking about
you."

Doug grinned.  "Well, stud, I reacted to you the same way.  But you know,
after what we went through with Leigh and Rick, it's a wonder we both
weren't more cautious."

"I understand what you're saying, Dougie, but look at it this way.  We WERE
cautious, even though we had the hots for each other.  Not knowing whether
the other guy was gay, though, gave us time to get to know each other.  All
those things we did together convinced me that I wanted your friendship,
even if you turned out to be totally straight.  That's one of the reasons
why I moved so slowly."

"Stanley, I think you've just described how I felt better than I could have
myself.  So you don't just want me for my gorgeous bod?" he asked,
grinning.

"I know you are being facetious, babe, but I love your bod, and it IS
gorgeous.  As I said, however, I know I love you, Doug, and when I'm with
you I feel as if I've come home.  Is that weird?"

"I hope not, babe, `cause that's just the way I feel, too.  As if all my
life has just been preparation for finally discovering you."


The place where Stan had reservations was on Fleming St. in Key West's Old
Town district, within walking distance of most of Key West's attractions
and handy to Duval Street and Mallory Square.  Because of the number of
guest houses and B & B's, Fleming Street is touted locally as being the
"Gayest Street in America."

"The Retreat" was a beautifully renovated Victorian mansion.  It had a pool
and courtyard in the back where breakfast was served every morning, wine
and hors d'oeuvres were available every evening, a spa, tanning room, gym,
and all the amenities one could want.  After they checked in, they were
shown to their room by an extremely handsome black guy named Fred.  Fred
had gold hoops in both ears and obviously shaved his head.  He looked like
a black Mr. Clean.

As he handed Stan the keys, he said, "It's our custom to provide our guests
with a complimentary bottle of wine and some snacks at check-in.  Is it too
late, or shall I send it up?"

Stan looked at Doug and, though no words had passed between them, said,
"Fred, we'd love it.  Would you like one of us to come back down with you
to get it?"

"Definitely not, Mr. Mason.  While you are here, we want to pamper you.
Glenn will be up in just a moment."  He paused a moment and smiled.  "And
if you gentlemen want to get comfortable, Glenn is probably incapable of
being shocked and VERY discreet.  We want you to enjoy your stay.  Please
let me know if there's anything we can do to make your visit with us a
happy one.  I assume you will be doing some of the island sights tomorrow?"

Doug finally found his voice.  "Yes, that's the plan."

"Breakfast is available in the courtyard out back from seven until ten.  If
you will stop by the desk, someone there will be happy to assist you in
planning your day."

He flashed them a brilliant smile and left.  Minutes later there was a tap
on the door.

"Come in," Stan said.

It was Glenn.  Glenn was as hunky as Fred.  In a purple collared tee, white
bermudas, and sandals, he seemed to stretch all the fabric that was
covering him.  Obviously a body-builder, he had huge biceps, tree-like
legs, pects that strained through his shirt, and a butt that stretched the
fabric of his shorts.

"Would you gentlemen like me to open your wine now?" he said, smiling.

"Oh, yeah," Doug said, seeming a little weak in the knees.

Glenn had the cork pulled much sooner than the fascinated Stan and Doug
would have liked.  He set it on the coffee table, along with a plate of
brie and a bowl of assorted crackers.  "Just give a call downstairs if you
need anything, gentlemen."

Stan had the presence of mind to hand Glenn a substantial tip before he
left while Doug just stood there looking awestruck.

"Down, boy!" Stan laughed. "You can look, but not touch.  You're MINE,
remember?"

Doug cleared his throat and then chuckled.  "Man, I'm moist in my shorts.
If he's any example of the staff, I'm not sure I want to leave the place.
We can do plenty of sightseeing right here."

"You wish!  We came here to `do' Key West, and that's what's gonna happen.
Oh, yeah, and we're gonna `do' each other several times a day, too.  Got
it?"

Doug clasped Stan behind the head with both hands, leaned down a little and
initiated a long, wet, hot kiss.

When they broke, Doug said, "Stanley, this is going to be heaven.  Now,
how's about some wine?"


After a night of first torrid and later very relaxed love-making, the two
men rose, shaved, showered, dressed in tees and shorts and went down to the
patio for breakfast.  The pool was surrounded by tall palms and beautiful
landscaping.  Single and double hibiscus bushes were in bloom in shades of
red, pink, orange, and yellow all around.  Cages with tropical birds of
brilliant plumage were dotted around as well.  Also dotted around were
other men.  Three couples.  Two were swimming nude in the pool.  Two others
were sitting at a table having breakfast, also naked.  A third couple,
dressed in light-colored linen slacks and brightly-colored tropical sports
shirts, were sipping coffee and having what appeared to be an intimate
discussion.  They would hold hands across the table, or one would touch the
other's face.  And they were playing footsie under the table.  Both had
slipped off their loafers and were rubbing them on their mate's legs.

"Well, Dougie," Stan said, "this is my idea of what Florida is supposed to
be like."

"Yeah, it sure doesn't seem much like Imperial County any more, does it
Dorothy?"


Later that morning the two men took the Old Town Trolley tour of the
island.  The weather was in the 70's, the sky was cloudless.  The people on
the trolley seemed friendly.  There were elderly couples, families with
kids, and a fair number of same-sex couples.  The guide was a jovial old
woman who larded the standard spiel about all of the local points of
interest with tidbits of history and gossip.  Everyone had a good time, and
she received a number of healthy tips at the end of the tour.

Doug and Stan got off at Duval Street, the main street of the Old Town
section.  Two large cruise ships were docked at the nearby docks.  Since
there aren't any buildings on Key West more than a couple of stories tall,
the ships looked mammoth in their berths.

The men toured the Truman Summer White House, which both found fascinating,
though neither remembered Harry Truman except as a historical figure.
Doug, though, had read David McCullough's excellent biography of Truman and
had come to admire him.

Afterward, they tried to have lunch at Sloppy Joe's, supposedly a favorite
hangout of Hemingway, but it was so crowded they decided to try someplace
else.  They found another place a little further down Duval Street that was
less crowded, so they tried it.  Conch chowder was on the menu, and Doug
suggested that Stan sample it.  They both had bowls of the steamy, spicy
concoction, and Stan pronounced it delicious.

They noted that many of the restaurants, bars, and shops in the area were
wide open.  It was almost like being in a mall where there were no doors,
the whole street side of the shop or restaurant seeming to be missing.

After lunch they visited the Audubon House and the Atocha Museum.  Having
prowled around both to their hearts' content, they walked back to The
Retreat.  Fred was on the desk again.  He greeted them warmly and asked
what they had done.

"You ARE going to watch the sunset, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, Fred, we wouldn't miss that!" Doug exclaimed.

"What's so special about the sunset?" Stan asked.

"I'll never tell.  That's something you just have to experience!"

"Yes, we'll be serving wine and `heavy' hors d'oeuvres on the patio in half
an hour," Fred informed them.  "Actually, you could probably make do with
that as your supper unless you are really hungry.  Then go see the sunset.
We can always send something up to your room later if you fancy a sweet."

Stan flashed his brilliant smile at Fred, who smiled brilliantly back.
"Sounds great, Fred.  Thanks for all the information."

Back in their room, Stan asked, "What's all this about sunset?"

Doug smirked at him and said, "Honestly, you just have to wait and see.
Now, I feel like a shower, how about you?"

"Beast.  I don't know whether I want to get naked with someone who
withholds vital information from me.  No, cancel that.  I always want to
get naked with you."

Doug took Stan's mind off of what happened at sunset by giving him a
blowjob in the shower.  Stan wasn't so pissed he refused to reciprocate.
Then they slowly and lovingly washed each other.  It was a long shower.
Afterward, they put on fresh underwear and shirts, pulled on their Bermudas
again, and went down to the patio for the wine party.

As Fred had promised, there were red, white, and even blush wines ("Who
drinks that crap?" Stan asked.  "That's only for women, isn't it?").  And
tables laden with shrimp, little sausages, all kinds of cheeses, warm
bread, crudités and dip, melons, tropical fruit, battered deep-fried
squid.

"No wonder Fred said this could be dinner," Doug said.

"Oh, is there food?" Stan asked, his eyes raking their assembled fellow
guests, a casually-dressed assemblage of great looking guys ranging in age
from their 30's to one couple who must have been pushing 70.

"Watch it, Stanley!"

"That's just what I'm doing, Dougie.  No harm in lookin', is there?"

Doug laughed.  "OK, horndog, so long as you just look."

After chatting with several of their fellow guests, including one really
cute pair from Morristown, NJ, and having more wine and finger-food than
they should have, Stan and Doug checked with Fred to see when sunset was
supposed to be.

"Well, gentlemen, you want to get to Mallory Square about a half an hour
before sunset, so you'd best go now."

It took only ten minutes by foot to get to the Square.  Stan couldn't
believe what he saw there.  First of all, the cruise ships had left.  Out
in the harbor, parading in both directions parallel to the shore were all
sorts of pleasure craft, both power and sail.  People were partying on
those boats, yelling and waving to friends -- or perhaps strangers -- on
shore.

Along the docks Stan was amazed to see all sorts of people vending food.
There were entertainers from sword-swallowers and acrobats to buskers and
musicians.  A pair of young men in very tight tights with very nice butts
were tossing flaming torches back and forth.  A woman in Caribbean garb was
selling cookies and spouting amusing rhymes about them.  Others were
hawking shell jewelry, sandals, clothing, and other island products.

"Damn, Dougie," Stan exclaimed, it looks like a combination of fair and
block party."

Doug chuckled.  "That's as good a description as any.  This is what I
remember most about my first visit here.  It happens every night, you
know."

The two men wandered around, enjoying the musicians, inspecting the
vendors' wares, keeping an eye on the western sky as the colors of the
sunset deepened.

Before they knew it, the sun had dropped into the Gulf of Mexico.

What happened next startled Stan.  Everyone broke into applause.

Laughing and applauding, he asked, "Do they always do that?"

"Yep.  That's the custom."

After the applause, everything seemed to close down with surprising speed.

"Now, babe, what usually happens next is that people cruise up and down
Duval Street, checking out the shops and galleries or stopping by the bars
and restaurants.  You game?"

Stan twinkled at his lover.  "You bet, studly, but first there's something
I want to do."

He put his arms around Doug's chest and gave him a kiss that bordered on
tongue-raping.  Doug started to protest but then remembered where they
were.  They were in Key West, where it was all right to be gay.  They had
seen both straight and gay couples holding hands, hugging, and kissing in
public all afternoon, so he relaxed and let his mind shut down as he
enjoyed his lover's kiss.

The kiss over, they wandered down Duval street, going into all sorts of
shops.  In one, owned by an actor who used to be a star of "General
Hospital," they found exquisite glassware and paintings.  In a separate
room, there were oils and watercolors of naked men, beautifully, erotically
done.

In another store, they found a fifteen-foot rack of postcards with naked
men on them and bins of pasta in the form of boobs and men's cock and
balls.

"Wow," Stan exclaimed, "this is a different world, isn't it babe?"

"Stanley, it's hard to think this is the same state as Lake Polk, isn't
it?"

Stan took his hand and squeezed it.  "This is the way it ought to be,
sweetheart."

They found they were passing Sloppy Joe's, so they stopped in for a beer.
The place was mobbed.  Doug found a tall table with stools beside it while
Stan fought his way to the bar.  He enjoyed the trip, slithering through
what appeared to be an army of hunky men.  Apparently the straight set had
gone elsewhere for the evening.  Finally he was able to get a couple of icy
draughts and squirm his way to where Doug was sitting.

They didn't say much, content instead to enjoy the eye candy in the bar.

When the beers were gone, Doug asked, "Want another, hot stuff?"

"Nah. I have a suggestion.  Let's go back to The Retreat and take a swim."

"Great idea, studly!"

When they got back to the guest house, a new guy was on the desk.  He was a
slim, willowy redhead with green eyes. When they asked if the pool was
still open, he said it was until 11:00.  "And bathing suits are optional,
you know," he said, batting his eyelids at them.

Doug and Stan didn't even go to their room.  They went to the pool,
stripped, and dived in.  No one else was there.  The area around the pool
was subtly lighted.  There were lights under the water in the pool.

The two men enjoyed swimming, playing grabass like a couple of kids,
actually, until they were both relaxed and ready to go up to their rooms.
Stacks of fluffy towels were on a table near the pool.  There was also a
shower where they could rinse off the chlorinated water from the pool.
They rinsed off, dried themselves, pulled their Bermudas on, and went back
to their room.


The next morning, Sunday, they stayed in bed late, cuddling, licking,
sucking, generally having fun.

They had a leisurely breakfast by the pool, eating more than either would
have had at home.  Then they had a swim in the pool.

At about 9:30, Doug said, "Sweetheart, there's an Episcopal church a couple
of blocks away.  I'd like to attend their Eucharist if that's OK with you."

"By all means, babe.  Let's go shave and get dressed."

So they went back to their room, shaved, showered, dressed, and went to the
10:30 service at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, just a couple of blocks from
The Retreat.

It was a beautiful old church.  Stan and Doug were struck by the number of
same-sex couples in attendance.  They wished things were like that at
St. John's in Lake Polk.  The priest was about 35, a tall, thin strawberry
blond.  After the service, after they had shaken the rector's hand, and
they were walking back to The Retreat, Doug said, "I've never had reliable
gaydar, but I'd bet that man was gay."

"Well, it would certainly be appropriate if he were, and, for what it's
worth, I agree with you."

They stopped into a promising-looking restaurant that hadn't filled up yet
for lunch.  The food was good but the service was slow.

Stan was inclined to be fidgety, but Doug reminded him that this was the
South, and that folks in these parts weren't generally in a hurry.

"Besides, hotshot, where are we going?  You are a damn Yankee, I guess."

Stan smiled and said "OK, I suppose I am.  I just hope the food's worth
waiting for."

It was.  Doug had grouper and Stan had red snapper.  Both were excellent.

After they had eaten, they went back to the guest house and changed into
tees and shorts.

They walked to what was for Doug one of the high points of the weekend,
Hemingway's House.  Even Stan had read many of Hemingway's novels, and both
were fascinated by the study that was accessible only by a walkway from the
second-story bedroom of the house, by the 60 or so cats, most of whom had,
by some genetic aberration, an extra toe on each foot, and by all the
Hemingway memorabilia in the house.

After they left the house, they went across the street to investigate the
Key West lighthouse.

"Wouldn't you know," Stan laughed, "that Papa Hemingway would have a big
phallus across the street from his house?"

Doug, who'd never thought of it that way, laughed and said, "Well, macho
WAS his thing."


Stan wanted to swim in salt water, so they went back to the guest house,
put on their swimming trunks under their Bermudas, and hiked clear to the
end of Duvall Street to South Beach.  Because of Key West's unique
location, they went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, whereas, if they were
at the north or west end of the island, they'd be in the Gulf of Mexico.

South Beach wasn't crowded at that point.  Doug explained that natives
wouldn't normally be swimming in November and that only tourists were at
the beach that day.  There were, however, several male couples and a number
of teen guys who were obviously hoping to be picked up.  Doug explained
that Key West was a kind of Mecca for runaways.  If you are homeless, you
might as well be somewhere you can sleep outdoors.  Many of these kids
wound up selling their bodies for food or a little spending money while
living rough in the benign climate.  Tears came to Stan's eyes as Doug
explained all this to him.

"Shit, Dougie.  Here I thought we were in paradise.  I guess there's no
such place, is there?"

"'fraid not, lover."

After swimming for a while and lying in the still warm November sun, the
two walked back to The Retreat.  There, they showered, changed clothes
again, and went down to the patio for the wine and food they had enjoyed so
much the previous evening.  After they had eaten, they sat around talking
with several guys they had seen during their weekend.

Finally, about 9:00, things around the pool began to slow down, and the two
men went back to their room.

* * *

Doug:

Back in our room, we found a large crystal bowl with cut-up fruit, and a
smaller one with whipped cream, both put in larger bowls with ice cubes to
keep them fresh.  The air was heavy with the perfume of pineapple, mangos,
star fruit, oranges, peaches, and bananas, mixed with the vanilla flavour
of the cream.

"Hmm!  Why does that make me think of forbidden fruits?" I murmured,
casting a sidelong glance at Stan.

"Yes, why indeed?  Here all things fruity are allowed.  No snakes, no
angels with flaming swords," Stan retorted, smiling widely at me.

"But there is temptation," I whispered, taking a juicy slice of peach
between my fingers, offering it to him.

He took it gently with his lips, chewed slowly, his face showing bliss, and
when he was done, he licked my sticky fingers clean.

"More?" I asked.

He nodded, blue eyes blazing at me.

"Well," I smiled, "if you want me to feed you properly, we'd better get
naked."

I could see he loved the idea.  He undressed in record time.  Sluggo was
already so hard that when Stan pulled his briefs down, he got caught in
them and then slapped back at Stan's belly.  That made us both giggle.

While I shed my clothes at a more sedate speed, Stan pulled the coffee
table close to the bed, and then draped himself all over the mattress.
Arms flung out wide, legs spread lasciviously, a vision totally sensual,
perhaps even debauched.  No wonder that spiked my interest!  And
Spikey-Boy, too, was completely hard when he appeared.

I jumped on the bed so that I was between Stan and the table with the
bowls.  Then I took an orange segment with my lips and offered it to him.

He lifted his head to take it.  Our lips touched.  We moved the juicy bit
back and forth, from my mouth to his, and vice versa, till I bit it
through.  We each chewed, and swallowed, grinning at each other somewhat
ferociously, I think.

Next was a slice of banana.  I let Stan open his mouth, and just dropped it
in.  Hmm, what else could I do, besides feeding him?  I had an idea.
Weren't we gays said to be good at decorating?  Up till now, I hadn't
thought myself very talented that way, but these fruits seemed very
inspiring to me.

So I took the spoon, and with a confident turn of my hand landed a
nice-sized glob of cream on each of Stan's nips.

"Hey!" he yelped.  "That's cold!"

"Don't be a baby," I said, placing a slice of star fruit on the globs.
Then I did the same with his belly-button.  First cream, then three cubes
of mango.

"You look delicious, baby!" I said.

"Then feed on me!" said he.

And I did.  With my tongue and lips I lifted the star fruit from his right
nip and into my mouth.  The tart, citrusy flavor exploded on my taste buds,
mellowed by the bit of cream that had come off with the fruit.  I licked my
lips.  Stan watched it with a hungry gaze.  Then I licked all the remaining
cream from his nipple, thoroughly, taking my time with it.  He was really
squirming when I was done.  But he still had that hungry look . . .

So, when I had the second slice of carambola between my teeth, I offered it
to him.  Lips locked together, we sucked and munched on it, generating a
considerable mess and an equal amount of heat.  Then I licked that nipple
clean, too.

Now to his belly-button.  Stan got two pieces of mango, I got one.  And all
the cream, which I gobbled up meticulously, while he grew a bit wild under
me.

And I hadn't even paid homage to Sluggo yet, whose one eager eye kept on
trying to hypnotize me, waving and pulsing invitingly.

So I smacked a broad layer of cream on him, holding him steady with my
fingers at his head.  My mouth watered as I could see he was adding his own
cream, too. I hurried up with the fruits, four chunks of pineapple, and
then I devoured his cock, eating up all the décor, chewing fruits and
sucking Stan's banana alternately.

He was whining and bucking by the time I was finished, his fists holding
the sheets in a deathgrip.

"Spread your legs," I ordered.  "Knees up, and lift your hiney!"

He complied, and I put two pillows under him.  With a spoon full of cream
in my hand, I looked into my lover's eyes.

"Yesss!  Do it!" he hissed, and lifted his ass up some more.

I landed the cream dead center, bull's eye, on his twinkling bud.  Smack!!
And I went down on him, licking, nibbling, munching on his succulent ass,
even pushing some of the cream into him with my tongue, which he seemed to
like especially, if his moans were any indication.  He bucked up, meeting
the thrusts of my tongue.  "More, baby!" he moaned.

Taking another glob of cream on my fingers, I began prepping him, lubing
him up good.  Two fingers, then three.  Twisting them, scissoring him open.
When he seemed relaxed enough, I pulled them out.  And his ass smelled of
vanilla . . .

I slicked my cock up with the stuff, too, and positioned it at the edge of
his opening.  Holding his eyes with mine, I pushed into him, slowly, up to
the hilt.  A high, strained moan escaped him as he dealt with the sudden
feeling of fullness.  I held still until he nodded at me to continue.  I
fucked him with slow deep thrusts for a while, till I was close to coming.
He'd been groaning and panting all the time, his body flushed.  He looked
so vibrantly alive.

Reaching out one more time, I deposited a goodly amount of cream on Sluggo.
"Jack yourself, hot stuff," I said, "I want us to finish together, and I'm
so close!"

Grinning, but with dazed eyes, Stan complied, working his rod with two
hands, producing strange, squishy sounds.  I remained motionless for a
while, enjoying the pulsing of his assring that resulted from his actions.
His muscles were really milking me!  Then I couldn't hold back any longer!
I resumed my fucking with a vengeance, jamming Spike into him with all that
I had.  Now we were both moaning louder and louder, crying out our
pleasure, our passion.

It didn't take long then.  My body went rigid, and my hot cum jetted into
Stan's steamy hole.  At the same time I saw him shooting long ropes all
over his chest and stomach.  When my orgasm subsided, my arms were
trembling from the exertion.  So I collapsed on my lover, and Spike popped
out of Stan's hole with the same motion.

"Ouff!" Stan wheezed, a bit surprised I guess, but he put his arms around
me and hugged me tight.  I lifted my head, and we kissed, tenderly, the
flavor of fruit still strong on our tongues.

"That was delicious, baby," he said.

"YOU were delicious!" I replied.  For a while we lay, silent, satisfied, in
tune with each other, enjoying the afterglow.  Then the stickiness got to
be too much, so we took another shower.

The sheets, however, were impossible.  Wearing one of the fluffy white
terry robes provided, Stan picked up the phone and spoke briefly with the
desk.  Very soon, there was a knock on the door.  I quickly put on the
other robe and opened it to find Glenn, again in purple tee and white
shorts, still straining his seams in all the right places.  He grinned at
me and said, "The fruit got your sheets messed up, I hear.  I've brought
you fresh linens.  Would you like me to change them for you?"

"Uh, no, er, that's all right, Glenn, we can --- "

"Doug, let the man do his job.  Come on in, Glenn," Stan said.

I was really embarrassed because the sheets had both whipped cream and cum
all over them.  I hated for Glenn to have to handle the sheets.

"Here," I said, "at least let us strip the bed for you."

"Not necessary, Dr. Curtis," he said.  He reached in his pocket (I don't
know how he got his hand in there) and pulled out a pair of latex gloves,
which he put on.  "It's all part of our service."

Stan chuckled.  "You mean, Glenn, that you expect this after the `fruit
service'?"

Well, that was too much and I broke out laughing.  Glenn looked at him,
winked, and said, "Happens every time, Mr. Mason."

So we let Glenn do his work.  He changed that bed faster than I've ever
seen it done before, and you could have bounced a condom off it when he was
finished.  I never saw Stan go for his wallet, but he handed Glenn a bill
when he'd finished.

"Thank you, gentlemen.  Is there anything else I can do for you?"

My breath caught as I thought of a three-way with Glenn, but Stan said,
"No, guy, but thanks for saving us from those unsavory linens."

"It's our pleasure.  Sleep well."  And with another grin, he left.

Stan and I shed our robes, turned off the lights, got into bed, cuddled up
to each other, and, all entwined, we fell asleep.

* * *

STAN:

What a night that was!  That Dougie is a real devil.  He seems so staid
sometimes, so much the professor.  But he has a delicious imagination, and
I use that word intentionally.  You know, sometimes things do work out for
the best.  If it hadn't been for the thing with Leigh, I'd never have come
to Florida, never have met this sweet, sexy man who turned me on with a
look, with the sound of his voice, who didn't need a bowl of fruit to
excite me, though he managed that to perfection the previous evening as
well.

We slept late, lolled around in bed after we woke, traded blowjobs,
showered, and went down to the pool.  We swam and played around in the
water for an hour or so, lay in the sun naked, trying to at least minimize
our tan lines.  Doug has the cutest ass.  Sorry!  I got distracted there
for a minute!

I was about to doze off lying there soaking up the rays, when a couple of
guys came down and jumped into the water.  They were laughing, splashing,
playing grabass, and Doug and I turned over to watch them.  He looked at me
and nodded his head toward the pool.  I knew what he meant, so we jumped in
and joined the melee like a couple of teens.  After a while we all climbed
out and introduced ourselves properly.  They were in their late thirties,
both hunky, lived in Philadelphia.  We chatted with them for a while.  Then
we all pulled on our suits and had crab salad with a glass of chilled pinot
grigio by the pool.

After that, Doug and I went upstairs, changed into khakis, tees, and
topsiders, checked out, jumped in the car, and headed north.


On the way back to Lake Polk, I drove the first leg, up across the keys.
We stopped in Homestead for something to eat mid-afternoon.

As we munched a burger and fries, Doug looked across the table at me.  "You
know, Stanley, I just love to look at your face."

"Oh?"

"You often have this expression that says, `Hello. What's up?  I'm ready
for anything, and won't it be fun!'"

"You can tell that from my face?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Well, babe," I said, "maybe that sums me up pretty well."

When we left the restaurant, Doug took the keys.  He wanted to risk a
speeding ticket and get the feel of the T-Bird on the straightaway that is
called, for some reason, "Florida's Turnpike" in the signage.

He was obviously enjoying the car, so I leaned back and closed my eyes,
feeling the warmth of the sun and the air rushing over me.  At one point,
he said, "Man, Stan, this is a far cry from my big ol' Buick!  I didn't
know what I was missing."

"You ready to go car shopping, Dougie?" I asked, opening one eye and
grinning at him.

"Perhaps.  Don't think I can afford one of these, though.  Besides, how
would it look if both of us had new T-Birds?"

"Probably not too good.  How about a Mustang?  Or, if you want something
good looking but a little tamer, how about a Sebring?"

"I don't know from Mustangs and Sebrings.  If I decide to get rid of my
sedan, you'll have to help me shop."

"Oh, I won't let you buy a car without having veto rights, babe.  You might
wind up with another old fart car like the one you have."

"Old fart car?  Now wait just a minute, Mason!  My Buick has solidity,
dignity, befitting my age and station in life."

"A gray four-door sedan is befitting a funeral home, Dr. Curtis.  You NEED
my input if you're going to get a new car."

He chuckled.  "OK, OK, I'll let you tag along IF I decide to part with my
behemoth."

He drove on a while in silence.  I opened an eye again and noticed he was
doing 85.  "Dougie, so far as I'm concerned, you are driving at a perfectly
safe speed in this car on this highway.  But it wouldn't sound too good in
Lake Polk if their city manager and his boyfriend got a ticket speeding on
the turnpike."

"Do you want me to slow down, Stanley?  Or would you rather drive?"

"No, babe.  Just keep a sharp lookout for bears, OK?"

"Roger, cap'n."

He put a hand on my thigh.  I opened both eyes.

"Stan, there's something I have to tell you."

`Oh, God,' I wondered.  Was he going to confess something terrible?  I had
no idea what was coming.

"You want to step into the confessional, my son?" I asked.

He laughed.  "No, no, nothing like that.  I just wanted to tell you how
great this weekend was.  I don't think I've ever been as happy as I have
been these last three days.  You've brought magic into my life."

I put my hand on his thigh -- well, in his crotch, actually.  "Babe, with
you I know I've come home.  And just think, the happiness is only
beginning."

To be continued.