Date: Thu, 29 Nov 2012 21:58:33 -0500
From: Earl Anderson <jemtling@gmail.com>
Subject: Wayward Island (1)

Wayward Island (Part 1)
How Jake and Randy Decided to become Lovers
By Jake Preston

      Reader restrictions: no minors, no readers who are offended by
explicit descriptions of gay sexuality. The story as a whole is a
psychological study of gay athletic hunks who love nerds, and the nerds who
love them in return. The story also deals with the problems faced by gay
guys who live in rural areas. If these themes don't interest you, there are
many other great "nifty" stories to choose from. All characters are
fictional; none are based on actual persons. Most place- names are
fictional, too. Send comments and suggestions to jemtling@gmail.com.  Jake
will respond to all sincere correspondents.

      *   *   *   *   *  *  *

      It's hard for a gay man to find love in the country. That was true
for me, but the scarcity of partners was an advantage for Randy O'Grady. He
wouldn't have been my first choice in a big city, but he was my only choice
in Ashawa, a farm-and timber town in northern Minnesota.

      Randy stands five foot five, and at 150 pounds is muscular but not
what much of an athlete. He's not blessed with a movie-star face, but
twinkling green eyes give him a disarming appeal, and deep dimples when he
smiles. Carroty red hair is his most striking feature. If you like red hair
you would not be disappointed by his chest, armpits, pubes and places
below. Certain other attractions will go undetected by a narcissist who is
waiting for a tall, dark, handsome athletic prince to come his way. If
you're waiting for Mr. Right in Ashawa, you'll find that he exists only in
your dreams.

      Randy O'Grady had lived in Chicago, where he worked as a clerk in a
shoe store. He lost his job when the store closed down, a victim of the
George Bush recession. He decided to move from Chicago to Ashawa when his
maternal uncle, Tom Peterson, offered him a job at the Wayward Island
Resort on Lake Ashawa. The offer included a place to live rent-free, in a
suite above the kitchen in the resort's log-cabin style lodge. The name of
the resort is misleading. A few of the cabins are located on an island, but
the lodge and most other cabins are on the lakeshore. Romantic as the idea
might seem, most people who stay on an island won't do it a second
time. There are too many inconveniences.

      I have a cabin on the lake, too, on the opposite side of Wayward
Bay. The island obscures any view of the lodge, but from my dock I can see
two of the cabins on the island. I was a regular customer at breakfast, and
sometimes at dinner, in the restaurant that Tom kept open all year
long. One morning in the middle of November, Tom asked if I would come over
to help Randy move his stuff into the lodge. Of course I agreed. Randy was
expected in a day or two. He would give me a call.

      I'm Jake. I make my living writing mystery novels under two different
pen-names. Writing hasn't made me famous or rich, but it's earned me enough
to live in a cabin on the lake. At six feet and an athletic 160 pounds, I'm
the tall handsome dark-haired guy that you find in the country only if
you're looking for someone else. I had grown up on a farm near Ashawa, went
away to college, and worked as a journalist for a small town newspaper. I
tried my hand at creative writing at night and on weekends. After I found a
publisher for my first three novels, I moved back to Ashawa, at age 26. I
bought a remote cabin on the lake, a half mile from neighbors.

      It was a snowy Thursday in November when we met at Wayward Island
Resort. Tom called to say that Randy arrived in his U-Haul, so I drove to
the lodge. Randy and I spent the afternoon carrying boxes and furniture
from the U- Haul truck to his apartment in the lodge. Randy turned out to
be a friendly, masculine guy. My gaydar buzzed like crazy, even though he
didn't act gay or hint at being gay. Randy's gaydar was in good working
order, too. We were predestined to roll in the sack. Maybe it was the way
we made eye-contact.

      Tom stayed in the kitchen while Randy and I carried Randy's stuff
from the U-Haul. Tom had a touch of arthritis in one hip. I insisted that
he leave the moving to me and Randy. Tom volunteered to prepare dinner. He
fixed a fine pot- roast, potatoes and veggies. We enjoyed this with beer,
followed by a choice between brandy and port after dinner.

      If Tom knew anything about Randy being gay, he wasn't showing it. The
truth is they hadn't seen each other very often over the years. Tom was
oblivious to me being gay, or so I thought. Our conversation was guarded,
but I offered to show Randy around town the next day.

      "Ah, gee," Randy said, "I've got to drive the U-Haul back to the
rental center in Hibbing. And I'll need a ride back."

      "We'll do that, then," I said, "and maybe on Saturday we'll take a
tour of the great town of Ashawa." We decided to leave at ten in the
morning.

      It was snowing thick wet flakes when Randy walked me to my car. He
thanked me for my help moving him in. "It's good to make a start by getting
to know at least one guy my age," he said.

      "I'm happy we met, too, Randy," I replied.

      "Jake," Randy said softly, "I'd like to ask you something
outrageously candid, but only on the condition that you'll forgive and
forget if I'm off base."

      "Sure, Randy," I said.

      "If we decide to..." Randy's voice trailed off.

      "If we decide to become lovers, shall we meet at your place or mine?"

      "You have such a way with words," Randy laughed. "I think I am going
to enjoy our friendship. When the time comes, I think we should meet at
your place.  I don't want Uncle Tom to know what's going on, at least not
yet. Uncle Tom will figure it out eventually, but I don't want him looking
over our shoulders while we figure things out."

      "Thanks for breaking the ice," I said. "I was hoping you'd be the guy
that you are, Randy."

      "There's one thing I should be up-front about, Jake. I'm a confirmed
top.  Can't help it. Born that way. Hope it's not a deal-breaker.

      "No, of course not, Randy. I like to think of myself as a top, too,
but growing up in the country, I haven't had any experience with another
guy," I said.  "Still, I'm sure we'll be able to figure out some way to
have good times together."

      "Good man!" Randy said. "Good man! There's something else I must ask
you, too."

      "What's that?"

      "No jacking off, no matter how horny you get," Randy said. "Save your
energy for when we're together."

      "I won't if you won't," I said.

      Randy kissed me on the lips as I got into my car. I kissed him back,
and blew him another kiss as I turned the key and started the engine.

      To be honest, I never thought of myself as a top. Since I'm an
athletic- looking hunk, I figured most guys would expect me to be a top,
and having no experience, I hadn't learned how to present myself. I figured
that Randy, as a top, would find it more exciting to seduce another top
into making love his way. I was right about that, but that's a theme for
the next episode.