Date: Tue, 12 Apr 2005 17:10:12 -0700 (PDT) From: niftystoryteller <niftystoryteller@yahoo.com> Subject: southern nights, chapter 13 Southern Nights, Chapter 13 Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. If you have any feedback or encouragement, or if you would like links to my other stories, feel free to drop me a line at niftystoryteller@yahoo.com. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once again, or maybe for the first time, depending on how you look at it, I was in a car, speeding up a mountain road, on my way to a rendezvous in a hidden cabin. Only this time I wasn't the driver. In every possible way, I was no more than a passenger. A passenger in a rattling car, a passenger in the body of another. Even so, I was still every bit as excited as my uncle had been since the moment he opened the envelope that contained the map and the quickly scrawled note, which was signed only with the letter "F." I was pretty sure that I knew who belonged to that initial. I suppose that is why I couldn't get beyond that stomach churning roller coaster mixture of eager anticipation and dread that students and lovers and sky divers all know in spades. The cabin looked almost the same as I remembered it, from fifty years in the future. The only immediately apparent differences were due to the season; instead of the fragrant scent of blooming roses, wood smoke from the two chimneys perfumed the crisp air. My uncle's heart was pounding as he bounded up the front steps, crossed the wooden planks of the porch, and knocked at the door before impatiently turning the handle. It was unlocked, and he paused for only a second before pushing his way inside. Had he waited for just a minute, the door would have been opened by "F," who at that very instant was emerging from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Both young men came to a complete stop and, looking at each other from across the room, broke into wide, toothy grins. "I'm glad you came up, Eddie boy," Forrest Hamilton drawled in his authentically Southern way, breaking the silence. "Your wish is my command," my uncle replied, with just as much flourish. "I thought you knew that." He reached into his shirt pocket as he crossed the room. "Look, I brought you something." Forrest reached out and took the photograph that my uncle offered. He studied it for a moment and smiled. "Last summer was just about perfect, wasn't it?" Turning the print over, he examined the handwriting on the back. "'Coffee and cream, bourbon and ice, song and dance, biscuits and gravy, thunder and lightning, shoes and socks, 'E' and 'F,' today and tomorrow. Together forever,'" Forrest recited. For just an instant, a dark cloud passed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a slightly wicked grin. "I think we're just gonna have to remind ourselves how good we are together." "Even if there's no way we could forget." Two young men tentatively, haltingly approached each other, reached out, and, confidence and desire growing in equal measure, pulled together. Stubbly cheeks and chins bristled as they touched. Strong hands passed over rough flannel and denim. One body molded itself against the other. And finally, dry, chapped lips touched and opened to accept what was offered. I quivered at the sensation of the warm, moist, peppermint-scented breath that Forrest exhaled into my uncle's lungs. His oxygen, his passion, his lust bubbled through the arteries that nourished two spirits, inflaming both. Under my uncle's fingertips, I could feel the wavy curliness of Forrest's thick chestnut hair, the neat boundary at the nape of his neck, the jutting shoulder blades. I shivered as he began to unbutton my uncle's shirt, as he slipped it off my uncle's shoulders, as he lifted the neat white undershirt over my uncle's head, as he unzipped the trousers that slid down my uncle's slim hips, and finally as he pushed down the frayed boxer shorts that were my uncle's last covering. We stood naked in front of him, and he put his hands on our shoulders and pushed us back an inch or two or three, enabling him to see us, and trace his index finger over imaginary trails from nipple to nipple, to navel, to painfully hard and curving cock, over the top of a strong thigh, and back across a chest that rose and fell in a jagged rhythm. "You are so fucking beautiful," Forrest murmured before pulling my uncle's naked body against his fully clothed form. I shivered at the sensation of fabric against flesh. There was no way I could tell my uncle what to do, but somehow he knew, and he opened himself completely to the person he loved. Two young men sank to the worn rag rug in front of the fire, one naked and one clothed. They were alternately warmed by the burning logs and cooled by the chill cabin air. They rocked back and forth, rolled over and under, stroked and squeezed, licked and sucked. More clothes were shed, and then even more, until not one thing came between them. I was both an observer and a participant, my unmediated feelings silently encouraging my uncle to leave no erotic stone unturned, no patch unexplored. In my mind, I truly believed that stoking this fire was the only way to heal the breach that would yawn wide open, sometime in the next half century. Then my uncle was on top, grasping his strong thighs around Forrest's milky white hips, rubbing their chests back and forth, hotly mashing their mouths together, sliding prick over prick, reaching back to stroke his own tight little pucker. Through my uncle's eyes, I saw the face in front of me, the expression of unbridled lust, the hungry mouth, the wild eyes. Even without the benefit of my own physical form, I began to feel dizzy, and then the face in front of me began to blur abruptly into a barely adjacent image, like a ghost picture on a television screen. I could just start to make out a familiar face, one that shared some of the same features as the young man who was underneath me, underneath us. They were about the same age. And then I began to feel myself receding from the scene, floating back into some sort of a dark tunnel, connected to the shrinking circle of light in the cabin by a cosmic rubber band that tethered me to my uncle's soul. In my mind's eye I blinked, and I saw that the other face was Beau's, but I knew that I needed to focus on the then and there rather than the here and now, both because we weren't done and because I didn't know what would happen if or when the rubber band broke. Would I live, or would I fall into nothing? And so I focused. I concentrated. I felt. I felt the sensation of hair on skin. I felt the sensation of hot saliva on goose bumps. I felt the pain and pleasure of penetration, no, of getting fucked by someone that I wanted inside of me, someone that I wanted to be part of me. I felt the rhythm of rocking back and forth on a hard cock that was where I wanted it to be. I felt the scratchy friction that just increases the itch. And I felt the tightening, dissolving sensation of an orgasm that is shared with someone who is gripping me in a fit of ecstasy. All of the possibilities in the world were open to them at that instant, the entire universe had shrunk down to that time and that place, and it was intensely beautiful. Almost too beautiful to look at. But even without eyes, I needed to see. And believe.