Men of All Seasons Box Set

by R. W. Clinger

  Of course, Kade broke the scale of good looks, model-worthy as Ben Affleck, right down to the dimple in his chin, and simply adorable for all the right reasons. Plus, he could hold a job down as the best-selling Hanna Dowe. He had many friends, didn’t gamble, drink too much, or smoke. He owned a Colonial in a wealthy suburb of Columbus, not far from my place, and his Jeep Wrangler just happened to be paid off, although he could have afforded an imported Vespa 400 if he wanted one. Balanced, smart, and just a good guy, Kade could have been the perfect boyfriend or lover, but the stars didn’t line up for us, and our hearts didn’t meet somewhere in the middle of our relationship. The friendship we shared offered tenderness at times, sadness, support, and maybe everything a marriage included. But when it came to being romantic, neither of us fell under that mysterious guy-spell. We stayed friends, perhaps just the way he and I had wanted it to be all along.

  I loved Kade Supine for many reasons, but only for his beautiful body and brawn. Not as a future husband or long-term lover. Friendship and the occasional roll in the hay while drinking when we became sloppy are all I wanted with him. Someone who I knew would always be there for me, and vice versa; a buddy to pal around with and share the craziest conversations; a guru of bar hopping on a Saturday night; and a certain someone with broad shoulders for me to dump my emotional loads on, unromantically, of course. How couldn’t I love him?

  * * * *

  I walked back into the living room and sat on the sofa, perpendicular to Finn. “Thanks for letting me take that.”

  “No problem. I was just sitting here getting drunk. The vodka goes down like water sometimes. Not that I have a problem. Some people would disagree with me, though.”

  I told him more about Kade, my friendship with the man, and how we weren’t lovers. Then I rambled about personal issues in Kade’s life: an alcoholic aunt, divorced parents, a lakeside cottage in Maine that just happened to be a money pit, and Kade’s infatuation with rugby and sleeping with young athletes.

  Finn said, “He sounds like a nice guy.”

  I nodded and thought about helping myself to another shot of vodka, but realized I had plenty. “He’s the best friend anyone would want to have.”

  “We all need best friends.”

  I didn’t argue with him.

  We talked about city people, domestic and wild cats, functioning off the grid, horror novels by Dean Koontz and Nick Carter, and how he rather liked the rain in October, mixing with autumn. Then he asked about the novel I had been trying to write.

  “The novel is drivel,” I told him. “It’s going nowhere. The characters are underdeveloped. The plot is weak. The tone is off by a long shot. I can’t decide to throw it away or start over.”

  “You’ll have to email it me. Maybe I can help.”

  I shook my head. “I’d hate to take up your time. You have ashtray sculptures to make.”

  “Trust me, I have all the time up here I need for that. Reading a manuscript by you will be a change of pace. Plus, I would like to get to know you better, and that’s a way of doing it.”

  I promised to send him what I had, didn’t promise him that he would like it much, and added, “Don’t spend a lot of time on it. Trust me when I say that its garbage.”

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  And then he rose from his chair, slid over to my side of the sofa, and reached for my hand, slipping it inside his. “I have a very personal question for you, if you don’t mind.”

  Our shoulders touched, and my temperature rose ten degrees. Sweat started to pool under my arms, and my ears rang. I didn’t know what he had in mind to ask me, but I wanted to hear what he had to say.

  He gently squeezed my right hand and turned his eyes to mine, which were glassy and relaxed because of too much vodka. “Could I kiss you?”

  My heart raced at an unstoppable speed, and my hands started to shake. Everything within me turned on edge, nervous. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

  And so the ashtray artist closed his eyes, leaned into me, and softly rolled his lips over mine.

  My world exploded with fire and exuberant energy. Tails of heated sparks danced inside my stomach and behind my eyes. The world felt as if it had been knocked out of our galaxy and into the neighborhood universe. Everything spiraled in the right motion at that very moment as we connected. Nothing seemed impure or off. Perhaps a change had surfaced in me during those few seconds, and my liking for him had morphed into something greater, unexplainable.

  We kissed for what felt like two weeks, a month, a year. I honestly didn’t know, but enjoyed every second of it with him. Following the kiss, he pulled away from me, smiled, and winked at me yet again.

  “Is it too soon to seduce you, Mr. Best?”

  I felt desired in his company, emotionally heightened by the moment with him. My attraction for the man felt respectable, yet nothing raunchy. “Try me and find out.”

  He squeezed my hand again, keeping his gaze locked on my own. “In due time, I will.”

  Finn and I kissed again, drawn to each other heavily. My mind raced to a different time and place. Back to an interview long, long ago with Kade Supine. We, too, had talked for hours and enjoyed drinks together in his Colonial. We kissed once, twice, three times, and Kade seduced me, willing me to his bed. And thereafter, we became sexual buddies. For years upon years, I had slept with Kade, desiring his hardcore muscular body and high strung libido, adoring him for his rough play, sexual longing for me, and our intimate dates of heavy and heated sex, minus the romance.

  Sometimes a man wants to continue to kiss another man, though. That’s how I felt with Finn. Unfortunately, good things come to an end—always—and our kissing stopped. Feeling warm and tingling all over had passionately rocked my world. Sitting next to him on the sofa caused my heartbeat to increase, and I became nervous, unsure of what exactly would happen between us during my remaining time spent on Haven Island, if anything at all. No matter what, I relished the kiss with Finn, but didn’t demand more, even if I had wanted to.

  Why, out of all the other million men on the planet, did Finn desire me? I didn’t have a history of being famous or loaded with cash. My family name meant nothing to the world. In truth, I couldn’t understand his attraction for me. His reputation of hating the world seemed valid. Society had painted an ugly picture of Finn O’Rourke because he had isolated himself on the island and kept the masses away. But why did he have a liking for me? I couldn’t be so different from every other Joe on the planet, could I? What did Finn find desirable about me that he didn’t in others who had tried to visit his shut-off-from-the-rest-of-the-world home? None of it made any sense to me. Not that I expected it to, of course. Some things couldn’t be questioned, and maybe Finn’s allure for me just happened to be one of those things.

  We didn’t kiss again. Rather, we downed a last shot of vodka each. But beforehand, Finn insisted on a toast.

  “To our new friendship, and more.”

  “And more?” I asked, unsure of what exactly he was trying to say.

  “The more might come later.”

  Whatever.

  I realized that he had been drunk and went along with his ambiguous and confusing toast, clinking my shot glass to his.

  Following our toast, both of us yawning, he told me, “I should get you to bed.”

  “I’m exhausted,” I admitted and stood from the sofa. “Can you show me to my room?”

  He agreed, rolling my suitcase at his side and leading me through his small cabin and to the spare bedroom sitting off the living room area. I noted that my bedroom aligned with his, and only a thin wall would be separating us throughout the night.

  “It’s nothing remarkable, but it will do for a good night’s sleep.”

  He flicked on the bedroom’s light, illuminating a queen-sized bed, one window overlooking thick, black woods, a secondhand dresser, and a bookshelf occupied with pieces of his ashtray art: a polar bear, skunk, a variety of vases, and a man sitting
in what looked like a recliner. All the pieces of his valued collection were approximately eight inches tall and six inches wide. Rainbow color filled the bedroom because of their reflective brilliance.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, being polite, although I had definitely stayed in nicer rooms, minus the Finn O’Rourke pieces of art.

  “You’re being kind. Stop with the bullshit.”

  I ignored him and walked inside the room. Within seconds, I pulled my shirt off, dropping it on the corner of the bed. I slowly turned around, reaching for the buttons on my jeans, and…

  Finn’s mouth hung ever so slightly open, and his eyes became wide moons as he studied my naked torso again, just as earlier that day, perhaps yearning for my lean muscles, firm pecs, and the line of tangled hair beneath my navel that traveled to a place of erotic discovery.

  I toyed with his emotions and rolled a palm up and over my abs, between my pecs, turning him on. Shame on me for doing that, teasing him in an unprofessional way, crossing a line that had probably already been crossed.

  “You’re teasing me, Chad.”

  “I could be. You never know.”

  “I know many things and realize when a man flirts with me.”

  I blushed a little, feeling my cheeks turn a fiery red. “Everyone needs a little thrill. Don’t you think?”

  “I can’t disagree with that,” he said, slowly tilting his head up and down, scanning everything that my bare chest had to offer him. “You should get some sleep, Chad. We can continue the interview in the morning.”

  I agreed with him, told him goodnight, and watched him leave the spare bedroom. He shut the oak door behind him, closing my charm, bare chest, suitcase, and me off from his world until dawn.

  Never in all my life did I want a man to keep me company for the night, longing for his attention. Never. Not once. Until then.

  I brushed and flossed my teeth before slipping into the queen-sized bed. The single window hung open, and rain poured into the lake. Autumn wind twisted in circles, wrapping around the island. Leaves brushed against the cabin’s exterior. The seasonal smells were crisp against my nose, and the sounds of the night became a lullaby, helping to tuck me in for the evening and offering good dreams.

  Eventually, I closed my eyes and drifted into the post-midnight dreams. None of which I can recall today. The sleep turned deep and well-needed.

  * * * *

  “Chad. Chad, it’s me…Finn.”

  I opened my eyes and saw the shadowy outline of his figure hovering above me: naked from head to toe with mussed hair. I blinked a few times, rubbed my left eye, and admired his handsomeness in the dark: broad shoulders, hairy chest, limp and cut cock hanging between his legs like a clock’s pendulum.

  I groggily whispered, “Finn, what’s wrong?”

  Perhaps an emergency occurred on the island. The cabin or woods were on fire. An interloper had discovered his or her way to the island, ready to take us hostage. Some epic and dangerous event had occurred that he, being the polite and caring host, had decided to bring to my attention.

  “I can’t sleep. Sometimes I just don’t want to be alone. Can I maybe slip in beside you?”

  I believed him somewhat insecure, unhappy on his island with his ashtray designs, hidden from his fame and the rest of the world. Like every other person on the planet, he needed communication, emotional and physical release. I understood his needs and desires and moved to the left side of the bed, abandoning the middle.

  “I’m right here, Finn. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  He climbed into the bed next me, laying on his back. His shadowed chest rose and fell. “This is nice. Thanks.” Then he reached for my right arm and placed it over his chest. My forearm brushed against his hairy pecs, and my fingertips rolled across a nipple on his left side. My elbow lay against his right side, aligned with a rib.

  I didn’t object to that intimate moment between us. I couldn’t. Not after the honesty he had shared with me. Not after he allowed me to make the trip from Columbus to his island. In truth, I just happened to be attracted to him after meeting him in person, eagerly drawn to him on many different levels and concerns. I couldn’t push him away that night, not in the slightest, and wouldn’t. Who would have in my position? Who? I couldn’t think of a single soul on God’s green Earth.

  “People think I’m a hater,” he said. “But really, I’m not. You can justify that.”

  “I’ll tell the truth about you when I write the article.”

  Our chests rose and fell at the same crescendo in the dark bedroom. Sounds of the rain and the lake’s waves intermingled with our night’s talk. Autumn wind licked at the cabin, and thunder drummed in the distance. I felt comfortable next to him, at peace, and unharmed from the world around us. He became innocuous in my mind and my heart. My soul had started to open up to him, emotionally, and I became lost in the night with the man, reaching out to a place called love, even if we had just met a few hours before. He wouldn’t hurt me, I sensed that. He adored me, although he had known very little about me, but he seemed willing and interested to learn.

  “You’re probably wondering why I like you, Chad. Would you like to know?”

  “I would. Tell me. Curiosity killed the cat.”

  He chuckled at my cliché. “Because you’re brave for coming here, smart, charming, and professional. You have a strong head on your shoulders. And you look good without a shirt on. Tell me one thing I shouldn’t like about you.”

  “I snore,” I admitted.

  He laughed.

  I laughed and brushed a finger over his nipple and not by accident.

  “I think I could get used to that. Tell me something else that I shouldn’t like about you.”

  “I have books all over my house. Too many books. I sort of hoard them.”

  He laughed again.

  I laughed again, brushing two fingertips over his hardened nipple.

  “It doesn’t matter what you hoard, I guess. You seem tender and patient. Tell me if I’m right.”

  “Some guys would say that about me.”

  “Men that you have dated?”

  “A few.”

  “Well, I’d like to have a date with you, if it’s any consolation. Then I can decide for sure if you’re tender and patient.”

  “A breakfast date. What do you say?”

  “Are you asking me out, Chad Best?”

  “Only for the best pancakes I can make on a griddle,” I whispered.

  He yawned.

  I yawned.

  “I accept a breakfast date with you,” he said.

  I brushed his nipple again, turned on by the man. I wanted to make love with him, but only if he started the action and agreed to such a plan for morning breakfast between us. I didn’t want to begin something foolish and risk offending him or crossing another line that neither of us could undo.

  Instead, I simply said, “I’m looking forward to having a date with you, Finn.”

  “Likewise.” He rolled on his side, pulling my right arm with him, locking it tenderly against his bare chest. “Hold me tonight. Sometimes a man wants that. You’re the man I want to do that with.”

  I didn’t argue with him, overwhelmed with our bed time together. His cabin. His island. His rules. I abided. Happy. Smiling throughout the night as I slept. Next to him.

  * * * *

  October 24

  Sometime after the sunny prisms of dawn stirred me awake, I opened my eyes and saw the artist beside me. For a brief second, I thought, I could wake to him every morning for the rest of my life. He could make me the happiest man in the world. He’s not the demon people think he is. I’m falling for him, in love with him. So different than how I feel for Kade. Intimate. Romantic. He seems perfect for me.

  Facing me, starring into my eyes, he brushed a hand through my hair and smiled. “You’re so handsome when you sleep. I’ll have to create an ashtray piece of art representing this moment with you.”

  I yawned,
sharing my bad breath him and embarrassing myself.

  He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “You’re right, Chad,” he said.

  “About what?” I whispered, confused by his unfinished statement.

  “You snore.”

  I cracked a smile, needing a cup of coffee.

  Finn had other things on his mind, though. He reached over and grazed a palm against one of my pecs, leaned into me, and brought our lips together, which melted me in the morning dryness of autumn. When he pulled away, he said, “We’re a cliché. Do you know that?”

  “What do you mean?” I honestly didn’t care about autumn, his works of art, or clichés. Rather, I wanted him to kiss me again, sealing our bodies together and fulfilling our morning desires.

  He brushed fingers over my lips, a cheek, and the cords on my neck, starring into my eyes, being serious and forward and caring and loving. “We’re a cliché. We meet and share some great conversation together. We have a few drinks together, and we have an attraction for each other. And before both of us know it, we’re in bed together.”

  “An autumn cliché,” I whispered, smiling, loving our conversation at dawn on his island. Just the two of us. Alone. Hidden from the rest of the world and its unthinkable problems.

  “Exactly. An autumn cliché.”

  He kissed me again and rolled a hand up and over my chest, fingering my flesh for all the right reasons. When he pulled his lips away from mine, he said, “And for the record, I’m not a hater.”

  “Which means you’re a lover.”

  “Exactly. And good in bed,” he said, touching my navel and the strip of hair beneath it, teasing me and turning me on.

  “Prove it then,” I told him.

  And he did, lowering his left hand to my pubic triangle, and then to the hardening, briefs-covered cock between my thighs, sending our fresh relationship into a new level.