* * * *
Finn O’Rourke turned into an animal between my legs. His mouth worked my dick over, pushing his throat on its plump mass. His head shot up and down, sucking the island life out of me. He pulled down on my ball sack with his right hand and panted between a string of sucks and slurps, attempting to catch his breath.
Eventually, he held the base of my erection with his right hand, pulled its excess skin down, and started to lick its cap and upright shaft, slow mouth strokes causing pre-ejaculate to exit the narrow slip at the top, which he wiped away with his left hand.
His tongue discovered my inner thighs, circling their meaty muscles, and traveled northward. Finn hypnotized me with kisses to my navel and abs. And I became bemused by his lips against my pecs. His teeth gently pinched one of my pert nipples, then the other.
I vibrated with ripples of erotic bliss beneath his every touch. Shivers of excitement rolled throughout my core and caused me to whisper his name once, then twice. I drew fingers though his hair and grasped his muscular shoulders, hanging on for dear life, as he continued his kissing and licking, applying his mouth to every part of my body, excluding my bottom.
He panted, moaned, groaned, and grunted. Finn turned into a hungry island beast with his mouth and appetite, and his hands traveled up and down my torso as his mouth stayed busy. Fingers grazed my hips and abs. Other fingers rolled over my balls and erection. A fingertip dipped into my navel for a mere second, sending me into a pleasurable spin. His actions were undeniably chaotic and smooth at the same time, offering both of us deep satisfaction.
Relentless with his work, slipping my cock inside his mouth and down the back of his taut throat, he pushed my legs apart with both hands. Fingers touched my bottom ever so lightly. One, two, three strums spun me into a state of gratifying turmoil. I chanted his name, running my hands through his hair again. He plunged my dick down his throat while grazing fingertips over my bottom’s opening, perhaps prepping me for what could possibly happen next.
He came up for air, huffed, and promised, “You’ll like this, Chad.”
I didn’t think otherwise, of course, and let him have his sexual way with me. How could I refuse him as our bodies connected as one, adding passionate heat to the new day?
Ready with latex and lube, he spread my legs apart, smiled down at me, and warned, “It will sting a little bit.”
“Sometimes a sting feels nice for all the right reasons, Finn.”
With that said, he pushed his erection inside me, filling me with all of his eight inches. His dick settled deep within my body, causing tears to form at the corners of my eyes because of its length and mighty girth, and a gasp escaped my mouth. Gently, he leaned over my body, connected our chests together, and kissed me.
Following the kiss, he pulled away from my lips, and said, “I’ll be gentle with you…but I can’t promise it will last long because I haven’t been with a guy in quite some time.”
I didn’t mind and replied with a wink, ready for his work, however long it lasted.
He made love to me for ten…fifteen…seventeen minutes, holding my legs apart, sliding his cock inside me, and huffing wildly. Sweat flung off his body and dotted my torso. He grumbled above me and became red-faced. The veins in his neck swelled and pulsed, and his chest rocked as he threw himself forward and backwards, riding my insides with his thumping erection, fulfilling our worlds with a morning of delight.
I felt…I felt…I felt as if the island would sink into Lake Erie and we would drown together like lovers on the Titanic. I felt as if our action on the bed became a wild cliché between us, man inside man. My head spun, and my bottom thumped with needed pain. My chest rose and fell with every quickened and heated breath. I felt alive beneath him, moving to and fro on the bed with my legs spread open for his use and my firm dick slapping against my abs. I felt…
“Coming,” he informed me, starry-eyed. Quickly, Finn pulled out of me, removed the latex, and grabbed my right hand, which he applied to the length of his upright cock. “Jack me off. I want you to finish me, Chad.”
I listened like a respectful guest on his island. My right hand thrust up and down on his spike with a quick motion. He bucked, grinding his teeth together.
“Coming, Chad…Be a man and make me come.”
Within a few seconds, huffing and puffing, plunging his hips to and fro, riding his dick inside my right palm and fingers, he fired four strings of ejaculate out of his tool. The sticky goop twirled against my chest, glazing my abs and nipples and the length of my neck. Never had I seen so much semen erupt from a man’s cock, spilling against my flesh.
Panting, dizzy above me, and still kneeling, he reached between my thighs with both hands and groaned, “It’s your turn, Chad. Fire when ready.”
Our eyes locked, and he jostled my meat up and down. One minute of stroking grew into two minutes. I flushed beneath his touch, breathless and not myself. I humped his fists, raising my hips off the bed, letting them fall just as quickly, and continued that action for yet another minute. I searched for air, huffing, and felt fire burn my insides until I…I…I…
“Now.” I pushed my junk inside his hands for a final time and felt semen empty out of me, splashing against my chest and mixing with the artist’s. I became soaked by own load, covered in our sticky mess, and spent.
We lay shoulder to shoulder on the bed, panting. Sticky and sweaty, we turned on our sides and hugged each other. Then we kissed for the longest time. And we laughed, chatting about our odd and separate lives, one as an article writer and the other as an ashtray artist.
“Although I don’t want you to leave, I know you have to. When is that going to happen?”
“Later this morning.”
“So I can seduce you again?”
I chuckled, kissed him, and admitted, “I would hope so.”
And so it was done.
* * * *
We showered together after our second romp on the queen-sized bed. Then we had breakfast together in his small kitchen: pancakes, eggs, and sausage, which, as promised, I cooked.
Although I had enough information to create well over three thousand words for Artist Trend, Finn insisted that I continue interviewing him. So I played with him, asking him the most personal questions at his kitchen table during our prepared breakfast.
I inquired, “Who did you have the best sex with?”
He laughed, almost choking on a forkful of pancake. “You, of course.”
“You’d be a fool to say someone else, right?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“Where did you have the best sex, Finn?”
“Out on the lake. A massive raft that could hold a dozen men.”
I didn’t mind learning of his sexual history, knowing that he was experienced inside and outside the bedroom. “Who did you have sex with on a raft?”
“Two men at the same time. Gary and Will. They were both artists. We were high and drunk, and, damn, that was a good time with them two summers ago. I called them my sex toys.”
“Do you still get high?”
“On marijuana. But only occasionally. Not like I used to. I’ve outgrown that. I’m mature now. I get off on other things in life. Like young men who visit my island and interview me.”
I asked, “Are you trying to seduce me again?”
He winked at me and wiped syrup away from my bottom lip. “No, not trying. I am seducing you.”
I laughed, caught as his prey, loving my time on his island with him. “How would you react if I did you?”
He winked at me, smiled, and said, “Try me out for size. I may oblige.”
“I’ll do that,” I promised. Then I asked, “Did you think you’d fall for me so fast after I came here?”
He nodded. “Remember, I did my homework on you. I watched your interviews on YouTube. I had you right where I wanted you even before you came to my island.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you put a Colt 45 to back of my head?”
He
chuckled. “I didn’t want you to think I was unaggressive. You wouldn’t sleep with a weak man.”
“I already knew you were aggressive.”
He continued to chuckle. “You’re so damn cute, Chad. I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
I rolled my eyes, playing with him.
Then he said, “Let’s eat up here and do the dishes. I have another surprise for you before you call this visit over, if you’re interested.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
* * * *
Dressed in a light jacket because of the autumn wind, I let him lead me into the deep woods of Haven Island along a pathway that Finn called Duskin Trail. Browns, golds, and burnt reds comprised a beautiful rainbow in the treetops, showcasing autumn. Pine trees were just starting to get ready to drop their cones. The narrow trail weaved left and right through tall birches, a variety of maples, oaks, and many pines.
We had walked over half the width of the island before I eventually asked, “How much further?”
“It’s not far from here.”
I chuckled. “You’re planning on killing me and hiding my body, aren’t you? This isn’t the cliché romance you think it is, is it?”
He squeezed my hand, stopped me next to the tallest pine tree on the island, and compressed my chest to his. “I wouldn’t harm you. You’re too adorable for that kind of shit.”
We kissed, heating that very spot on the island where we stood. He wrapped me in his arms, connected his lips with mine, which caused me to feel dizzy, and pulled away. “That’s a promise kiss,” he said. “I rarely, if ever, give those out.”
I joked, “A promise to bury my body so the Erie police won’t find me.”
He went along with my teasing and placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. Then he pulled me with him, over the next two hundred yards of Duskin Trail, until we reached our final destination.
“What is it?” I asked, looking up into the treetops.
“My tree house. The rungs on the side of that oak will take us up there.”
I looked at the three oaks holding up the tree house approximately sixty feet off the island. The rungs on one of the oak’s trunks looked crooked and weak. Then I turned to Finn.
“I’m terrified of heights. This isn’t the best idea you’ve had on my trip here.”
He pulled me to his chest again and locked eyes with me. “I won’t let you fall.”
But I had already fallen for him, hadn’t I? Any fool could have determined that.
I looked up at the triangular-shaped platform, its railings, and the rungs on the oak again. “I can get up there, but I don’t know about coming down.”
“But you’ll try, right?”
“I will,” I told him, scared out of my mind, already shaking and nervous as hell.
The first ten rungs were easy, but the next ten started to become difficult. I kept looking at Finn’s denim-covered ass as we climbed, praying to God that I wouldn’t fall. At points, I closed my eyes and continued the climb.
Left hand first, left foot second, right hand third, right foot last.
Again and again, I thought of those four commands, making my way up the ladder, careful with my grip, and following Finn.
Truth told, I became petrified on that climb. Terror ebbed throughout my entire body, and I started to sweat. Some twenty-five feet off the ground, I thought I would freeze on the ladder, no longer able to climb upwards, catatonic against the rungs and trunk of the old oak. My heart thudded within my skull, and my ears buzzed. By forty feet, vertigo had set in, and I became dizzy, unsure of my grip. I felt weak, unfit to travel any higher and unsure of my own strength. I hung on the side of the tree like a sloth instead of falling backwards to my death.
Finn talked me through that moment of disparage. “It’s all good. We’re not far now. Keep your eyes closed and take one rung at a time. We’re in this together.”
I listened to him, following his command. Soothed by his voice, I slowly made my ascent, one rung after the next, just as he had told me. Feeling less petrified, no longer suffering from vertigo, I climbed the old oak, reaching the tree house and its confines, feeling safe within the island’s wilds.
The tree house could be lived in. Tarzan would have approved of its single bed and a rigged kitchen. Finn rolled up bamboo blinds, and the fresh, autumn light opened around us on all sides. Above the treetops, I could see most of Haven Island and the city of Erie in the distance. Lake Erie became a vast portion of the view: green-brown-blue waves, lapping current, with few fishing boats on its surface that were bobbing up and down.
“What do you think?” Finn asked, proud of his construction.
“It’s terrifyingly beautiful,” I admitted.
He laughed, hugged me, and kissed my forehead. “You really are afraid of heights.”
“I am. This is frightening for me. I’m a ground type of person. Leave me on the earth, and I’ll be happy.”
He cautiously and tightly wrapped his arms around me, colliding our chests together. “I wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt you. I’m your safety net.”
I believed him. Why did I? How could we have just met and yet feel so strongly for each other? It didn’t make any sense to me. Not that I expected it to. The short escapade to his island had baffled me beyond words. I couldn’t comprehend the ins and outs of his emotional complexities, or his likes and dislikes, but I wanted to. Hadn’t I traveled to his island to learn such facts about the man as one of the world’s most current and famous artists?
He squeezed me, which felt just right. Truth told, it felt as if Finn and I were at the top of the world and the only two people left on the planet, alone. All I could think of was that famous scene in the movie Titanic. The one where Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet are at the bow of the unsinkable ship, and Leo yells something about being the king of the world. Finn’s arms were wrapped around me, as well as sky, autumn’s wind, and the choppy lake.
He whispered, “You won’t fall. I have you. Just enjoy the sight. I want you to remember this moment, Chad. Take it in.”
I visually, emotionally, romantically, and physically basked in that moment surrounded in his constructed tree house. Man stood against man, enjoying our time spent together, creating something remarkable and memorable between us. Breathtaking came to mind, as well as captivating. My heart fluttered like a little boy’s who had a crush on the quarterback in high school. I felt safe in his arms atop that windy, wild, woodsy, and watery world around us. Nothing seemed wrong or insane about that moment. Nothing silly or immature, wicked or demeaning. Maybe we were men falling in love with each other in the most beautiful part of Pennsylvania and at the most beautiful time of the year, October’s autumn, bonding and believing in eternal bliss, together, as one.
Again, he whispered in my left ear, “Autumn’s cliché. It’s what we are.”
“Autumn’s cliché,” I whispered in return. I felt him kiss me again, passionately and with fire built up inside him, energetic and potent.
* * * *
Our moments at the top of the world ended as quickly as they had started. Cautiously, we climbed down the ladder. He went first, and I followed behind.
Just as before, making our downward climbs from the tree house, he said, “Keep your eyes closed. You’re in no harm. I’ll talk you to the ground. No need to panic or worry. I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
I still didn’t understand how some people considered a monster, disliking the public, a recluse, and so very protective of his island, could be tender, sweet, and so very similar to Prince Charming. Some people in the world thought Finn O’Rourke insane, unruly, and not at all part of the human race. That wasn’t the case, though, certainly not for me. The man who created famous ashtray sculptures just happened to be a gentleman. He opened his heart up to me, and his mind, and if felt as if we had just gotten along fine, building a fresh relationship and falling in lo
ve.
My mind raced with those cluster of mismanaged thoughts as I executed my decent, holding on for dear life to the rungs of the ladder along the oak’s vintage trunk. I couldn’t realistically acknowledge Finn’s hate for the world because he had so much love inside him, hidden and tapped off from those who couldn’t perceive his true self during his daily living on Haven Island. The world beyond his island didn’t know the man I had uncovered within the last twenty hours, falling under his spell and falling in love with him. Lies had been created about him. Negative interpretations of his life as a reclusive man had surfaced since he had become famous.
Finn O’Rourke turned out to be nothing like the hateful demon society thought of him. On the contrary, I had learned rather quickly upon my visit that he could have been considered a teddy bear with a strong heart of goodness, a creative man I had grown a crush on and could love with such ease, unconditionally. And a special someone who acted as if he had fallen in love with me, so suddenly, unexpectedly.
Back on the damp, autumn earth, we followed Duskin Trail to his cabin, beginning the ending to my trip to Haven Island. Hand in hand, we walked, talking about my driving travels home to Columbus, a day off to spend with Kade and other friends, and how I would take some time out to write the article about him, completing it within the next forty-eight hours and emailing it to Tommy Tudor at Artist Trend.
“Create me as a villain, Chad. I don’t want the public to know who I really am. They don’t need to uncover the true identity of the famous ashtray artist. And they honestly don’t need to know that I’ve fallen for you.”
I heard a loon on the lake. The wailing sound echoed over the island. “You can’t be serious about being a villain. I won’t write that.”
“I’m serious. Mean men like to stay hidden from the world.”
“But you’re not a villain or mean, Finn. You’re nothing like a monster. I’ve learned that about you, and I like it. Your fans would love to know about your world here. They would enjoy knowing you have a heart and can feel love.”
He shook his head, disagreeing. “I have the perfect life here. Solitude. Aloneness. Just me. I don’t want the masses to think I’m happy, especially since you arrived. Half of my fans want me to be a monster and disrespectful.”
Men of All Seasons Box Set Page 17
