by Greg Herren
“Hallooo!” he called, as if the distance between us were much greater than it really was.
He then moved out of sight beneath me, and I felt the balcony vibrate as he climbed the iron trellis to where I stood. He appeared suddenly just in front of me on the other side of the rail. He grabbed me by the back of the head and planted a smacking kiss on my lips. I smiled at this youthful gesture—even though he was almost ten years my senior—and stood aside to let him hop over to me.
“Hello to you, too.”
Kyle waltzed into the bedroom and flopped down on the grand four-post oak bed. He bounced up and down on top of the down comforter, kicking off his shoes, which landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. He propped himself on his elbows and grinned at me. His white button-down shirt pulled away from his tight stomach, revealing the delicious, sparse treasure trail of hair. I sauntered to the bed and sat next to him, then leaned back on my side, resting my head on my hand and looking at him. I used my other hand to unbutton his shirt. The white cloth fell away, button by button, revealing his tan lines, made by the wife-beater he wore when he painted outdoors. Once the shirt fully opened, Kyle sat up and pulled it from his torso, tossing it haphazardly over the arm of the dark green velvet overstuffed chair near the doors to the balcony. He then pushed me onto my back and pulled off my T-shirt with one swift tug.
I’d lost track of how many times this exact scene had replayed. It was like watching a favorite movie for the thirtieth time. I appreciated it for what it was, never tired of it but never craved it either, knowing it would always be there for me to enjoy. I’d thought this last time would be different, that it would have a sacred air. It didn’t feel that way, but I wanted to continue when I saw the plump outline of Kyle’s cock.
As if reading my desire for spontaneity and a new sexual experience, Kyle grabbed me in his powerful arms and turned me onto my stomach with a willfulness he’d never before displayed. His hands grappled with my belt and, with a deft flick of the wrist, unbuttoned my jeans. They were soon tossed to the floor, followed shortly by Kyle’s. The entire length of his warm, smooth body surrounded me. I could feel him throbbing between my legs.
He kissed the back of my neck while pushing my face down into the pillows, pinning me down. I panicked and bucked against him. He thrust against me in return, pushing his pulsing erection against the rim of my hole. I spread my legs and relaxed, eager for him to be inside me but knowing I would have to wait.
Kyle moved down my back with his tongue. I turned my head and gasped for air. I inhaled the sweet perfume of our mingled scents—his was almost the smell of oranges; mine was musky and deep. I salivated, wanting to taste him, to taste his cock, but even as Kyle made his way to my plump ass, he held me down so I could not move. I raised my hips just as his tongue found my hole. He covered me in spit, slowly relaxed me, massaging the muscles with his tongue. One finger slid in, and my cock responded with a jump. I pushed against it to the second knuckle. Kyle reached under my body and grabbed me by the shaft, slowly stroking me. One finger slid out of me, and then two slid in. He pumped with those two fingers, going deep until I felt as if it were his cock. As Kyle stroked my cock, I felt myself getting closer to cumming. I didn’t want to, not yet. I pulled away from Kyle and flipped onto my back. I sat up and pulled him down on top of me. I grabbed the back of his head and reined him in to kiss me deeply. I tasted my sweat in his mouth. I groaned as he brought himself in between my legs, his hard cock resting against me, teasing me. His hips gyrated. I ran my hands over his taut arms, then over his shoulders and down his back. I reached around until I grabbed his ass and pushed him nearly inside me. He gasped. I reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom, ripping the package open with my teeth. I rolled the condom onto Kyle. He slowly worked into my ass. I grunted; he was so thick, I could barely take it all. Sweet pain shot through my body as I gripped Kyle’s arms. He stopped. I could feel him looking at me. I looked into his eyes as he leered at me. My hole began to conform to his size and shape. Kyle pulled out slowly, then just as gently slid back inside me. I reached around his back and crushed him to my chest. I wrapped my legs around him and wrestled him so close, his pelvic bones crunched against mine.
As Kyle built up a rhythm, images of a savage dance flashed into my head. Four naked men were spread out, writhing on a bed. I saw sharp teeth puncture taut skin. These four wiry young men were laughing, leaping on top of one another and drawing blood from each other as if it were a game. My heart beat faster, at once thrilled and disgusted by the images.
It could have been the result of physical exertion and the thrill of being invaded, but the impression on my mind felt as if it came from someone else. I cried out, and Kyle worked more furiously against me. I tightened around his excited manhood. He, too, groaned out. In one quick movement, Kyle turned me onto my side, I reached out with my arms and grabbed a pillow and bit down. I was electrified, and Kyle was dripping as he worked away on my sore but hungry ass. Unable to withstand any more and fearing more gruesome images, I grabbed my cock and pumped up and down. Kyle responded with even faster and harder strokes until I felt like I would break in two. I felt the entire world shake as I shot and collapsed beneath Kyle. His hard and sweaty chest slapped against me as he came to rest, gasping, on top of me.
We finished without the ceremony of holding each other as lovers would do. I stood up immediately, breathing hard, satisfied and shaken, and made a break for the bathroom. I composed myself, not wanting to tell him what had gone on during our passionate entanglement. Kyle followed me on tiptoe. The black and white bathroom tiles were warm from the sun shining through the giant window over the tub. I pulled the shower chain; streams of water beat down on the metal tub. I jumped in; Kyle was soon to follow. We took turns beneath the water, as if we were brothers forced by our mother to bathe together. When we were done, we toweled off and, with the towels wrapped around our waists, went onto the balcony.
The sun had begun its late afternoon descent, casting a yellow light on the smooth surface of the river. I tapped a cigarette out of the pack and handed one to Kyle. He took it absently while he stared at the river. I admired his body. His skin was bejeweled. Tiny water droplets that he’d missed with his towel caught the sunlight like small diamonds. With his wet hair slicked back, he reminded me of a Hollywood actor from the fifties.
“In a way, I’m going to miss this sleepy town,” he said, turning his head toward me.
“You know, Westport’s not much bigger.”
“I just need a change. I’m bored. I’ve spent my entire life here.”
“What are you going to do there that you can’t do here?” I asked.
A pensive look washed over Kyle’s face. His eyes appeared to be searching the placid surface of the river for an answer. I stepped closer to him until my shoulder was touching his. It was comforting to have him so close. There were no sparks or fireworks; it was more like the soft, even heat of a forty-watt lightbulb.
“I figure that by discovering a new town, I may get the kind of inspiration and jump start I’ve been looking for. Not to mention a better chance of finding someone to love.” He paused and looked down at his wrist, which was absent a watch. “What time is it?”
I turned around and squinted at the clock on the nightstand on the far side of the bed.
“Seven,” I replied.
“I guess this is good-bye, old friend,” he said with a smile.
I watched him dress, admiring his body, knowing this might be the last time I would ever see his beautiful form. I was surprisingly moved, possibly by my own fear that my life was stagnant. Maybe Kyle’s easy availability had kept me lazy in terms of finding a lover. It could have been that he was just what I’d needed for the past two years: good sex and good companionship, no complications or worries.
Kyle lingered in the bedroom doorway and looked around. He suddenly pulled me close to him, then grabbed the back of my head and pushed my mouth against his. He parted my
lips with his tongue and kissed me more passionately than he’d ever done in the past two years. I kissed him back with equal fervor until he pulled away.
“Remember,” he said, “I’m only forty-five minutes away. I’ll give you a call after I settle in.”
He disappeared down the hall, sinking into the darkness that slowly overtook the rooms as the sun set behind the hills. I closed the bedroom door and heard the roar as Kyle’s truck came to life. As the sound of the truck faded, a bittersweet feeling settled in my gut. Instead of dwelling in the emotion, I dressed and returned to my desk to catalog the rest of the antique porn.
Chapter Two
The images became indistinct as I flipped through the remaining items in the first folio of erotica. I couldn’t focus and knew it was time to stop. I looked from the window in time to see the last ribbons of pink sky fading into the deep blue of night. I stood and stretched. The view of the river and the smell of cut grass wafting through the window lured me out of the house.
I walked up the street, over the train tracks. The air smelled sweet from the copious rose garden in front of my neighbor’s home. The musty, wet smell of the river complemented the flowers’ scent.
I turned right onto Main Street, then walked down an alley toward Aster’s Coffeehouse. It was a bohemian hideaway, unknown to nearly all out-of-town visitors. The bell above the door tinkled when I entered. The air was thick with smoke despite the smoking ban. The sound of softly playing jazz accented the quiet murmur of the patrons engaged in hushed conversations. The walls were lined with books. A sign above the bookcases read, Aster’s Lending Library Employs the Honor System, Please Return All Books When Finished. I smiled to know that someone in the world still trusted humanity. The hardwood floor was worn and darkened by years of heavy foot traffic.
I waved at Aster, who was behind the counter, busily steaming milk for a cappuccino. The long, floral print silk scarf that held her dark gray hair in place hung down perilously close to the cap of foam rising in the metal steamer. I moved to the end of the line and looked at a man in a tight white T-shirt who appeared to be in his late twenties, like myself. He looked back at me after lowering the copy of Transcendence of the Ego he’d been reading. The corner of his full mouth rose in quiet appraisal. I gazed with appreciation at his thick arms and thighs, the worn denim stretched over muscle. Brawn and brains, I assessed. Lurid thoughts danced through my mind as I played out a possible night with him in my bed. I imagined the two of us reenacting positions and situations depicted in the etchings in the folio of erotica.
The reverie was broken as Aster called my name: “Roland!”
I ordered my latte to go. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup and exited into the alleyway. As I reached the street, I was somewhat disappointed that the young man of brawn and brains had not at least made an attempt at conquest and capture. I weighed it in my mind and concluded that it was probably for the best that he hadn’t.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted: a companion as Kyle had been, a true lover, or just a chain of vigorous, unknown encounters. I knew it was not the time to seek out any of those. As the end of August drew near, it was imperative that I finish entering the erotica and book collection into my ledger so I could bill Mr. Tarry.
The fading vision of the boy in the coffeehouse dissipated completely as I approached the oak trees standing like two grand guardians on either side of the entry to my driveway. The driveway sloped down toward the side of the house, where a single-car garage had been built separate from the house. I passed by the driveway and continued to the flagstone walkway, lined on either side by waist-high shrubs, that led from the road to the front porch. I froze when I realized that a long black limousine was idling in the drive. I hopped the hedge and approached it slowly. When I reached the rear door of the limo, the tinted window lowered with a mechanical whine. I could just make out a pale face, obscured by the shadows of the car’s dark interior. I tensed from head to toe.
“Roland Weir, I presume,” a stranger spoke from the back of the car.
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly.
“I apologize for arriving unannounced after business hours, but my schedule does not always allow for propriety. I have something to discuss with you.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled heavily. I hoped the stranger didn’t notice or, if he did notice, that he didn’t take offense.
“Fine,” I said, dropping my guard only slightly.
“Only, we shouldn’t discuss it here.”
“Right,” I spoke, hoping he didn’t hear my nervousness. “Won’t you come in?”
I turned away and walked to the side entrance. Originally, it was used as a servants’ entrance. I unlocked and opened the door and started up the stairway that led directly into the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, I pulled a chain to turn the light on. I had an odd notion not to turn around. I knew I was being rude, but I couldn’t stop myself. I heard the side door close at the bottom of the stairway. I passed through the spacious kitchen, which had a slate floor and hardwood cabinetry. Though it had been fully modernized, my uncle had been careful to preserve the colonial design.
From the kitchen, I passed into the foyer. The grand staircase led up to a landing, which then split off into two narrow corridors. I proceeded past the bedroom door. My office had a second entrance from the hallway. I opened the door, flicked on the light, illuminating the office with an unobtrusive glow, and walked to the two leather chairs that faced a small fireplace opposite the metal cases. I turned toward the door and stood, resting my hand on the back of the chair farther from the door.
The stranger appeared at the doorway and entered. He seemed to float rather than walk. His skin was opalescent and smooth, as if devoid of pores. His eyes nearly glowed in the light. Or were they lit from within? He was almost unbearable to gaze upon because of these unexpected qualities. Were the eyes green or amber? Or both?
He towered above me. His shoulder-length hair was the color of rust, but the sheen was silky. His tresses swayed in a breeze that wasn’t there. His clothing was elegant and seemed to be a part of him. His jacket fit snugly to his thin body. Brocade of black vines wound in and around the front panels of deep blue velvet. A billowing white cotton cravat was tucked seamlessly into the frills of his white shirt. Tight pants of blue velvet tapered down to delicate ankles. Staring at him alarmed and excited me. He was a walking mystery who left no clues to his origin.
I knew that I was being rude again, examining and appraising him as if he were an item up for auction. When I spoke, it took all my faculties not to stutter.
“Would you like to sit? May I offer you a drink Mr….?” I prompted.
The man moved around the chair and sat. He looked up at me from the chair.
“Rocerres.” He paused for a beat. “Holbrandt Rocerres. Thank you for the offer, but nothing for me at the moment.”
I took the chair opposite him and turned it slightly to face him. His voice was like thick vintage wine: musical and bold, rich and intoxicating. When he spoke, it poured heavily over me. I felt it beneath my skin.
“I understand that you deal in antiquities.” I nodded. “I’ve been informed that you are extremely resourceful at acquiring rare and valuable objects. That is not the reason I’ve come, though.”
He paused. I couldn’t read his countenance at all. It seemed, though, that he was giving some thought to what he was about to say to me.
Now that he was in such close proximity, I realized he had a distinct scent, both seductive and frightening. He smelled of earth and ripe fruits. I wanted to reach out and touch him, just to have his scent on me after he’d gone. I didn’t dare make a move. We seemed to share an unspoken understanding that he was in charge. I would have surrendered anything for him, given the chance. Somehow, my own will was slipping away by the minute. It was not anything that he did; just his presence was awe-inspiring. He commanded attention. I knew I was dealing with an individual of great p
ower and influence.
He picked up a black satchel from the floor beside his chair. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d been carrying anything when he entered. When he opened the satchel, the air around me seemed electric. My skin tingled. I felt flushed and warm, nearly breaking out in a sweat. My heart raced. Rocerres held a small wood block in his hand. I assumed it had come from within the satchel. I was so distracted by the sudden and arousing sensations that I hadn’t seen him remove it.
Rocerres turned toward me, the small block resting in the palm of his hand. He looked directly at me. I was overwhelmed. My hands clenched my chair arms. A low hum filled the room. My insides were shaking, but I was frozen and held my breath. An amused smile spread across Rocerres’ face. Suddenly, I heard a voice inside my head. It spoke, Calm, calm. I heeded the command. All tension in the room cleared away and it was just me and this strange, enticing man holding out a small square piece of wood.
I focused on the object, cocking my head as I peered at it. I was amazed at the minute details carved into the top. All around the edges, an intricate pattern of leaves and vines spiraled inward. In the very center was a raised script letter “V.” Delicate flourishes surrounded the letter. The sides of the block were deeply rubbed with vertical indentations, as if fingers had been pulling on the block from the top and the bottom. Although it was commonplace for such markings to appear on old letterboxes and wooden containers, I found it odd that those markings would appear on the side of a solid block of wood. I offered a questioning look to Rocerres.
