Out of the Night, page 1
Out of the Night
By Tim Mead
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2022 Tim Mead
ISBN 9781685501778
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
The poem quoted at the end of the book is “Invictus” by the 19th-century British poet, William Ernest Henley.
* * * *
Out of the Night
By Tim Mead
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 1
On his hands and knees, Doug was sixty-nining with the guy under him. All he could see were long, hairy legs and long, thin feet whose toes were wiggling. The guy underneath was doing a good job. Doug took the cock in his mouth all the way down, ending up with his nose in the cleft between the guy’s balls. His partner hummed his appreciation. That vibration made Doug’s pleasure all the greater. He didn’t know who the guy was, but at this point he didn’t care. He simply gave himself over to the dual pleasures of having his cock sucked by an expert and of working over the big tool in his mouth.
He wasn’t sure just how long this had been going on or, for that matter, how long it continued. At some point, however, Doug felt himself being pulled off his partner. Awww, he thought. Don’t do that. Just when it was getting good! He was pulled into a standing position. Turning, he saw the guy behind him was a muscular blond with green eyes. The tall guy with lots of black hair rose from the floor and helped the blond position Doug on a bed, on his back.
Spreading Doug’s legs, the blond began to rim him. His former sixty-nine partner straddled Doug’s head and dangled his cock just above Doug’s lips, teasing, holding his cock just out of Doug’s reach. Doug lifted his head, straining to get his lips on the snake he’d had to relinquish a moment earlier. Simultaneously, the blond stuck his tongue further up Doug’s ass than Doug had ever thought a tongue would go, and the dark-haired guy allowed Doug to kiss the tip of his dick. Then he slowly let Doug swallow it, gradually sliding it all the way down Doug’s gullet.
When the blond took his tongue away, Doug felt deprived, much as he was enjoying sucking on that delicious piece of meat. A moment later, though, he felt the head of the blond’s dick pressing against his anus. Again, ever so slowly, it was shoved up his hole. So there he was, spitted and loving it.
“Good morning. It’s now seven A.M. This is WSJT, the home of smooth jazz in Tampa Bay. Traffic is building on the major roadways into the city. Things are almost at a stand-still at the intersection of I-4 and I-275. No wonder it’s called malfunction junction.” The temperature right now is seventy-seven, heading for a high of ninety-four. There is a forty percent chance of showers or afternoon thunderstorms. Now back to smooth jazz with a selection by Boney James.”
Damn! Doug thought, that radio’s been playing for half an hour. What a dream that was! I’ve got to get dressed and get breakfast. Blair will be here soon. He gave his leaking cock an apologetic rub, got out of bed, and threw on some clothes. There was no time for anything more than a bowl of cereal. Promptly at 7:30, Doug heard the thundering thump thump of Blair’s car stereo as the boy approached his house.
Man, he is fine stuff, Doug thought as Blair got out of the car. It must be a sign of age, Doug supposed, that I keep thinking of him as a boy. He’s twenty-one, and he wouldn’t be happy to be called that.
Blair stood about six feet tall, a couple of inches taller than Doug. He had medium-length dirty blond hair with lighter streaks that came from the Florida sun rather than a salon. His ice-blue eyes were set in a square face. He had what Doug’s mother used to call “fine features,” delicate, just this side of feminine. He was lightly tanned, and the hair on his arms and legs was sun-bleached almost white. This morning he wore a sweat band on his head, a loose t-shirt cut on each side from the arm holes almost to the waist, and the long, baggy shorts that all the young guys were wearing. He had over-the-calf soccer socks which did nothing to hide the fact that, like many soccer players, he had legs like small tree trunks. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his body fat somewhere around zilch.
Blair approached, hand extended. He always shook hands with Doug whenever they met. Hoping not to get a stiffie, Doug shook hands with Blair and thanked him for coming. Blair’s hand was surprisingly cool on this muggy morning.
For a while, he had Blair weeding and mulching the foundation plantings around three sides of his house and along the wall that went the whole width of the back yard. This had been a project that had taken all of July. As Blair finished it, Doug worked with the clippers cutting back overgrown plumbago, oleander, hibiscus, and thryallis bushes.
After Blair had had some water and rested for a few minutes, he was ready to do more.
Flashing his killer smile, Blair asked, “Do you trust me with those loppers, or are you afraid I’ll make everything too square?” This was a reference to earlier garden sessions when the two men had found they had different ideas about how a garden should look. Blair, a math major, liked everything in straight rows. The first time he had “trimmed” a plumbago, he had made it perfectly cube-shaped.
Doug’s preference was for a more natural garden where everything looked as if it had just “happened.” It takes care to make a garden look that way, and it requires much more careful pruning. Blair good-naturedly learned to do it Doug’s way. But he teased the older man from time to time about their different tastes in gardens.
As Blair worked with the clippers, Doug began to rake up the clippings and put them into plastic lawn bags for disposal, keeping an eye on what Blair was doing all the while. Together they worked companionably for another hour or so.
“It’s getting too hot,” Doug said. “Let’s knock off.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” the younger man replied. “You want me to carry these bags of trash to the curb?”
“No, they won’t be picked up until Wednesday, so just put them behind the garage. I’ll move them Tuesday night.”
A few minutes later, Blair said, “That’s done. Anything else you want me to do?”
“No, man. You’ve done a lot of work this morning. Now, go enjoy your weekend,” Doug said, handing the boy money. “Everything looks great.”
“Thanks, sir. I hope I didn’t make the bushes too geometrical,” he said, smiling again.
“Blair, after four weeks, I think you can drop the sir. You know I wish you’d call me Doug. And the bushes will be fine. This is Florida, after all, so they’ll grow back quickly. Can you come again next Saturday?”
Folding and pocketing the bills, the boy responded, “Yeah, but soccer practice starts Monday after next, and classes begin the week after that. So I’m gonna be pretty busy. But I’ll see you at 7:30 next Saturday morning for sure if that’s okay.”
“Great,” Doug replied. “You know I appreciate your help. When does Mary get back?”
Smiling even more broadly, Blair said, “Next Friday. But she’ll sleep late Saturday morning, so I can still come over here.”
“If you’re sure I’m not taking you away from your lady, I’ll look forward to seeing you Saturday morning.”
Turning to go to his old but well-kept Honda, Blair said, “Thanks, Doug. See you next week.”
Doug stared wistfully at the boy’s beautiful butt moving deliciously under the baggy shorts. His cock began to leak. Down, Brutus! Doug thought. He’s not jailbait, and you’re not his professor. But Blair is obviously straight. He seems pretty fond of Mary. He trusts you. You’re almost old enough to be his grandfather. You can be a friend to him, but you have to leave it at that! Yeah, yeah, do the right thing. You know very well what can happen otherwise. But “the right thing” sure as hell gets old.
He cleaned each of the tools carefully, hosed out the garden cart he and Blair had been using, put down the garage door, and stepped into the laundry. There he stripped naked, put the dirty clothes in the appropriate bins, and walked through the kitchen, across the dining room, and into his bedroom. He’d always thought that, though being alone was no picnic, at least you didn’t have to worry about the proprieties.
He looked at himself in the large mirror o
Damn! That Blair is gorgeous! I’d like to spend an afternoon just licking all his delectable places. And the evening sucking and fucking.
As thoughts of Blair caused his cock to stiffen and rise, Doug reached into a drawer from which he took a dildo and a bottle of lube. Liberally coating the middle finger of his right hand, he inserted it into his hole, which had been twitching in anticipation. Removing the finger, he put lube on the dildo and slowly worked that into the hole. He had done this often enough that it went in easily, almost popping into place. Then he flipped the little switch in the base, and the plastic cock began to vibrate.
Doug leaned forward, putting a hand on the marble counter top around the sinks. He closed his eyes and got lost in the feelings generated by the vibrations against his prostate. It took longer to come now than it used to, but that just prolonged the pleasure.
He thought of Blair, especially that hot ass, as the dildo transmitted shock waves throughout his body. Eventually, he decided to take matters into his own hand, so to speak. By this time, he had been leaking so much, all he had to do was smear the pre-cum over his throbbing dick and rub a little. Oh, yeah! That was doing the trick. There was the familiar tingling in his balls. His breath came in short gasps. And the needed release, the explosion. Ah! There it is! Yesss!
He caught the cum in his left hand and rinsed it off under the faucet. No sense making a mess. The ersatz cock made an obscene noise as he pulled it out of his hole. He washed it carefully in antibacterial soap, dried it, and put it away. Then he stepped to the shower stall and turned on the hot water.
As he showered, he was still thinking of Blair. He was bright. Made good grades at the local university. Had a subtle sense of humor and a wicked smile. Doug sensed, however, after having taken Blair to dinner a couple of times over the summer, they wouldn’t have much in common. The age difference was simply too great. There was the music the kid listened to. Christian rap, for Pete’s sake! And he was very conservative politically. No, Blair was sexy as hell, but even if he were gay and if he found Doug at all attractive—two pretty big ifs—they had nothing on which to build a relationship.
All of which left Doug where he started—alone and longing for a man.
* * * *
As he drove back to his apartment, Blair was thinking about the man whose garden he’d just spent the morning working in. Doug’s pretty cool for a guy that old, he mused. He’s easy to work for. Tells me what he wants done and trusts me to do it. I like it that he doesn’t mind getting dirty and working with me sometimes. And he always pays me more than I’ve earned. Used to be a prof. Wish more of mine were like him. He seems pretty lonely, though. Why else would he ask someone my age to go to dinner at Friday’s with him? With Mary gone, I’ve been pretty much alone in this totally boring little town all summer. Made a nice change to just relax and visit with a professor type. Made a nice change from the crap I make for supper when I’m alone, too. He’s a really nice guy. Kind of shy, though. At dinner he asked me lots of things about myself. When I asked a direct question about his life, he’d answer it, but he never volunteered any information. He always managed to turn the conversation back to me. I wonder why he doesn’t want to talk about himself? Shy, maybe? Or does he have something to hide?
* * * *
That afternoon, Doug worked for an hour or so on his computer, read for a while, eventually nodding off. He awoke with a start.
“Shit, I’ve got to get changed and pick up Hallie.”
He rushed to the bedroom, got out his electric razor and shaved again, and splashed water on his face. He put on a blue oxford cloth button-down, khakis, and cordovan tassel loafers. Although it was ninety-two degrees outside, he felt more dressed up in a long-sleeved shirt. Besides, in over-air-conditioned places like movie theaters and restaurants, he was perfectly comfortable in long sleeves.
Doug had first met Hallie at St. John’s, the Episcopal church where they were both members. Hallie was on the vestry. Both she and Doug were lay readers/Eucharistic servers. They soon discovered they were both also involved with the Henry Ridenour Gardens, Doug as a volunteer and Hallie as a member of the board and volunteer as well.
Hallie was a divorcée a few years younger than Doug. She came from old money. She now lived in an old, wealthy, gated community, Davenport Hills, in a house her grandparents had originally built as a winter retreat. She’d inherited it from her parents, and after her divorce she’d moved in. The divorce had just been finalized when Doug had moved to Lake Polk four years earlier. A year later, when the two of them became friends, she was still hurting. Doug had been, he hoped, a good listener. They’d become close, in their own way. Doug thought it was perfectly possible to have a real friendship with a woman. He just hoped she never wanted to move it along to anything sexual.
When he stopped at the gate, the guard said, “Good evening, Dr. Curtis. Ms. Hall is expecting you.”
The Hall house was invisible from the road because of a thicket of pines and oaks. It was large, but not ostentatious, resembling a bungalow that, like Topsy, “just growed.” By the time he’d turned the car around, Hallie was halfway down the steps.
She had two grown sons, both of them married, and she went to see them often. She had been everywhere, done everything. In comparison, Doug felt provincial and unsophisticated. But they’d hit it off well from the time they first met. Now they often went to plays, movies, concerts, or restaurants together. In a purely platonic way, Doug was very fond of her.
Despite women’s lib, Doug was true to his upbringing. He started to get out of the car to open the door for her.
“Doug, darling, I love you for wanting to, but I’m quite capable of opening this door for myself.”
As she buckled herself in, she said, “I’ve been looking forward to this evening. The paper made the exhibit at the museum sound fascinating. And as long as I’ve been around this area, I’ve never been to Hank’s Bar and Grill.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m curious about the exhibit, too. But I’m surprised that you haven’t been to Hank’s. It’s in the middle of downtown Parkerville.”
“Don’t know how I have managed to miss it.”
During the forty-five minute drive into Parkerville, they chatted about Hallie’s recent trip north to visit relatives, church matters, the Gardens, and local gossip, including the appointment of a new Lake Polk city manager.
Doug had first seen Parkerville’s Imperial Museum of Art four years earlier, not long after he’d moved to Lake Polk. It was brand new at the time, an impressive two-story, very modern facility. There was a nicely-landscaped sculpture garden off the lobby, which had a glass wall so that one could admire the garden and its waterfall from inside. At that time, however, Doug’s impression was that it was a nice building with nothing much inside. Since then, they had acquired a small but impressive permanent collection. The gallery spaces for visiting exhibits were carefully planned, versatile, and well lighted.
The exhibit Doug and Hallie had come to see was…interesting, that catch-all word people use when they can’t think of anything better. The artist was a faculty member at a prestigious college in Maine. Some of his works, abstracts with vivid, mostly primary colors, were done in acrylic on large, loose, unframed canvases, perhaps four by six feet. The background was generally white or cream, and, since there was a lot of background, the brilliant colors stood out. In addition to the large canvases, there were a dozen or so smaller framed monoprints. These, too, were fascinating. They were generally abstracts in muted grays, pinks, lavenders, and blues. What was most interesting, however, was that the monoprints had a sparkle, as if they had been sprinkled liberally with ground glass. Doug and Hallie examined each work carefully, finding lots to talk about in each.
