Up at the Cottage |

G.P. Keith

| 2

Day 1

T

HE

bright June sunlight streaming through the sheer

curtains of the living room combined with the general
stillness of the house to give the room an air of dreamy
golden peacefulness. Mark, sitting motionless on the couch,
was completely oblivious to all of this. He was seething with
the desperate outrage of a high school graduate who has just
been catapulted back into one of the worst nightmares of his
childhood.

He began to pick fretfully at the straps of the backpack

that lay next to him on the couch as he thought for the
hundredth time how much he had been looking forward to
this summer up at the cottage, his last before leaving home
and heading off to the city to start college. It was to have
been his best summer ever.

Mark was a quiet young man. He had survived high

school by keeping his head down and working hard. During
his childhood and adolescence, he had learned to keep
things to himself. Most especially he had kept secret his own
sexuality, which had unfolded during his high school years.
He had learned on the internet that such sexualities were
common enough, and that it was in the diversity and
anonymity of large cities that they were best tolerated.
Having grown up in a small town, he knew that people here
tended to know everyone else‟s secrets. He had decided,
therefore, to hold off on any self-exploration relating to his
sexuality until he was safely away from home.

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In high school he had gotten good enough grades to

secure an entrance scholarship to the university in the city,
and he anticipated living in residence next fall with both fear
and excitement. The months preceding that, therefore, he
had looked forward to as reassuringly familiar, when he
could laze away long summer days up at the cottage with his
parents before taking the big plunge into his new, grown-up
life. He knew that his parents would leave him to his own
devices, his father fishing endlessly on the lake, his mother
entertaining neighbors on the back deck. He would be
blissfully free to read to his heart‟s content in the dappled
sunshine of his favorite spots—a perfect summer.

But then, just last night, his father had casually

remarked during dinner something about Tom somebody
starting to work at the store. Mark hadn‟t really been
listening to his father‟s talk about business; hardware was
not even close to being something that interested him. (There
had been that summer several years ago when his father had
hired him to work there. Mark still winced when he recalled
the several spectacular accidents that had arisen from his
disinterest, inattention, and consequent clumsiness, which
had driven his normally taciturn father into apoplectic
tirades.) The extended silence that followed his father‟s
remark made him look up to see his parents regarding him
expectantly.

“You remember Tom, don‟t you dear?” his mother said.
“What?” he said. “I mean… I‟m sorry?”
“Your friend Tom. He has started working at your

father‟s store.”

“My friend Tom,” Mark repeated blankly.
His mother frowned her impatience.

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“Tom McPherson,” she said. “You know—Suzie and

Ken‟s son.” When he remained blank she continued with
asperity, “For heaven‟s sake, Mark, they stayed with us every
summer at the cottage for I don‟t know how many years.”

“Oh, yes?” he said at last.
“Well,” continued his mother, resuming a slightly forced

air of pleasantness, “Tom‟s just started working at your
father‟s store.”

“Oh,” Mark said, feeling as though a piece of ice had

landed in his gut. This was not welcome news. He thought
feverishly for several seconds. “But they moved away years
ago!” he said. “They went to the city.”

“Yes,” said his father patiently, “but Ken contacted me

several months ago about the idea of Tom coming to work for
me here in town. I thought I mentioned it. Anyway, he‟s
graduated high school and was always good with his hands,
so I agreed to take him on. I‟ve arranged for him to live in the
apartment above the store that‟s been empty this past year.”
He frowned slightly at Mark. “I‟m surprised he hasn‟t been in
contact with you.”

“He‟s probably still settling in,” Mark‟s mother

suggested.

“He mentioned something about Facebook?” Mark‟s

father added. “He asked whether you used it. Apparently he
tried to contact you on it a number of times since they
moved away.”

Mark shrugged.
“I never joined Facebook,” he said shortly.
Mark saw his parents exchange glances. Then his

mother turned back to him.

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“Maybe I forgot to mention it, dear,” she said, “but Suzie

and Ken will be coming up to stay with us at the cottage. So
it will be like old times, all of us together again.”

“With Tom?”
“Of course, dear. Won‟t that be fun?”
“No!”
“Pardon, dear?”
“I mean, oh!” Mark corrected himself. “I‟m just

surprised,” he prevaricated. Mark‟s relationship with Tom
had always been a sore point with him. Their parents had
been best friends ever since Mark could remember, and,
each couple having only one child and Tom being one year
older than Mark, their parents had expected them to become
best friends as well. They had not, though Mark had never
been able to share this fact with his parents.

Tom had been a big, boisterous kid, always up to

something—usually some kind of trouble, which he referred
to as “adventures.” Mark, on the other hand, was a dreamer,
a shy boy who preferred to do his exploring in books. When
they were in town, Mark had found ways of avoiding too
much contact with Tom, but up at the cottage, where both
families shared one living space, the opportunities for escape
were limited. Tom and he had even shared a bedroom. Also,
Tom had seemed to take personal offense to Mark‟s preferred
pastime of reading at the cottage. Over a succession of
summers, the situation had devolved into one where Mark
would be trying to hide from Tom, and Tom, in turn, would
be hunting him down. And, finding him, the bigger boy
would dragoon Mark into joining him on one of those
adventures.

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Some of them had been innocuous enough, Mark was

fair enough to admit, but others contained incidents that
were among his most harrowing childhood memories. Like
the time Tom had pushed him off Bootle Rock into the lake,
a fall of over forty feet. Mark still had nightmares about the
experience and often wondered whether his fear of heights
had originated with that fall. As for his persistent unease
with water, there had been other dreadful experiences
involving Tom and water as well. But the most spectacular
remained his precipitous fall into the icy water of the lake.
Mark could still recall the sound of Tom‟s laughter that had
accompanied it.

“Mark!”
Startled, Mark looked up. His parents were both looking

at him again.

“I‟m sorry?” he said.
His mother shook her head, smiling.
“My little boy,” she said, “all grown up but still a

dreamer.”

Not a dream, Mark thought bitterly, a nightmare. But he

said nothing. His parents‟ insistence on cheerfulness had
trained him well in the art of concealing grievances.

“Your father was talking to you, dear,” she chided

gently. Mark looked at his father resignedly.

“I was just saying,” his father continued, “that I thought

you and Tom could open the cottage this year. Your mother
and I will come up the following weekend, after I get things
settled for the summer at the store. And Suzie and Ken will
come up with us and the bulk of the supplies.”

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This struck Mark as a further blow. He stared at his

father in horror.

“Close your mouth, dear,” his mother chided.
Mark obediently closed his mouth, but inside he was

seething. A whole week up at the cottage alone with Tom!
They would have to share the same bedroom, that old bunk
bed. He screamed inwardly. It just wasn‟t fair!

Mark spent that evening fuming in his room. In the end

his mother, although she generally chose to avoid the less
pleasant moments in life, decided to come in to see how he
was. Sitting on his bed, he looked resentfully up at her
concerned but still far-too-cheerful face. He remembered the
times he had tried to tell her about Tom. The time Tom had
put a spider in his bed, pushing him off Bootle Rock. She
had dismissed these as “only a spider” and an “exciting” fall
into the lake. Even worse, he had overheard her telling
guests about these incidents as amusing anecdotes. Worst of
all was the suspicion he gradually formed that his parents
would have preferred Tom as a son. This made him resolve
never to complain about Tom to them. So now, years later,
he just shook his head at his mother.

“I‟m fine,” he told her woodenly and waited for her to

leave.

Mark didn‟t sleep much that night, and now here it was,

Friday afternoon, and Tom was due to arrive in the store‟s
spare delivery van to drive them both to the cottage.
Helpless, Mark could only wait and fume futilely. He looked
at the time. It was three fifteen. Tom had been supposed to
arrive at three p.m. Irrationally, Mark managed to feel both
offended at this tardiness and at the same time hopeful that
something, something horrible, had happened so that plans

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| 8

would have to be changed. He was mentally exploring what
might have befallen his nemesis, when a horn sounded
abrasively outside. He jumped several inches off the couch.
Then he sagged, sighed, and got resignedly to his feet.
Hoisting the backpack onto one shoulder and lifting a duffle
bag with the opposite hand, he headed for the door.

Outside the sunshine was brilliant as only a mid-

afternoon in June can be, making him squint. He saw a
shadowy figure behind the wheel of the van raise a hand in
greeting. This reminded him that he hadn‟t seen Tom in over
five years. He slid open the side door of the van and
deliberately didn‟t look toward the driver as he threw his
luggage on top of the various boxes of supplies. He did
notice, however, that there were several cases of beer just
behind the driver‟s seat, and the top one was open.
Slamming the door closed, he went forward to the passenger
door and climbed in. Then for the first time he turned to face
the driver.

And felt like he had been hit in the face by a brick.
He quickly turned away and busied himself buckling his

seatbelt while he processed the new information. The man
behind the wheel was huge!

When the van remained motionless for several more

seconds, Mark forced himself to look again at the driver. The
young man was grinning at him—Mark remembered that
grin—but in those days Tom had been a kid; now he was a
man, a really massive man. Not only that, but he was—Mark
couldn‟t avoid the word—gorgeous! He had strong,
masculine, good-natured features, wide shoulders, and
powerful limbs. “Gorgeous” really was the only word. Inside
Mark something whimpered at these disturbing new
revelations.

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But now this new and improved Tom was holding out

his hand. Mark took it reluctantly and they shook. At the
contact Mark felt a distinct shock of sexual energy pass up
his arm and all through him.

“Good to see you, kid,” Tom said, still grinning. “You‟ve

grown!”

Mark laughed at the extreme irony of this statement

while Tom turned and began to back the van out of the
driveway.

Mark took several brief glimpses at the driver as they

proceeded along the streets that led to the highway outside
town. The man‟s face showed masculine maturity, the
features were broad and strong—forehead, nose, jaw, and
neck. Yet still in his eyes there was something of the old
impish expression. Tom glanced over at him.

“How‟ve you been keeping, kid?” Tom asked. “Just

graduated, eh?” He nodded toward the back of the van. “I‟ll
bet those bags are full of books, right?”

Mark felt his face grow hot. He smiled, embarrassed,

and nodded.

“Yeah.” Tom laughed, a deep, loud bark. “Same old

Markie, reading away up at the cottage.”

Mark tried to recollect the boy he had known and

resented for so many years. Back then Tom had always been
a bit goofy, hands and feet seeming too big for the rest of
him. Well, Mark reflected sardonically, he had certainly
grown into them. Mark even found himself envying the
smooth confidence with which Tom maneuvered the van.

“So, you recovered from the Big Night?” Tom asked.

Mark looked over at him blankly. When Tom winked Mark
finally understood: debauchery after graduation. Sure, Mark

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had taken a girl to the graduation dance and had had a
passable time. But then he had been startled and mortified
when she had attempted to French kiss him at her back door
when he was dropping her off. The recollection still made his
face burn.

“Embarrassing memory?” Tom remarked, grinning.

“We‟ve all been there kid; it‟s part of growing up.” With that
Tom started talking about his own high school years. Mostly
it was about football. As he listened, Mark remembered his
parents relating news they had received about their friends‟
son being a bit of a star player. Whoopee! Great! Mark had
mostly tried not to think about it; just more evidence that his
parents would have preferred Tom as a son.

And now Tom was making sly allusions to the

cheerleaders and how popular the football players had been
with all the girls at his school. Evidently these references
were meant to impress and possibly elicit some sort of
appreciative response. But they only made Mark feel
uncomfortable, and fearful about the possibility of his being
asked about his own experience with girls. When Mark failed
to give any reaction, however, Tom‟s references to girls
disappeared from his monologue, and he focused exclusively
on his proud moments on the football field.

They had left town and were entering the on-ramp of the

freeway when Mark realized that Tom must have graduated a
year earlier. What had he been doing since then? Against the
background noise of Tom‟s voice, Mark worked out a
startling realization: Tom was starting work at Mark‟s dad‟s
store. And his stories were all from high school; there was no
mention of college or a football scholarship. That meant
Tom‟s glory days were in the past.

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For the first time in his life, Mark found himself feeling a

little sorry for Tom.

“Hey look,” Tom said suddenly, “I‟m parched. How about

reaching around and getting me a fresh beer?”

It was only then Mark noticed with a twinge of horror

that there was an empty can of beer in the drink holder
between their seats. Tom reached down and threw it casually
into the back of the van. Mark began to feel a knot form in
his gut. Grimly, he stared straight in front of him.

“Hey!” Tom barked. “Didn‟t you hear me?” The

friendliness in his voice was gone.

For several panicky seconds Mark felt like he was

choking. He tried to speak but couldn‟t. Then he swallowed
and faced his doom.

“No beer in the van,” he said, his voice sounding

strangled and high-pitched.

The air of forced camaraderie in the van dried up in a

moment. There followed a very tense few minutes in which
Mark expected every second for the van to be pulled over.

But then Tom laughed loudly, making Mark jump. Tom

reached across and slapped him on the thigh hard enough to
make him gasp.

“Well,” said Tom, “little Markie is all growed up.” He

chuckled. “You never would have said something like that to
me when we were kids, hey?” He said this in a half-menacing
tone. But when he started to laugh again afterwards, Mark
found himself laughing as well, in part simply from relief. He
felt as if something in his spine straightened in that moment,
and with it something else changed inside him—some of his
pent-up resentment began to slough away.

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“No, I wouldn‟t,” he admitted, and they both laughed

again in an odd moment of near-camaraderie.

“How far to the cottage?” Tom asked after another

minute of silence. This question reminded Mark that it was
years since Tom had been there, and being a kid then he
would never have been driving.

“A couple of hours still,” he said.
From that point they began a meandering conversation,

filled with recollections from those summers long ago.

“Remember the time we jumped off Bootle Rock?” Tom

asked suddenly.

“I didn‟t jump,” Mark said a little stiffly. “You pushed

me.”

“Huh,” Tom remarked. “That right? Well, I guess you did

need a little encouragement.” He paused. “God! That was
fun!” He said this in almost reverential tones.

And strange to say, Mark now had the definite sense

that Tom really did think of it as encouragement, and as a
result Mark‟s memory of the event changed a little. He
realized, to his surprise, that in some way it had been fun—
kind of, anyway.

He laughed suddenly. “You probably could have heard

my scream right across the lake,” he commented dryly,
remembering the sickening sensation of the fall, the plunge
into the icy waters.

And they both laughed.
“Yeah,” Tom murmured, and then, with a softer, almost

sad tone, he repeated: “God! That was fun!”

Mark looked over at his companion and saw a strangely

gentle expression illuminating Tom‟s strongly masculine

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features. For a moment he saw clearly the younger boy, and
it occurred to him that Tom actually was feeling a sense of
loss, a sense of good times past, while Mark felt that his life
had not yet begun. Again he felt a strange sense of pity for
the big man. An odd thought struck him then as well—that
Tom, however virile and enormous he appeared now, was
also, and always had been in some ineffable way, very
beautiful.

Mark found himself thinking about the nightmares he

had suffered after the Bootle Rock incident, and for the first
time he felt not resentment toward Tom but something more
adult, a discomfort at how he had stigmatized the event in
his own mind.

After that the stories began to tumble out one after the

other as they continued along the freeway and the sun sank
in the western sky. At Mark‟s instruction they exited finally.
Then there followed a kind of game as to which of the turns
on the local roads Tom could remember from all those years
ago. Mark had to admit he did fairly well.

Finally they were moving along the dirt road that

comprised the final miles of cottage country before reaching
their destination. The sun was near the horizon by now, and
the evening light was glimmering through the tall trees as
they moved through the increasingly deep shadows. All
conversation had ceased; the magic of the memories of
summers past had taken hold of them. Tom correctly
anticipated the final turnoff and put on the turn signal. And
then they were moving slowly along the curving drive leading
to the cottage.

When the cottage itself finally came in sight, Tom lifted

his foot off the accelerator. The van coasted forward,
crunching quietly over the gravel. It slowed to a gentle halt

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perhaps twenty feet from the front door of the cottage.
Beyond this they could see glimpses of the lake, still sunlit,
gleaming through the trees. In the silent stillness they both
sat, listening to the sounds of the birds and the silence that
lay beneath.

Then Tom shattered the silence with a loud cry.
“We‟re heeeere!” he shouted, slapping Mark again on the

thigh. He opened his door and got out while Mark gathered
together his nerves. It had been Tom‟s old cry that always
signaled the arrival of the McPherson family every year, and
Mark found himself moved by the strange poignancy of that
memory. Odd, he thought, that it’s reminding me of joy and
not horror. He wondered whether, even back then, he had
actually—part of him at least—welcomed the arrival of his
summertime companion.

Since Mark had been entrusted with the cottage key, he

went first to the shadowed wooden door while Tom opened
the back of the van and began unloading. The door, once
unlocked, creaked open to reveal a deeply shadowed interior,
the kitchen and the living room beyond. The furniture was
pushed to one side, and the sliding doors at the far end
showed glints of the lake through the closed Venetian blinds.

Mark reached automatically for the light switch. When it

didn‟t work, he realized that the power was off. He would
have to go to the main switch underneath the stairs.
Something of his childhood fears of the dark came to him
then, yet somehow these were not entirely unwelcome.
Behind him Tom was whistling as he brought a first load of
supplies from the van. Mark turned as the big man
approached through the light and shadows outside the door,
his happy, eager expression making him look boyish again.

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Mark turned back and resolutely felt his way along the

wall by the stairs into the small storage room, which was
pitch black. He felt for the metal of the fuse box. Finding this
he threw the main switch, which turned on a light
somewhere behind him. When he emerged into the living
room, he saw that a lamp in the far corner was on. Leaving
this, he rounded the corner back into the shadowy kitchen,
where a silhouette stood outlined in the doorway. Mark
started violently and let out a yell, then put his hand guiltily
over his mouth. There was a click, and the kitchen was
flooded with light, revealing Tom with a box of produce on
his shoulder and a smirk on his face. Mark felt his face grow
hot as Tom started to laugh. As Mark made his way past
Tom, he found himself unable to resist giving the big man a
shove. This only made Tom laugh more as Mark stalked out
to the van.

The sun had set by the time they had finished

transferring the foodstuffs into the cottage. Tom slammed
the van doors and went inside to start putting things away.
The crickets were starting now, and Mark found himself
lingering in the doorway to listen. When he felt something hit
the back of his head, he turned in time to see a head of
lettuce fall to the floor. Tom had thrown the vegetable and
was now wagging a finger at him.

“No slacking off,” he said, grinning.
A spasm of anger passed through Mark. But then he

grinned himself and shrugged. I need to give up the habit of
resentment, he told himself firmly as he bent to pick up the
lettuce. When he had put this in the fridge, he turned to see
Tom holding up two beers. He handed Mark one of the beers,
and Mark took a sip and started to help Tom put the rest of
the stuff away. Both working together this was soon

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accomplished. Mark was somewhat surprised at how,
despite his size, Tom didn‟t seem to get in his way. He came
to the conclusion that they worked well together. From time
to time during this, Mark had allowed himself to take
glimpses of his companion, noting appreciatively the massive
shoulders and broad back, the tight ass and long powerful
legs. These glimpses were a delight, but disturbing as well.
They would be sharing a room, Mark reminded himself, and
probably would be undressing in each other‟s presence.

After they both had taken a minute to sip their beers,

Tom motioned Mark to follow him outside. It turned out that
there were two new beds in the van, still in their boxes, the
mattresses in plastic cases. He hadn‟t noticed them before as
they leaned against the side of the van away from the side
doors. This revelation puzzled Mark for a minute until it
struck him that Tom could never have fit into one of the old
bunk beds. During the past several years, even Mark had
slept in the bed that had been used by Tom‟s parents years
ago.

“The larger one is for me,” Tom remarked as they

wrestled it out the back doors of the van. “The regular is too
short—my feet go right to the end.”

Mark caught himself automatically reflecting how even

now Tom was being given preferential treatment. As they
were jockeying the first of the beds into their old bedroom,
he realized why they hadn‟t brought two of the larger
mattresses. They would have made space very crowded in
the room. And anyway, he reminded himself, he’s a lot
bigger than me. So again Mark found himself consciously
dismissing the knee-jerk tendency toward resentment, a
habit that was beginning to make him feel annoyed with
himself.

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Finally the beds were unpacked and set in place. Tom

turned toward Mark and lifted up his shirt front. He slapped
the well-muscled stomach underneath.

“Grub,” he said, and laughed. Mark‟s own laugh was

slightly forced; the glimpse of that exquisite torso had been
disturbingly exciting. As he followed Tom back into the
kitchen, he realized his face was hot again.

“What about starting a fire?” he said. It was cool enough

for that. The heating hadn‟t been turned on yet.

“Great idea,” Tom said. “I‟ll get wood.”
He went out to the wood pile while Mark got out the

sandwiches and two more beers from the fridge. Mark also
unpacked his ghetto blaster and searched for a channel of
suitable rock music.

Fifteen minutes later the two young men were seated on

the floor in front of the fire, eating the sandwiches, staring
into the leaping flames, and listening to the music.

Mark had just finished his last sandwich when the radio

began to play one of his favorite songs, one that he had
danced to in his room at home countless times. He leapt to
his feet and cranked the volume up. The room was filled with
a flood of pounding music, and Mark, holding his beer in one
hand, closed his eyes and let the music lead his dancing.

After perhaps a minute of this bliss, Mark felt something

in the movement of the floorboards beneath his stocking feet.
He opened his eyes and saw that Tom was dancing several
feet away, silhouetted from behind by the yellow light from
the kitchen and lit in front by the red of the fire. There was
an elegant sureness in Tom‟s movement. Mark had supposed
(hoped) that someone that enormous must be clumsy, but
Tom moved—there was no other word for it—beautifully, a

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god of youthful masculinity. Since Tom‟s eyes were closed as
he danced, Mark was able to watch with unapologetic awe
and appreciation.

Then the song ended but was immediately followed by

another favorite. Mark turned the radio up even more, and
the two young men danced in the light of the fire as the
electric heaters warmed up the cottage. They both sipped
their beer as they danced, going to the fridge for fresh beer
from time to time.

At last Tom had to remove his shirt, revealing a

magnificent torso that was slick with sweat. Mark followed
suit a short time later, having drunk sufficiently that he
didn‟t worry about any possible comparison of physiques. He
knew he had an okay body—it just wasn‟t massive and
muscular like that of his companion.

Finally the series of danceable songs ended. The disc

jockey came on, and then there were some commercials.
Mark turned the radio down, and they stood sweating and
breathing hard, but both were grinning. Then Tom began
hurriedly to undo his sneakers and finally pulled down his
jeans and shorts.

“To the lake!” he yelled. Running to the sliding doors, he

leapt out onto the deck. There was the pounding of footfalls
on the wood and then silence, followed after another thirty
seconds by a distant splash. Mark hesitated only a second
after hearing that sound. Filled with excitement he shucked
his own clothes and followed, heading toward the splashing
sounds from Tom leaping about in the lake. Mark ran
straight into the water. He felt the icy cold against his calves
and thighs, and finally thigh deep, he dove forward into the
lake.

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When he surfaced he yelled from sheer excitement and

the feel of the cold water against his skin. The yell was
echoed by Tom‟s voice further out in the lake. The moon was
up now, and Mark could see Tom‟s head, shiny wet, bobbing
in the water. He was swimming for the raft anchored a
hundred feet out in the little bay. Mark swam after him. He
was halfway there when he saw Tom‟s naked form climb up
the ladder onto the raft and then leap high into the air with
another yell.

“Cannonball!” Tom shouted, clutching his legs and

sending up an enormous spray of water.

The surface of the lake gradually settled, and Mark

waited for Tom‟s head to reappear. As the seconds passed
and nothing broke the surface, an icy feeling of panic
suddenly began to take hold of Mark. Memories had begun
to flood back of one of the games that Tom liked to play in
the lake. Mark turned around and started to swim as hard
as he could back toward the shore, stifling the ancient fear
that now threatened to overwhelm him.

He was almost within his own depth when he felt

something grab his ankle. Despite himself he screamed. He
wrenched his foot away and resumed swimming for all he
was worth. Then he heard a laugh behind him and the
familiar cry: “Shark!”

Mark stifled an urge to scream but at the same time

also felt a desire to laugh. For the first time he was feeling
the pleasurable aspect of this game: the excitement. Yet the
fear was still there, which made him put all of his energy
into swimming toward the shore. In another second he felt
another grasp, more powerful and secure this time, and he
was pulled under.

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Mark surfaced several seconds later, once the hand had

released his ankle. The terror was more palpable now. Even
though he was in only about four feet of water, some
primordial survival instinct had been engaged that he found
himself unable to dismiss. It was only seconds later that he
felt powerful hands grasp him again, around the waist this
time. Tom erupted from the surface with a loud yell and
threw Mark effortlessly into the air in the direction away
from the shore.

Mark landed in the water with a resounding splash but

found himself laughing now. Something in that powerful
grasp had reassured, and more, excited him, changing his
entire mental state. Suddenly he realized that he was
enjoying himself and was also aroused. The terror was
subordinated by these new feelings and instead made the
experience more exciting. He turned, laughing, and saw the
head lurking menacingly, eyes just above the surface of the
water between him and the shore. Mark began to swim to
one side, moving as best he could, but Tom was simply
faster. He darted forward, and again those powerful hands
gripped Mark and threw him up and through the air
backward, away from the shore.

This happened again and again as Mark attempted to

reach the shore. He made little progress, since each time
Tom would catch him and throw him further out into the
lake with those powerful arms. Mark began laughing so
much that several times he swallowed mouthfuls of icy lake
water. Finally at one point he was coughing up a mouthful of
water and felt suddenly weak, tired, and cold. He held up a
hand.

“Enough!” he said. His voice sounded loud, and, for

once, authoritative, and as he made his way around Tom‟s

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still lurking head, though Tom followed him with menacing
eyes, there was no further attack. Finally Mark stumbled out
of the last inches of water onto the shore and ran up the
path toward the cottage, hoping to hide the erection that
Tom‟s electric contact had given him.

When Tom arrived back at the cottage, Mark was

standing before the fire, already clad in a large beach towel.
He pointed to a second towel, which he had extracted from
one of the boxes. Tom picked this up and came to stand next
to him by the fire, still grinning faintly.

After that they turned the radio to quieter music and sat

by the fire drinking more beer. The experience in the lake,
the magic of the cottage, the warmth of the fire, and the
alcohol in the beer all combined to ease Mark‟s private
concerns. He felt quite happy and relaxed and even allowed
himself to gaze openly at the ruddy colors playing on Tom‟s
powerful legs.

Tom got up to get more beers, heading to the kitchen

completely naked, leaving his towel on the floor beside Mark.
Mark had felt the need to keep up with Tom‟s drinking, and
when Tom returned with the beers, he found that his own
motor skills had been impaired. He slipped when he reached
for the proffered beer. Tom laughed.

“Hey!” the big man said, pulling the beer out of Mark‟s

reach. “You‟re drunk.”

He was grinning, but Mark found himself getting hot

with stupid indignation.

“No, I‟m not,” he said.
“Are too!”

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“I am not drunk,” Mark said, articulating each syllable

carefully. Then he added, “And if you don‟t give me the beer,
then I shall get up and get one myself.”

Tom laughed uproariously. “Here you go,” he said,

holding the beer out again. But when Mark reached for the
beer, Tom pulled it away so that it was just out of reach.

Mark laughed despite himself and reached further.

Again Tom pulled the beer away. This time Mark made a real
grab for the can, raising himself on one straight arm to do
so. In response, Tom reached out with his other hand,
grabbed Mark‟s wrist, and pulled him forward so that Mark
toppled onto him and the beer rolled away across the floor.

Mark had been sitting with his towel wrapped

strategically around his middle to hide the very physical
effect that Tom‟s presence was having. He felt a sense of real
panic as he fell awkwardly onto Tom‟s body. He tried to get
away but found himself held by Tom‟s vice-like arms. He
wrestled desperately while the electric excitation of the
physical touch washed over him. Struggling uselessly
against Tom‟s strength, Mark found himself lying on his
back on the floor in less than a minute, Tom straddling him
and pinning his wrists against the floor on either side of his
head. Mark noted that his towel at least was caught between
them at just the right position to maintain something of
discretion.

Since they had turned out the kitchen light some time

ago, he could not see Tom‟s face as he leaned over him; it
was silhouetted by the firelight.

“You forget,” said Tom in his deep voice, through

labored breathing, “that I‟m the boss.”

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The taunting arrogance in Tom‟s voice made Mark

resume his struggling. But it was hopeless; Tom was simply
far too strong for him. He glared up at Tom‟s shadowy,
grinning face even while the sexual excitation of his
predicament flooded Mark‟s being.

Tom leaned down so that his face was just above

Mark‟s. Mark turned his head and could feel Tom‟s breath
on his neck. Then he felt Tom‟s broad tongue run the length
of the side of his face from his jaw line to his forehead. These
sensations were almost overwhelmingly erotic, and Mark
found the last trace of his defiance and desire to struggle
evaporating. He turned his head and looked back up at his
captor‟s face.

They regarded each other for several seconds. Then Tom

lowered his face again and performed the same licking
movement, this time from Mark‟s chin, past his mouth, up
his nose and forehead. Mark laughed and they stared at
each other again. At last, Tom lowered himself onto his
elbows so that the skin of their chests came into contact. His
face was only an inch from Mark‟s now. He paused, and then
tilting his head sideways, he gently placed his lips onto
Mark‟s mouth. Despite himself, Mark let out a low moan as
the power of this most sensuous physical contact deluged
his being.

The kiss quickly passed from sensual to passionate.

Tom‟s tongue pressed between Mark‟s lips, and a flood of
sexual passion took hold of them both. As with every other
physical activity, Tom, it turned out, was masterful at
making love. He pulled the towel from between them and lay
down on top of Mark again. Then he gently began to turn
Mark over onto his stomach. The sensation of the big man
bearing down on his back, Tom‟s massive erect cock pressing

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against the flesh of his ass, was exquisite. Mark felt the
heavy weight slide down until the tip was pressing against
his sphincter. It paused there, Tom evidently waiting for
some signal from Mark to decide whether to proceed.

In response to a curious aspect of the sensation, Mark

reached back to Tom‟s cock, only to discover that somehow
Tom had managed to put on a condom. And, judging from
the slick feel of it, it seemed to be one of the lubricated
variety. Mark felt both impressed and touched. He also felt
even more turned on.

Removing his hand, Mark pressed his belly into the floor

and pushed tentatively back and up with his ass. Tom‟s cock
head pushed harder against Mark‟s sphincter and finally
passed through. There followed a wave of pain from the
penetration that gradually built to a level that initially
frightened Mark. But after perhaps half a minute it began
slowly to pass away. At the same time the sensation of being
penetrated by Tom‟s cock became increasingly exquisite.
Mark pressed back again, and Tom responded by thrusting
further inside him. Again the pain came and then ebbed.
They proceeded in this fashion, Tom allowing Mark to
determine the rate, until finally, several minutes later, Tom
was buried to the hilt inside of him. Both men were
breathing hard and slick with sweat. Mark then pushed back
and upward with his entire body. Tom accommodated him,
and Mark raised himself onto his hands and knees. Then
Mark pressed backward with his ass once more, and Tom
began a slow thrusting motion that made Mark gasp and
moan.

Their passion built over the next several minutes,

during which Tom‟s thrusting became gradually harder and
deeper. Finally Mark gave a low cry as he felt himself begin

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to cum. Tom then gave several final, brutal thrusts that
further heightened Mark‟s ongoing orgasm, and with his
cock buried completely, he groaned and his cock began its
own eruption into Mark‟s ass.

After the climax, Tom‟s weight slowly bore down onto

Mark, driving him to the floor. They lay like that for several
long minutes, and Mark found the sense of being crushed by
Tom‟s big body and massive weight wonderfully pleasurable,
even though it made breathing difficult. He felt protected and
fulfilled. Tom‟s cock, still hard, remained deep inside him.
Mark found himself thinking that this might turn out to be a
great summer after all.

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Day 2

T

HE

next morning was slightly awkward for both young men;

they were feeling a little awed and scared by what they had
shared the previous evening, and though they had slept
together in Tom‟s new oversized bed (which Mark was now
thankful for), they hadn‟t spoken about what had happened.

“Well,” said Tom finally, over breakfast, “now I know

what I need to do.”

“To do for what?” Mark asked.
The big man regarded him seriously for several seconds.

“Why do you think I always got you to come along with me
on those adventures?” he asked.

Mark grimaced. “I guess you wanted company,” he said

at last, and then grinned sardonically. “And to torment me.”

Tom looked unhappy and shook his head. “There were

other kids around, you know,” he said. “The Smiths—they
were just around the point.”

“Well, I think you did play with them sometimes,” Mark

said.

“Yes,” Tom replied, “but not that often.” He shrugged. “I

didn‟t find them that interesting.”

There was a moment of silence.
“And you found me interesting?” Mark was incredulous.

Then, to his surprise, he saw Tom was blushing.

“I think I always had a crush on you,” Tom said,

shrugging his embarrassment. “Though I don‟t think I

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realized it as such.” He shrugged again and his face got
redder. “I just wanted you to like me.”

Mark felt stunned by this pronouncement. Tom looked

away for half a minute.

“So anyway,” he continued, a smile spreading slowly

over his features. “Now I know how to get you to like me.”

“How‟s that?”
Tom‟s smile broadened into a grin. “Fuck the ass off

you.”

Mark felt himself blushing now, but he had to laugh too.

“Yeah,” he said, turning his focus on his eggs and bacon,
“that‟ll do it alright.”

They both ate in silence for another several minutes.
“So anyway,” Tom began, “I was wondering—how about

this morning?”

Mark looked up, puzzled. “What?” he said.
Tom shrugged. “Do you still like me?”
Mark was surprised to see that, in spite of a slight

residual smile, the big man was asking a serious question.
He looked at Tom‟s features, the open, friendly expression.
You are so beautiful, he thought.

“Sure,” he said and retreated to his breakfast again.
Tom cleared his throat. “Because, I was thinking,” he

said. “If it—you know—liking me, if it didn‟t stick overnight,
well,” he paused, “I could do it again.”

It took Mark several seconds to catch on. Then he

started to laugh while his face became hot. He also felt
himself getting hard.

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“It wouldn‟t hurt,” he said, trying to hide his smile. Then

he shifted delicately on his chair and cleared his throat. “At
least,” he added, “it wouldn‟t hurt… too much.”

Tom chuckled but then looked concerned. “I was

meaning to ask you,” he said. “How are you… down there?”
he indicated with his eyes. “Was it your first time?” he
added.

“Man,” Mark said, “it was my first time at everything.”
“You‟re kidding.”
Mark shook his head. “I‟d never even drunk a beer

before,” he said. “Dad always has whiskey, and I hate the
stuff.” He shrugged again. “You know,” he said. “Small town.
Shy, studious teen. I pretty much kept myself to myself.”

“Well,” Tom said, considering, “I guess I‟m honored

then.”

“What?”
“Well—” Tom grinned. “—you were just saving yourself

for me.”

They both laughed.
“Well,” Tom added, “what do you think of beer then?”
Mark considered.
“Oh, I like it okay,” he said, then added after a pause,

“the sex was better, though.” Tom laughed hard at that.
“Because they say you have to learn to like the taste of beer,”
he offered when he had recovered. He paused and then
added, “What about the sex?”

Mark grinned. “Took to it like a duck to water,” he said,

and they both laughed. “Not that I‟m against learning to like
it more,” he added.

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Tom stood up. “Well, okay then,” he said. “How about

that repeat performance?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”
“Well,” he said, “I‟m finished with my breakfast.” He

indicated his plate.

Mark chuckled. “I guess I am too,” he said. Tom began

to move slowly around the table toward him, and Mark felt
his interest in the remains of his breakfast disappear.

But they decided to shower first. Soaping each other

stimulated things, and Mark discovered something else he
liked to do, though squatting in the tub started to make his
legs stiff after several minutes. Still, he kept at it and
decided, as he spat the contents of Tom‟s orgasm down onto
the tub, that this too was a lot of fun. Then he looked up at
Tom‟s handsome face looking down at him and was amazed
at the sudden sense he had that the big man was a kind of
physical pleasure park, each part of him containing its own
attractions.

“Probably takes getting used to,” Tom suggested. Mark

grinned up at him.

They dried off and headed into the bedroom. Mark was

surprised and impressed that Tom was already showing
signs of renewed interest.

“You‟ve got a repeater rifle,” he remarked.
“It‟s your fault, man,” Tom remarked. “You just make

me hard being around you.”

“Well, I‟m not complaining,” Mark said, walking forward

and reaching out with his hand.

Afterwards, they lay in bed together, Mark‟s head on

Tom‟s shoulder, feeling no need to get up. They finally began

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to stir close to noon and took another shower, during which
Mark was again impressed with Tom‟s continuing stamina.

“You can suck all you want,” Tom commented when

they were drying off. “I‟ll just make more.”

“That‟s one of the filthiest things anyone‟s ever said to

me,” Mark said, smirking.

“Not original, though,” Tom admitted.
Mark shrugged. He grabbed Tom‟s not-quite-flaccid

member. “This is,” he said.

“I see you‟re getting used to the taste, though,” Tom

said.

“Mmm,” Mark said, rubbing his stomach even while his

face heated up, “thick and creamy.”

Tom chuckled. “Well, great,” he said, “because I‟m

making more right now.” And they both laughed.

This playfulness slowly passed, and by the time they

were sitting down to a late lunch their moods had become
reflective.

“So,” said Mark. “What was it that you were interested

in, in me?”

Tom chewed his mouthful of sandwich, then swallowed.

“Well,” he said, “you‟ve got a nice body.”

“You‟re kidding!” Mark said. “And you were aware of

bodies back then?”

Tom nodded. “I don‟t know,” he said. “It was all kind of

confusing at the time. I just felt these urges to do things.
One of them was to have things happen, which you know
about—excitement, you know.”

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Mark nodded. They cleared the table and moved with

their coffees out onto the deck. When they were leaning side
by side against the deck railing facing the lake, Tom
continued, “Then, well, you always had this compact quality
about you. You weren‟t clumsy like me.”

“You weren‟t clumsy,” Mark said indignantly.
Tom reflected. “Well, maybe not, but I felt like I was.”
“Anyway,” Mark continued, “I was clumsy!” And he

recounted the most embarrassing of his accidents at his
dad‟s store.

“Huh!” remarked Tom. “Well, anyway, you seemed… I

don‟t know, kind of well-proportioned. But it wasn‟t just the
body; it was the body that was a part of you. It felt like there
was something in you, inside you, that was important.
Everyone else, they were just… I don‟t know, ordinary; they
didn‟t have it, whatever it was.”

A silence fell as they drank their coffees.
“What about a walk?” Tom asked when they had

finished. He put his mug down on the wooden rail and held
out his hand.

The two young men wandered along one of the trails

that passed by the cottage. Eventually they found themselves
in one of Mark‟s favorite nooks. There was a small sward of
grass, surrounded by bushes and trees. The sun was blazing
down, creating a sense of warm coziness. They sat down.
Mark was silent for about a minute.

“What if I don‟t?” he said.
“Don‟t what?” Tom asked.
“What if I don‟t have it, whatever it is?”

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Tom laughed, paused, and laughed again, loud and

long. Mark found himself wanting to punch his friend in the
shoulder. After Tom‟s laughing had continued for almost a
minute, he did reach over and grab him, shaking him, but
Tom still kept laughing.

“What‟s funny?” Mark barked.
“You,” said Tom. “You don‟t believe in anything good, do

you?”

Mark felt taken aback and thought about this for

several seconds. “I just try to be realistic,” he said. Then he
added, “Well? What if I don’t have what you‟re looking for?”

Tom shook his head.
“You‟re being silly,” he said. “It‟s there; I see it and I feel

it.” He momentarily glared at Mark. “I‟m not stupid, you
know!” he said.

Mark grabbed his friend‟s arm.
“I‟m sorry,” he said. “I know you‟re not stupid. I just…

well, I just don‟t see anything special in myself.”

They were both silent for a minute. Then Tom turned

toward Mark, suddenly fierce.

“Well maybe you don‟t see it because you don‟t want to,”

he said. “And if you don‟t see it,” he added, poking Mark in
the chest, “then fuck you!” He repeated the words louder,
“Fuck you, man!” Then he pushed Mark to the ground and
climbed on top of him, glaring down at him face to face, and
again almost yelled, “Fuck you!”

Mark was startled and a little scared by this. But then

he caught something positive in the energy. It wasn‟t him
that Tom was yelling at; it was his fear and his negativity.
And with that realization, the sense that Tom was somehow

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on his side and was showing real anger at Mark‟s inner
tormenter, he felt both reassured and physically aroused.
This is something new, he thought. The idea came to him
then that it might be the beginnings of love, and with this
happy thought in his mind he reached up and pulled the big
man‟s face down to his.

Things got heated very quickly. Tom was hard and

eager, his anger swiftly changing to an aggressive passion.
He almost tore Mark‟s pants and shorts off. Then he paused
and brandished a condom package, looking questioningly at
Mark. After a moment‟s hesitation, Mark shook his head; he
wanted to try it this time au natural. Tom grinned and in less
than a minute had Mark‟s ankles over his shoulders and was
pile-driving his hard dick into Mark with long, savage
thrusts that ended in loud slaps of thigh against ass. The
large amount of pre-cum that leaked from Tom‟s cock
provided sufficient lubrication, and despite the greater level
of initial pain, Mark found this more aggressive type of sex
especially hot, and it was only the fact of their earlier
climaxes that kept both of them from cumming right away.
Even the fact that they were outside made the experience
more exciting; it felt very primal and very powerfully sexual.

Afterwards they lay together in the dappled sunshine.
“So,” began Tom, “why is it that you are so hard on

yourself? I can‟t understand it. You don‟t seem to give life a
chance.”

Without thinking, Mark replied quietly, “It never gave

me a chance.”

“What?”
Mark shook his head. “It never seemed to work—I never

seemed to click with people.”

“You click with me.”

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Mark turned his head away, suddenly tearful and

embarrassed. After a few seconds he murmured, “I guess I‟m
just waiting for things to go off.”

This was greeted by silence from Tom. “That‟s a terrible

way to live, you know,” he said at last.

Mark shrugged.
“It‟s better than being taken by surprise,” he said. “I can

never figure things out right. I feel that when I let myself be
myself, people won‟t like me.”

“I think you‟re too hard on yourself,” Tom commented. “I

felt that when I picked you up yesterday. It hangs around
you in the air.”

Mark stared at him, then closed his eyes and put his

hands over his face, letting out a low groan. There followed a
long silence. He felt Tom‟s hands come to rest gently on his
shoulders.

“You know,” Tom began, “I have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“For an hour, just let yourself be yourself anyway, just

to try things out.”

Mark thought about it and was impressed. “And you say

I’m smart?” he remarked, shaking his head.

“What about it?” Tom encouraged. “Trust me?”
Mark scanned the big man‟s face. He suddenly felt a

melting sense of surrender and almost became tearful. Then
he nodded.

“How do we start?” he asked.
“Well, what comes to mind when you think of the time

we spent together as kids? What do you most resent?”

It took Mark some time to let things flow in this regard.

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“I thought you were self-centered. I felt like I was only

there as someone to tag along with you.” Then he added,
“Sorry.”

Tom shook his head. “Go on.”
“It was like all you thought about was you. No one—no

one!—ever seemed to think I counted. My mother wanted
things to be happy, so I could never tell her when I was
upset at you about anything. And my father—” He looked
away, shrugging. “—he was never there, except for Mom.”

He paused and spoke quietly but fiercely. “I felt they

never wanted me! I got in the way of their precious, perfect
life together.” He paused, then added, “And I thought they
preferred you.” Mark was breathing hard now. He was
shaking and gritting his teeth.

“I hated you,” he hissed, “because you bullied me,

because you ruined my relationship with my parents! I could
never get away from you. You didn‟t ask! You bullied! You
pushed me off the rock into the lake! I didn‟t want to jump! I
didn‟t want to do all those things! And I couldn‟t measure up
against you!”

Suddenly a kind of rage overcame Mark. He got on top

of Tom and pushed him down. He even pounded him on the
chest several times, which Tom allowed. Then Mark‟s energy
evaporated, and he collapsed onto Tom and began to weep
pathetically. He felt the big man‟s arms come gently around
him. For several seconds this felt comforting, but then a
sudden panic arose inside him and he struggled to get free of
what had become a claustrophobic embrace. Although Mark
struggled with all his might, Tom still held him close, and
after maybe twenty seconds of this, Mark again felt all his
energy leave him. He began to sob like a small child, clinging
to Tom‟s comforting bulk.

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“It‟s okay, it‟s okay,” Tom murmured over and over

again. And, “It‟s alright, it‟s all right, it‟s all right, it‟s all
right,” like a mantra. “I won‟t let it hurt you, all that crap.
You‟re safe here. I‟m here.”

Mark‟s weeping gradually abated, and they lay there

afterwards, silent and unmoving other than Tom‟s big hand
gently caressing the back of Mark‟s head.

It was more than an hour later when Mark had finally

completely recovered himself. He made to rise, but at first
Tom wouldn‟t release him.

“It‟s okay Tom,” he said, chuckling ruefully. “I‟m

through it.”

Tom softened his hold but didn‟t let go entirely, and

Mark was secretly grateful for this.

“Did you take it in?” Tom asked.
Mark nodded. He sobbed once, sniffed, and sat upright.

He looked down at the big man lying next to him. “How,” he
asked incredulously, “did you know what to do?”

Tom smiled and shrugged.
“Well,” Mark sniffed again and ran his hands gently over

Tom‟s chest, “that was amazing.”

“Feel any different?”
“I don‟t know. Maybe.”
The rest of the day was quiet. They didn‟t have sex but

spent a lot of time physically close. Mark fell asleep in Tom‟s
arms and for the first time in his memory felt totally safe.

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Day 3

T

HE

next day Mark got up early. He was shaken and

somewhat embarrassed by the “therapy session” of the
previous day. He wondered whether he might be mentally
unbalanced. He made a sandwich and went out onto the
back deck, where he lay down in one of the chaise lounges.
He had brought one of his favorite books to read, feeling that
it might help him center himself again.

Tom arose somewhat later, appearing at the sliding

doors with two cups of coffee.

Placing one of these on the small table next to Mark, he

leaned down and kissed him. The casualness with which he
did this felt marvelous and strange to Mark. Then Tom sat
down on the adjacent chaise lounge, moving it so that he
could twine his feet with Mark‟s.

“What are you reading?” he asked. Mark held open the

book. “Looks pretty worn,” Tom observed. “Did you buy it
second-hand?”

“No, it‟s one of my favorites. I reread it every once in a

while.”

Tom nodded but said nothing.
Mark pretended to read for several minutes, but finally

gave up and looked over at his friend. He was startled to see
that Tom was regarding him through half-open eyes.

“Well,” Mark sighed, “am I nuts, or what?”
“„Or what.‟”

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“What?”
“„Or what‟—you‟re not nuts.”
Mark grunted.
“Well,” he said, “what was all that yesterday, then?”
Tom shrugged. “It doesn‟t seem that strange to me,” he

said. “I had a friend in high school—a girl—who had to do
therapy. She was raped when she was fourteen. I learned a
little bit about what she went through in her therapy.”

Mark stared at his companion.
“That‟s terrible.”
Tom nodded. “Shit happens,” he said, “sometimes even

terrible stuff.”

Mark ruminated for a while. “I was never raped,” he said

quietly.

Tom grinned. “Can‟t rape the willing, eh?”
In spite of himself, Mark chuckled, but said, “I‟m

serious.”

“I‟m Tom.”
Mark reached out and slapped Tom‟s arm. Tom rolled

his eyes. “Well, here we go again!” he said in an overly
dramatic voice.

Mark froze, mortified, then saw Tom‟s grin and laughed

with relief. “Okay,” he said. “But still, I don‟t get it.”

Tom shrugged. “Maybe you‟re being too smart,” he said,

“thinking you can figure everything out. Take it from
someone who‟s gotten a lot of C‟s and D‟s in school—
sometimes the answer is just: who knows?”

“C‟s and D‟s?” Mark reached over and stroked Tom‟s

arm. “But Tom, you‟re smart. Come on! If you think I‟m

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smart, well then, my smart is saying it sees smart in you
too.”

Tom was silent for almost a minute. “It got worse when

we moved to the city,” he said quietly. “I didn‟t like it. I
missed being in a small town, riding bikes out into the
country along dirt roads. I don‟t know. I seemed to fit. And,”
he said, “I think I missed you.”

Mark stared at him. “But we didn‟t see that much of

each other,” he said.

Tom stared back and then shrugged. “Well, I thought we

did,” he said. “I went off and did things, and then I talked
about what I did with you. Don‟t you remember?” He
sounded slightly hurt.

Mark thought back. All those Friday nights at home

when their parents played bridge, Tom and he would be in
his bedroom, talking and reading comic books. How had he
forgotten those times? It came to him that they weren‟t bad
times. Perhaps they had been contaminated by Mark‟s
resentment for the events up at the cottage and the fear that
his parents preferred Tom over him. Somehow he had
convinced himself that he had merely tolerated or even
suffered at the other boy‟s presence.

“I‟m sorry,” he said quietly. “I guess I got things twisted

up inside my head.” He felt the pressure of tears in his eyes
but shook his head. “I‟m not going through yesterday again,”
he said hoarsely, and slowly he recovered himself. “I just feel
sad now. I think I just saw for the first time that you
probably were trying to be a friend.”

Tom reached out and took his hand and then cleared

his throat. “I want to say something here,” he said, and then
looked down at the deck floor. He cleared his throat again. “I

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want to say that I realize—maybe I always realized—that I
did bully you. I don‟t think I meant to. I just wanted you to
want to do things with me.” He shook his head. “It was like
you were trying to ignore me.” He paused and then added
quietly, “I think that hurt something in me. It took the wind
out of me. I felt sometimes like I was nothing.” He sighed.
“And I didn‟t like that.” He shook his head again. “So I think
sometimes I did bully you on purpose. I‟m sorry.”

Mark looked at his friend. “And I’m sorry,” he said.
Tom closed his eyes, and they lay motionless for several

minutes, still holding hands. Finally Tom got to his feet.

“Now that we‟re both sorry,” he said roughly, “maybe we

can do something.” He reached down and pulled Mark to his
feet. They embraced.

After maybe a minute Tom stepped back. “Your parents

didn‟t, you know,” he said.

“Didn‟t what?”
“Prefer me.”
Mark stared. “What?” he said. “How do you know?”
Tom regarded him for several seconds, gently swinging

Mark‟s hand in his. “You‟ve never heard your mother talk
about you,” he said. “She was so proud.”

Mark opened his mouth but said nothing.
“And I‟ll tell you another thing,” Tom continued. “It was

your mom who was partly responsible for me getting you to
come along with me when we were up here. She asked me to
get you to do stuff.”

Mark stared and Tom nodded.
“She said that I would be a good influence. What was it

she said? I think I can even remember the words she used

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one time: „He‟s a special boy, Tom. He‟s so bright. But I think
he hides from the world in those books. Help him, Tom. Be a
real friend to him and get him outside more.‟ And I said
something like, „I am his friend, Mrs. Henderson, and I will.‟”
Then he shrugged. “And so I did.” He smiled wryly. “Sorry,”
he said. “Sorry for how I did it sometimes.”

Mark walked over to the deck railing. Leaning on this he

closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He even banged his
head on the railing several times.

“When is this going to stop?” he groaned. “These endless

revelations, they‟re fucking me up.”

Tom came and stood beside him, butting shoulders

gently.

“I don‟t have any more bombs, Mark,” he said. “You‟ll

have to get your further revelations from someone else.”

“I‟m sorry,” Mark muttered. “It‟s just been a lot to take

in.”

In the silence Tom murmured something under his

breath.

“What?”
Tom grinned sheepishly. “Seven inches,” he said. “I

measured it. But I didn‟t think you had a problem.”

Mark‟s mind reeled for a second. Then he laughed and

continued laughing. It seemed to drive the darkness out of
him.

After another period of silence, Tom spoke. “Change of

subject,” he said.

“Hmm?”
“What‟s the book?”

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Mark looked down at his lap. “It‟s The Weirdstone of

Brisingamen, by Alan Garner,” he said. “British fantasy,
children‟s literature.” He shrugged.

“Read a bit of it,” Tom suggested.
“What! Really?”
Tom nodded solemnly. “Show me what you like about

it,” he said.

“Okay.” He paused. “Can I make a suggestion? Let‟s go

back to my reading spot. We can take a lunch. That‟s what I
used to do.”

So they prepared a picnic lunch and headed out. It was

another clear, sunny day. The spot was warm and inviting.
They sat down and Mark got comfortable, lying back against
Tom‟s chest. The warmth of the contact, tinged with sexual
excitement, was comforting and stimulating at the same
time.

“Okay,” he began. “It‟s about a couple of English

children who are sent to their uncle‟s to stay at his farm in
Cheshire. It involves magic.”

Tom put a hand over Mark‟s mouth. “Why tell me that?”

he asked.

“What should I do?”
“Read. Share the book with me.”
So Mark started at the very beginning of the book.

Before he knew it, he had finished the first two chapters,
which admittedly were only several pages each. Tom turned
out to be a good listener, remaining silent and still the whole
time.

Mark turned his head and looked at Tom.
“Huh,” said Tom. “Read the next chapter.”

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“Really?”
“Yeah, please.”
Mark was so pleasantly surprised by this request that

he leaned over and kissed Tom. The kiss lingered
distractingly, and for a moment the two men were on the
verge of occupying themselves differently, but Mark was
sufficiently intrigued at Tom‟s interest in the book to make
him want to resume reading. He read the third chapter,
which was a little longer than the first two.

“Things are starting to pick up,” Tom commented.
“Yes,” Mark agreed. “You see how the story is building—

the strange meeting with the woman, and then the
encounter with the creatures in the hills. They‟re all clues;
something is going on, and the two kids are going to have to
figure out what—or else. Suspense.”

“You really feel like you‟re there,” Tom reflected. “It‟s

exciting. Fun.”

“Yes. That‟s the sign of a good writer,” Mark said. “And

yes, it is fun. You see? Do you see why I like reading?”

Tom thought for a minute as Mark idly ran his fingers of

one hand along Tom‟s thigh, feeling the hairs.

“I don‟t get it, though,” said Tom at last.
“What?”
“Well, they‟re doing stuff, having adventures, but you

didn‟t like having adventures when we were kids. That was
doing stuff too.”

Mark had to think a while before answering. To do this

he had to grab Tom‟s hand, which was stroking the hair on
his head; it was too distracting.

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“I think,” he said at last, “I have it.” He took a breath. “I

think that for me,” he said, speaking slowly, “that when I‟m
reading I‟m comfortable and excited at the same time. It‟s
excitement but second hand. There‟s some distance between
me and what‟s exciting. Like, these two kids are in some
danger. I feel the danger, but I‟m not in danger myself—it‟s
pleasant and exciting without actually being too scary.”

“It sounds like you‟re calling yourself a chicken,” Tom

remarked.

Mark laughed. “Maybe I am,” he said.
Tom shook his head. “I don‟t think so, though. I don‟t

think you are.”

“You mean you don‟t think you‟d be interested in a

chicken,” Mark added, feeling a little stab of fear.

Tom shrugged. “I don‟t know. I just don‟t think you are

a chicken.”

“What then?”
“You tell me.”
Mark thought about the adventures he had suffered in

Tom‟s company, about his life in general. He tended not to
join in, tended to want to observe from a distance. Finally it
came to him.

“Okay,” he said. “I think this is it: experiences for me

are too intense—direct experiences, I mean. The colors are
too bright, the sounds too loud, the hurly-burly of activity. I
find it disorienting.”

“And that upsets you,” Tom suggested.
Mark nodded.
“That sounds right, actually,” Tom said. “So you reduce

the volume by getting some distance from it.”

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“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “Like I remember hearing on the

radio once about a woman whose sense of smell was
thousands of times stronger than normal people. Just going
outside for her was a brutal experience. Maybe I‟m a bit like
that.”

“Huh.”
They were silent for a minute.
“But why don‟t you try something else?” Tom said.
“What?”
“Some other kind of buffer, whatever.”
“I don‟t get it.”
Tom pulled Mark off his chest and to one side, holding

Mark‟s head in the crook of his arm, and looked down into
his face.

“Use me,” he said.
“What?”
“As a buffer. I could be a buffer between you and the

world.”

Mark stared tearfully up at the big man‟s face. He

blinked, and, reaching up, stroked Tom‟s cheek.

“That‟s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he

murmured. But then he shook his head. “But I don‟t think
so.”

“Why not?”
“Well,” Mark struggled to articulate the thought, “it just

seems pathetic. And what about you? Wouldn‟t that be a hell
of a way to live for you?”

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“I don‟t think I‟d mind,” Tom said quietly. “I‟ve never had

anything that I could really do that was useful before. I think
I‟d like to do that.” Then he added, “For you.”

Mark struggled into a sitting position. He leaned

forward, kissed Tom, and then leaned against him.

“That‟s really sweet,” he said. “It still kind of bothers me,

though. It seems kind of sick somehow.”

Tom said nothing further, and they sat in silence for

several minutes.

“Read some more,” Tom said finally. So Mark resumed

his reading of the book. He was finding the experience
unexpectedly pleasant. Something about knowing that they
were both experiencing the story together made it more
special.

Late that afternoon, Mark and Tom were again lying on

the deck chairs when they heard a voice.

“Hello?” someone called.
Mark immediately made to disentangle their feet, but

Tom held Mark‟s firmly in his own.

“Yo!” he called. “Back here, on the deck!”
There was the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Tom!” Mark hissed, but Tom glared back at him and

shook his head.

“Hello?” came the voice again. A blonde female head

appeared around the side of the house beside the deck. It
was a girl about their own age. She came around and up the
steps onto the deck.

“Hi there,” she said, looking at Tom. “Remember me?”
“Susan Smith, isn‟t it?” Tom offered.

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The girl blushed and looked coy. “You remember me!”

she said. “I remember you, Tom. How long has it been?”

“Seven years?” Tom offered. “Have a seat.”
The girl took the chair next to Tom‟s. She hardly gave

Mark a glance, so raptly was she looking at Tom. Mark felt
himself disliking this person already. Again he made to
remove his feet from Tom‟s but was held fast.

There was some general conversation, in which the girl

acknowledged Mark several times in an offhand way before
turning her attention back to Tom. Finally it came out that
there was to be a party at her family‟s cottage that night and
she was inviting them to it. Tom said thanks and that they
would come if they could. Then the girl left.

Mark sat up and firmly pulled his legs away. He glared

at Tom, who regarded him expressionlessly.

“Life,” Tom said, “intrudes.”
“Life, my ass,” Mark snarled. “She was looking at you

like a beagle at a slice of ham.” To his annoyance Tom got up
and looked at him archly, turned and smacked his ass with
a hand, and then walked into the cottage. For several
minutes Mark felt hot, angry, and confused, but he forced
himself to lie back down on the deck chair and try and think
through what was going on inside himself.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Tom returned. He had a

couple of Diet Cokes with ice. He laid one down on the table
next to Mark‟s chair.

“Want to talk about it?” Tom offered.
Mark took a sip of the drink. “Well,” he said. “One thing

I didn‟t ask you was what about those cheerleaders, the girls
you talked about in high school? What gives with that?” He

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tried to keep an accusatory tone out of his voice, but the fear
he felt made this only partially successful.

Tom lay down on his chair, leaned back, considering.

“That,” he said.

“Yes, that,” Mark returned.
“Okay,” he admitted. “I like girls. They‟re fun in their

own way. Silly and fun, and the sex is hot.” As he said this
Tom‟s face became very red. He took several deep breaths
with his eyes closed. Then he turned to face Mark. He was
glaring. “But you listen to this, you shit. I am here with you
because I feel a connection with you, a connection I have
never felt with anyone else, male or female.” He paused to
take a breath. “I know you‟re in your shit right now. That‟s
why I went inside; I didn‟t want to hear what you had to say
just then. I wanted you to get over some of it.” He shook his
head and sighed. “It‟s what my mom does with my dad,” he
added more quietly.

He rose and knelt beside Mark‟s chair. “You can be a

real shit,” he said, his face a foot from Mark‟s. “But that‟s
okay—everyone can. I think I can tell you this now; I think
I‟m sure of it—I love you, man. You and me, we‟re like… I
don‟t know, connected somehow, so deep, deeper than….”
Tom ran out of words and just leaned over and put his
forehead against Mark‟s.

Mark was almost in tears. He moaned quietly and

reached up, stroking Tom‟s cheek. Then he laughed
incongruously. Tom raised his head and looked at him.

“This is a lot of intense stuff,” Mark said. “It‟s crazy.”
Tom lifted himself up again to a kneeling position. “It‟s

life,” he said. “And it‟s good.” Then he laughed and shrugged.
“Though I admit it‟s all going rather fast.” He paused. “I

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think it‟s not bothering me because I feel like I‟ve been
waiting for this for years.”

Mark stared up at his friend, his mouth open. “Man!” he

muttered. “I feel so second-rate next to you.”

Tom laughed briefly. “You would,” he said a little

sardonically. “Come on. Let‟s go inside. I want to cuddle on
the bed. Later we can decide whether or not to go to this
stupid party.”

But Mark had already decided that he wanted to go.
They walked over after dinner. Tom insisted on holding

hands, at least for the part of the journey in which they were
alone.

“People aren‟t going to shoot us for this, you know,” he

said at one point.

“Yes,” said Mark uncomfortably, “I know. I‟ve just

always been so secretive about everything my whole life.” He
paused and considered. “And I think I‟m a little bit private as
well.”

Tom regarded him for a few seconds.
“Well, I think you need to shake off some of that.” He

squeezed Mark‟s hand. “Remember, I‟m in the picture too,
now.”

Mark looked over at his friend, feeling a sudden urge to

jump up onto him. Instead he just smiled and straightened
his shoulders.

“Okay, boss,” he said.
Tom smiled. “That‟s right,” he said. “I‟m the boss.” And

they both chuckled.

There were about twenty people at the Smith cottage.

Tom and Mark got introduced as the McPherson and

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Henderson boys, and the talk centered mostly around what
their families were doing and about Mark going off to college.
Mark wasn‟t all that comfortable until he had downed
several drinks. Even after that he had to admit to himself
that he wasn‟t party material. The teenage Smith girls and
one younger teen boy clustered around Tom, who obviously
enjoyed the attention. He was talking about his time in the
city, his years in football and the like.

At first Mark felt a little jealous. He hung around the

buffet table listening as one of the elderly guests was telling
him about all the generations of cottagers she remembered.
Mark kept glancing over at Tom‟s circle, and once their eyes
met. Tom winked at him. That little sign made Mark feel
surprisingly better. He began to relax and even paid more
attention to the stories the elderly woman was relating,
which turned out to be quite entertaining.

As his level of comfort increased, Mark found that other

guests wandered over to talk with him. While part of him felt
a little claustrophobic in the midst of all these people, he
made the effort to engage and found it less difficult than he
had anticipated. Certainly taking a quick glance from time to
time in Tom‟s direction helped, and he found as often as not
when he did this, Tom‟s gaze would turn to meet his. These
momentary connections made Mark feel part of something,
and that seemed to make all the difference.

At one point he wandered over to Tom‟s group. Listening

to the excited talk, Mark found himself amused by the
interest of the Smith girls in Tom and by Tom‟s evident
pleasure in this attention. Tom the football hero was back,
Mark decided, but that was okay. Tom glanced over at him
and started talking about how the great thing about football
was how he had kept in shape, and how in the year after

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graduating he had let that slip but that coming up to the
cottage helped.

“I‟ve been following a regimen of regular exercise,” he

said seriously. “There‟s something about the air up here that
really excites activity.” There were murmurs of agreement
from Tom‟s listeners, but Mark had the sense that Tom‟s
words contained a double entendre. This suspicion was
confirmed when Tom added, “Mark‟s been helping me keep
at it. He might not look it, but he‟s a real powerhouse in the
exercise department.” With this Tom raised his innocent gaze
to Mark. Mark had to turn away to keep from sniggering.

Unfortunately, there were several points in the evening

that were less than pleasant. Two of the older men, in
between asking about Mark‟s parents and his plans for
college, interjected pointed questions about Mark‟s love life.
Mark reddened each time this happened. His stock reply,
that he had been focusing on his studies, didn‟t seem to
satisfy them. The first time this happened, Mark found Tom
suddenly standing next to him. Tom greeted one of the men
heartily, and rapidly changed the topic of conversation. The
other man moved away, but later in the evening cornered
Mark and again began to ask these questions. The man was
drunker this time and therefore ruder and more obvious in
what he was getting at. But again Tom appeared, and,
grasping the man‟s arm and one shoulder, actually steered
him away while making his own inquiries. Seeing the
expression of surprise and even slight fear come onto the
man‟s face, Mark had a renewed appreciation of just how big
Tom was. Still, he was greatly relieved.

Still later, Mark found himself sitting on the Smith‟s

deck, contentedly alone. Someone came and sat down next
to him.

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“How‟s it going?” Tom said, reaching out and touching

Mark‟s arm.

Mark leaned over to him. “Fine, boss,” he said. “But I

wouldn‟t be sorry to leave any time.”

So they made their excuses and left.
“Mark and I do our best exercise in the morning,” was

Tom‟s parting remark. On the walk back home they held
hands, feeling at peace with the world. Mark knew part of
that was the alcohol, but that didn‟t bother him either.

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Day 4

T

HE

next morning Mark and Tom rose later than usual. As

they again lay on the chaise lounges with their coffees after
breakfast, Tom was the first to bring up the party.

“Well,” he said, “did that feel sick?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Last night,” Tom said, “at the party. I thought I was a

buffer between you and the world several times. You said
before that you thought that you having a buffer was sick.
So—was it?”

Mark laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “It felt

nice.” Then he added mischievously, “To be honest, it made
me want to suck your dick, right there, right then. You were
so masterful.” And he laughed as Tom‟s expression spread
into a leer.

“Well,” Tom said, “now‟s not too late, you know.” He

reached over and placed Mark‟s hand on his crotch, which
was already showing signs of interest.

“Always happy to oblige,” Mark murmured, sitting up.
“So am I,” Tom laughed and spread his legs.
Giving Tom head on the deck did something to

rejuvenate Mark‟s spirits after the party, although he
couldn‟t have said why. Afterwards he admitted that he had
been a little frazzled by all the conversation at the party, and
especially those pointed questions about girlfriends.

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“The words keep going through my head,” he explained.

“It‟s always been that way.” He shrugged.

“But you‟re okay now,” Tom queried.
Mark nodded.
Tom smiled. “Well,” he said, “at least now we know the

treatment for that.”

“What‟s that?”
Tom grinned. “Repeated injections of a healthy penis.

I‟ve got the prescription in my pocket,” he said, cupping his
crotch.

Mark chuckled. “Nice to know it‟s always handy,” he

said.

“Always within arm‟s reach.”
It was another glorious morning. The sunlight on the

lake and through the trees was magical. They had a shower,
and then swam out to the dock.

“About last night,” Mark began again when they were

sitting on the dock. “I did appreciate it, your coming to my
rescue. I‟ve decided that I don‟t think it‟s sick. I would do the
same for you. But still, the idea of a buffer between me and
the world….” He shook his head.

“What about training wheels?” Tom suggested.
“What?”
“Think of me as training wheels—or a net beneath a

high wire, just something to prevent you getting hurt while
you‟re learning to do things.”

“Well, that‟s okay,” Mark said.
“Yeah,” Tom said. “I was thinking. You say you always

have found things too intense. Maybe you just don‟t have

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enough practice. It sounds like you gave up instead of
developing….”

“Calluses? Muscles?”
“Yeah.”
“Metaphor city,” Mark observed, laughing.
There was a silence.
“What was it you were most frightened by?” Tom asked.

“I mean, from your childhood.”

Mark thought. “The water, I guess,” he said, pointing at

the lake. “There‟s something about it. The push off Bootle
Rock, the game of shark you used to play. I mean, I know
now there was no harm in it, but still, there‟s something
deep down. I can‟t explain.”

Tom nodded slowly. “Well, let‟s go for an excursion,

then,” he said a few minutes later.

“Bite the bullet you mean?”
“I don‟t know what you‟re saying,” Tom said.
“You mean face it head on.”
“Yeah,” said the big man, putting his arm over Mark‟s

shoulder, “but with me there.”

They talked over ways and means and ended up driving

into town and renting a powerboat. Mark then drove the van
back to the cottage while Tom drove the boat over on the
lake. The rest of the day they did various chores around the
cottage and also made preparations for the next day‟s
excursion.

Tom got out a map. “You see,” he said, “there‟s that

narrows where the lake connects up with that series of
smaller lakes. I asked and they said it was navigable. Also,

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there‟s this connection along here”—he ran his finger along a
river—“that leads to Moore Lake. And that‟s pretty wild, not
a lot of cottages there. I think that‟s the place.”

“So no one can hear when I scream for help?” Mark

joked.

“Exactly,” Tom said, moving behind Mark and putting

his arms around him. “Hey,” he said a moment later, “these
shorts just slide right off. And what‟s this sticking out here?”

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Day 5

M

ARK

was up early next morning, which was something

unusual for him. But he had found himself curiously
restless in the early hours, so when the predawn sky had
started to lighten he got up, dressed, and went out. After
sitting on the deck and looking out at the still water of the
lake in the gray light for several minutes, he wandered off
into the woods. The dew was still on the grass, leaves, and
wildflowers, and tiny droplets accumulated on his skin and
clothing as he passed.

He felt a curious sensation, as though he were more

awake than he had ever been. He had a more acute
awareness of the fine freshness of the air and of the various
subtle fragrances that combined into the single joyful smell
of high summer. It was as though for the first time he was
really and fully aware of the world and of his existence as
part of it. He found himself welcoming that existence without
resentment and without feeling overwhelmed. As he
continued to move along the small path that led upward
through the wood, the deep joy he felt continued as his mind
went over the various events of the four preceding days. Of
all of these, it was Tom‟s declaration of love two days
previously that stood out from all the others. Is this, he
wondered, how it feels to be loved, and to love in return?
There was exaltation, even euphoria, but these were
encapsulated by an even more potent sense of simple and
complete well-being. And what was that, he wondered?

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Perhaps, he thought, this is what it felt like to be married—to
belong.

Try as he might to dismiss the thought as silly, he had

not fully rid himself of it when he emerged from the trees
and onto the ascending mass of Bootle Rock itself. He had
just reached the peak when the sun began to appear over
the horizon. Mark stood, watching as its wonderful, brassy
glare reached out and seemed to stab the somnolent world
around him into life. Everything glistened and shone in the
golden rays, especially the brilliant motes reflected from the
small waves on the surface of the lake below him. He felt
that everything around him was filled with a magical
optimism, a sense of promise and hope, and he felt that
inside himself as well.

The sun rose, continuing to blaze away, pouring warmth

and light into Mark‟s welcoming face. From time to time he
looked directly into it, savoring its brilliance and smiling with
sensual enjoyment. I see you, he told the sun. I feel you now,
because there is something similar inside of me, a source of
warmth and light. This is my first day; this is the real
beginning of my life. And with that he held out his arms and
bowed his head, offering himself in surrender to the
burgeoning of life that was taking place this morning.

Just then he heard the sound of a voice in the distance

calling his name through the stillness of the morning air.
Suddenly filled with chagrin, Mark realized that he had
forgotten to leave a note for Tom. He turned in the direction
of the cottage, whose roof was only partially visible through
the trees, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Tom!” he called. “I‟m at the rock!”

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He waited several seconds, and then heard a distant:

“Okay! I‟m coming!”

Mark sat down facing the sun, hugged his knees and

again concentrated on savoring its warmth and brilliance.

After several minutes he heard footsteps approaching.

He turned to see Tom scrambling up the rock toward him.
He was aware of a beauty in the approaching figure that was
at once physical and spiritual, and he felt amazed that this
man was linked to him in such a fundamental way. When
Tom was still ten yards away he paused, stood up straight,
and turned to look out at the lake. His strong features shone
in the sunlight, his powerful neck and shoulders stretching
the shirt that he wore, which hung free over the belly. The
blue jeans shielded the long, muscular legs, and his fine feet
were bare, planted firmly on the stone beneath him.

Then he turned back to Mark and smiled. He

approached without saying anything and sat down beside
Mark, then leaned forward and rested his forehead against
Mark‟s shoulder. Mark stroked the back of the powerful neck
with his fingers.

“Morning,” Tom murmured, his voice sounding a bit

sleepy.

“Morning,” Mark replied, smiling. Tom raised his face

and kissed him.

“So,” he said, “do you feel okay?”
Mark smiled at him. “I feel great,” he said.
“Do you feel like we‟re a couple today?” Tom added, his

mouth curved in a small smile.

The question took Mark aback slightly, reminding him

of his own ruminations about whether he felt married this

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morning. But playing around with such ideas in his mind
was one thing—saying them, sharing them, was more
challenging.

“I don‟t know,” he found himself saying cautiously. “I

really don‟t know how it feels to be part of a couple.”

“Maybe it feels like we feel,” Tom suggested.
“If that‟s so,” Mark said, “then feeling like a couple

feels… well.” He paused, thinking. “Hard to put into words.”

“Good, though,” Tom offered.
Mark reached out and took Tom‟s hand. “Yes,” he said,

“very good.”

Without letting go of Mark‟s hand, Tom turned toward

the sun, and they sat, shoulders touching, savoring the
moment. They continued to watch in silence as the sun
slowly climbed above the horizon and into the sky.

Finally, Mark sighed. “Coffee,” he said.
“Mm.”
They headed back down to the cottage, moving at a

leisurely pace and still holding hands.

An hour later, after coffee and breakfast, they were

resting on the chaise lounge.

“That water,” Tom murmured, looking out at the bay. He

turned to Mark. “Fancy a swim?”

Mark thought. “How about a shower first?” he

suggested.

Tom‟s hand, which had been resting on his, became

tender and caressing. “Oh, a shower,” he said, a slight smile
on his lips, “by all means.”

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The warmth of the spray of water seemed a confirmation

of the warmth of the sunshine outside, the burgeoning
warmth of their relationship. Both men were unusually
gentle and reverential as they alternately soaped each other
and rinsed. Even when the rising sap of their passion began
to build, they moved with almost ceremonial slowness,
kissing and touching. For the first time too, Tom shifted
himself to the side, facing Mark‟s back while they both stood
under the spray, and began to push his erect cock against
Mark‟s ass. He soaped both of them and then gently pressed
forward even as Mark arched his back to aid his penetration.
The copulation that followed was similarly gentle and slow,
but the sexual excitement built up deliciously until Mark
was gasping and Tom, his teeth gently running along the line
of Mark‟s shoulder, began to groan. This position naturally
engaged Mark‟s prostate, and even as Tom began to
ejaculate inside him, Mark could feel the molten heat build
within his own cock and erupt into a violent, exquisite
climax. Afterwards they remained there, still connected by
Tom‟s penetration, for some minutes.

When Tom finally began to pull out, Mark reached back

and held him. “No,” he said quietly. “I don‟t want this to
end.”

Tom obligingly remained, still hard, and began to lick

Mark‟s ears, neck, and shoulders while his hands caressed
Mark‟s chest, belly, thighs, and genitals. Slowly Mark‟s
erection returned, and Tom‟s caressing became passionate.
His licking changed to gentle bites, and he resumed a slow,
deep thrusting with his cock.

This time there was more rut in the sex. Tom grasped

Mark‟s cock periodically; each time the feel of that large,
powerful hand on his shaft brought him close to climax. He

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began to push back and murmur incitement in the filthiest
words he could think of. This had the effect of turning Tom‟s
fucking into something bestial, almost brutal. He shoved
Mark savagely against the wall of the shower, so hard that at
one point Mark felt the plaster beneath the tiling give
slightly. And Mark arched his back like a bitch in heat,
pressing his ass up and allowing Tom to penetrate into him
deeper. After several minutes of this, they both came like
stallions, making animal noises that reverberated in the
bathroom and throughout the cottage.

When they had recovered, they rinsed themselves off,

both sporting smug expressions, and finally stepped out of
the shower.

“Man!” Mark murmured, glancing up at the big man as

they toweled themselves and each other. “That was brutal!”
His grin of pleasure specified the positive use of the word.

Then they lay down on the bed and dozed together for a

while. It was almost noon when they finally headed out in
the boat. The strong sun glinted on the waves of their
passage as they headed out across the crystal blue of the
lake underneath a cloudless sky. Tom drove the boat and
Mark navigated using the map. From time to time they
passed other boats. Tom waved in a friendly fashion to each
in turn, and almost everyone waved back. After a while Mark
began to join in and found the gesture both innocent and
pleasant.

They proceeded through the string of lakes whose

shores were mostly lined with cottages, then headed up the
meandering river into less populated areas. At one point they
passed through a wildlife preserve where thousands of birds
wheeled in the sky and settled or rose from the distant reed-
filled shallows. Beyond this there was unbroken forest for a

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number of miles along the shoreline—a national park,
according to the map. Finally they came to a deserted cove
that had a small beach. They landed there, Mark guiding the
boat in. Tom leapt from the front of the boat into the shallow
water and pulled the boat onto the beach, his muscles
bulging impressively beneath his shirt and shorts.

The sand of the beach was already very warm, fine and

golden, and they laid out the blanket and settled down in a
kind of dreamy silence. Then they both stripped to their
bathing trunks and spread suntan lotion over bare skin.
Doing each other‟s backs and shoulders was so erotically
pleasurable that they almost decided to forego lunch. Their
sense of being in an unknown area caused some restraint,
tipping the balance in favor of food.

Afterwards they snoozed. It was sometime later that

Mark awoke to discover that Tom had disappeared. He got
up and saw Tom‟s footprints in the sand heading in the
direction of the woods. Several minutes later Tom appeared,
carrying a number of small stones. Mark asked what they
were, but Tom just shook his head.

“You‟ll see,” he said. He put the rocks into a burlap bag

that he had brought along and which was tied with a long
rope. “Come on,” he said. “Time for that swim.”

They loaded things back into the boat and pushed out.

Tom guided the boat into the middle of the cove and
deployed the anchor.

They dove into the clear water, and Tom, showing off his

swimming skills, playfully cavorted about Mark like a
dolphin. Mark plied his way through the water with more
prosaic strokes. And how like a dolphin he is, Mark thought
as he watched Tom‟s form swim below him through the

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crystal waters and then erupt with a spray of water several
feet in front of him. Tom was grinning, splashing water in all
directions. Mark felt himself filled with love and admiration
for the big man. Tom remained treading water as Mark swam
toward him, and they began to swim together, Mark doing a
breaststroke while Tom, his body just below and in front of
Mark, did a kind of backstroke. This meant that they were
facing each other only a foot or so apart, which made Mark
break up with laughter.

On one of these occasions, Mark inadvertently

swallowed some water and started to cough. He felt the old
twinges of panic, but Tom reached down and lifted him up so
that Mark‟s entire chest was out of the water. When Mark
had recovered from his coughing, he saw that Tom‟s effort of
holding him meant that his own head was underwater. Mark
hastily extricated himself from Tom‟s grasp, and when Tom‟s
head resurfaced he apologized for panicking.

Tom regarded him for several seconds. “Time for your

therapy,” he said.

Mark nodded. “Okay,” he said.
Tom swam over to the boat, reached up, and pulled

down the bag with the stones in it. He looped the cord
around his neck and swam back to Mark.

Then he sank into the water and Mark felt a pair of

strong hands pull at his trunks. They came off in one
smooth motion. Mark laughed and was still laughing when a
hand emerged from the surface of the water five yards in
front of him holding the yellow fabric in strong fingers. With
a casual flick of movement, the trunks were hurled the
twenty feet onto the boat. The hand and arm then
disappeared beneath the surface again, to reappear several

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| 65

seconds later, this time holding Tom‟s blue trunks. These
were thrown onto the boat as well, Mark marveling at the
accuracy of Tom‟s blind throws.

Then Tom‟s head appeared in front of Mark. Tom smiled

but spoke seriously. “Do you trust me, Mark?”

Mark found that he had to think about this. Something

deep inside him told him that water was unsafe, that he had
to be on his guard. He fought this down, however, and
nodded.

“Yes, I do,” he said.
Tom lifted the cord over his head and held it out. “Just

tread water while I attach the bag,” he said. “If you want to
go to the surface at any time, feel free. But I want you to try
surrendering yourself to the experience. You know I‟m not
going to let anything bad happen to you.” He swam close and
kissed Mark. Mark nodded.

Yet, despite himself, Mark experienced a strong stab of

fear as he felt Tom tie the cord of the bag around his waist.
Immersed in the water, however, the weight of the stones
was not great.

“Okay,” said Tom. “Take a couple of deep breaths, and

then let the weight pull you under. I will be with you.” Mark
stared at him for several seconds before nodding. He took
the deep breaths like they were his last, then he allowed the
weight of the stones to pull him beneath the surface.
Strangely, when he was fully underwater Mark felt the fear
slowly lessen and a sense of peace begin.

Mark felt Tom‟s hands on his arms, holding him. That’s

what’s doing it, he told himself, the reassurance of his touch.
Then he heard Tom‟s distorted voice shouting at him
through the water.

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“Open your eyes!”
Mark opened his eyes, and saw first the strangely lit

form of Tom right in front of him. Tom and the water on
either side and beyond him were illuminated by shafts of
golden sunlight that slanted down through the water. This
created an effect that was something like that of a cathedral.
Tom raised his eyebrows and held a hand in front of Mark‟s
face, thumbs up. Mark nodded and smiled. Tom smiled
back.

After looking at each other for several seconds, Mark

reached out and touched Tom‟s face, his cheeks and mouth.
Then Tom pulled them together and they were entwined in
their first underwater kiss, floating together in this strangely
lit world. Time seemed to stop and Mark felt no need for air.
Rather, he felt calm and utterly peaceful. This must be what
it is like for twins, Mark thought, effortless coexistence in the
womb with a soulmate for a companion.

Then Tom let go and moved gently away. Mark began to

sink, and Tom reached into the burlap bag and took out
several of the stones. With the attached weight reduced,
Mark slowly began to rise. Tom put back one of the stones.
This time Mark floated without any vertical motion at all.
Tom let go of the remaining pebbles and then smiled, holding
his hand out thumbs up. Then he shot upward to the
surface while Mark continued to float in this underwater
world of peace and light. After perhaps twenty seconds Tom
reappeared.

“Breathe out!” he yelled at Mark, gesturing with his

fingers. Mark did so and Tom embraced him, placing their
lips together. Mark began to feel Tom forcing air into his
mouth. After an initial hesitation, Mark allowed his lungs to
be inflated and thought, what a strange experience! As they

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| 67

continued floating together like this, Mark felt a renewed
peacefulness and even something like bliss come over him.
Then Tom detached himself again and shot upward. Mark
felt no fear at all now, completely transfixed by this sense of
floating effortlessly in this world of watery light.

Then Tom was back and Mark exhaled before receiving

Tom‟s air again. It was starting to feel quite natural. The
cycle was repeated a number of times. The water felt warm
now, warm and comforting. Mark even began to feel himself
drift mentally as though in a dream. He opened and closed
his eyes and sometimes saw ghostlike images moving
through his consciousness. Finally, however, when Tom was
again detaching himself, he grabbed Tom‟s wrist and shook
his head. Tom nodded and untied the cord around Mark‟s
waist. Then they slowly rose through the water and reached
the surface, Tom still holding him.

Mark stared at Tom, who looked back at him with a

smile, his eyes caring and concerned. When Mark smiled at
him, he got behind Mark and began pulling him along using
the rescuer‟s backstroke. They reached the boat and climbed
the ladder, Tom still behind Mark, helping him place his
hands on the rails. Once both were seated in the boat, Mark
leaned back against Tom‟s broad chest and savored the
warmth of the sunlight on his body. They remained silent
and motionless for some minutes.

As Mark came back to something like a normal state, he

discovered that something felt different inside him. There
was something missing, something that had been a virtual
constant companion of his waking existence: a low-level,
abiding layer of fear and pain.

“Man!” he said.

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“You okay then?” Tom said.
Mark turned to smile up at him. “Oh, yes,” he said.

Then he turned and faced Tom. “How did you know?” he
asked.

Tom shrugged.
“It was something Joanne, my friend in high school I

told you about, the one who had the therapy, told me
about—a rebirthing ceremony. I just thought it might help.”

“She did it in a lake?”
“No, in an office, the lake was my idea.”
“Well,” Mark said, “you sure have a gift. But how did

you know?”

Again Tom shrugged. “It just came to me.”
Mark stroked Tom‟s face. “Let‟s get back to shore.”
They drove the boat back to the beach. There was still

some food, so they had an afternoon meal and then lay
together for a time.

“I love you, Mark,” Tom said, holding him.
“I know,” Mark murmured. “And thank God for that.”
Mark pulled his head away and looked at Tom.
“Do you think this will last?” he asked.
Tom thought. “I think that living is in the moment,” he

said at last. “But I don‟t think our connection will break one
way or another. I think it‟s a fundamental truth.”

Mark sighed and then smiled. “I think you‟re right,” he

said. “Through the hardness and the darkness,” he said,
“you and me.”

And then he was laughing and hugging Tom.

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“What?” Tom said when Mark had stopped laughing.
“It‟s crazy,” Mark said. “Me, talking like that on a sunny

summer‟s day—„hardness and darkness‟—really!”

They both chuckled.
“I think you were just being silly,” Tom said. “But that‟s

just you.” He shrugged. “I don‟t want to spend only the good
times with you, you know.”

Mark laughed again and they kissed tenderly. Then they

lay together and Tom began to hum, and then sing softly. He
had a beautiful voice, baritone, and Mark discovered that it
was one of his favorite sounds. Tom had picked just the right
song to speak of beauty and light: “Good Morning Starshine.”
After the second verse Mark joined him, singing in melodic
harmony, though he knew his tone wasn‟t as clear as Tom‟s.

Afterwards, Mark found himself looking around them at

the beauty of the sunlit bay and the rising slope of the land
beyond the beach.

“Do you realize,” he said at last, “that we are sitting here

stark naked.”

Tom scrutinized himself and then Mark. “I like it,” he

said simply. “It‟s—”

“„Like Adam and maiden‟,” Mark quoted, a line out of the

Dylan Thomas poem.

“What?”
“Like the Garden of Eden.”
“„Maiden‟,” Tom said. “Adam and Eve?” He grinned

suddenly. “Adam and Steve, you mean.”

Mark groaned at the use of this dreadful cliché, after

which they both chuckled.

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“Right now it‟s like we were the first two people,” Mark

continued at last, “the only two people alive.”

“I‟ve felt like that a lot of the time since we got to the

cottage,” Tom said.

“What?” Mark asked. “About us?”
Tom frowned at Mark. “Yes, of course about us.”
Mark gently stroked Tom‟s thigh. “That‟s very… I don‟t

know… just very—very nice.”

“A little more to the left,” Tom quipped.
Mark laughed, and moved his hand to caress Tom‟s

cock which, never fully flaccid, was already beginning to stir.

“Mr. Winchester, with a repeater rifle.”
“You make it happen.”
Mark leaned his head against Tom‟s shoulder and felt

Tom‟s hand come around and hold him.

“You want another swim?” Tom asked.
Mark looked at the water. There was no menace at all in

it now; it was only pure, cool lake water, inviting and playful.
Then he turned and looked up the beach where the trees
began.

“What about a walk in the woods?” he suggested.
Without bothering to retrieve their trunks they walked

up the beach, hand in hand, and into the trees. At the top of
the rise, the trees began to thin somewhat. But there were
no people, no fences—just beauty and a kind of tamed,
gentle wilderness. Like a garden, Mark found himself
thinking. Further along, they encountered an old road, so
grass-covered it was almost invisible, that wound through
the gentle land. And finally this led past what looked like an

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old, abandoned orchard with what appeared to be apple and
cherry trees in it. The trees, having been uncultivated for
years, had become somewhat gnarled. But there was a
charm about them still.

They threaded their way between them. Several of the

apple trees even had the beginnings of tiny apples on them.
Tom picked one and bit into it.

“Sour!” he said, spluttering. But he still ate it. Then he

picked another and held it out to Mark. Mark took a small
bite and then handed it back to Tom, who looked at him
solemnly and bit off what remained. Entranced by the
timelessness of this place, they lingered for some time,
delaying their return to the beach and the world of present
reality. For a time they sat beneath one of the trees, leaning
against the bark and feeling something powerful and natural
in their being naked as they were. For the moment, at least,
they both felt as though nothing could ever be wrong with
the world again.

When they finally turned and started back toward the

boat, they remarked that it felt like they had undergone a
kind of ceremony, one that would stay with them their whole
lives. Mark found himself wondering whether what he felt
was similar to that of a marriage ceremony. Whatever it was,
the feeling continued as they threaded their way through the
trees and saw the beach and the boat moored there.

“Two more days before our parents arrive,” Mark

remarked.

Tom laughed. “That‟s going to be interesting.”
Mark squeezed Tom‟s hand. He didn‟t feel afraid, only

excited and eager for more experiences, interacting with the

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| 72

world, its people, its challenges. He felt that as long as they
were together, nothing could defeat them.

“An adventure,” Mark said. “Great! Full speed ahead,

boss, and damn the torpedoes!”

“That‟s the spirit!” Tom shouted. “Damn the torpedoes!”

And saying this, he scooped Mark up into his powerful arms
and charged forward into the water.

Get the whole package at

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About the Author

G.P.

K

EITH

was from the start a very curious person. His

curiosity about the fundamental questions of existence
initially led him to study physics. Unsatisfied with the
answers provided by cold science, he got a “real job”
developing engineering control systems (essentially a grown-
up variation of the childhood play activity of building things
that do stuff).

During his several years working in an office environment,
G.P.‟s curiosity turned to the question of why people behave
as they do. This led him to go back to school to study
psychology, where he found himself much happier (although
poorer). Since then he has found a niche doing research in
neuroscience, studying how the human brain turns
perception into meaningful actions, which combines his
interests in psychology, mechanisms, and the physical
world.

G.P. has always had a strong love of reading and story, and
he has from time to time made forays into the world of
writing. His interest in the romance genre arose from his
increasing suspicion that the real ultimate questions of
human existence are those related to the mysterious
operation of the human heart and its ability to grow when
broken.

Contact him at

[e-mail]

.

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Copyright

Up at the Cottage ©Copyright G.P. Keith, 2011

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Catt Ford

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means I
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

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Released in the United States of America
June 2011

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-040-0