Making New Memories - Two
Thank you, Gentle Reader, for continuing to read this story, a series about a man who confronts his past to find a new future. Dave, Jim, and the rest of the cast of characters are fictional, and do not represent any person living or dead. The story is fantasy and exists in that realm,
Elements in this story include sex between men, some racier elements might include some kinky sex, but for the most part just good old-fashioned cocksucking and fucking. If you enjoy this story, and others like it, please consider making a donation to keep the Nifty archive free and accessible! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
My eyes opened. It was another sunny morning. Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed my cell phone to check the time. 6:15. Why?' I wonder Why am I up?' Connie was coming by at 9 and Jim at 10, so I knew I had a little time this morning to myself. Shower and coffee, and I am down at the dock again.
It really is a beautiful lake. It's cold and deep, and doesn't have the plant life of many other lakes in Michigan -- too cold for most plants or algae to grow. With the lack of all that decomposing vegetation, the water is crystal clear. As a result it mirrors the blue of the sky, and reflects it back. As the lake deepens so does its colors: turquoise near the shore, aquamarine as it gets deeper, royal blue, and finally deep midnight blue in its deepest places. I unlocked the shed and took out one of the kayaks and a paddle.
The lakes of Northwestern Michigan contain some rocks with a particular kind of fossil. Petoskey stones, they are called. Their distinct pattern makes them collectable and interesting. I waded into the lake, the wavelets lapping against my calves, and stooped over, searching for petoskeys. After an hour, I had about 6, ranging from quarter-sized to golf ball-sized. I brought them up to the house and put them on the table. The funny thing about petoskeys is that you can only see them in the water, or if they are polished. When they dry, they're just grey or brown. I put them in a glass. A good morning's work.
Connie came right on time, and over a cup of coffee she talked about the house.
"Torch Lake has always been a competitive market. It's Michigan's most beautiful lake, and property tends to stay in the family. Two bedrooms, two baths, the fireplace, and the big lot with 400 feet of lakefront will get you a lot, a lot more than your parents' paid for it, and since it's part of an estate, you won't get fleeced by those capital gains." She was quite a sales lady. "Of course, if you were to update the kitchen and the baths, I could get you a lot more..."
"What are we talking about here, Connie?"
"$1.2Million, update the kitchen, and expand it out, and you could get $1.5Million, easily, of course the winter market is slow, so it would probably stay on the market `til June, once you got the repairs completed,"
That gave me a lot to think about, and I thanked Connie for her time. I told her that I'd come see her tomorrow when I was coming through town.
Connie's car had just left when I heard Jim's truck approach. I ran my fingers through my hair, swallowed some more coffee and went to the porch to greet him.
He leaned up against the railing, he was finishing his smoke. He wore a tshirt today, and khaki cargo shorts with workboots -- a funny look, I thought, but it looked good on him. Another day without shaving, I noticed.
"How'd you sleep?" he asked.
"Just fine, kinda weird sleeping in my old bed -- first time in nearly 20 years," I replied. Then, as an afterthought, "n'you?"
"How'd I sleep?" he asked? "Ok, I guess. It was warm last night, and I was too lazy to open the window."
He sleeps alone, maybe,' I thought to myself. Why am I even wondering about that?' "Yeah, I hear ya," It was a noncommittal response. "So, um, would you like to see the stairs and the dock?"
Again, those grey eyes, smiling, "Sure, but first, could I trouble you for some coffee? I didn't get a cup this morning."
I disappeared into the house, and brought him back a cup: "Milk, ok? I don't have any sugar in the house, I guess."
"It'll do fine, thanks," he smiled. He finished the last drag, and looked around for where to put it. He looked up at me and smiled again.
"Here, put it in my mug, I am done with my java," I handed it to him.
He drank the hot coffee in a few big gulps, and set his mug down next to mine on the railing. "Let's get to work," he said.
We worked well together. Side by side. I had imagined that, in hiring him, he would do the work, but I wasn't doing much else, and so I stuck around to help. Cutting wood, replacing the boards that were wrecked. We also strengthened the railing. At the dock he was a pro -- measuring and fitting. We had easy conversation, talking about weather and fishing and sports and woodworking. Finally, it was late in the afternoon, and he laid out the boards that would go into the deck, treating them with varnish and water sealer. "Tomorrow we can put these in," he said.
I went up to the house to get us some beers. My phone registered a new message. It was from the realtor downstate. There had been an offer on my parents' home for exactly the asking price. I called back and left her a voicemail. "I accept. Fill out the paperwork, call me with next steps," I said, eagerly. `That was quick,' I thought to myself. I wandered back down to the dock, two beers in hand. Jim was standing at the waters' edge, smoking. I handed him a beer and he accepted with a grateful nod.
We watched the small waves roll into the shore and drank our beer. He cleared his throat and looked at me. "So, maybe it's not my place to ask, but your folks aren't here for the first time in 40 summers, and you're sprucing the place up with quick fixes. Seems like you're getting ready to sell. What happened?" It was a lot to say for a man who uses so few words.
I walked into the water a bit, and hopped up on the dock, sitting, facing him, my feet in the water. I took a deep breath and a long pull on my beer. "They're dead," I replied, "and I am gonna sell this old place and put it all behind me." I realized, just after I'd said it, that I had probably said more than I should have, but the words were out there.
He didn't ask the customary questions, in fact he didn't say anything at all. His grey eyes locked with mine. He showed compassion. Sympathy. Kindness. I let the moment sit for a while and then started speaking again. "They killed themselves a few months ago," and I let those words hang in the air, and splash into the lake.
He removed his cigarettes and shook one out. It was the practiced move of a smoker: an auto-response to a deep conversation, and quickly it was lit. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. "Do you want to say more about that? It's ok if you do, or you don't."
I looked up at him and met his gaze. "My dad's cancer returned, and this time it wasn't going away again. They always said they would die together, so they mixed up a kool-aid and died together. They left a note for the police, and had left a message for my aunt to let her know what had happened and why. They left me a note, too, and made me executor, which baffles me. I had figured that had written me out a long time ago. I guess it was a very easy way to go, my aunt said they looked peaceful. It's taken a few weeks to get things handled with the court and the estate, and so now I am out here in Michigan to clean things up" It was a lot to say all at once. I let it sit there for a moment. "I'm ok with it. I really am," I felt the need to comfort him somehow, to let him know he didn't need to comfort me.
"That's what I would do, too," he said, suddenly. "I would go like that before I let sickness take me." He exhaled his smoke, and folded his arms. "I'd rather be the one in control of my destiny, you know?"
I did know.
We let the moment sit, and then pass. It was easy and gentle. "Do you know why this lake is called Torch Lake?" he asked.
I didn't know. All the years of coming up here, and I'd wondered that. "Nope, you gonna tell me, I s'pose?" I was feeling punchy. I chalked it up to beer.
"Tell ya what, you promise to clean what I catch, and cook it up tonight, and I'll show you." With that, he got up and went to his truck. He came down with a net, some sticks, a bag. I went to the boat and started to remove the canvas. "Nope, we need to be motorless," and he headed over to the shed and pulled out the Old Town canoe. I grabbed paddles, and we loaded up the canoe with his stuff and we pushed off.
It was starting to darken when we paddled out. He was sitting in the front, which meant I was steering. "Where are we going, chief?" I asked. "Down to Ball Point, and then out." We paddled in silence down the lake.
When we arrived at Ball Point we went out into the lake, clearly it was deep here. I knew the lake reached depths of 200+ feet, and we must be over one of those spots now, for the water was dark blue. We floated for a moment, watching the sun set over the trees. Jim finished his cigarette and said "It's time." He opened the bag and pulled out a canning jar. Wrapping a big piece of cloth around the end of the stick, he dipped it into the jar. "Kerosene," he pointed at the jar. He lit the end of the stick and it burst into flame. With his right hand he held the stick close to the surface of the water. "Keep us still, pointed this direction, but don't make any noise," he instructed me. I watched.
With his left hand he held a net. I kept us pointed straight, giving short paddles when necessary. I saw him hunch over. With a swift movement, he scooped the net into the water, and pulled out a fat lake trout. He tossed the fish into the pail. "That one's yours," he said. He held the torch back over the surface of the water, and soon enough was pulling out a second trout. "Let's head for home, unless you think you want more than one fish," he winked at me. We paddled towards the lake house, and he lit another cigarette. "See, the Indians who lived on these shores took advantage of the clarity of the water. At night they'd come out with torches and coax the trout up from the cool safety of the deep water. The light tricks `em into thinking it's sunny, but since the light is localized, they can't see the shadow of the boat in the water. No hooks. No line. Just dinner. And that's why it's called Torch Lake."
I gutted the fish when we got home, and we made a fire in the firepit and grilled the fish. I had nothing to go with it, no veggies, no sides, but it was such a good, simple meal. Jim had brought out a cooler with more beer from the back of his truck, "Never know when it would come in handy," he winked at me again.
I slept well that night. Jim left around 10, we had finished the six pack he brought, and laughed into the night. Stupid stories about being on the lake as a kid. Scary tricks he and his friends would play on the YMCA boys camp -- sneaking into the camp, pretending to be bears or wolves to the city kids who were coming up to camp for 2 weeks in the summer. A few times I thought I caught him looking at me funny, his grin turning more serious, but it might have been the firelight and the shadows. All I know is that I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.
That night I thought about him while I was falling asleep. His laugh and his dancing grey eyes. I fantasized about his lips on mine. His rough stubble on my beard. My cock in hand, I slid my fist up and down my dick. Thick and meaty, I'd been well-endowed. Some good things come from dad, I suppose. I imagined him fucking me, slow and easy at first, building up his speed and rhythm. I could feel the power in his thighs as he bent and flexed, and in his back as he pushed into me. My legs around his torso, my hands on his strong forearms. The smell of him, the taste of him, and then he was exploding inside me, nutting deep in me, and he was penetrating me with his long, thick dick, and his cool, grey eyes. My cum splashed onto my belly and chest and chin -- a good load for me.
As my breathing returned to normal, I laid on my back, stunned. I am usually on top. It's been years since I was fucked. I wondered how that image got in my head! And with four beers, a belly full of fish, and a long day in the sun, I fell asleep, the cum drying on my belly.
Coffee. I smelled coffee. I took my cell phone off the bedside table. It read 7:30. That's an improvement,' I thought to myself. Wait, coffee! Who's in my kitchen?' I threw on my boxers, and ran out of my room to the railing of the loft. "Hello? Who's there?"
Jim came out into the open room. "Just came by to put another coat of weather proofing on those boards, and thought you might want some coffee -- I sure could use some. Brought you some sugar, too," he said, wandering back toward the kitchen.
`What the fuck? Why doesn't he just move in?' I wondered. I headed to the bathroom took a piss, grabbed my shorts, and came downstairs, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Jim was sitting at the table looking at my collection of petoskeys. He had two mugs of coffee. I grabbed one, sat down hard, and thanked him.
He raised his eyes, looked at my chest, and smirked. "Looks like you had sweet dreams last night, Dave," his eyes smiled.
I looked down. Telltale cumsplash was stuck in my dark chest hair. "Thanks for pointing that out, big guy," I put my shirt on, and grabbed some coffee. Jim was fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. Something about the logo and look of Marlboro Reds always got my attention, although I was never much for tobacco. He followed my gaze, "you mind if I smoke," he asked?
"I haven't minded up `til now, have I?" I smiled back. He eased back in his chair, contemplating what I'd said, and lit up.
"Quite a collection of stones. Did you pick those up yesterday?" He popped a stone into his mouth to wet it, and spit it out. It's a funny custom, but since the stones show off their fossil best when wet, this was how the locals did it.
"Yup," I said. "You want breakfast?"
"I guess it doesn't look like I skip many meals, does it?" His belly, a bit firmer than mine, had a nice sway to it in his shirt. "I'd love some."
I put some bacon in the cast iron skillet, and when it was about half way through, cracked three eggs into the skillet, seasoning them. When they were through, I slipped them onto a plate and cracked three more. Three eggs, and several pieces of bacon on each plate, I brought over the plates. He dug in, slurping up the sunny side up eggs with his bacon.
Pushing his empty plate back, he said, "Welp, thanks for the meal, big Dave. I need to get over to DeWitt's this morning for a few hours, but I'll be back late this afternoon to replace those boards on the dock. Sound good?"
I nodded, and stood up. He stood and pushed in his chair. He caught my gaze for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, and smiled. Winking, he said "See ya later," and walked out the front door.
`He really did wink at me, right?' I wondered. I stood for a couple of seconds, and then ran to the door, and walked onto the front porch. "Wait," I shouted after him. "How'd you get in? The door was locked!" I was curious, not angry.
"Everyone knows where your old man kept the key. Hanging right there, between those two posts in the railing," he pointed.
"Hmm. I didn't know that," I said to no one -- he had already climbed into his truck, and was pulling out of the driveway.
End of Chapter Two
I wonder if there are sparks between Jim and Dave? We'll learn more in the next chapter...
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