Montgomery Hall

MH9 Night Blooming Jasmine

Montgomery Hall
A continuing series of interrelated stories

Night Blooming Jasmine

By John Yager

The following story is a work of gay erotic fiction dealing with sexual relationships between consenting adults.  If such stories are not to your liking or if you are not of legal age to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please exit now.

This is a work of fiction and in no ways draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.

This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific  written permission of the author.  It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

This is the ninth in a series of interrelated stories  appearing under the collective title, Montgomery Hall.   While it is expected that the individual stories will stand independently,  they should be more enjoyable if read as a group.  If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent posting,  please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

***

By late Saturday afternoon the verandah and terrace leading down to the pool had taken on a very festive mood.   What had begun as a simple family picnic, a farewell party for Martin, who was leaving for New York early the next morning, had grown into a party for fifty.   Not that such events were all that unusual at Montgomery Hall,  Ann Cutler was famous for her parties and Ben, especially,  had long sense learned to cope.  He had called in help from several women, wives of workers on the large estate,  ordered in additional food and provisions and happily overseen all the details like the army quartermaster, which, at least in spirit, he was.

When all else was under control, he had even found time to strung several dozen chains of white lights, the twinkling kind, usually thought of as Christmas Tree lights, but kept back for festive summer parties.  They now festooned the potted trees which had been brought up from the greenhouses to border the area in which six large round folding tables had been placed.  At the edge of the area nearest the house a long rectangular table had also been erected.  It would serve as the buffet on which a rather impressive array of dishes would be served.

The party was still being called a picnic and the guests had been told dress would be informal and swimming suits would be welcome.  All in all, Saturday evening at Montgomery Hall was shaping up to be quite a memorable evening.  Ben, as he went about the final preparations, just hoped it turned out to be memorable for all the right reasons.

As Martin finished packing in the White Room, he had the same thought.  He could think of several rather dramatic courses which the party might take, none of which would please his mother.  He and Tim had said their good-byes on Thursday night and he continued to be impressed at how well the boy had handled the inevitability of their separation.

Had he done the right thing by the boy by giving in to his approaches?  Martin hoped so but was not sure.  Would Tim turn to Martin's nephew, Dave, once Martin had left for New York?  Again, Martin suspected he might.  But if Tim chose to take Dave as his boy friend,  he would at least know a good bit more about how to deal with him.   Or would it have been better if Martin had stayed out of Tim's life as he had been inclined to do?  What would have been wrong with letting Tim and Dave, or whomever he eventually related to, find their own way, just as Martin and Jimmy had done nearly twenty years before?   All these questions and many more continued to buzz in Martin's head as he finished his tasks, but at least he was pleased that Tim had dealt with Martin's departure.

Admittedly, Tim had been bolstered by the hope of a week with Martin in New York.  Martin hoped he would at least have the opportunity to broach that possibility with Tim's parents tonight.

"Are you going to try to come up with some excuse for staying over tomorrow night at Montgomery Hall?"  Martin had asked the boy just before his father picked him up late Friday.

"No,"  Tim had said with a rather sad smile.

"That's it?  Just love `em and leave `em?"

Tim had looked pensively at the older man, knowing Martin was teasing but still feeling as if a part of his life was ending.   He looked across the last rose bed to Martin and then lowered his eyes.   "I'd love one more night with you, Martin, you know that."

"Yes,  I know."

"But I feel as if we said our good-byes last night and I will see you at the picnic tomorrow evening."

"Yes, and I really am going to try to find a way to talk to your folks about you visiting me in New York."

"I'm counting on it,"  Tim had said, and then added with a little grin,  "besides, tomorrow night I figure Ben and you have a date."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah, but I know you two need to resolve some things."

"I can't believe how wise you are for your years, Tim.  Have I told you that before?"

"Kind of,  I guess."  The boy, Martin realized, was blushing under his golden tan.

Martin and Tim had worked together most of Friday.  They and Martin's nephews had seen the work in the rose beds completed to Ann's satisfaction.  The time they spent with Dave and Monty had been filled with questions, some spoken, some silent, but all successfully avoided.  Martin was sure Tim would eventually have to deal with the boys' curiosity but he felt sure the hard questions  would come after he had left for New York and he knew Tim could deal with them.

That left Jimmy.  Martin reminded himself to be sure the garden gate was locked before he went out to the party.  If not tonight, at least very soon, Martin realized he had to talk to his old friend and the only fair and honorable course of action was to tell Jimmy that they could no longer continue to carry on any sort of sexual relationship.  He knew it would be hard and that Jimmy would probably not accept it.  He would continue to press Martin every time Martin was home.  But in time, if Martin remained resolute, Jimmy would have to conclude that Martin really meant it.  Maybe Jimmy would find a new outlet for his energies.  If not, it would have to be his problem, not Martin's.

Martin had dressed in white tennis shorts and a pale blue polo shirt, deck shoes and no socks.  The clothes were all items he left at home for future use and that didn't require packing.  The white and pale blue emphasized his deeply tanned skin, all the more dramatic because of his blond hair, which had been lightened several shades over the last week by the persistent Mississippi sun.

The garden gate was locked, the door from the garden to the White Room itself was locked and, Martin assured himself, the door from the White Room to the passage way to the main house was also secured.  It was all he could do to assure unwanted visitors, and with that he sat off for the party on the back lawn.

"My, you look handsome, dear,"  Ann had said when she saw him coming across the lawn."

"And you,  Mother, look like a Vogue model.  What a great dress," Martin said as he came up to her.  She was wearing a pale yellow print, probably cotton, Martin decided, but finished in a way that gave it the sheen and gracefulness of silk.

"It will still be light when everyone arrives, but the candles on the tables are very long burning, so why don't you go ahead and light them now."

"Gladly.  I needed an assignment.  Matches?"

"I'm sure Ben has some.  He always has all those details under control."

They walked back to the verandah, where a couple of dozen lawn chairs had been placed in little groups and a well stocked bar had been organized.   Ann was right, Ben had matches on the bar, which Martin took and went off to complete his task.

Ann soon joined him, moving from table to table, placing little paper bags at each place.   When Martin looked at her with a raised eye brow, she volunteered, "Just candies and nuts.  Rather last minute improvised party favors."

"But it's fun, Mother.  The kids, at least, will love it."  He lit the last of the candles and took a box of the little gift bags,  helping Ann finish placing them.  "By the way, before everyone gets here, I want to tell you what a pleasant week this has been."

"Well, I'm glad, dear.  I certainly never expected you to do all that work with the roses."

"I loved it, Mother.  The boys were great and it was a lot more fun than chasing a golf ball, which David and Jimmy would have insisted I do if I hadn't had such a good excuse."

"It was certainly a big help to me.  By the way, were you able to have that talk with Jimmy we discussed earlier?"

"Not really.  I think I may have laid the ground work but I'll have to finish it another time."

"Please don't forget it, Martin.  I really think it's important."

"I know, Mother.  I may try to say a little more this evening."

Martin looked back toward the house just as Ben came out onto the verandah.  He carried a large try of hors d'oeuvres which he placed on the bar and then turned to look out across the lawn.  Martin smiled at the older man and caught Ben's slight smile in return.

Ben was dressed in white slacks and a white cotton short sleeved shirt.  It was open at the collar, the white of the shirt contrasting with the burnished brown of his skin.  Martin couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked.  Ben stood for just a moment longer, looking at  Martin from a distance of fifty or sixth feet, then smiled again and turned back into the house.   "Later,"  Martin thought.  "More unfinished business."

Ann and Martin returned to the verandah for  a drink,  a short respite before their guests began to arrive.  "Do you want an Julep, dear,"  Ann had asked,  "it is traditional, you know, and Ben makes an exquisite one."

"I know he does, Mother, but they really are too sweet for me."  He held a chair for her and then went toward the kitchen.  "I don't want to violate some long-standing Mississippi rule, but I'd really rather have a Scotch.  What can I get you."

"Oh, just white wine, dear.  Chardonnay, Ben knows the one I like."

In the kitchen Martin found Ben briefing the women he had brought in to help, going over the menu and the proper procedures for serving.   "It may just be a picnic,"  Martin thought, "but it must be done properly, so far as Ben is concerned."

When Ben finished speaking to the women he come over the cabinet to see if he could help Martin.  "I've got my own drink under control, Ben, but mother said you'd know which wine she wanted."

"I'll bring it right out."

"No, Ben, you've got enough to do.  Just point me to it and I'll take care of it."

The older man reached into the cabinet and  extracted a proper white wine glass, then walked to the refrigerator and withdrew an opened bottle, pouring the pale golden wine to just the right level.

"That should do, Martin.  Thank you for taking it out."

"No problem at all, Ben.  Besides, I wanted to catch you for a minute before the guests arrive."

"Yes?"  There was a gleam in his eye.

"Are you coming to the White Room later, Ben?"

"What about the boy, is he staying over?"

"No, not here at least."

"And Mister Jimmy?"

"He's not invited, Ben.  This is just about you and me."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Ben.   I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't sure."

"When shall I come?"

"I locked the doors so I wouldn't have any unexpected drop-ins.  I'll call your room when I get back to the White Room after the picnic."

"You mama will want you to have a drink with her after the rest leave, specially with you leaving tomorrow."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"So it may be late."

"Probably.  Does that matter?"

"No, just thinking.  If I finish up and you folks is still setting and talking, I'll just go on up to my own bed.  So you ring if you want and if I don't pick up too quick, just let it keep ringing.  Case I gone off to sleep already."

"You won't mind, Ben."

"No, boy, not if you wants me."

Martin went out to the verandah and presented his mother with the glass Ben had poured.  They sat in silence for a while has he thought about the events of the last few days.  It seemed odd to him that so many diverse chains of events had come together as they had.  Previous visits home had been so uneventful, so calm by comparison.

He expected to put up with Jimmy's insistent pursuit of casual sex, of course, that had been a pattern of his visits home ever sense he had first gone away to law school.   In fact,  Martin had to admit to himself that he rather looked forward to their encounters, to the rough and tumble sex, the unpredictable nature of their encounters.

But he also knew that his mother was right in saying that Jimmy was a loose canon, a danger to himself and those he loved and who loved him.  Martin knew the dangers were there and he didn't want to be caught up in them.  He really must speak to Jimmy, if not tonight, soon.

Martin's thoughts returned to Tim.  The boy had been a gift.  He'd come into his life just at the moment when Martin needed him, just as he was admitting to himself that after twenty years of casual sex with Jimmy, he must act to end it, to cut off that relationship.

But had he been wrong in complying with Tim's desires?  Was it ever right for an older man to take such a young and innocent boy as a lover?  Tim had wanted, even demanded it, but was that reason enough for Martin to have acted as he had?  "Who knows?"  Martin thought to himself.  All he could no now was hope for the best.

Martin's thoughts returned to Ben.  "Now there's an enigma,"  Martin thought.  But despite the potential complications, Martin intended to follow through with his intentions and call Ben later.

At last Ann spoke, ending his reverie.

"Such a lovely time of the evening.  I so enjoy being out here now."

"Yes, Mother, it really is lovely."

"Thank you again for getting the rose beds done.  I walked down this afternoon and they look perfect."

"Well, thank Tim and Dave's boys.  They really did most of the work."

"But you kept them at it, Martin.  They are very good, no doubt, but having an older man there keeps them going at a good pace."

"I really did enjoy it, mother."

There was another long pause, broken by the sound of a car pulling into the drive on the far side of the house.

"Well,"  Ann said, "to paraphrase Edward Chamberlayne, `the party begins.'"

"More correctly, to paraphrase Eliot, mother."

"Yes, I guess you're right.  It is so easy to confuse fictional characters with the author who created them."

"I think Luigi Pirandello had something to say about that."

"Yes, Martin, I believe he did,"  Ann said with a slight smile as they rose and went off to meet their guests.  They walked through the house to the front porch and greeted everyone as they arrived, telling them to go on through to the back verandah, were the bar had been sat up and were any who wanted could enjoy the pool.

The Arnolds were among the last to arrive,  and Martin noticed as they pulled into the great circle drive, that Tim was driving their mini-van.  As he greeted them, he re-introduced himself, which turned out to be unnecessary.

"We met you at church last Sunday,"  Tim's father said.  "And I want to thank you for being so kind to our boy this week."

"My pleasure,"  Martin had said, giving Tim a quick smile.  "He's a fine young man."

"We think so,"  Tim's mother had said.   She seemed pleased and excited and from the way she was looking at the house, Martin guessed that she would love a tour.

"Have you visited Montgomery Hall before, Mrs. Arnold?"

"Oh, no, this is our first visit."

"Well, let me call my sister-in-law,  she specializes in tours of the place and knows a lot more about the architecture and furnishings than I do."

"Oh, that would be wonderful.  You'll come, too, won't you, dear?"

"Well, actually,"  Tim's dad began, "Tim has told me so much about the gardens, I'd kind of hoped we could take a look at them."

"That shouldn't be a problem, Dr. Arnold.  Let me get Carol Ann to show your wife around and we can head out to the rose garden on our own.  Do you want to come along, Tim?"

"Sure, just let me find Dave.  He knows a lot more about the roses than you or I do."

Within a few minutes they had it all organized.   The ladies went off to see the main rooms on the ground floor and Martin, Tim, his father and Dave all headed for the gardens.  As they went through the house and were leaving the verandah, David and Monty caught up with them and joined the  tour.

"The boys did a great job this week,"  Martin said as they looked around the well cared for beds.  "And I really enjoyed working with them."

"I'm sure having a little adult supervision didn't hurt either,"  David added.

"Well, I think we could have done it without Tim, but he certainly kept us in line."

"Very funny, Martin,"  Tim grinned."

"Oh, you mean me, David!"  Martin kidded, "I think they needed to keep me in line."

"Tim tells me there are quite a few areas of rather specialized gardens on the estate, Mr. Cutler."

"Well, Tim, I see we're going to have to give your father the first name lecture,"  Martin said, giving  Tim a slight punch on the shoulder.

"Martin says `Mr. Cutler' was his father, Dad.  He only answers to Martin or Marty or `Hey, You.'"

"Does that extend to your legal practice, ah, Martin, or do you let your clients address you more formerly?"

"My practice is contract law, specifically dealing with the entertainment and intellectual properties areas.  Most of my clients are fine with first names."

"Well, Montgomery Hall somehow represents the Old South in my mine, I guess.  Its sort of hard to think of New South egalitarianism in this context."

"What better place, actually."

"Perhaps so, and if that's the case, please call me Arnold.  It's our family name, of course, but all my friends just use it as my Christian name."

"And, beside," Tim grinned,  "it lets Dad avoid telling you what his Christian names really are."

"That bad, Arnold?"  Martin gave a sympathetic smile  at the other man's obvious discomfort.

"Thank you, Tim,"  Arnold teased his son.  "My parents were rather unkind."

"Well, Arnold it is."

At that juncture Carol Ann called to the boys from the verandah and they turned to go back toward the house.  "Mom said she wanted Tim and Monty and me to get on our swimming suits and hang out by the pool if the younger kids wanted to swim,"  Dave explained.  "I guess we get to play unofficial lifeguards for the next hour or so."

"I need to get back too, Marty,"  David said.   "Mother assigned me to play host to the Rector and his wife as well as the Wrights and any other members of her committee who show up."

"Well," Martin said, turning to Tim's dad, "I guess that leaves us to tour the gardens if you'd like."

"Absolutely, if you don't mind.  I shouldn't take you away from your other guests."

"Oh, they'll find me soon enough.  Let's at least go on to the greenhouses."

Alone for the first time,  Arnold turned to Martin and said, "I really appreciate your taking a little time with me.  I sort of hoped we could talk alone."

"I thought you might, but it's no problem at all.  I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk as well."

They walked on in silence for a minute or so, then Arnold turned and said, "Tim told me you invited him to visit you in New York."

"Yes.  How do you feel about that?"

"It's very generous of you, Martin.  I know Tim should start looking at universities and Columbia is certainly high on his list."

"If he could stay a few days, say over the term break, I could get him up to New Haven and down to Princeton as well."

"That really is kind of you, Martin."

"I'd be glad to do it.  I like the boy a lot."

They walked on in silence for a bit more and then Arnold dropped a bomb shell.  "Tim's gay, isn't he?"

"Why do you say that, Arnold?"

"Oh, responding to my question with another question,"  Arnold smiled.

"An old trick, equally well known to attorneys and university professors."

"Let me rephrase then."

"If you wish."

"Over the last year or so, I've been suspecting Tim is gay."

"Interesting.  He certainly doesn't exhibit any of the classic traits associated with homosexuality."

"No, Martin, but neither do you."

Martin was silent for a moment.

"Let me see if I have this right.   You suspect Tim is gay. "

"Yes."

"And you also suspect I'm gay."

"Yes."

"You thank me for spending so much time with Tim this week and for inviting him to visit me in New York."

"Yes."

"Am I missing something here, Arnold?  Isn't the expected response to such suspicions  supposed to be anger and threats,  maybe even physical violence?"

They had reached the greenhouse and stood leaning against one of the old stone columns which marked its entrance.

"Let's put this on a less personal basis for a moment, Martin."

"All right."

"Do you think, just in theory, you understand, that sexual orientation is a matter of choice?"

"No,  I don't, Arnold."

"Neither do I.   I don't claim to know it's cause, it may be genetic, or environmental or some entirely different cause we haven't even thought of yet."

"I agree."

"From my own research and from all the studies I've read I'd also say sexual orientation is probably fixed by the age of ten or twelve, almost certainly by the onset of puberty."

"Yes, again, I'd agree."

"So, Martin, if we were to say, just of the sake of the discussion, that you are gay, would you then think some sort of blame should be laid at the feet of your parents?"

"Certainly not."

"Would you be inclined to look back at your family history and see if there was any evidence of homosexuality as a common trait among  your ancestors?"

"Yes, I guess so, but given the historic attitudes toward anything seen as deviate behavior, I wouldn't expect to find much in the written record."

"Perhaps not, but there might be some suggestions;  an unusual percentage of unmarried uncles or aunts,  some record of special `friendships,' that kind of thing."

"Yes."

"So let's take as an example a reasonably intelligent and reasonably opened minded father, all right?"

"I'd think you'd qualify, Arnold."

"Fine.  Would such a father begin by accosting his gay son?"

"No, not for something the son had no choice over."

"Would he attempt to change his son's sexual orientation?"

"No, not if the father really believed it was unchangeable."

"Well, then, what course should such a father take, assuming he had his son's well being at heart?"

"He wouldn't be too concerned about his own reputation or his family's reputation, or even the son's reputation."

"Or his own desire for grandchildren or some sense of continuation of the family line."

"I guess his primary concern would be for his son's happiness."

"I think so, Martin, for his happiness in the broadest possible meaning of the term; health, success, solid relationships, people around him who love him and support him."

"Yes, I see that.

"Well then, Martin.  Thank you for taking an interest in my son.  For giving him guidance which he desperately needs and which I can't give him, for affirming and supporting him and making him see that he can have a rich and responsible and rewarding life."

For once in his life, Martin was utterly and completely speechless.

"Look, we needn't pursue this conversation any further.   It is obviously awkward for you."

"We haven't dealt with your suspicions, that Tim and I are both gay."

"No, we haven't. Perhaps it would be best leaving them as just suspicions for the time being."

"Are you comfortable with that, Arnold?"

"Yes, quite comfortable.   In my academic life I deal with a good many uncertainties.  In fact, I get much less comfortable of those folk who think they have all the answers.   So, if I must deal with ambiguity in my professional life, what's wrong with a little ambiguity in my personal life as well?"

"You're a remarkable man, Arnold."

"Oh, not so remarkable, Martin.  I just want you to know your concern for Tim is appreciated.  I should add that his mother shares my opinion.  We assume your good intentions and trust you will always put the boy's welfare first."

"Absolutely."

"Well then,  I think  it would be wonderful if we could arrange for Tim to visit you in New York."

They walked back to the house in silence.   Martin tried to think through the extraordinary conversation they'd just had and put it in some sort of perspective.  Arnold, for his part, realized that Martin was putting his own thoughts in order, and remained silent as they walked back toward the house.

As it had turned out, the conversation with Tim's father was not only a memorable one, but a very congenial one.   Jimmy, however, was another matter.

As Martin and Arnold approached the pool,  Tim motioned them over.  He and Dave and Monty were setting in deck chairs watching the younger children swim, but they had obviously just gotten out of the water.  Their young, muscular bodies  glistened in the evening light.

"You two have a good talk?"  Tim grinned as they approached.

"Very nice,"  his father said before Martin could say anything.  "You're right, Tim, the gardens are beautiful."

"I'm glad you got a chance to see them before it got too dark, Dad."

"I think we got the issue of the New York trip settled, as well."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Well, I told Martin that your mother and I had no objection to you going.  I do think we'll have to work  out some way of repaying Martin for putting you up."

"Oh thanks, Dad.  Oh, man, I can hardly wait for term break."

"We'll work it out,"  his dad said.

As Arnold turned to walk on up toward the house, Tim said in a rather quite voice,  "Martin, I thought I should let you know that Mr. du Preys has been looking for you."

"Oh?"

Tim lowered his voice still more and said, "yeah, he's pretty drunk."

"Well, that is not good news."

"Yeah.   He was kind of loud, asking everyone were you were."

"I'd better go find him.  Thanks, Tim."  As he turned to go, Martin added, "will I see you later?"

"Oh, sure.  I'm staying over with Dave and Monty  tonight, so I'll be here `till they leave."

"Great, I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, and Martin..."

"Yeah, Tim?"

"Thanks for talking with dad.  I really was afraid he and mom would say no, to me going to see you in New York, you know."

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm pleased, too."

Martin headed off  toward the house but just as he was coming around the end of the pool, he heard Jimmy calling to him from the lounge area of the pool house."

"There you are, you bastard!"   Jimmy said.   Fortunately his voice was somewhat slurred and, considering his condition, not too loud.

Jimmy started to come toward Martin, but Martin motioned him back.  "Let's talk here, Jimmy.  I understand you've been looking for me."

As Martin came into the pool house, he turned and closed the sliding glass doors behind them.    Jimmy  retreated to a sofa by the bar and had lowered his head into his hands.  As Martin approached, he realized Jimmy was crying.

"You didn't call me all week, Marty.   I kept thinking you'd at least call."

"Sorry, buddy,"  Martin said, his voice soft and conciliatory.  He sat down and put his arm around Jimmy's shoulders.  "Things got really hectic here."

"You're not mad?"

"What about?"

"I don't know.  I just figured you were mad or something `cause you didn't call."

"I didn't call because I had my hands full  Mother left town and I had to take over the work in the gardens.  She had David's older boys and Tim Arnold from Greenwood scheduled to work every day and I ended up being job boss."

"That still left night, Marty."

"Well, not exactly.  I had some other responsibilities there, too."

"You're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah.  Ben's taking me to catch the plane in Memphis."

"I know I'm kind of drunk, but how about me coming to the White Room later?"

"Can't do it, Jimmy.  You need to let somebody drive you home. "

"You want to be the designated driver?"

"No, I need to spend some time with mother after everyone leaves.   With her being gone most of the week, I've hardly seen her."

"You're shoving me off, aren't you, Marty?"

"Yeah, buddy, tonight I am.  You get sober and the next time I come home we'll set down and have a real long talk."

"I like laying down to talk."

"Well, not for this conversation, you don't."  With that Martin rose to leave.  "Come on, Jimmy, we need to get you to the coffee pot."

It took some doing but Martin was able to walk his old friend through to the kitchen, where Ben took over.

"You get you self in that chair, Mister James, and I gona fix you one of my special instant sober sodas.  They been doing wonders for the Carter household for `bout three generations now."

"Thanks, Ben.  You're okay with Jimmy, right?"

"Oh, sure, Martin.  He and I go way back. "

"I'll see you later, right?"

"That what you telling me, Martin."

On the lawn Ann was just getting her guests organized for dinner when Martin came back out.  She had gotten everyone to their proper table and signaled the Rector to give thanks.

"Let us pray,"  Pete had called out over the buzz of conversation and a sudden silence fell.

Later, as their guests ate, Ann and Martin circulated between the tables, making sure to talk with everyone, to be sure that everyone felt welcome.  It was what Ann did best, a part of her heritage.  Martin managed to spend a little extra time at the Arnolds' table, where, it turned out, there was an empty place, due to Jimmy's departure.

From his brief conversation, Martin had confirmed that Tim was spending the night with Dave and Monty and that he would go on to church with David's family the following morning.  They would also pick up Martin's mother and his niece so Ben would be free to drive Martin to his flight.

"Well, Tim,"  Martin said as he rose, "this may be good-bye.  At least until New York."

"No, Martin, I left some things in the upstairs bedroom.  I figured you could come up with me to get them when we're ready to go."

"Sure, fellow.  Just let me know."

"Yeah,"  Tim grinned and went back to his dinner.

By ten o'clock their guests were leaving and Martin saw Tim wave as he walked back from his parents' van carrying a small bag.  He had told them good night and his father was pulling out of the circle drive.   Tim returned to  the front porch were Martin and Ann were saying their good-byes to the few remaining guests and David and Jo Ann were  rounding up their kids.  David told Tim they'd be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes.

"Got a minute, Martin?"  Tim asked as he put  his bag against one of the graceful columns.

"Sure.  Where'd you say you left your stuff?"

"Upstairs, you know, the small bedroom on the back."

"Okay, let's go."

They climbed the stairs and hurried off down the  corridor toward the small room where Tim had supposedly slept every night that week.  Once in the room with the door closed behind them, Tim turned and  threw his arms around Martin's neck.

"I kind of thought you had something else in mind, buster."

"Yeah,"  Tim whispered as he moved in to kiss Martin's lips.  "I know we said our good-bye's last night, but I wanted to thank you again."

"No thanks necessary."

"Oh, yes there are.  Besides, from what I could tell, you handled my dad pretty well."

"It was the other way around, Tim.  He handled me."

"Well, he agreed to me visiting you in New York, right?"

"Yes, but I think he'd already decided to let you come.  He just wanted to get to know me a little.  You know, to see if I was the kind of guy he'd let fuck his kid."

"Yeah, sure,"  Tim grinned as he hugged Martin to him and nuzzled his neck.

"He knows, Tim."

The boy pulled back a little and looked into Martin's eyes.  "He knows what?"

"He knows, or at least he strongly suspects that you're gay, and he's equally sure I'm gay, too."

"Martin!"

"I know, lover.  It knocked my socks off, too."

"And he's still letting me come to see you in New York?"

"Yeah.  I really think he's okay with it."

"Oh, man!  Do you think mom knows, too?"

"Yeah, I think she must."  Martin realized that the boy was trembling.

"What do I do now?"

"Well, you're spending the night with  my two cute nephews, right?  I guess it's sort of up to them?"

"Get serious, Martin,"  Tim said, but he was grinning.  "Really, what do I do with my parents?"

"Nothing.  Just go on being yourself.  It's going to be fine."

"Well, I guess it sort of lets me off the hook, right?"

"Yeah, Tim, it really does."

"I won't have to do that big `Coming Out' scene I've been dreading."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Wow! I just can't believe this."

"You're a very fortunate kid, Tim.  You do know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, Marty, I do.   And I know I sure love my mom and dad a lot, too."

"And they love you."

Tim moved back into a gentle embrace with Martin, kissing him lightly and then just resting his head on the older man's muscular shoulder.

"I don't think I could stand this if I didn't know I'd be seeing you in a few weeks."

"I know, Tim.  I feel the same way."

There was another pause while they held each other, then Tim grinned and added, "but you've got all those hot boys waiting in New York, right?"

"None like you, Timmy, none like you."   He kissed the boy's hair and then teased back, "besides, you're off to spend the night with Dave and Monty.  I guess they want you to teach them some of what you've been learning from me."

"Well, I guess if that's what they want, I could rise to the occasion."

"Enough!"

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander."

"Yeah, and if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere..."

"New York, New York,"  Tim joined in,  "my kind of town."

"I didn't know you'd been there."

"Haven't, Marty, but with you there, I know I'll love it."

"Sweet."

"Yeah."

"Come on.  Let's get your stuff and head down before somebody comes looking for us."

Tim reached into the closet and withdrew a small bag of dirty clothes.

"You really did have stuff here?"

"Yeah, remember?  Ben left some of my stuff here so it would look like I'd slept here while your mother was away."

"Leave it to Ben to think of everything."

"Yeah,"  Tim grinned.  "Leave it to Ben."

Martin found his way back through the dark kitchen without turning on any lights.   He had joined his mother for a nightcap in the living room and then headed for the White Room when she had gone to bed.  He had gone to the White Room, but moments later, he'd returned to the kitchen, heading for Ben's rooms above.

The door which led through to the narrow back stairs and then up to the rooms above was easy enough to find, even in the dim light from the windows, but once he opened the door to the stairwell,  he was in total darkness.    He climbed, feeling his way from one step to the next, gripping the old wooden rail with his right hand.  When had he last been in this part of the house?  It must have been years.

Ben's room was located over the kitchen and access to it was from a rather narrow passageway which led back from the main upstairs corridor.  It was separated from the front part of the house by a heavy door and Martin could see by the darkness that it was closed

Martin opened the door into Ben's setting room and let his eyes adjust to the dim light.  Back when there had been an army of servants at Montgomery Hall, these had been small bedrooms, each accommodating two people.  Now, with Ben the only staff living in, two rooms had been thrown together with a door cut between, one serving as his own small setting room, the other as his bedroom, and beyond it, a private bath.  The window was open and the powerful fragrance of Night Blooming Jasmine swept into the room.

Moving across the small space in the half light, Martin saw that the door from the setting room to the bedroom was open.  Reaching it and looking in, he saw Ben was naked and  lying on top of the white sheets, his powerful form in dark contrast like a Maplethorp photograph.  The man was beautiful, Martin thought.  It was a primal beauty.

Martin slipped out of his shorts and shirt, kicked off his shoes and stretched out beside the sleeping man.  Ben roused and rolled over in the bed to face him.

"What you doing here, boy?  I thought you was gona call."

"Didn't seem right to call, Ben.  I didn't want to say, `come here, Ben, service me.' I didn't want to say, `serve me, Ben.'"

"So you coming here and saying it, same as."

"No, Ben.  We'll only do what you want."

"Let me hold you, then."  He rolled further onto his side and ran one arm under Martin's torso.  Ben's massive arms circled him, holding him, drawing him close, pressing their bodies together.  Both men were quickly hard, their sex pulsing in the tight confines between them.

"You know I love you, boy."

"Yes, Ben.  I knew you loved me before I really knew what love was.  Just being there, caring.  Then I knew it was more."

"Oh yes, boy, so much more."

"Wanting,  Ben, and not knowing how to say it, not knowing now to ask, not even knowing what it was I wanted, what I should ask for."

"But now you know."

"Oh, yeah, Ben.  Now I know."

"Then you tell me, boy."

"I want your cock, Ben.  I want you to make love to me."

"You know I got a lot of fear about goin' that road."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't understand."

"I reckon we got some shared blood, Martin.  Ain't  that reason enough?"

"No, Ben, it isn't a reason at all, not so far as I'm concerned."

"Well, we gots all night and a lot of distance to cover."

"How do you mean that, Ben?"

"I mean we gets what we need when we needs it.  Right now, boy, you come with me."  He rose from the bed, almost rolling Martin onto the floor in the process.  "We gona get the sweat of the day off our bodies, boy.  Then we can just take our own sweet time seeing what comes next."

Ben walked naked across the modest room and into the attached bath.  He turned on the water for the shower and adjusted its tempeture.  When it was the way he liked it, he called to Martin.  "Come in here, boy.  It ain't like I never washed you bottom before."

Martin, smiling at Ben's allusion to his parental care so many years ago,  obediently entered the shower stall.  It was impossible for them not to touch in the small space, and Ben quickly brought his massive arms around Martin's torso, drawing their bodies together.  In that position, Ben took a plastic bottle from the rack and squeezed the now familiar citrus shower jell into the palm of his right hand.   Then, slowly, gently, he massaged it into a rich lather, working it over Martin's back and shoulders and neck.   Martin reached back and, just managing to grasp the bottle in his own hand, repeated the steps Ben had taken and reciprocated his actions, washing Ben just as Ben washed him.

"My, my, that does feel good,"  Ben said, his voice as low and sweet as honey.   "Ain't it a wonder how much better somethin' feels when someone else is doin' for you what you is used to do for you self?"

"Always, Ben."

"Well, now you better stop for the time being.  You turn  and just stand real still.  I got you front to wash and then I gona go to work on you ass."

Martin leaned back against the wall of the stall as Ben ran his lather-covered hands over his chest and stomach and then over his now fully erect cock, gently stroking it, loving it, but only briefly, taking no chances of bringing Martin to climax.

"Now you turn around and spread them legs."

Again, Martin did as he was told.  Ben bent forward a little against him, resting one hand on Martin's shoulder as he worked down over his muscular buttocks with the other.   The space was too confined for him to move with as much freedom as he would have preferred, but he managed to work his fingers into the crack of Martin's butt and then run them repeatedly over the tight bud of his ass.

Martin groaned, relishing the pleasure Ben was giving him, but longing for so much more.   One  of Ben's fingers pushed against Martin's ass with no success.

"You open you self up to me, boy,"  Ben whispered.  It was a purr, no, a low growl.

Martin pushed back with his buttocks, pushing internally at the same time, willing his ass to open to Ben's advances.  Gradually the Ben's thick, dark finger slipped in.

Ben rotated his soapy finger, washing the channel, opening it up.   When Martin seemed comfortable with one finger, Ben added a second and then a third.   By the time he had finished, he had satisfied himself that Martin was both relaxed and clean.

They dried themselves and each other, using the towels as a further means of caressing, loving.  Then when they were truly dry, they returned to Ben's rumpled bed.   The fragrance of the citrus shower jell mingled with the scent of Night Blooming Jasmine, wafting in on the warm night air.  Lying together, pressed together, Ben brought his face against Martin's, nuzzling him, caressing him with his lips.  He ran his hot, wet tongue over the bridge of Martin's nose, then down, around it to his lips.  His tongue ran over Martin's lips, leaving them wet and wanting more.  He kissed his eyes, then his cheeks.  Finally his mouth found Martin's and pressed in, hungry, needy.

Martin groaned, knowing he wanted to give himself completely to this beautiful man, to be subdued by him, broken by him like a rider breaks a wild horse.  Martin let himself float in Ben's arms, let himself give way to his kiss.  His lips parted with a moan and Ben's tongue slipped in,  parting Martin's lips further, claiming him.

Ben's tongue slipped past teeth, past Martin's own tongue, as if it was seeking a goal, not pausing for any obstacle.  It reached the back of Martin's mouth, pressed into his throat,

So long, Martin thought, like his cock, like his manhood taking me, fucking me.  Ben's tongue withdrew a little, then pressed in again, further this time, filling Martin's mouth, probing, almost gagging him.

Then Ben withdrew, slowly, deliberately, moving back and out, moving his mouth from Martin's mouth, his lips from Martin's lips.

"Suck my tongue, boy," Ben said, "I gona fuck your mouth."

He rolled Martin onto his back, reached down and moved his legs apart, making room for himself between them.  He knelt between Martin's wide spread legs, leaned over him supporting himself on his massive arms, then lowered himself to Martin, lowering his mouth to his, pressing in.  His tongue invaded him, filling Martin's mouth again.  He lowered himself still further, down on his elbows now, his weight pressing Martin into the bed, subduing him.  Martin groaned, almost gagging on the older man's massive tongue.

Why didn't I know that about him, Martin thought, why did I not know how long, how thick his tongue would be?

Ben let his arms circle under Martin's back, his hands coming up to press against the back of his head, his thick fingers twining through the younger man's blond hair.  Martin was bearing Ben's entire weight now, held and helpless, completely under Ben's control.

I want this, Martin said to himself, I need to show him that I want it, that I'm giving him control, not letting him take it.  He brought his own arms up around Ben's powerful torso, holding them together.  He brought his legs up, digging his heals into Ben's buttocks, forcing their bodies together, exposing his ass to Ben's pulsing cock.

To his surprise, Ben drew back.  Martin groaned his protest.  Ben's tongue was withdrawn from his throat, from his mouth.

"What, Ben."

"You goin' too fast, boy.  Ease up, I gona take care of you."

Martin let his arms and legs drop back on the bed.  He flung out his arms, making himself completely vulnerable to whatever Ben chose to do.

"That better, boy.  Now you let Ben take charge."

Ben pressed in again, let his body came back down, again pressing Martin into the bed, giving him his full weight until he could hardly breath.  Ben's tongue slipped insistently into his mouth, pushing directly into his throat, no subtlety, just raw, hard power.

It was odd, Martin thought, it wasn't rough or demanding, it was just there, like a force of nature which can not be denied.  Ben's tongue was really fucking him now, pressing in till Martin thought he'd gag, then withdrawing a little.  Then before he could forget the power of it,  Ben was pressing in again.

Martin gave himself to it, to Ben's weight, to his tongue, to the huge presence of his cock pressing against him,  moving in the cleft of his ass, leaving him wet and wanting more.  He floated on wave after wave of his own submission.  Their bodies moved against each other, arousing, exciting every part.  Martin's nipples were erect and hard.   Ben's were harder, bigger, pressing against his own, pressing into his chest, the hard muscles of their chests flexing and straining against each other.

Martin groaned.  His mouth, his throat were too full for speech.  All he could do was groan,  giving some primal utterance to his lust, his need.

Ben was moving again.  His hands left Martin's head, the long, thick fingers withdrawing from his hair.  Ben looked down at his hands, his dark fingers, encircled with the golden, waving hair of Martin's head.   He stopped moving for a moment, just to marvel at the contrast of his dark skin with Martin's golden hair, then looking further down into the cramped space where their bodies pressed together, at the disparity between his own dark chest and Martin's.  He raised himself a little, taking some of his weight off Martin, leaving him free to gasp for air.   His tongue came back, withdrew, his lips broke contact with Martin's lips and he felt the rush of air into his mouth, his lips and mouth and throat felling raw, used.

Ben supported himself on his elbows, either side of Martin's chest.  His hands were free now to roam over Martin's chest.  They couldn't move far but within their limited range, they explored.  With a finger and thumb of each hand Ben pinched Martin's nipples, both at once, hard, sending a shock of pain through them.  Martin groaned, not complaining, but acknowledging the pain.

Ben leaned his head forward, took the left nipple between his lips and sucked it, sucked it hard, running his rough, wet tongue over it, leaving it dripping, crying out for more.  He sucked the tender nipple further into his mouth, sucking hard.  The nipple elongated, making it more vulnerable, more  accessible to his teeth.  He gripped it between his front teeth, biting down a little, making Martin squirm.  More pressure was followed by more pain.  He bit down hard, sending a wave of real discomfort through Martin's chest, sending it like shock waves through his body.  His cock pulsed as the signals hit every nerve, making him jump and ooze with it.

Ben withdrew from Martin's enflamed nipple, looking up at his agonized face. "Don't you make a sound, boy. You take it.  Let it turn your body on, spark it, boy, set it burning.  What you think a man's got nipples for?  Not for suckling babes.  Not just to ornament his chest.  He got nipples so he can feel the pain, feel what a woman feels when a three year old what should be weaned, goes biting down on her.  Now, boy, you take that pain and use it, make it you own.

Ben again lowered his mouth to Martin's nipple and bit down hard.  Martin gasped.  He wanted to cry out with the shock, the outrage of it, but he held it in.  He felt himself being transported through the pain, into some new state.  He'd been aroused, had felt his cock pulsing with need, but now it seemed to have reached new heights of arousal, new levels of need and lust.

Ben reached down behind his knees and drew Martin's legs up over his own, braiding their bodies together.  What Ben had not allowed Martin to do on his own only a few minutes before, he was now allowing, encouraging.  Martin moved his heals a little and again pressed them into Ben's buttocks, forcing their bodies together more fully.  In this position Martin's ass was spread, made fully vulnerable to Ben's gargantuan cock.  Martin felt it pulsing, seeping against him, ready, waiting to come in.

"Fuck me, Ben, please fuck me now,"  Martin groaned.

Ben lifted his mouth from Martin's tortured tits, and, as his mouth left it, Martin was aware of something hot and wet flowing over his hard pectoral muslces and then dripping off his body onto the white sheets.  Was it Ben's saliva or Martin's own blood?  He wondered but didn't care.  He certainly felt as if Ben could have drawn blood.  His tits felt battered and swollen.

He wouldn't let me press us together, wrap my legs around him and press him into me.  Now he lets me but I don't know what's changed?

Then it hit him; the pain.  The pain was the gateway, the  portal, the price of admission.  Without the pain he hadn't earned it.  He hadn't allowed Ben to mark him, claim him,  making him his own.  But there was more, as well.  Martin realized that his entire body had moved up onto some new level of awareness.  The pain had caused his body to release endorphins,  filling his blood with enough of the natural drug to send him into a kind of euphoric high.  Ben did it on purpose, Martin thought.  He's getting my body ready to be fucked.

Ben moved against Martin, prodding his ass with his massive cock.   "What you wanting now, boy?  You tell me what you want."

"I want your cock, Ben.  I want you to fuck me."

"What the largest thing you had up your butt, boy?  Anything big as my fucking machine?

"Toys, some big toys, Ben."

"You talking butt plugs and them imitation dicks?"

"Yeah, Ben,"  Martin said, realizing that he was embarrassed by the admission.

"You ever into handball?  You ever been fist fucked, boy?"

"No, Ben.  A buddy tired but I couldn't open up enough to take his fist."

"Well, you know my monster is that big and some."

"Yeah, Ben."

"You understand if I fuck you I probably open you ass that wide and some."

"Yeah."

"You never be the same again after I put my mark on you."

"Yeah, Ben, I want it.  I want you."

"Well, that pink bud of an ass of your ain't no way ready for what I got.   If you serious, we got some opening up to do."  With that he placed a firm hand behind each of Martin's knees and drew them up until they rested against his shoulders.  "I gona spread you out, boy.   Then I gona get in there and make your little lily white ass sing a different kind of song."   He lowered his mouth to Martin's ass and, with no warning, no preliminaries, began to bite it, bite it hard.

Martin squirmed under Ben's onslaught, but he managed to remain silent, despite the pain.  While Ben's teeth bit the tinder tissue around Martin's tight ass, his tongue began to lick and tease the pulsing opening.   Saliva ran down over Martin's hole and dripped onto the sheets.  His body gradually relaxed as it became accustomed to the indignities it was suffering.

Ben's tongue was fucking him hard now, fucking his ass just has it had fucked his throat.  Gradually Martin felt his muscles relax, felt his body open to Ben's onslaught.   To Ben's tongue, a finger was added, then a second, then a third.   Minutes passed, or perhaps it was years.  It didn't matter now, time itself had lost all meaning.  Martin feel a different sensation in his ass, but not in his ass alone.   Ben reached down beside the bed to retrieve some magic bowl, some ointment made of mare's milk and honey, fill of the fragrance of wild flowers and rain.  Ben formed his fingers like an arrow, a spear,  a weapon of attack.  He forced the wedge of his hand into Martin's engorged ass, up to the knuckles, up to the widest part, and held it there, forcing Martin to accept it, accommodate it, yield to it.   Trimmers ran through Martin's body.   A wave of heat was followed by a wave of numbing cold.  His body shivered with the shock of it.

How far had Ben forced his hand into his ass?  How long had he left it there?  Martin was beyond caring now, beyond protest or even need.  Ben, he thought, Ben, Ben.  His universe was Ben.

The hand withdrew.  How far, Martin wondered again, how far had Ben put it into him?  He wondered, but he didn't really care.  He'd have to remember to ask later.  Later, not now.  Had Ben fisted him?  Well,  that was an interesting thought, an interesting sensation.  But now Ben's hand was gone and Martin felt abandoned.  His body cried out to be filled again, to be possessed, taken, and consumed.

Ben was hovering over him, his cock, massive, hot, dripping wet, and lathered with the magic balm.  Ben hovered at his ass, hovered at the gateway to it all.   Martin felt the pressure, the heat, the spreading mass.  "Yes,"  Martin whispered, "yes, yes."

"You goin' there, boy, you goin' through the door,"  Ben said, his voice a chant, a rhythmic chant.

What was Ben saying?  Martin wondered.  It seemed important but he couldn't find the meaning, couldn't find the key.  What did Ben mean about a door?  Did Ben say Martin was going through a door?  That made no sense.   Did he misunderstand?   Was Martin's ass the door?  Did Ben mean that his huge cock was entering it, coming into him,  bonding them, making them one?

Ben lowered his massive body inch by inch, thrusting with each small descent, his pulsing monster of a cock, sliding slowly home.

Martin felt himself being opened by Ben's slow advance.  He tried to think.   Ben said I'm going through the door.

What door?

Maybe it didn't matter any more.

The yieldedness he now experienced radiated to his extremities, filling his fingers and toes, his shoulders and his chest.  It even radiating to the top of his head, carrying with it a sense of peace which he had never before associated with sex.   Sure, Martin had been fucked by some big cocks.  His body had been invaded by toys almost as big as Ben's massive organ.  But each of those experiences had been an act of will.  Martin had used his mind to overcome his body, his mind to overcome the pain, to overcome the dread.

Why, Martin wondered, had he submitted to those past indignities?  Was it to prove to himself that he could do it, that he could take it?   Had he been trying to prove something to someone else?  The past seemed meaningless.

But now?  What was this?  Had his body been moved by Ben's assault, moved beyond caring, beyond the fear of pain?  Too many questions, to much to think about.  Ben was moving now, slowly moving in, then moving out.    Martin's brain was in overload, too taken up by the bombardment of sensations, too consumed by Ben, first by his tongue and mouth and fingers, then his hand, moving with such authority, such certainty.   Yes, he knew now, he remembered now, Ben had fisted him, had thrust his dark and callused hand into his body and his body fit it like a glove, took it as its own, received it, welcomed it, adored it.  Martin was consumed by the sheer mass of the man, hovering over him, pressing into him,  controlling him.  Ben had rotated his hand, wrist deep, forearm deep, stretched him to the breaking point, to the point of shattering like crystal and ice, consuming himself like fire.

And Ben was moving now, moving again with such certainty, such skill.  But not his hand or wrist or arm.  This was another part, the part, the massive cock, the shaft, the phallus destined to make Martin one with all, consume him, let him be reborn.  "Yes, Ben, yes,"  Martin moaned.   The movements quickened, both Ben's and his own.  Their bodies were moving together now, thrusting, pulling back.

Martin felt his whole body shift to accommodate the invasion it was experiencing.  His ass, of course, was stretched beyond any previous girth by the mass of Ben's thrusting cock.  But now the stretching went on far deeper in his body,  in the core of his being.  His body shifted, yielded, made room.  Ben was pushing further in.  Then he withdrew almost to the point of pulling out and Martin cried in fear of loosing him, of being abandoned, left alone.  Then, just short of total withdrawal, Ben moved in again.

Ben momentarily lifted his massive body off Martin's and lowered his head to look down into the dark space between their sweat drenched bodies.  Both men watched in awe as Ben again thrust forward, watched as his huge log of a cock, dark as  night, dark as mahogany and ebony, wet and slick to the point of dripping, moved into Martin's pale ass, so stretched as to no longer seem a part of a human body, moved in until Ben's dark body pressed against Martin's tan and golden form, pressing his soaked pubic hair, the golden mass of it, now wet and flattened.   Ben was moving with greater speed now, plunging in to Martin with the entire unforgiving mass of his enormous cock.  Their bellies were pressed together, Martin's own cock, hard and pulsing, pressed between them, held like a prisoner in a solitary cell.

Martin didn't know what was happening to him.  He floated beyond himself.  Was this what an "Out of Body Experience" was all about?  He knew the term, had heard people talk about such things, but they always seemed too strange to be taken seriously.   But what was this?  Was he being lifted out of the confines of his existence?   Alcohol had never done it for Martin and he had never been tempted by drugs.  But this was different from either, different from anything he'd ever known.

There was a new chant now, a slow, building rhythm.  It came from deep in Ben's massive chest, but it built and grew, filling both of them, filling this small room.

"I in you, boy, in you deep.  I's fuck  you, man, I fuck you till you mine.  Making you mine, Martin, making you all mine."

Ben's body stiffened as if he had been seized by some esoteric fit.  Martin felt Ben's cock swell and pulse and then erupt.  Martin's own body contorted with an impossible orgasm, sending all the signals of its climax to the most distant extremities of his electrified body.   His own cock pulsed in the dark space between them but no gush, no eruption of his seed occurred.  The passages of his own body were to confined by the pressure of Ben's massive cock.  Martin shuddered his release, "yes, Ben, yes, yes, yes."

Off in the corners of the small room Martin thought he saw movement again, the shadows, the witnesses.    Come, he thought, be a part of it, make us a part of you.   He felt a chill again but it left him and his body, like Ben's, shown with the heat of their lovemaking.   He remembered the shadows, just a few evenings earlier when, in the White Room with both Tim and Ben, he'd seen the forms and known in that moment that their coming together was so much more than sex, more than lust.

Ben rolled a little to his side, rolling off Martin, freeing him from Ben's great weight.  Their bodies were relaxing now,  passions spent.

Martin moved into and out of sleep, a heavy drugged sleep.  His mind went back to the shadows moving in the room.   He and Ben were part of something far bigger than themselves.   This was something going back to the beginnings of time, to the first man who'd loved another man, had joined with him, become one with him.  They were part of that now, that endless parade of men, seeking, sharing, loving one another.  The shadows reminded him, the witnesses, the watchers, they shared this moment just as he and Ben shared in their passions, their moments, their fulfillment in each other's arms.

The scent of the Night Blooming Jasmine wafted through the open window, carried on the languid breeze.  The strong fragrance mingled with the smell of sweat and sex, the scent of male bodies engaged in the hard work of the fuck.