This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story also deals with love and consensual sexual activities between men. If you are not of legal age, reside in an area where viewing such material is illegal, or are offended by such themes, do not read further and leave this site now.
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Two Lives - Two Loves
Chapter 6
I had no idea where I was. Well, that's not true, exactly; it looked like Jon's back yard but there was no longer a patio. In its place was a beautifully manicured lawn with a large section cropped as closely as a golf green.
"Croquet," an unseen, whispered voice said. I'd heard that voice before. There was no way to explain it except to say that it was as though my thoughts were thinking to me but in a clear, distinct voice that was more than just the usual mind chatter we all have. It was happening more frequently as I got older.
I looked around to get my bearings. There was the carriage house right where it should be. Funny, I don't remember seeing those lightning rods before. But, where was the pool? For that matter, where was Jon? I tried calling out for him but no words would come out. The harder I tried, the more resistance I met. It was then that I noticed that, like everything else so far, I wasn't exactly myself, either.
As I had raised my hands to cup around my mouth to call for Jon, I noticed that I was wearing a long-sleeved garment of some kind. Startled, I checked myself out. The Speedo was gone. I was dressed from head to toe in what appeared to be the habit of monk. From the feel of the fabric, which was very coarse, I guessed it was that of a medieval monk. For the first time, I noticed the weight of the garb. It was much heavier than our modern clothing and was probably good for inducing itching, although for the moment I felt nothing. I felt around my head and, sure enough, there was a hood.
Oddly, my mind was not racing and was, strangely, accepting of what I was experiencing. I looked at the house. It was Jon's house but with subtle differences. The color of the siding and the trim were slightly different than I remembered. The leaded glass of the French doors was of a different pattern. The window glass in the corner turret was actually curved, not flat.
"What was all of this?" I asked myself.
As I sometimes did when I was confused, in this case seriously confused, I just chilled for a few moments and took several deep breaths, trying to clear my mind hoping that an explanation would present itself. After a moment or two, I felt a tug, but not as if I'd been physically grabbed. I don't quite know how to explain it; it was just a tug, kind of like when a large wave rushes back to the sea and wants to drag you along with it. This particular 'wave' was pulling me in the direction of the house.
Every window in the house was open, which I thought was a little odd since it looked like there was a serious storm moving in. The curtains on some of them were flapping outside, driven by drafts moving through the house. I stepped through the French doors into what I'd remembered being the kitchen and found that the kitchen was gone. In its place was a sunroom furnished with crisp, white wicker furniture, of the kind my great-grandparents had had, but it all looked brand new. I was a little surprised that I was not surprised by this.
I turned and went out into the main entry hall; at least it was still there. The furnishings were different, though. All of the furnishings were different, in fact, but somehow familiar. I stopped and listened for a moment but didn't hear anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a small pinpoint of light near a side wall towards the rear of the hall that I hadn't noticed. I was positive that it hadn't been there a moment ago.
My immediate impression was that it was just an odd reflection but there was nothing I could see that would have caused a reflection. More than that, as I looked at this 'reflection', I began to clearly see that it wasn't on the surface of the wall; it was hovering in front of the wall. It gradually, smoothly moved towards me as I stood there, watching the bluish white sphere increase in size until it was about the size of a grapefruit. I should have been terrified but, strangely, I wasn't. I can only describe my reaction as being as though this were the most natural thing in the world, but I can tell you that I'd never seen anything like this before. The sphere was quite beautiful in aspect, having an almost crystalline quality to it, and was somewhat transparent. It hovered for a moment, varying its height between my head and my heart as if studying me, and then moved quickly towards the front parlor, stopping at the doorway, beckoning.
"The Study," I heard the whispered voice again. And again, I felt that tug of energy, pulling me in that direction. I could have ignored it but my curiosity had the better of me. I had to find out what this was all about. I didn't remember a Study in the house, however. I just assumed it was another one of those little differences.
I started to slowly make my way into the parlor, following the sphere. It moved quickly ahead of me, now that it realized I was in tow, and stopped next to an oversized wood paneled door. A long moment passed. "Okay, I'm here...now what?" I thought to myself. Then, ever so gradually, the sphere...I don't know how to describe it... melted...through the door. After it had completely dissolved, the door slowly opened, revealing another room beyond. With more than a little trepidation, I began to approach it cautiously.
I didn't remember this wall or door. I remembered a large cased opening adorned with carved wood. Jon's uncle must have taken the wall out to make a single large space for entertaining. The room I now entered had the dark wood paneling typical of the era for spaces of some importance. One wall was lined with books from floor to ceiling, leather bound by the looks of them. Paintings of hunting scenes adorned the remaining walls, each carefully centered within its own wood panel. To the rear was the bay window, that much I did remember, looking out to an informal garden. But it was the desk that commanded the space and my attention. It was huge, made of the same oak as the paneling and bookshelves. It, too, was paneled, matching the walls with some carving around the edge of the top, which had three inset green leather blotters. Two green-shaded bankers lamps anchored the front corners of the desk and I was interested to see three vintage candlestick telephones to one side. Gadgets, of any era, fascinated me. Then my eyes settled on the man sitting quietly behind the desk in a large leather chair.
He was the most despondent man I'd ever seen. He seemed familiar but I just couldn't seem to place him. He was neatly dressed in what I assumed to be the casual manner of his time: White linen shirt with banded collar, and cream- colored trousers with a matching vest. He was slumped in the chair staring at a corner of the room. He didn't blink, he didn't move. I might as well have been a floor lamp for all he cared. With what looked like a tremendous effort, he pushed himself out of the chair, not seeming to notice me, and turned to look out the bay window at the garden, his hands clasped behind his back. He stood there for a few moments and then turned around, facing me.
He looked to be in his mid to late thirties, fit enough, dark hair combed straight back and there seemed to be the scent of limes in the air as he moved around. His otherwise handsome face, however, looked racked by stress. Dark, bagged circles surrounded his red, sunken eyes; his cheeks were high and drawn. I sensed that he'd been crying but was trying to put up a good front.
When he finally acknowledged that I was there he smiled wanly and came from behind the desk. He patted my arms on each side in that stiff, old-fashioned way that men then had for showing affection or pride as if in a child or other younger person. I tried asking him what this was all about but, again, no sound came out. I decided it best to just go with the flow for now.
He turned and went back to his desk to retrieve a small, leather bound book, which he held out for me. His mouth moved as he handed it to me but I heard no words. I tried to move my arm to accept it but couldn't, my muscles just would not respond. The man spoke again and again I heard no words. Looking confused, wondering why I didn't take the book, he poked it gently at me again and, again, my arm would not move. It was clear that he was becoming frustrated and agitated. I was becoming very uneasy myself, since I had no idea what this person would do when he was upset and, at the moment, I was unable to move.
After several more failed attempts by him to give me the book, he became enraged. No, that's not the right word; it was more like he was venting some serious frustration but without the anger that accompanies true rage. He tossed it back down onto his desk in frustrated resignation and began screaming at me; actually, it felt more like he was pleading with me, but I still could not hear a word he was saying. Finally, he threw up his hands in apparent aggravation and stormed out of the Study, stopping, turning back only once to try pleading with me one more time. It was no use; I couldn't hear a thing he said and I still could not move. He waited, as if for a response. I could give no response and I saw his shoulders, his entire body, slowly sag in despair. He shuffled towards the door and I heard it weakly being pulled open and then closed a few moments later.
Only then was I able to move again. I'd never been paralyzed like that, ever. It wasn't from fright, the man was not that threatening of a figure to me. I felt almost sympathetic, in fact. I just could not move. I shook my head in disbelief at what had just happened and opened the door to the Parlor. Going back into the Entry Hall, I again saw the sphere of light, hovering there as before, waiting, almost studying.
The whispered voice emanating from inside of me, yet all around me, spoke again, "You have to listen to hear," it said with some solemnity. What was that supposed to mean? I'd been trying my damnedest to hear what that man was saying but it was no use. I'd also been trying very hard to move but couldn't, and that freaked me out more than a little.
Then the sphere glided silently towards the front door, again melting through it and I felt that tugging again, that energy pulling at me subtly but steadily, urging me to follow. Not having the ability to melt through doors myself, I had to do it the traditional way, opening it cautiously and stepping out onto the veranda. I was stunned to see a hearse in the circular drive at the foot of the steps. The sphere stopped in front of it as if to draw my attention, making sure I saw whatever it was it wanted me to see. Black silk curtains prevented me from seeing into the bed of the hearse. Darkened windows would not allow me to see the driver, either. To be honest, as I squinted, I would have sworn that there was no driver. I was again surprised at my reaction that this did not seem at all out of the ordinary. The hearse began driving slowly away at a funerary pace, the sphere of light in tow, and as it did I fell to my knees, overcome by a torrential flood of sorrow like I've never experienced but which, oddly, did not feel like my own. I wept uncontrollably, my shoulders heaving as I sobbed. I watched through tear clouded eyes as the hearse slowly disappeared down the long drive and as it disappeared, the sphere, still following, grew smaller and smaller until it was just a pinpoint of intense white light which then went out as if an unseen hand had thrown a switch.
I rested there, on my knees, unmoving for a few minutes trying to understand what had just happened and trying to catch my breath. The emotional torrent subsided, my heart was returning to a normal beat and I wiped the remnants of a small flood from my own eyes. A thousand questions created a logjam in my brain. I turned to look at the house, which now had a macabre aspect to it even though it was the same as before. It felt empty, deserted, intensely cold. Curtains fluttered from every window driven by drafts of an increasing wind that was beginning to find its own voice. It was not the voice of the wind rushing through the fresh spring leaves of a newly blossomed tree. It was a disgruntled yet empty voice of the kind you'd normally associate with a cemetery at midnight.
Was that it? Was I dead? Is this how it ends? My eyes darted around and I felt my heart begin pumping again, a gnawing feeling returning to the pit of my stomach. I heard no one. I saw no one. I was totally alone and felt a welling fear in me. I sat there, frozen. I had no idea of what to do and I felt the first droplets of panic begin to hit me, joining with the fear to create a horrible, gnawing potion. Then, I felt the first droplets of rain hit me on the head. First one, then two, a few more, the cold moisture accumulating sufficiently to slide down into my eyes.
I then felt a light touch on my shoulder, hearing a voice as if from far away.
"...ginning to rain...Brad?"
I heard it again and jumped with a start, yelling as if someone had poured cold water on me.
"Whoa, easy dude," I heard Jon yell. He had jumped back away from me, not expecting my reaction, his hands up in submission.
"Wha...what happened?" I said, only just realizing where I was.
"I dunno, dude, you tell me," he said. "You were asleep. I think you were having a nightmare."
"You're not kidding," I said. I was still a little disoriented and was trying to catch my breath; my heart had not quite finished pounding. My head, however, was a different story. I had awakened with one of those nagging, low grade headaches that I got from time to time.
"Man, you were out like a light. It took me a while to wake you up," Jon said. "C'mon, we've gotta get inside; it's starting to rain."
At that moment, rain never felt so damned good. "C'mere," I said as I pulled him into a crushing bear hug. As I glanced around, I was glad to see that everything was right where it was supposed to be.
"I'm glad to see you, too," Jon groaned just before I hungrily pulled his mouth onto mine.
It was just so great to feel him, all of him, again.
"Wow," he whispered. "Help me get the stuff inside, then I think you need to tell me about this dream. It definitely feels like it's upped your sperm count!"
"I want to get a shower first," I said. "I need to chill for a bit, then I'll need a heavy infusion of beer."
"Good idea," Jon said. "Mind if I join you? To...uh...conserve water...you know," he winked.
Right then, that sounded like the most excellent idea I'd ever heard. We finished getting our stuff inside and then headed upstairs.
Jon's uncle was no miser when it came to personal luxuries, and his Master Bathroom was a case in point. It was a study in contrast with the antiques and period furnishings elsewhere in the house. The entire composition was of modern design but still had an ageless feel to it. The room was large; I was sure that some people could set up housekeeping in it. Everything that could be marble was marble, composed into beautiful but simple patterns on the floors and walls. He'd allowed the natural veining of the stone to become as much a part of the d‚cor as the patterns themselves, which had an ancient sort of three-dimensional effect that I'd seen in photographs of Roman excavations. You'd get dizzy if you stared at it for too long.
The two white pedestal sinks and the oversized whirlpool tub didn't just have faucets; they had a sort of waterfall where the water came out in a sheet from a wide but thin aperture. Adjacent to the sink was a column of towels, one of two that flanked the shower, that formed as much a part of the design as the bronze fittings he'd used all through the bathroom. This guy new how to pamper himself.
I was amused to see a very expensive looking bidet next to the very expensive looking toilet. Bidets had always puzzled me. Upscale houses always seemed to have them but no American I'd ever met would admit to using one even if they knew how. Just money down the drain...so to say.
Then there was the shower...the object of my search. It was oversized, like the one in my bathroom, and clad in marble tiles. This was no mere shower, oh, no, no, no. This was a very elaborate water manipulation system that would deluge you with water from every angle. It could mimic everything from a gentle rainforest mist to the pounding of a massage therapist and be set to provide a range of everything in between in any sequence you liked. In my opinion, any shower that could be programmed had to be respected. Fortunately, Jon knew how it worked. That coffeemaker had taxed my powers of deductive reasoning enough.
Jon set the shower for a tropical rain, which was really a standard spray that you'd expect from every shower but it came from all angles. I helped spread some towels around so we wouldn't get water all over the place when we were finished. After a few moments, the water had warmed up nicely. A perfect little fog of steam was filling the stall and Jon tested the water. It was ready and Jon and I stripped off our trunks and stepped in.
Oh, that water felt good. I leaned my back into a series of the sprays and just let the heat soak into my aching, tense body. That dream experience had been more draining and stressful than I first thought and the hot water was a very welcome relief. Jon was going to play his part in my destressing, as well.
I have to say that for someone who makes absolutely no claim to being psychic, I was finding that Jon could be the most amazingly empathic person I knew. I knew what was in his mind and, like our first night together when I made him the focus of my attentions, Jon was going to now make me his focus. There was a great need in him to help relieve the pain that he unknowingly sensed in others. It was a trait of his that I found to be very endearing and it's definitely not the sort of stereotypical behavior one expects from a jock. But then, Jon is a very uncommon person.
I opened my drooping eyelids and saw that he was holding a large natural sponge onto which he was squeezing a scented bodywash from a tube.
"Turn around," he said. "Up against the wall, Williams; you know the position," he laughed.
It was one of his quirky little jokes but I did as ordered, placing my palms against the now warm marble and spreading my legs. He started with my shoulders, slowly moving the sponge around and releasing the wonderfully fragrant scent of the bodywash into the steamy air swirling around us. The scratchy texture of the sponge felt wonderful and I moaned as Jon worked his way down the expanse of my back, stopping only to add more wash to the sponge. He reached around to my front and washed my pecs in sensuously slow circles. I reached down to take his hand.
"Ah, ah," he said, playfully smacking my hand away. "Back on the wall or I'll slap the cuffs on you."
"The cuffs, huh?" I replied. "We'll have to remember that one," I smirked.
Jon didn't respond to my little quip but I sensed the idea had been properly filed for future reference. He continued his attentions, working the lather around over my abs but stopping short of my full, aching flesh. He withdrew his hand and slowly began washing my lower back.
"Uh, aren't you forgetting something?" I asked.
"Sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh," he whispered. "Soon."
I kept quiet and had no trouble enjoying the rest of my shower as he worked the sponge around my butt and then deep into the crack. I gasped and shook just a bit as he worked it slightly into my opening. He continued, washing each of my legs in turn and driving me crazy as he ran the sponge up into my thighs. Jon had to remind me again to stay still. I don't know how he knew to do all this but he was excellent at it and was turning me into a quivering mass. Then I saw him put the sponge up in the little caddy in the corner of the shower. That experience had felt so awesome. Why did it have to end?
"Turn around," I heard him whisper.
I did and propped myself against the wall. Jon adjusted the shower spray to a mist so fine that it was almost like the steam itself. He moved in closely to me, between my spread legs. His beautiful eyes locked with mine for a long moment, neither of us blinking. Neither of us wanted to take our eyes off the other even for that split second it took for our eyelids to close and then open again. At that moment, neither of us wanted to endure that brief but interminable instant of darkness that would separate us one from the other, then he pulled me down to his mouth and our hunger took hold.
The steam swirled around us luxuriantly as we deeply and unhurriedly savored the taste of each other, minute after blissful minute. Jon then nestled his forehead into the base of my throat, my chin finding its place atop his head. I sighed in satisfaction as he pulled into me a little closer and gripped our tense steel with his soapy hand. A wonderfully cold shiver went up my spine as he did and I gasped as he began to slowly stroke us. The heat, the warm moisture roiling around us, the tension of the slowly building flood within me was driving me insane but Jon continued to take his time. Slowly, he worked us together, up and down, occasionally circling his palm firmly over our joined heads, sending electrical shock waves through us both.
Jon was getting close. I knew some of his signs now. I could feel his free hand around my waist begin to tighten, pulling me ever so slightly closer, that increasingly forceful nasal breathing of his that I found so strangely alluring. I knew I was getting close and I tightened my own hold around his solid shoulders, my head falling back against the sweaty marble wall as I repeatedly, reverently whispered his name.
We tightened. Our bodies began to lock. Jon released his grip and quickly threw his arms around me, pulling us firmly together with all of his considerable strength. I immediately, involuntarily, did the same, crushing us together, our bodies desperately trying to become one and we cried out within seconds of each other as we exploded, as we felt our bodies madly pumping our essence to mingle as one in the razor thin space between us. I was beginning to feel lightheaded from the steam and the dizzying torrent of sensations enveloping me, the incredibly warm flood of emotions washing through me as Jon pulled us tighter and tighter. The smell of his wet hair was indescribably intoxicating. The feel of his tight, hot body firmly in my grasp, the incredibly satisfying feel of our surging release, of our mingling, was totally, inexorably enthralling.
The pulsing began to subside. We slowly began to relax and our chests heaved, taking long gasps for air. We rested for a moment, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking as the warm water washed over us. I couldn't remember ever feeling as good in my life as I felt right at that moment. I touched the side of Jon's face, caressing it gently with my fingertips, and he looked up into my eyes.
"I love you, Jon," I whispered.
I don't know whether it was just the beaded sweat running down his face or whether it was actually a tear I saw coming from the corner of his eye.
"I love you too, Brad," he whispered back. "Don't ever leave me," he said as he rested his head on my chest.
"Never," I said. "Never."
(To Be Continued)