drfootharpoon

[drfootharpoon]

"The Dead Don't Wear Pants"

Written by: V Harpoon

Chapter 9:

On the stranger side of the world, Brad W. leans on the edge of the long pier. His coat brushes aside the splinters as he gazes at the moon's reflection. Dayna crawls in his thoughts. Nothing jealous in nature, just the mission. Val is a good agent, his plot armor seems to hold him together. Dayna even more so, yet this sharp something won't leave his guts. In the corner of his right eye, the one imbued with Astral Sight, a faint blue shimmer joins Brad on the floating wood.

Brad glances down at the ghost's nudity. Why don't clothes appear in the afterlife? Most of them are made of things that once were alive, so why not? Because, as Brad thought, God loves a good dick joke. The one beside Brad has a huge hog. It even sways in the breeze. Why? The same reason Brad thought about Dayna. Irony.

Brad: "Phil. How's things?"

Phil moans incoherently.

Brad: "Carol, how's she?"

Phil grunts and drools.

Brad: "You're a chatterbox, Phil."

Phil is missing the upper half of his head.

Brad: "Lucky."

Brad thought of Dayna's soft lips as he huddles in the cold subtle wind and Phil wanders away onto the water. Brad watches the moon ripple around him. One of Brad's eyes can see the magic of reality, while also illuminating everything else unseen. The moon isn't just a pale sliver but a pulsing orb around which a rainbow of aether swirls. The delicate mist that coats the world of death. A mist that the dead cannot see, because of... more irony. Brad tries to shake their last conversation away, but his phone beeps a text and then rings. It's her... of course.

Dayna: "Brad, things are getting stronger. We need you to here quickly. We need an anchor. Something ancient is awake."

Brad: "Hi."

Dayna, sighs: "Sorry. I'm being intense."

Brad: "No worries. It's that serious?"

Dayna: "Worse than Calhoun."

Brad sighs: "Fun. Ok, I'll be there."

Dayna: "I sent you the address."

Brad: "Brass involved yet?"

Dayna: "Soon. I trust you more."

Brad: "Thanks."

Dayna: "Val says to bring the Amulet."

Brad: "I'll make a pitstop."

Dayna: "Thanks, Brad."

Brad: "Anytime."

Brad's flights are expedited, the Amulet of Astro acquired from a corporate base, and he lands at the small airport next to Stonehawk Lake. Val's uncanny ability to heal the story clicks into action. Still, no one is there to pick up Brad at the small airport and Dayna isn't answering. Brad asked about a rental car, got a red sedan, and soon pulled into the parking lot of Hard Egg Diner.

That's when the sky coats black. The wind accelerates and a strange whistling pierces the mix. The air above the diner swirls in a storm of ghosts. A rainbow of colors muted by an evil sludgy mist that whirlpools over the entire lake and mountain. Spirits and ghasts blur as they screech and haunt. A fierce glow of white light bursts in the middle of the diner as Brad reaches the clean glass entrance. His hand still on the handle and holds him.

The strange whistling pierces from the white orb. Brad sees both realities at the same time, but moments pass as he collects himself. In that time he sees his own face in the mirror ahead and the intense gaze in his friends eyes. They were watching a scene that shouldn't be, but is happening. Somewhere in the nexus.

A bronzed, muscular man is bent over and is being penetrated by a human sized monochrome mouse. They both moan, grunt, and whistle with ecstasy. The mouse's cartoon cock slides as the man oozes clear onto the blue runner rug. A whistle and a grunt exchange. Tarzan backs up as Steamboat Willie grips those glutes of tanned steel.

Brad can see that these characters are still in their own dimension, but are on display here. He can even smell the lust, sweat, and even the sweet sting of anal love. Willie pulls out and thrusts balls deep, making a sloppy popping sound. Tarzan moans and strokes himself. They seem to be close to eruption.

Brad closes his eyes and focuses, drawing power from Dayna's Astral Battery ability across the room. She is consumed by the horny actions of unreality. Brad glances at the bright orb and chants words too confidential to write down. Brad closes his right eye and the orb flattens into nothing, like an old TV turning off. The entire diner shakes their heads as they awaken. Val notices Brad first.

Val: "Glad we called backup."

Brad shrugs: "Was lurking around anyway. You should've..."

Dayna: "Things are getting weirder."

Brad: "Weird how?"

Val: "Like the author of this mystery is changing things as they go, not realizing that they're putting us through it."

Brad: "This is one of those cases that we won't remember later, reference, or get a sequel to, because of... reasons, isn't it?"

Dayna, hits the vape: "Beyond these words we don't exist."

Val: "The company motto."

Sheriff M: "Still, people are dying..."

Brad: "Maybe, we can fix that too. How gullible is this mysterious writer?"

Val: "Depends on how you spell it."

Tony: "Are you sure there's a writer?"

Bailey: "Are you sure there's a story?"

Dayna: "Nope. Just a feeling."

Barb stands: "Coffee, dear?"

Brad nods: "Yes, ma'am. Thanks."

Dayna sips hers: "Guess we should start with some introductions..."

Brad W lays down on the hard hotel bed, wearing only his soft black briefs. He thinks about the cartoon skin and that somewhere deep in the jungle. He thinks about his job, his parents, his name, his history, and finally about Jessica B. His lower memory bounces quickly. Brad gropes mindlessly at the hard lump pulsing below the soft black cotton.

The hotel room is warm in temperature and color tones. He's turned the TV on low volume. Lights dance on the ceiling as the audience laughs. The covers Brad lies on are red flannel and comfortable. His thoughts return to Jessica. Her mouth and its lingering flavor. Her eyes watching his satisfaction. Her sounds confiding in him a sense of passion.

Brad wriggles up against the headboard, his thickness rubbing and poking upright. The cotton holds his erection poorly now, but he doesn't mind. He thinks of Jessica and her pert breasts pressed against him. The motion of her anatomy and her short bob hair she ended up hating. He grips his cock and watches a pearl glisten at its tip in the lamplight.

He spits in his left hand, licks the first three fingers, and wraps his warm digits around his hot bulb and tree-trunk hard shaft. The saliva is viscous and just enough. He smooths over his seam just underneath. His shaft pushes back against his grip. The moan of ultimate ecstasy arrives sooner and unintentionally. The want of keeping a sensation cresting, but as Brad strokes himself, his mind is flooded with Dayna, Val, and a stranger they've always known. All the background noise and stories are burning into his mind. He feels like he's always been a part of this. He's the catalyst.

Brad ejaculates like a geyser. He twists and his hand feels along his stomach. A grin of incomprehensible joy from a memory he shouldn't have. The splooge cascades along Brad's body, briefs at his knees, eyes rolled up into a trance, body twitching, mouth foaming, now floating above the bed, strings of semen stretching, now lowering back to the bed, and finally a knocking at the hardwood door. Brad blinks aggressively, trying to return to normal.

He sees the state of himself, hears the knocking, pulls up his briefs, swallows what organic globs he can see, tasting his tangy sweet residue, and then drapes a flannel bathrobe over himself. Brad answers the door, but the biggest question on his lips is "Who the hell is Jessica?" He knows he may never get that answer, but there it sits. Maybe I can ask this stuff to the author, he ponders. Maybe...

#fiction #short fiction #lgbtq #mystery #mature

[drfootharpoon]

The Legend of Stonehawk Lake

Written by: V Harpoon

Chapter 8: (ed: things change / J=R)

The files tonight are dense and barely coherent. Nothing matters and everything is empty. The lines on the pages are pretty but useless. Echoes of facts about people and places. They don't obey their own rules. Everything swims around but somehow it's steady and static. The case of an old man with too much money. The case of a daughter who loved another. The jealousy of a bloated victim caught between. The cave of nonsense. The stranger who knows what it all means. The riddles of answers and the truth of... Val needs a break from all this and to relieve himself. A purple tendril lurks in a corner.

Dayna makes another cup of strong coffee as Val wanders half-focused in the Sheriff's Office. He still hasn't shown up. Also, the laughing doctor is missing. Val hopes it's his imagination. He wants a conclusion to all of this. Dayna flips open a box of fresh doughnuts. She nudges me as Val reroutes towards them. All glazed like his attention... The thoughts of the previous nights course through them. Val and Dayna are partners and lovers, but their hearts don't matter in their relationship. For Val, it's company and understanding. For Dayna, it's constant and complicated. Is it just proximity that fuels their lusts, or is there something coaching from beyond? The stillness they feel beside the other is what they most enjoy. They trust each other completely. That's what makes it difficult for Dayna and Val at this moment. They know the other is lying, but not about what? Maybe they don't even know? The donuts are gone.

Dayna: "Nothing but chaos, right?"

Val eats and shrugs.

Dayna: "I can't read them either."

Val swallows: "Is it a dream?"

Dayna: "It's halfway. That's how it feels."

Val nods and looks around: "Seems right."

Dayna: "It's off though. It bugs me."

Val: "It's hard to focus."

Dayna nods: "Maybe it's supposed to be."

The tiny brass bell over the front door jingles and Sheriff M enters with authority and a gentle grin. He looks just like his mother, Barb. Same except he was taller. Val remembers their pasts. Val had a mild crush on the boy back in school. Sheriff M was just Kevin M, who worked at Mogo's as a cashier every summer. Barb had moved in with her ailing mother, going through a divorce with Kevin's dad. His dad was in the military as a stateside doctor on the Pacific. Barb has worked at Hard Egg Diner ever since. Val has the opinion that it would fall apart without her presence. A center pin of sanity, a lovely port in a storm, and a hell to reckon with.

Val and Dayna shake his outstretched hand as Sheriff M puts his leather coat on the wall racking. He apologizes about being unable until to talk directly to them as soon as he could. Sheriff M was the one in charge of the diving team that pulled out Evan Q. He was just dealing with a robbery out at Miller's lumber yard. Somebody stole a tractor again. They suspect a local tweeker named Roly. Sheriff M adds a new check mark on the calendar, marking yesterday gone. His white stiff shirt and standard khaki attire stand out in authority with his dark complexion. Val stifles the fleeting thought of wanting to taste him. Dayna focuses on her copious notes.

Sheriff: "I'm sorry for your loss of your friend. I wish I could... Evan was good people. A little bit fancy, but honest."

Dayna: "Fancy?"

Sheriff: "Flashy things and parties. Word gets around small towns. He was shacked up with that millionaire, and ... I'm speaking ill of the dead, mama'd kill me. Let's start at the top."

Val: "I think I know who did it but I don't have any proof... and to be clear, the source was a little confusing."

Sheriff nods: "Witches Gate. I heard."

Dayna: "What did you hear?"

Sheriff shrugs: "Rumors."

Val: "Did you find anything?"

Sheriff: "We found Rose's body."

Dayna: "Cause of death?"

Sheriff: "Asphyxiation."

Val: "Not impalement?"

Sheriff, puzzles: "No. She's in the morgue if you need reassurance. Found her nude, but whole if that's what you're saying."

Val nods: "Maybe... So, the first death was Evan, right?"

Dayna: "No. It was the rich guy. Simon. He died first... we found him first."

Sheriff: "T.O.D. on all of them is within a day of the next. Then it all stopped. It doesn't feel right, you know?"

Val: "Was Rose seeing anyone?"

Sheriff nods: "The main suspect. James R. He's one of the cooks at Hard Egg. Been missing since before the whole deal. Not a trace of him yet."

Val: "Check out Witches Gate again. With a whole team this time. Nobody goes in alone."

Sheriff: "You went and weren't."

Dayna: "Something weird happened."

Sheriff nods: "Thing pisses me off about that... it's like..."

Dayna: "Like someone is changing it."

Sheriff M sighs: "Exactly."

Val: "Who?"

Sheriff M stands: "You both hungry? I could use a conscious change of scenery. Also, if you want to know anything about James, you better talk to my mama."

Val and Dayna agree as it's been a busy morning and it's nearly noon. They drive to the diner in the Sheriff's unmarked SUV. Sheriff M parks on the side and they get out. The sun is directly above and feels wonderful against the chilly winds. The chrome of the diner echoes retro and the tunes floating from the ceiling chimes along. Barb is sitting behind the register, waving at her son. Dayna takes a vape hit and they all enter in a random order.

The crunchy waffles and sweet potato fries mix well with the maple syrup. The coffee cuts through and cleans their palates. Barb sits beside Sheriff M and tells them about historical events and the intricacies of small town scandals. Mostly she's telling Dayna about it all, as Val and Kevin were well versed in the local lores. But first, she laid a guilt trip on her son, jokingly. She's aware of the hazards of the job. She also knew Evan. Barb knew everyone.

Barb: "Glad you had some time."

Sheriff: "Sorry. It's all been a mess."

Barb: "I understand. Val, we haven't really talked since you came back. How are you?"

Val: "I'm doing okay, Ms. Barb."

Barb, turns to Dayna: "And you dear?"

Dayna, wipes away syrup: "Solid."

Val: "That means good."

Barb nods and looks at Dayna reading the placemat. It's a basic map of the town, lake, and campgrounds. All surrounded by advertising squares and discount coupons. Barb notices Dayna going over the legend of how the mountain and lake were formed. How it began with two sisters fighting for hearts, power, lands, and prophetic futures. Who betrayed whom is unclear, as mutual destruction was the end result. One sister tore the mountain out of the earth and killed her twin. Dying, the other cried and great tears fell down the rocks, making the lake, and buried her sister. Forever trapped by their own desires. Dayna looks up.

Barb grins: "It's all gibberish."

Dayna: "Hope so."

Barb: "Though folks here will defend it."

Sheriff: "Mogo still believes it."

Barb: "Mogo is as bright as a potato."

Sheriff: "Still, he's not a liar."

Val: "Weird, not dangerous."

Barb, watching the front door: "Oh."

Sheriff sees his deputy Tony F and Bailey Q walk in, Tony holding the door. Barb waves them over to the booth. Everyone has eyes like cherry pies, frozen, and it all fades to black. In the middle distance, a whistle...

#fiction #mature #mystery #short fiction #lgbtq #short story

[drfootharpoon]

"Dayna's Public Domain Dream"

Written by: V. Harpoon

Chapter 7:

One evening, long ago, in the Deep Jungle Valley, a high-pitched whistle pierced the crickets, the summer sky, and made Tarzan sit up in wonder. He was just lying about in the sun, baking all his areas evenly. To Tarzan, the whistle sounded nervous, very nervous and scared. A hungry roar echoing from a pair of leopards soon told why.

Tarzan quickly went back inside his tree mansion and put on his tiger loincloth. It held his dense package in place as well as protection and ease of movement. Tarzan adjusted his knife tied to the anaconda belt around his loin cloth and swung on a thick vine towards the stranger in trouble. The orange-ruby sun glowed on Tarzan's bronze skin and somewhere, but not yet, Jane is jealous.

Growls and hisses became closer. The whistles tried to scream for help. Tarzan understood all of the jungles sounds, but didn't know what kind dialect it was. Tarzan pointed himself towards branches and rocky outcrops as he thought about what he could face. The village is far to the north. Cannibals from the south, maybe? Tarzan swung into the setting sun to be a savage savior to either friend or foe. His answer to that question was startling.

In the middle of a small clearing, its back up against a huge steep cliff, two leopards crouching in front, and wielding an old, still sharp arrow was a human-sized mouse in a pair of shorts, a tall captain's cap, colored only in black and white. It confused the green grass and Tarzan for a moment longer and then the left side leopard pounced. Tarzan landed just in time to tear the big cat from the ancient arrowhead after the monochrome mouse jabbed it into its throat. The leopard slopped to the side bleeding and choking.

Tarzan roared at the remaining leopard, reminding it that he is king of this valley. The leopard also saw that the monochrome mouse was still holding the arrow with both hands. It was an article of power from a kingdom long forgotten. The fresh blood had renewed its shine. The leopard without a name growled low in a disgruntled acknowledgement and vanished back into the shadows.

Tarzan stood up and nodded at the mouse. It nodded back, whistled, and offered an ungloved hand. Tarzan shook it and did his best to communicate. It took the rest of the evening to get back to Tarzan's home and by that time they understood a few lines of dialogue. The mouse's name is Steamboat Willie, but to just to call him Will. He lost his boat in a storm a few days ago and would like help getting it back. All that Will understood was that his human was there to help. Tarzan whistled his backstory. Will listened, was shocked, and excited the whole time. They ate a delicious meal of berries and leopard steaks as the night closed up the jungle. Even Tarzan knows not to tempt that side of fate.

The night grew as they played cards on the floor, laughing and whistling. Will didn't know the question was on his lips until he whistled it. Tarzan's eyes lit up in astonishment. Will whistled an explanation and for forgiveness if he offended Tarzan. Tarzan whistled back, but moved forward. Will whistled if he was sure, it's cool if you don't want to... Tarzan closed the distance and wrapped his arm around Will. Tight, hard muscles pressed closer to smooth, cartoon skin. Their lips locked with immediate passion. Their hands exploring the other with curiosity.

... later they sucked their huge dicks and... Dayna opens her eyes on the morning flares cutting through the curtains. Her mouth is cotton and grunts upright.

#fiction #mature #short fiction #lgbtq #steamboat willie

[drfootharpoon]

"Power Steering Fluidity"

Chapter 4: Scandal @ Stonehawk Lake

By V. Harpoon (2023)

Dayna caressingly drives the strap-on dildo harder into Val's hungry starfish. She slides the dense silicone in and out. Both of them: squishing, thumping, and moaning. She throws her blond hair back as she makes the face and cums from the empty passion. The second head curled inside her velvet folds. Val squirts all over his chest and Dayna sensually slurps up the pearly mess. His phallic glory twitching with relief. Dayna gives it a good soft suck for luck.

She makes no mistake, this changes nothing. They're partners and that's where the cuddles end. They both just wanted to fuck someone. Not like it's the first time. The first in these motel rooms surely, but not the first time. They've tasted every inch of each other. But her feelings for him are null. Val feels the same way. Just fuck-buddies on a case. Val pulls her up and she straddles his face.

He slides the straps open and slowly extracts the second head of the dildo. Slick, wet ooze fell out and into his mouth. Val buries his tongue in her and cleans like a cat. Dayna smiles at the sailboat picture and digs her fingers through his hair. They moan and wriggle. Val smacks Dayna's ass. She squeezes his head and grabs his cock again. The remaining semen pools in his pubes and is lubricant.

Eventually, they dumped everything inside of them. A release trying to fill a void. A sticky void, pearlescent and vibrant. Dayna was the first to break out of their afternoon passion-slumber. She showered and rubbed one last one out. Her clit ring buzzing and sore. She finished herself off by slipping a finger up herself, finding that brown sugar spot in her ass, nearly falling to her knees. She hasn't been this horny in years. The chaffing was inevitable.

Was something off? Sure, they've fucked before but... Evan Q. Something about him. It's making everyone weird. Where did that strap-on come from? It's not ours. How did we even end up going at it? Dinner. It was at dinner. He just looked so sad. I wanted to cheer him up. Never thought we'd... A knock on the bathroom door. Dayna climbs out of the shower and opens it.

Val stands there, still nude and erect. Dayna says nothing and gets back in the shower, leaving the door wide open. Val crosses the tiles and climbs behind her. Their skin now cloaked in hot mist and soap suds. They don't even speak, it seems mechanical still but passionate. Val thrusting in Dayna, calmly choking her. Pounding hard as the water steams the glass. Dayna twists back and kisses him. He responds by guiding her to her knees and railing her tight pink anus without mercy. Dayna screams for more. Val smacks her cheeks, red prints on a red ass. Dayna fingers herself and flicks her sore clitoris. Val's cock is suffering from being stimulated for too long.

Dayna pulls away and lays spread eagle on the floor. Val follows and mounts. Her lower lips hold on to his thick throbbing pain. He thrusts and tears come out of his eyes. He whispers Evan's name and ejaculates in Dayna. A creampie with their hips shoving together and belonging. Dayna caresses Val's back as he cries on top of her. Her lust and his regret fade.

Finally, they kiss. One long look into each other's eyes. A knowing that you're never going to be together but it's not what you want anymore. You are bonded but flexible. Dayna knows she can't be what Val truly needs. She'll suck him off or something but that's where her heart stops. Val helps her up and they shower without talking. They scrub each other and kiss occasionally but nothing is said.

The night ends with them asleep, facing away. Dayna touches herself as a checklist before she falls asleep. She knows it's stupid but it's a habit now. Hair, nose, lips, neck, all check. She drifts. Boobs, ribs, stomach, arms, all check. She drifts farther. Hips, ass, clit (ow), thighs, knees, feet, toes, all good. Dayna thinks about sunshine and open fields. She sleeps on as Val has already arrived. His penis flaccid and unwilling. Evan Q off his mind.

The purple, double vibrator dildo is forgotten by both until tomorrow. The question will be raised but it will not be found. The slimy,gold goblin creeping from under the sink will have it. He grabs it just before dawn and licks it for hours. Unfortunately he loses it in a bet with a water maiden. She wears it constantly. It's kinda cute... if not unsettling. Dayna dreams of being...

#fiction #mature #mystery #lgbtq #short fiction

[drfootharpoon]

"Bailey Q"

Chapter 3: Scandal @ Stonehawk Lake

by V. Harpoon (2023)

Bailey Q doesn't know what she wants. You can see it in her unpainted face even as she sleeps. Currently she's passed out in my soft blue recliner. A complete Winnie the Pooh. Her black lacy bra hanging out of my oversized white Ramones tshirt. Her well-sculpted breasts are rising and falling softly. Her shaved, yet showing mild peach fuzz, raging cock is at full mast and her stomach is covered in Cheeto dust. Her purple pixie-cut hovers elegance within her aura. Mistress of a night so grateful.

I want to lick the dust off, but I'm too busy watching my guinea pigs leap about, whippling and whistling like birds. My eyes catch the lamplight dance off her sparkling toes. She's decided to paint them three different dark colors all splashed with a new silvery glitter coat.

I helped her with dinner tonight and she was waddling about like a duck. Toes up high. Heels stomping. I came home from work, saw this, laughed, grabbed her ass as she stirred pasta and said to go sit down. We ate, got stoned, made love in the hallway, finishing in the bathroom, and started watching a documentary I still have no idea what it's about. Squids maybe? Something aquatic no doubt.

I sit here contemplating us. Our friends don't know about us yet. Don't know if they'll be okay with it. Maybe but... it's a small town. The gears love to squeak. Especially since I'm a sheriff's deputy, the new guy in town, and she's the local preacher's son, from a long generation of eccentric, rich family. She hates being called a male that but her father's words were very clear.

Lord, help me. Billy... you have a penis and you're a stupid harlot! You're a sinner born for greatness but seeking hellfire! Get your heathen homosexual self out of this house! And put on pants! Satan...

Bailey Q hasn't been back in almost 2 years. She did some traveling. Soul searching for heroes and herself. She returned to Stonehawk Lake a month ago. We met at a small grocery store, Cuppo Mart, near the famous Hodges' Pier. She was sleeping in the campgrounds and... as they say one thing leads to another.

She snores and adjusts her smooth scrotum. Then she scoops her tits and rolls silently towards me. Cheese dust is left behind like tiger stripes over her seductively-tanned skin. I bet she tastes grrreat. I know she does. I turn the channels. Cooking channels make me drool. I watch her toes glitter.

Two nights later, we sit in the bedroom in silence. She's reading a horror novel and I'm playing idle games on my phone. She puts the thin wooden bookmark somewhere near the third act, sets the book down, and starts kneading my inner left thigh. I respond in turn. Our balls and breaths tighten with pleasure. I know what I want. Her. Now. Our kisses sync. Our hearts jounce and hum. The clean laundry on the corner of the bed falls unfolding to the carpet. Bailey Q doesn't know what she wants but she knows how to get it.

Her lips tasting mine. Her moans purring in my ears. Her hard dick pressed against mine. Hers spearing out of the black lace. Mine pitching a tent in my boxers. Our stomachs and hips gyrate to the sound of our lust and the tower fan next to the dresser, it humming along. Our bare feet tickle each other. I smack Bailey's firm ass and give it a firm, loving squeeze.

She smiles and kisses me lower. Down my hairy chest and happy trail. Down over the maroon boxers. Her teeth playfully biting me. Bailey slips my phallus from my garment and into her soaking, wet, warm, beautiful mouth with grace and speed. I run my hand through her purple pixie-cut. She makes happy and eager noises. She strokes herself as I stand up, tossing a pillow for her knees.

That's when our phones rang almost simultaneously. We didn't want to answer them. Damn them and let us cum. But, the air suddenly spiked with urgent stress and ill omens. My boss, the sheriff, called me and said what Bailey's aunt told her.

Evan Q was dead. Bailey dropped the phone and stared at the darkest corner. It took a while to piece it together but as I did, all I heard was screaming. That gutwrench sound of a heart being pulverized. Tonight's entertainment has been postponed. That's okay.

Evan Q was her older brother from a different mother. Bailey admired him. I'm new in this town, but I understand the consequence. A prominent community figure snuffed out. And it got worse from there. Evan wasn't the only victim. A real estate mogul commiting self-delete and his daughter missing. The big guns have been called in. I sit beside Bailey as she melts into a hot slug, crying and aching. I hold her and say nothing.

I kiss her face. She smiles briefly and breaks into sobs again. How did this happen? Small town but with now Big Problems. Come on over... I hear the water is great this time of year. Nearly frozen. I hold my face beside Bailey. She stops crying and we sit in silence for a while. When she finally tries to say something, she doesn't finish it. Instead, she slowly grabs my cock and mindlessly caresses. I respond in kind. We face each other and kiss, hard and passionate. Like the act of carnalities will alleviate the pains.

We finish the night as we started after all, sweaty, satisfied, mollified, but knowing that our release is bittersweet. I smell the nape of her neck as she snores again. I turn away from being the big spoon and drift. Bailey's arm curls around me. I'll deal with the monsters in the morning.

#fiction #mature #mystery #short fiction #sexy content #lgbtq #love #short story

[drfootharpoon]

"Horrors of Stonehawk Lake" (fiction)

Written by: V. Harpoon (2023)

Chapter 2:

"We step into the Witches Gate. Everything changed for us again... Lovecraft awakes."

J stoked the rotten skulls on the old pikes. The end of everything crept nearer. Dayna became Dana, became Danya, became me reflecting in the golden eyes of a billionaire's daughter. Gore coats the stones. Plague eats the sliver of sun. The cold breath of the lake mutates as hot and hungry. Future, past, present blur as they always have but now worse and will. J screams at the skulls. I think it's the fry cook from the diner. Features are indistinguishable from shadows. Everything about him is separate and yet entirely myself... My arm is broken. Has it always been that way? J giggles.

J asks softly: "Who harbinger quando?"

I don't know and I say nothing.

J replies: "Liar, doctor. Never roll again."

I sit up: "Where's Dayna?"

J rushes up to my face: "No. Try harder."

I don't know and I stutter.

J sighs and tears off the daughter's cheek with his teeth. Chews with and without satisfying answers or pleasures.

I: "Can we start over? I'm Valiant."

J, deep space and time: "Lover of Sacrifice."

I might understand: "Evan?"

J smiles: "Rose of course and death."

I feel my arm reset and I scream.

J smiles wider: "Doctor doctors self here."

When did I grow breasts? I've always had them. My arm hurts. Nature whispers my name as Dayna. Is it right? Who is this scurrying in the darkness? Did I have a partner? What does J stand for? I see her breasts drooping and rotting. I smell urine and the remains of hot love. All clothes are one me. Why are dancing so slow? Everything is slower and uncomfortable, yet it speeds up like time's on meth. The bite of rock ignored our pains. It's breathing, undulating and indifferent.

J whispers in my ears from across the cavern: "I'm going to prove hell to you."

I, Dayna, respond: "Simon says no."

J giggles and we dance: "Fate. Whim. Same things happen with time. Forget not."

Dayna, me? asks: "Is there a point to all of this confusion? A meal for the mind?"

J points at the mirror ceiling. Puzzle pieces shouldn't twist like cyclones. I don't understand... the spiders aren't really...

J laughed at shadows: "You will."

A voice close, far: "Dayna? That you?"

I, Dayna? echo: "Val? What's happening?"

The beast roars and shudders the stones.

J: "She is awake."

I, Val: "Who harbinger quando?"

J grins: "The Witch of the Gods."

I ask what already know: "Where's Evan?"

J's grin dies: "Lover gave himself..."

I die again inside: "Of course, he did..."

Dayna, closing in: "Who's Evan?"

J disappointed, disappeared...

Tentacles, black, oozing, and numerous slither into view. Pulsing purple lights burst from oblivion to their tips. They groped at our legs and faces. They caressed our genitals and throats. They squeeze and raise us in the infinite dark. A ray of daylight becomes visible again. It's far below us. A vulgar cut in the rock. We become aroused as it thrusts us together. We slip outside onto the dirt road, slimy, naked, and embracing. The other cops stare down in disbelief. A rotting breeze floats out the Witches Gate... Something inside giggles and echoes.

I snap into full awakening: "Dayna?"

Dayna, still groggy: "Yeah?..."

I: "We're in deep shit."

Dayna nods and blacks out.

I follow up with a thud.

We come to in the Sheriff's Office. Eyes glow as we stir again. Doc Polk sighs in relief. I've been dressed in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. My left arm is in a fresh cast and throbbing. I don't see Dayna and I panic. Doc Polk calmed me without words but a button on the desk.

Doc: "He's awake."

I see Dayna refrain from sprinting into the room with that stern look she has sometimes. I see right through it. Her right arm is in a sling and cast like mine.

Dayna nods: "What was that all about?"

I: "Don't know... but we will soon enough."

Doc Polk handed me a case file from the desk he sat behind. The answers lead to more questions. J crows heartbreak and demons. He/She/It? is standing invisible in the corner of my eyes. I shake my head clear of these Lynching thoughts.

My throat is dry: "Got any coffee?"

Dayna nods and exits. I'm sure I saw tentacles portal along the ceiling.

Doc chuckles: "I'll get the sheriff."

He leaves.

I'm alone with the shade of a former lover in my heart and a demon in the corner. Who's magic will be stronger?

#fiction #short fiction #mystery #mature #horror #lovecraft #lgbtq

[drfootharpoon]

"Death At Stonehawk Lake" (fiction)

Written by: V. Harpoon (2023)

Chapter 1:

"That summer. That boy.

That love. That game.

That shower. That lust.

Long gone, yet...

Somehow lives forever...

Not just in romantic memory...

...but in that night at Stonehawk Lake."

- S. Det. Valiant Harpont -

Evan wasn't glad to see me. Death can do that to someone. The void where his blue eyes that used to dance now told of... sad tales. He's less than his former elegance. The bullet hole in his forehead spoke vulgar volumes. Also, his feet were missing. I'd say that maybe they've fallen off... but the soggy sweatpant legs were cut cleanly at the knees. His dreamy facade burns. I covered Evan with a cold sheet. The winter storm is closing in and hides the sun. Perfect timing. Evan's giggles echoed from my past. I'm not even sure if it really happened that way that summer anymore... Maybe all my memories are lies. Maybe they all are... Either way, Evan deserved a proper ride home. I could at least give him that amount of solace...

I, without looking up: "Let's go."

How to describe how opposite I feel now? Empty. Hardness and in torturous pain. It was the bloated purple corpse of Evan that cut me so. It bumped the skip as we dragged it in from the lake. That sound will haunt me later, I'm sure. My partner Dayna watched from the shore. I haven't been back here since that long-ago summer... a drink of - can't focus...

S. Det. Dana Tyler signals on the radio, the crew barks back, and we return to the pier... the same one we claimed was ours back in our youth. It's the one across Stonehawk Lake from his parents' log cabin mansion. The dock creaked ominously, but remained steady. The coroner and his assistant carry his corpse to the van. Evan doesn't notice.

Dana and I silently get in the robin-blue rental car, crank the engine, and sit for a while. The others continue with their tasks. We prepare to drive away... I wish I hadn't given up smoking. Dana hands me a wax vape-pen from her coat. I wave it away. She holds it there for seconds longer. I never thought seconds could last this long... I take it from her, she shifts into drive, and we coax the naked forests soon to be dense with snow. The lake hasn't frozen yet, but after tonight?

I take a few slow drags from the pen. I try to unravel what I know. Maybe at the hotel, something in the files, a secret not written down, a warning perhaps, a quarrel, an accident, on purpose, a sign, the smoke and a gun, what happened, when, by whom, but most importantly why? Why you, Evan?

Dana takes the vape back. I'm just staring out at the dark trees. Evan's bloated face with his missing eyes make random appearances. The only sounds are heater vents and tyres rumbling. And breathing. And confusion. And a heartache from a place almost forgotten. If it hadn't been for the alleged suicide of a international millionaire and the disappearance of his daughter, we wouldn't be here.

But we get the tough cases. The weird ones. This is no different. Somewhere in this sleepy town lurks a monster. Who? Or more terrifying, what? The question of why was already certain. Evan was having an affair with the daughter of his boyfriend. Of this I'm positive, that's just how I remember Evan. A lover to everyone and beholder of a thousand hearts. Maybe the old millionaire did it. Maybe the sultry daughter. One covering the other definitely. But still it's not a satisfying answer. Where are they anyway? Again, I come back to his missing feet... A sick thump against the car makes both of us jump. We didn't stop as nothing tangible was left behind...

Later, in the shower, crying and replaying that night... but it ends with Evan's bloated purple corpse staring at me. Bullet hole dead center and smoking. He has the truth somewhere safe and hidden. The scent of this soap reminds me of happier times. Yet, on the floor, shower still roaring steam, I curl up and burst. I don't bother to read any files tonight...

The next morning, Dayna and I are sitting in a deep-set, red-leather booth at 'Hard Egg's Diner'. The coffee is good and the eggs are perfect. Dayna bites into a cheese pastry. We haven't spoken since last night. The ruby horizon gains brighter colors. The diner slowly fills with fisherman and old men. The kitchen clanging with its culinary music. I noticed Danya's blond hair is up but frizzy.

I sip coffee: "What's new?"

Dayna: "This case just got weirder."

I: "Go on."

Dayna: "We found the daughter."

I: "It's where that makes it odd, right?"

Dayna nods: "Yeah."

I want a smoke: "Where was she?"

Dayna: "Hobart's Cave. Most of her anyway."

We meet eyes and I remember the old ghost stories. Horror is king to the young.

I: "They found her in the Witches Gate?"

Dayna nods: "Her head on a stick."

I: "Dramatic."

Dayna: "Haven't seen it yet, but the scene waits for our adventure."

I: "Ease up on the vape."

Dayna, clear eyes glow: "Totally sober."

Barely an hour later, we arrive at the base of Stonehawk Mountain. Hobart's Cave hides in the bright day. Its crevice is the entrance to the deepest cavern system in the state. A gash like a lopsided vulva carves into the rock. Nobody wants to fuck with it anymore. Except teenagers and idiots. Even the tourist association stopped after the last cave-in decades ago. 41 people got trapped and died. A small bronze plaque commemorates them. We step into the Witches Gate. Everything changed for us again... Lovecraft awakes.

TBC...

#fiction #lgbtq #lovecraft #mystery #short fiction #mature

[drfootharpoon]

My Hollow Identity (Fiction?)

By J. (as told to V. H.)

The Interlude of J:

Hello to you, friends.

Go away. It's not ready.

You're not ready. I'm not ready.

...are they gone? ...no?

Breathe deep and pretend. It's just me and you. Or more accurately me and myself. A lens through which to view... me barking at shadows, strangers, etc. Their presence an irritation and a subtle anxiety inducing rage waiting to explode.

Breathe. Hold on to it. Let it go. Release it. Feel relieved that it's gone. Feel depressed that it just filled back up while you were calm. Realize that you are just a vessel. A shell. Husk. A bottle of power and poison. But all you need, crave, lust for is...

Opposite. Love and support. Care and attention. But even then it seems like I'm asking too much from you. Don't worry about it. I'll close the box up again. Forget I said anything. Sorry I brought it up. ...but am I? Half says one. The other says worse. Stop pretending in the mirror.

I see myself reflected. I don't know who that is anymore. It's the skin I hide within. It's the mask over the masks. I don't see anyone inside working the controls. All I see is my Hollow Identity. See what I did there? Brought in the title instead of it just being a theme. Oh. That's me deflecting again. Uncomfortable. But I can't change the subject. Hell, it's about me. Myself. The only one that rarely talks. The others just won't shut up. I don't let them. Keeps me busy and distracted. Life's sweet spot.

The dance of truth between the lines. Here is where I should tread. Not these mires of lost, warm, soft cope. I know I'm running. Falling on purpose. Hurting just to feel something. Something other than nothing or everything. These springs of emotion are not consistent. Geysers erupt ad nauseam and forceful. The public seeing either one of these is embarrassing. Even if I lean into the rage, hate, irrational fears and make entertainment out of it. I hate that. I hate that rage that serves so useful and disastrous. I hate the coldness that I feel on it's plateaus. I want nothing more than to be overwritten.

Breaking into yourself is tricky. The defensive actions are in place before you engage. The trains are offline. The stare becomes mid-range. The distance unimportant. The destination of this city in your head. That mall you wander. Those shops you browse. Those confused streets that lead everywhere but where you want. The gas-station of your dreams that is just as dirty as reality. The bricks that feel rough and red. The concrete and asphalt and dirt roads all with their scents and textures. You become familiar with the surroundings. You ignore the dozens of people floating around. Faces are pointless. Items are enigmatic. All you have is a destination to get to... but where is it and why? How much here is in there? I'm not a participant. I'm the camera minus the man...

Hollow again. The tone of empty gongs somewhere without. Or so you'd like to believe. The song of monotone is pulsing in your chest. It booms in ears and scars.

Who am I? A writer for sure. Everything else doesn't feel like the truest me. Shit. There I go. Trying to hold back tears. Not sure where they came from. Maybe I do and I'm going to ignore it for now. I'm at work and the others just drive by. Why do I have this need to bark harshly at them? Why do I criticize their every mistake? Could be from an upbringing that wasn't the best one. It tracks. Could it be from my trail of thoughts that led me up to these gallows built from my bones? Idk.

Not to mention my confused sexuality. Hey. I said not to mention that. It's private. It's a private thing about privates. Which one do you prefer? Do I have to choose now? Can we just get to know each other first? A drink maybe? A smoke? Something else to avoid this conversation? No? Fuck you. I'm sorry. Don't leave yet... We can still patch things up right? Please don't...

Stop making me feel things. I love it too much. Okay. Fine. Change of subject. Are you gay? What the fuck, dude? What the fuck do you care? How is this your business? Sorry. Why are you so defensive? You know why. Say it. No, I'm not gay. Not entirely. I love women. If they happen to have a penis, it's not a deal breaker. Why does that appeal to you? Mother nature and Mother issues. Can we please leave it there? I'll leave if you don't.

Apologies. Breathe deep. Stop arguing with yourself. It only takes over if you let it.

Squeeze me more. Let this brain juice leak to the floor. That floor so dark and abyssal. Yet solid and imaginary. Squeeze me and stroke until the ultimate clarity spurts all over my face and soul. I haven't had a sober year since junior year of highschool. That was not yesterday... So why am I still blindly wandering these halls? What secret do they hold? Must not think naked people. I'm not good at... There you go getting distracted by... ADHD. Belittling yourself because of trauma. Don't hide it anymore, bro. I'm here for you. Sure, that's what you said last time you left. What do you want from me? Idk either.

I want you. I want you to be you. I want you to be comfortable and confident. All the emotions are not going away. Just have to buy a better filter. Can use drugs for that? Technically. But not recommended. Deleterious effects and returns are abundant. Pharmacy says they have nothing for me. Check out the fancy stores. The ones with products overpriced and possibly a fad. Jump on them while they last. Supplies are limited. You're an idiot. Stop treating yourself like you know what you're doing. Liar. Internet garbage disposal that you are... Harsh. Sorry. The shadows crept in while I was focused on them. Couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity. Of course. Of life. Of... get on with it, man. Forward or something else.

You spoke of abuse. No. Yes you did. Maybe. Hard to say certain things. I know. I don't want to talk about it. Was it negative? Was it neglect? Something like that. Did she love you? I'll never ask her about it if that's where this is leading. Fuck that fucking cunt ass bitch. Easy there. Sorry. There's definitely a bit there. I'm not touching it right now. It's still on fire. Anything else? The neighbor kid. For fucks sake. No. Not him... It's not your fault. I know, right? He used you. I know. Can we please stop? You were like 9. SHUT UP!

Moving on as I seal doors and hatches behind me as I flee down the hallways that never move. Fuck that guy. It's okay dude. Sure. Whatever. Can we please get high now? No. You have to face yourself soon. I don't think I bought the right... Distracted?

Shit. Maybe another tangent will fix that.

You know you're not a real doctor. I know. I'm not a real person but I can still help you. Trust me? No. Sigh. Maybe... What's the catch? None. Liar. Bro. Sorry. You apologize a lot. Why? Comes with the territory. No choice as it seems. Bullshit. Everything has a chance and a choice. Find yours and spin. What do you think this all is about? Me? Sure. You? Definitely. Us? Yes. Why? Necessary. Ok, it's more compulsive than that. Doctor's orders.

The mall of dreams and of tangibility are often the same to me. Blank faces on stick bodies that live independent and close. My shell is made of sandpaper and razors. I can't even keep my closest friends. I'm a snarling dog biting his own leash just for show. But they don't see the show. They don't know how to watch it. Watch me. Like a freak. An adorable monster.

No matter how many layers of clothes I wear, I feel exposed. Afterwards, at all costs, I feel exhausted. Not of my own volition. Just satisfied to be done with shopping, chores, errands. Do you hate them? Objectively, no. I have no reason. No easy answers that don't come without layers of sarcasm and makeup. Then why? Fear. Fear and possible futures. I'm not ready for that yet. Sure. That's the... Liar.

So what conclusion have you come to? I'm still hollow. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. Things all in-between up and null. The points are attached and yet blood flows uncaring. I want to want to be around others. Has there been anyone? Not many. Too shy to approach. Too scary to coddle. It might not be that. That's how it resonates. Few get under my skin. Few with which to I wish I had more time. Much more.

Breathe and hold on to the doorknob. It will be okay. Will it? Maybe. Only one way to find out. Ready? No. Not yet. Don't want to be taken advantage of again. Don't want to be used like a single soft tissue. Disposable and elated. Are you still at the door? Yes. Open it. No. Why? It's not real. So? I'm not a doctor. No, you're not. So? What? Open it. What's on the other side?

Hello? You picked an awkward time to vanish. I didn't go anywhere. Sorry. Am I being needy? A little bit. You're not used to this and it's oddly satisfying. To what end? Maybe another tangent. The hillside is cresting. The sky isn't blue. Bela is dead.

You began this with an intent, right? Yeah. Why? Idk. I'm confused still. The switches and swirls dance in my brain. Thinking about that dance with her. It was a sad dance. I wasn't comfortable in that bizarre relationship. Two ships that skirt and fondle. Two ships on fire. Another ship nests in the distance. I didn't want that ship either. People that exist should be killed. Those that don't are spared. Just go away now.

You're still here aren't you? Yes. Have you run out of ammo and steam? Yes. Is it ready yet? No... but if I'm in charge it never will be so... No. You have to explain it. Don't want to. Too scary and complicated. Are you avoiding me? Of course. Comes with the curtains and the drapes.

There is no simple answer.

I'm... who knows?

Maybe another tangent.

Maybe another day.

My Hollow Identity remains loyal.

Someone reading this should...

Just go have fun and enjoy life.

I'll be there tomorrow.

Promise...

#short story #true story #lgbtq #fiction #mystery #mature

[drfootharpoon]

"Summer @ Stonehawk Lake"

(mature fiction)

Prologue: MM at Public Camp Showers (2004)

Written by: V. Harpoon (2023)

The summer of '04 was almost gone. Evan (19) dangled his feet off the short wooden pier. Stonehawk Lake looked golden as the sun disappeared behind the pines. The yellow canoes upside-down, yet still wet. I watched from a shady spot at his sculpted back and solid shoulders, tan and slick with sun-oil. Blonde hair cut so that it clung to his skull, wet or dry. I (18) watched him as I gathered our things and put them in the gray shoulder bag. I felt a surge, radiant and glorious, erupt from my heart and loins. This was decades ago now, but the memory is still just as vibrant. He was captain of the soccer team and they won the championship. I watched and cheered from the sidelines. My other artsy friends helped out with the signs and drinks. I wrote a poem about the win, but it long since has gone wandering.

I wiggled my bare toes in the warm lakeside sand. I pictured him in front of me, hot and breathing hard. Erect and throbbing. That radiant surge came back, skipping my heartbeat. He looked over his shoulder at me. His round, silver eyeglasses added to his dimpled smile. My genitals hungered for his gentle lust. I dug my toes deeper into the wet, warm sand. I could feel the sand barely etching into the clear polish on my toenails where Evan painted them this morning. I dug deeper and imagined us earlier. Swimming and laughing. Enjoying our last summer together.

Later, we held hands as we approached the public camp showers. The moon made us both glisten. The showers were separate from the toilets, but not far away. The crickets and frogs created their natural musics. His hand safe in mine, our fingers interwoven. Our bodies stank of sweat, sun-protection, and hormones. I bumped into him, playfully. He kissed my neck in response. Just below where my auburn hair falls, a homemade chop. I look at him in the glow of the outside shower bug-zapper. I squeeze his hand and pull us through the big blue door.

Inside, there are a few green lockers on the walls and a couple of wooden benches. The showers are a large open room, tiled blue and white. There are 6 opaque cream curtains that you can pull around yourself for privacy. We are alone now. We are on the opposite side where were staying, his parents place. They know about us, but... it's a whole thing.

I could feel the sand sticking to my body. We are both shirtless and wearing long swim trunks. Mine was black (with a triple white stripe) and his was a solid dark purple. He set our bag down and I checked on the water. It was cold at first, so I turned on two next to each other and walked back. Evan had already undressed. He was less prudish than myself. I admired him for that and tried to match it. Sometimes, I go further than intended.

It's unimportant what was said as I don't remember. The years long past and details muddled by wishful thinking... What is important was that once again he was facing away. His tight ass was a shocking pale shade compared to the soft, bronzed rest of him. My own skin fell on the chart somewhere in-between. Evan folded the fresh clothes as he took them out of our shoulder bag. He then laid them out my color on the bench. He did this completely naked. I tied my auburn hair back and watched as the scene became steamy and sensual.

I traced his spine from his golden skull, down his bronze, sinewy back, down farther to his graceful hips and tender buttocks, bleached apples (firm and plump), then down his shaved, muscular thighs and hard calves. I trace every soccer game he's played with those strong athletic legs. I finished the glazed look with his cute bare feet. The black polish on his toes danced with him on the concrete floor. He adds grace with his masculinity. I think I loved him more that moment than all of those summers combined. It wasn't our final night together, but it was one of the best.

I undressed slowly at the other bench while I watched him. My wet trunks lay across the wood and my sandals dry beside them. I wore the wrong pair; these are too plush for water life. I don't tan as well as others do. I burn usually. The strong scent of the cream is kinda soothing. The night was warm enough to stand about, but still I felt awkward about showering barefoot. Who knows what filth lies beneath? Though it seemed fine when I turned on the faucets. Even the blue drain-mats were new. Scents of fresh bleach and pine mixed with the steam as it built up in the locker room.

I felt a person behind me. Evan kissed the back of my neck, softly and pressed against me. His soft eggplant fell into the crevice of my youthful cheeks. I wiggled a bit and gripped his face from the side. He kissed my hand and turned me around. We stood there, in that magical moment, entranced by the other. Our youthful eyes (both brown btw) watched our neurons dance. Our electric hearts thumped as our tender cocks teased with pulsing caresses. Our jewels bumped gently as we slow-danced without music. Our soft lips slickened and we devoured in the sensations. Our playful feet stepped on themselves on purpose. Our horny hands remolded our ripening asses as we moaned.

A spit-finger finds its way into us both at one point. Evan and I hold on and thrust against the other. My pleasure spills out of me, clear and sweet. Evan grabs my cucumber and rubs its clear release around me and himself. I replied by slowly applying fresh slickness to our hungry holes. His fuzzy fruits were heaven in my palms. He moaned eagerly as I pressed my first digit into his smooth carnal cave. I did the same as he fingered me. We moaned as we made out. As we sucummed to the rough concrete floor. Evan laid down and I was on top. We misjudged its roughness. He suggested we move it into the showers.

The tiles in the camp showers were the newest addition. It was next on the renovation project list. The steam was thick but we could still see enough. I had turned the two on the left side and Evan didn't bother with any curtains. We were still all alone. Evan brought the shower materials, except for the shower shoes (we both forgot). We took turns soaping and washing each other. He squirted white shower soap into a black loofah and handed to me.

I started with his neck and chest. The foam bloomed and slid down the rest of us. I scrubbed his collarbone and nipples. He laughed, turned around, and nestled against me. I scrubbed his chest and arms as the hot lakeside water rolled to our supple connectors. As I began washing his half-aroused members, I also got hard. The hot water made our cocks redder and more juicy to hold. We gyrated in that unconscious state of lust, love, and want. I sank down and scrubbed his legs and feet.

After I washed each foot, I pressed them on my face and kissed the bottoms. The heat from his toes called for more, but I refused and stood up. I washed his back and shoulders, then he said it was my turn. I agreed, grinning, but first we faced each other. We then aimed our hoses at our legs and feet. We pissed on ourselves and splashed in it childishly. We kissed as the final dribbles washed down and out.

Evan wrung out the loofah and added more soap. I kissed his neck in same spot he does. We're abt the same height. Evan giggled. I remember he's ticklish. I tap my fingers playfully around his stomach as I kiss his neck again and again. I slide my erect phallus between his glutes, up and down. The underside of me glides on a pale hilltop and along its valley. Evan giggled again. He did that and kneeded the exfoliating ball with his eyes closed. I stroked his circumcised cock and they fluttered open. He smiled as he turned to me. We kissed passionate and full. Evan tangled his fingers in my shoulder-length hair and scrubbed my hairless chest.

To be young again, hairless and wrinkle free, full of spring and hope... To be be there again, would be fantastic... but the truth always becomes fiction, given to the one with right hands and bad recollections. To be covered in lake scum, coarse sand with a peculiar stench, wrapped in summer's endgame, what a dream that would be... To feel the caressing of a lover, cleaning you as you did them... Evan giggled as he knelt down, pressed my feet against his face, kissed the bottoms and his eyes spoke of more.

Evan moved me back until we were between the shower streams. He stood behind me and coaxed me with his strong, yet soft arms to spread my legs. I placed my hands on the blue and white tiles, the steam roaring now. I bent over and spread myself for him. Instead of feeling exposed, here in a public camp, in the showers, basically in nature, where anyone can find you, but maybe not this late...

Evan's tongue tastes my rosebud. I moan softly. He twirled it up and around. The point he made with it dug as deep as he could. Evan continued onto my delicious shaved taint and bells. I swear I heard them jingle. I spun around at his unspoken request and he held my hands against the wall. He started with teasing the brief runway patch of pubic hair.

The tiled wall was clean and warm on my backside. The light overhead conformed perfectly. No one else was around. The gravel sat uncrunched and silent. The moon, a fat crescent, sliced behind the few clouds drifting along. Evan cupped my balls and leaned under me. I spread and he tongued my holy hole once more.

His hands now stroking my fully erect self. I liquify in that touch. He stopped and returned to my testicles. Evan sucked each in his mouth. He made popping sounds as he did it. We both laughed. He licked up my shaft and flicked the frenulum. He squeezed. A large pearl of clear precum emerged me. He smiled, looked into my eyes, and began to suck sensually and honestly. Evan started the blowjob with a sexy amateur amount of up and down, back and forth, the tip, the gagging of the base, the sucking of your soul as he reached the tip again, looked up at me and giggled. I told him to stand up and did to him everything he did to me.

I relished in his pleasure. Evan's pale asshole tasted like honey. His balls felt supple on my face and salty in my mouth. His average (just like mine) mushroom was pink and satisfying. I loved the flavor of his purple bulb. I rode along the seam staggering his length. He wove his fingers into my hair and guided for a moment. I kissed the sensitive helmet and stood back up.

We stood under the warm lakeside showers and kissed like tonight was the last of everything. His close-crop pubes bristled and fondled. Evan giggled again, then walked back to the shoulder bag. I watched like a hunter, his bronze skin, his white rock-hard penis tapping in the steam, and the sound of his bare feet splashing away. I washed myself again in the meantime, my own erection not fading away and waiting. Evan came back in with a small bottle of lube and a couple of condoms. As bad as it sounds, we never got to the condoms. We were too into the vibrant carnal modes and too young to care for consequences.

We stood together, cocks pressed and pulsing, and fingered. I smacked his ass cheeks. He smacked mine and dug in two fingers. I bit into his neck to stop and groan. I relaxed and kissed his shoulder. He thrust slowly and deliberately. A third finger finds the gape. I try the same thing to him. He bites my shoulder and spanks me again. More precum shoots on our stomachs as we compress.

I braced between the cascading showerheads. He tapped my feet and I spread wider. Evan holds my hip as he began to insert himself. His pale teenage penis was dense and eager. My young tight asshole was inviting and succulent. He grabbed both of my hips and slid one hand to the small of my back. Evan always breathed heavily (but not loud) during sex. It was hard to hear it in there. I was focused on my love's cock and balls giving me and my anus the love we deserved. I felt him roll over my prostate and fill me up as best he could. I grabbed his face and we kissed as he fucked me. Our scrotums harmonized.

Evan giggled as he slowed down. He wasn't finished and neither was I. He put his hands on the tiles and spread. I caressed his back and shoulders, then his hips and wide-open ass. I poked my thumb (fresh lube btw) into his rectum. It encompassed me with its want. What it wanted was more, so I gave it more. I removed my thumb, after thrusting and burying it inside of Evan as he could allow. I then stuck in two fingers and smacked his ass. He moaned and giggled. His blonde hair made me fuck him harder with that hand. I thrust in a third digit. A satisfying surge held us both. I kissed his face and pulled myself out one finger at a time. I rubbed his hole and taint slowly. His plums tightened up and I gently coaxed them down again.

Evan sat against the wall and I laid down at his feet. He knew I loved those delicate platforms. The black of his polished toes was bold and alluring. Evan allowed me to be my weird self. I kissed his feet. I brought them together on the clean wet tile. I kissed them again. I kissed every toe. I kissed between the toes. I licked Evan's cute toes, sucking each one, and licked between them. I loved their soft yet thick skin as I pressed them firmly all over my face. Burying myself as I licked the entire bottoms and tops of his feet. They tasted like heaven and soap. I could taste their champagne championships. He giggled so I licked all the way to up to his cock. It tasted perfect, firm, and plump. I tickled the shaft. I stop and use his feet to hold my erection. He strokes me with them and I love it. He pinched, with his left toes, the waddle of pleasure underneath the glans. Never tell me magic isn't real.

Evan flipped over, whispering that he wanted me more than ever now. Rosebud spoke my name. I positioned myself and then licked his neck. He giggled and we kissed. As we did, my throbbing member became one with his lubricated orifice. The head of my penis is bigger than his, so the suction felt extra. I thrust with youthful splendor. Evan moaned eagerly and deeper than before. We thrust passionate and whole in those hot camp showers, on that summer night, so long ago. A bit of a sudden breeze chilled our souls. But in a good way.

I gave him a reach around. His cock leaking with hot fluid, I spread it into our mouths. He tasted so sweet. Like honeysuckle. I thrust harder. I stare at the lines of tan on my boyfriend's body. He normally wears a bikini, but not around his family. I kissed he middle of his back. Evan giggled and said the other magic words, finish me.

We humped and fucked. We switched being inside each other just once more. Then we arrived. Evan was on the tiled floor, face up. I was on top and almost there. Sweat and lust filled out the steam room. His tender, tight, wet asshole held me like home. His cock pulsed as I spit on it and massaged. I twisted softly around the tip and gripped tight the base.

We grunted louder. We kissed and exploded. I pulled out and ejaculated on his throbbing pale penis and hard, tan stomach. It sprinkled wet pearlescent cream over his tanlines. Evan wasn't done so I applied more suction with my mouth. I tongued the underside as I rocked my head. Evan spurted on my tongue and the back of my throat. Again, sweet dreams and salty nuts. He grabbed my head and I spit his thick white cum into his waiting mouth. He scooped up mine and licked it up. We then made out on that tiled floor, our mouths sloshing with our combined cumshots. It was hot, viscous, tangy and wonderful. Our essences intertwined and were momentarily immortal.

We swallowed, kissed, and washed up once more. This time, we stayed on our assigned tasks. We turned off the water and walked back to our clothes. Our skins were reddened, but clean. Our bodies were tired, but satisfied. Evan's delicious ass was no longer white but pink. I wanted him again, but knew tonight was enough. The summer was ending, the night was late, and we had to get back across the lake.

I stood naked in the open doorframe leading outside. The high yellow light hummed in tandem with the bug zapper. The summer air dried and blanketed. The wind teased my tied-up hair and runway pubes. Evan wrapped his arms around me from behind. He's still naked too. Evan kissed my neck and we nestled, his plums resting on my hills. Stonehawk Lake rippled in the breeze as the fireflies flickered and danced. His parents' log cabin glowed in the distance.

I said, "I'm going to miss you at college."

Evan sighed, "Me too, babe."

I said, "I still love you, Evan."

Evan kissed me, "I still love you too, Val..."

That summer. That boy.

That love. That game.

That shower. That lust.

Long gone, yet...

Somehow lives forever...

Not just in romantic memory...

...but in that night at Stonehawk Lake.

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