THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Guy

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
http://www.asstr.org/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.

ONE

"Breathe, damn it!" Harrison Ford was fifty-six, way too old for
this shit. He pressed into the man, and was rewarded by the man's
coughing up seawater. "Yes, that's it, pump out those water," he
told the unconscious man, giving the latter yet another press.

Twenty minutes later he was sure the man would live. He lay back
on the sand, too exhausted himself, and studied the man before
him. Wait a minute - Harry recognized the man now. He was the
pretty clever singer in that evening act last night, singing
something in what seemed like Irish. Great tune, Harry had thought
then. The man looked classy too, in his well-groomed hair and
smart tux.

Well, the singer's face was now pale, and there was a nasty bruise
on his forehead. Harry judged the man to be around thirty, and
from the man's smooth hands, Harry judged him to be one of those
unused to labor. Probably one of those prissy arty singer-types,
although if he had to sing on a barely first-class cruise ship
like Delirium, he couldn't be doing too well for himself. Yet the
man's frame was tightly muscled, probably from gym, and when Harry
carried the man on his shoulders as he staggered to the beach, the
man was quite a weight.

Of course, it could be because Harry was getting old, and now his
aching bones testified to him that he wasn't thirty or even forty
anymore.

Right now, as Harry felt his strength slowly return, he would look
to setting up a fire before they both freeze to death. When the
unconscious man was up and could take care of himself, Harry would
look to finding help for them both.



Guy woke with a soft cry from a nightmare of screams and darkness
and sinking ship. "Next time I won't watch Titanic before
bedtime," he told himself, wondering why his bed was so hard and
wet. He closed his eyes again and wished to die when he realized
the whole nightmare was real.

He was actually alive, that was for sure. Guy was too practical to
panic, and he was sure he would be rescued soon. Probably even now
rescue ships were nearby, looking for survivors. After all, this
was the twenty-first century and people didn't get stranded on
deserted islands any more. If there were anymore unmapped deserted
islands around in the first place!

No, he would be rescued and be back in New York in no time.
Hallelujah, thank you God, he was alive.

He moved and was pretty pleased when his body didn't hurt like he
expected. There was an awful pain in his forehead, but he touched
a clean dressing where he expected a wound. That meant he wasn't
alone in this nightmare, for which he was doubly grateful.

A man of middle-age years appeared in his sight. Guy blinked -
maybe he was dead and in some sort of heaven, because he found
himself looking at a man who was so damned. handsome. The face was
weather-beaten, tanned, with lines around his eyes and on the
forehead, but my, was he distinguished-looking. Guy looked down,
at the man's body, bare except for a pair of boxer shorts. The
man's body was rangy but well muscled, with the inevitable signs
of age and wear. And the shorts clung to shapely, well-muscled
thighs and framed a hint of an intriguing cock bulge.

Well, Guy had to be recovering very well if he was slowly getting
aroused while lying on the sand.

"Well, are you going to lie there all day?" the man said.

Guy sighed softly. Even the voice was so. manly, for the want of a
better, more descriptive word. Low, husky, the baritone made Guy
think of hot, sweaty tropical nights in smooth, satin sheets.

"Yeah, I am," he said weakly, his voice hoarser than he thought.
He accepted the man's outstretched hand and let himself be pulled
up. "Ow!" he howled when his joints finally protested.

"Easy, you have been lying there for so long. There, move slowly
now, that okay?"

"Yeah," Guy said through gritted teeth, the pain ebbing now as he
staggered to his feet unsteadily. He stumbled, and collapsed into
the man's arms.

Oh wow, he thought as warm, hot bare skin closed around him. The
man's chest was firm under his right cheek yet the skin was soft
and tender. He held on to the man's shoulders, his hand reveling
under the feel of hard muscles and supple, tanned skin, and he let
himself breathed in the scent of the man's skin. For one second,
time seemed to stand still as he was in the man's arms.

Then he was roughly steadied upright. Guy took a tentative few
steps, slowly regaining his balance.

"Okay, so when's the rescue squad coming?" he asked the other man.
"Or are they here already?"

The man only shook his head. Uh oh. "I've not seen any plane or
ship, and it's been almost one day. We may just have to wait a
little longer. I have scavenged a first-aid kit and some canned
food from the shipwreck remnants washed onto the shore. You
hungry?"

Guy nodded. "Are there any others?"

"Just me and you."

That sounded terrifying. But panic didn't set in, as Guy watched
the man rummaged through a pile of scavenged detritus. The other
man exuded quiet strength and reliability. Guy watched
appreciatively at the way the man's shorts hugged his buttocks,
stretching taut as the man bent to pull out some canned tuna. He
couldn't help running his tongue over his dry lips, and he
absently rubbed his hand over his erection. He'd bet the man was
probably from the army, what with his air of confidence and
competency.

And this army guy was probably straight and would not hesitate to
pound Guy to pieces if he knew what Guy was fantasizing.

Guy tried to distract himself from the man's delicious butt by
trying to help. They would need fire, right? He saw some dry
sticks piled higher up the beach, away from the tide's break, and
he decided to start a fire. Hey, everyone needed fire, right?

Never mind that he flunked Boy Scouts when he was eight, after
burning down the quartermaster by mistake. He rubbed his hands and
knelt before the pile of sticks. How did it go? Rub a stick on
another stick, that was he saw people do on TV.

Ten minutes later he was sweating and cursing under his breath.
Those people on TV did it so easily; he started to suspect that
maybe they were aided by special effects. He threw the broken twig
angrily.

Only then he realized the other man had been watching him, a
bright twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he scooped out cold
tuna from a can into his mouth using his fingers. He was grinning
when he tossed a lighter to the sand before Guy. "Here, try this.
It may help."

Somehow the lighter survived the ravages of seawater.

Guy accepted the other can of tuna and felt his gorge rise.
"There's no spoon here?" he asked.

The other man shook his head in mock seriousness.

"I'm going to heat this first," Guy said, wincing at the soggy
mess in the can.

"Suit yourself. I'll go prepare our beds," the man said, tossing
away his empty can and walking away.

Guy yelped when the fire burned him. He dropped his can and
watched miserably as his dinner spilled onto the sand. He turned,
and saw the man grinning again at him. Guy groaned and fell back
on the sand. He really was in hell. He had to be.



The man had prepared some makeshift bed out of shed coconut leaves
piled together. "This is the best I can do," the man said.

Guy looked at the so-called bed, too numb to care. He was hungry
and he was tired. He had stripped off his ruined shirt and pants
and stood in his shorts like the other man. "Great," he said
weakly. "Say, I don't even know your name. I'm Guy, Guy Pearce."

"Harrison Ford, call me Harry," the man said, already climbing
onto the pile. "Come on," he said, patting the spot beside him.
"It's not that bad."

Guy froze, his lust going overdrive at the thought of sharing the
sleeping arrangements beside Harry. And his skimpy shorts wouldn't
hide the lascivious fantasies currently playing In Guy's mind
vividly - fantasies of himself spread wide, and Harry mounting
him, the man's swollen cock impaling Guy.

Guy bit back his moan, climbing on the pile of leaves and turning
his back to Harry so that Harry couldn't see his erection. Harry
was right though, he realized as he placed his head carefully on
the leaves. It wasn't that uncomfortable. He lay there, unmoving,
not daring to breathe, fully aware that Harry was just behind him,
breathing and alive. And so close. At length he heard Harry snore,
and he relaxed. He closed his eyes, but he could still see Harry's
buttocks, smell his skin, and yearn for his touch to drive this
madness away. His left hand reached into the waistband of his
shorts, slowly - as not to wake Harry - massaging his painfully
hard cock.

Only when he finally came in a shudder, pulling down his shorts
and shooting his semen onto the sand below as he panted, did he
finally could sleep.


TWO

"We are traveling off Tika-Kiri when the ship sank," Harry said
the next morning, "so I guess we are on one of the many islands of
the cluster."

"Any chance this island is inhabited?" Guy asked, looking at the
horizon of the sea in vain for a ship or plane.

"I've searched while you were sleeping. There seems to be nothing
but forests here. Come on, let's get ready to move inland."

Guy turned. "Is that wise? What if they are even now looking for
us and misses us?"

Harry shook his head. "Do you know anything about these islands?
It's March now. Hurricane Celia is approaching fast, and I guess
it will be here any day now. I don't know about you, but I don't
want to be out here in the open when the storm hits."

"This is a nightmare," Guy muttered, looking helplessly at the
empty horizon. "This is a fucking nightmare."

"Live with it," Harry said not unkindly.



Harry was surprised when Guy didn't protest their moving into the
forests. The man was quiet, probably in denial, but he surprised
Harry by valiantly keeping up with him in their trek even when it
was clear Guy was exhausted. Harry let them stop so that Guy could
catch his breath, but not once did the man grumble and whine like
he did the day before or this morning.

Guy was a bungler, which was for sure. Harry trapped them some
mousedeer, which he skinned with a knife he scavenged, but Guy
only threw up and couldn't do anything but to stare in horrified
stupefaction at the blood and raw meat. But the man couldn't eat
the final, roasted meat soon enough.

Curious about the man, Harry asked, "Not much of a camper, eh?"

Guy sat back against the tree, looking most pleased at having his
belly filled. "No, I'm not an outdoor type."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a musician. Hey, don't laugh. I'm not actually a pop star, of
course, I'm more of a classical type. I play the violin, the
clarinet, the harp, the piano of course, the Uelean pipes, and I
am a first tenor."

"Whoa." Harry couldn't play any musical instrument and he was
called tone-deaf more than once. "So how come you're singing on
that ship?"

"Classical musicians aren't exactly hot properties at the moment,"
Guy said simply. "How about you? The army?"

"Navy SEAL, retired. But it doesn't matter now," Harry said. "I
was on my vacation when the ship sank."

"I understand how you feel," Guy said, smiling almost shyly. "It
just struck me, Harry, you must be pretty much used to situations
like this."

"I'm no longer young, Guy," Harry answered with a grin. "No matter
how used I am to this, trust me, I'd rather be in a first class
bunk sleeping on a first class bed."

"Amen," Guy said, "say, I'm thirsty, is there any water around
here?"

Harry took out his knife and cut a familiar plant. "Here," he
said, gesturing at the sap in the hollow center of the plant.
"It's green, but it's water," he said, enjoying the look on Guy's
face. He was starting to enjoy himself, he realized with a
surprise.

Guy met his look with insolent defiance, and took a deep gulp. He
choked and sputtered, and Harry surprised them both by releasing a
shout of laughter.



THREE

Harry woke up to the feel of arms holding him. Guy, he realized.
Guy was holding him in a lover's embrace in his sleep. Harry made
to gently detach those arms from him, then hesitated. He knew,
even when Guy thought he didn't, how Guy had looked at him when
Guy thought Harry wasn't looking. The notion that Guy might be gay
didn't perturb Harry who had seen more unnerving sights in his
life.

If Guy was gay, Harry had no problems with that. But if Guy looked
at Harry that way, Harry didn't know what to think. He was
flattered, but he was also disturbed. He had never encountered any
gay men, any open ones at least, and he had no idea how to let Guy
down gently.

He didn't want to hurt Guy, for over the past few days he had
started to feel protective over this man. Poor Guy, who was
obviously out of his league. Harry didn't know why, but he liked
Guy. Guy was funny, and Harry had lived long enough to value
laughter in his life.

He hence decided to let Guy hold him. After all, they were
sleeping ten feet above the ground, and Harry hated to see Guy
fall and break his neck. Satisfied with himself, he closed his
eyes and tried to sleep. He couldn't help inhaling Guy's scent,
however, and he slept to the scent of warm skin.



Guy figured he wasn't doing too bad, looking at his handiwork
proudly. He had tied the medium-sized tree trunk pieces Harry had
chopped with his ax into a floor large enough to accommodate the
both of them. It was his idea to build a tree house where they
could stay in one place and weather the incoming storm, and he was
surprised when Harry agreed.

Now, he looked at Harry tying the wooden frames of the tree-house
structure with vine, and he marveled at the man's ability to build
anything out of nothing. With a scavenged fireman's ax and knife,
Harry was building a house out of wood.

"Ready?" he yelled.

"Yeah," Harry yelled back, and Guy pulled the rope, sending the
floor of the tree house up to Harry. Pulling the crude pulley
tested all his gym-rat physique, and Guy was soon gritting his
teeth in determination. He had vowed to make himself useful, and
he would even if he had to break an arm to do it. And that vow,
made out of a need to stop Harry from pitying him as well as to
repay Harry for saving him, soon became an agreeable habit. Guy
soon lived for Harry's grin of approval, that crooked grin that
made his heart beat faster.

He admired Harry's skill and ability. He also lusted after the
man. The fact that he woke up every morning with a burning
erection in an empty "bed" (Harry always woke up early to hunt),
dreaming of touching, fucking, and being fucked by Harry was bad
enough. It was worst when Harry's shorts started to wear out, the
fabrics fraying to reveal hints of tight buttocks and enough cock
to send Guy's libido soaring to heaven. Now, he looked up, and he
wondered if Harry knew he could see right up Harry's shorts.

Guy gave a last pull, and Harry took over, lifting the heavy piece
with surprising ease. Guy looked, unable to resist (hey, he was
human), up Harry's shorts, and swallowed heavily at the teasing
glimpse of Harry's hairy balls and dark shadow of pubic hair. Then
Harry shifted, and Guy found himself looking at Harry's butt. The
shorts pulled down in a low 'U', revealing the start of Harry's
butt curve, and the fabric stretched tight over those curves.

"Hey, Guy!" Harry yelled.

Guy blinked, feeling as if cold water was just doused over his
senses. "Yeah?"

Harry looked down at Guy, his crooked grin as always in place. "If
you're done drooling at my butt, I'd appreciate if you'll come up
here and give me a hand."



"You don't mind me drooling at you?" Guy couldn't help asking when
he lay down on the newly built tree house that evening.

Harry was across from Guy, lacing long, thick leaves to act as
window covers. He turned to look at Guy. "No, I don't. Just as
long as you keep your hands to yourself, I'm fine with that."

"Then you don't mind if I ask to see you naked?" Guy asked
mischievously.

"Now that I mind." Harry moved to sit across from Guy. "I won't
stop you from looking, as long as you know nothing will come out
of it."

Guy was disappointed, but hey, Harry was being a good sport and he
was okay with that. "You don't feel uncomfortable, do you?" he
asked. "If so, I can always sleep somewhere else."

"I'm sure we can both control ourselves," Harry said. "Well, it's
evening and I better go hunt something before we both starve."



Harry couldn't sleep. He could hear Guy's soft snores beside him.
Turning over to look at the man, he found himself looking at the
handsome face of the other man. Guy looked just like one of those
fucking models in those men's magazines Harry had read while at
the dentist's, chiseled, polished, and cultured. The man was a
musician, for fuck's sake.

Guy's youth was making Harry feel quite old. Harry grinned at his
own foolishness - hell, he was still fit, and he could still fuck
as well as anyone, without needing that pill too. Maybe he wasn't
fucking as much as he was when he was twenty and had a woman in
every port, but he was still getting some regular pussy. He turned
his back to Guy, secure in his virility, this time fully intending
to sleep.

He froze, however, when he heard the man call his name softly.

"Guy?" he whispered, then relaxed when he realized the man was
just murmuring in his sleep.

Guy just turned and crashed right into Harry.

Harry froze when the other man's arm fell on Harry's cock. Harry's
instinctive reaction was to shake that hand off, but he looked at
Guy's face, and again felt the reluctance to hurt this man. He lay
back and looked at the night skies, and then at Guy's sleeping
face.

Tenderness welled up in Harry. He reached out and touched the
other man's cheek. He jumped, however, when Guy's hand started
caressing his cock.

Harry hissed a deep breath - shit, a man was playing with his
cock. He sat up and was about to wake Guy up when the man did
something really good that made Harry gasped in pleasure. His cock
was hard now, and the man was fondling him like he had never
fondled before.

He shut his eyes, trying to imagine it was a woman playing with
him. But there was no mistaking Guy's scent or the way the hand is
running up the erect shaft confined in his boxers, or the way the
hands played with his balls. Harry couldn't help it, he pressed
his crotch up into Guy's hand, then gave a soft cry when he came
in his shorts.

He lay back, gasping his breath when Guy turned and his hand left
Harry's crotch. Shit, but that Guy was fucking good in playing
with Harry's cock. An insidious thought snaked into Harry's mind -
God, what could Guy's mouth do to his cock? He couldn't shake off
that thought no matter how hard he tried.

"Shit," Harry cursed, pressing his still hard cock into the
leaves. What was wrong with him? The thought of Guy's hand and
mouth playing on his cock were too irresistible, however, too
seductive. He shoved his hand into his shorts, rubbing himself as
fast as he could.

It was only after his third ejaculation that night that he could
finally sleep. Even then, he dreamed of clever mouths and naughty
fingers playing with him, sucking him off, and blowing him. Harry
woke up with his shorts a fucking mess. He had to hand it to Guy -
Harry hadn't had a wet dream since he was thirteen.



Something was wrong with him, Harry realized later that evening.
He found himself unable to tear away from the sight of Guy's
shorts stretched taut against his tightly rounded buttocks.
Harry's mouth actually watered as he found himself thinking of
sinking his teeth into those succulent-looking cheeks. Madness, of
course - he told himself this was just because he hadn't got laid
in weeks.

But Guy's butt was sure driving him crazy. Those luscious cheeks
moved, rubbing against each other sensually as Guy climbed down
the coconut tree. Harry's cock was throbbing painfully in his too
short boxers, making an obscene tent with every step he took as he
walked towards Guy.

"Here, let me help you," Harry said, reaching out to steady Guy
when the man was about four feet from the ground. He found himself
looking right at those buttocks, and he froze. His awareness of
his hands on Guy's bare waist burned him, and he looked at the
thin fabric of Guy's shorts. He couldn't help it - his blood
roared in his groin, and he was so in lust that he groaned and
buried his face in the cleft of those buttocks.



Guy almost let go of the tree when he felt Harry's mouth on his
butt. "Harry, what are you doing?" he cried in surprise.

Harry's only answer was to tug Guy's shorts down his hips. Then
Harry buried his nose and mouth in Guy's butt cleft, his rough
callused fingers parting the cheeks in a rough grip. Guy let go
then when Harry's mouth found his anal pucker.

He fell heavily onto Harry, and they fell onto the sand. Guy hurt
his elbow, but that was nothing compared to Harry's head buried
between his legs, that tongue snaking along his cleft, licking him
clean of sweat before toying with the tight ring of muscles under
his balls. Harry was now pushing his tongue between the tight
folds, lapping at Guy's anus. Guy moaned as Harry started to lick
and suck at him, and cried out when he felt teeth gently nibbling
the rim of his ass. He spread his legs, gripping his own cock and
pumping it slowly, then he arched his back in blinding pleasure
when Harry's tongue lapped at a sensitive spot deep up him. He
spurted, shuddering, spraying his chest and stomach with his
ejaculation. Then he heard Harry groan softly, and felt the man
shudder. Guy looked in amazement at the sight of Harry's thick,
huge cock, his shorts waistband pushed under his balls, Harry's
right hand rubbing that slick, throbbing cock in wild,
uncontrollable lust.

"No, don't," Guy said urgently, climbing over Harry.

Harry looked at Guy staring at his cock hungrily, and he clenched
his buttocks, arching his back so that his cock grazed Guy's lips.
He didn't care that he was urging a fellow man to suck him, not
when his cock was so hard like this that he needed to come or he
would go mad.

He felt hot, tight wetness close over his cock, and looked in
amazement at the sight of Guy, legs spread wide, straddling him,
Harry's cock head slowly disappearing between Guy's legs. He was
actually fucking another man, but strangely, he felt no revulsion
or disgust. He gripped Guy's hips and thrust up, drawing a wild
cry from Guy. Christ, the man was so tight, he was sheathing
Harry's cock hotter and tighter than any cunt or female ass he had
ever fucked. Instinct overrode his caution, and he rammed his hips
up even as Guy bucked down, their pubic bones colliding hard.
Harry's hands reached up to grip Guy's chest, pinching the man's
nipples. So different from a woman's breasts, Harry thought in
marvel, yet just as soft and wonderful to touch. He had to taste
them. He pushed his upper body up and latched his mouth to one
erect nipple, licking it in circular swirls of his tongue until it
was throbbing urgently, then he sucked it. Delicious - he even
found himself liking the way the fine hairs around the man's
nipple felt in his mouth.

And that ass! God, if only he had known fucking a man was this
hot! He cried, writhing even as he bit gently into the nipple in
his mouth, as the warm rush in his groin started. His balls
boiled, and his cock only swelled more painfully before his orgasm
hit him. He fell back on his back, staring at Guy's pain-pleasure
wracked face even as he thrust up so hard that his buttocks left
the ground - then he was coming, his semen spurting up the hot,
willing receptacle that was Guy.




FOUR

The storm hit them the next morning. Harry had the foresight to
stock up on water and fruits and herbs that became their meal, and
their tree house was sturdy enough to withstand the storm.
Actually the thick canopies that blocked the worst of the force of
the storm protected them as well.

Harry spent the days in the storm fucking the very willing Guy. He
couldn't get enough of that tight ass, fucking Guy until the
latter was sore and begged for mercy. Even then, Harry used the
man's mouth instead. Guy was a hot fuck, better than anyone he
could remember in his whole life. He even tried Guy's semen, and
while he didn't like it that much, he wasn't adverse to sucking
Guy off or kissing the man and tasting his own juices on the man's
lips.

He adjusted the leaves covering the windows, and smiled when he
felt Guy's mouth moving up his right leg. He shut his eyes when
that mouth reached between his legs. He licked his own lips in
anticipation of eating Guy after this, and spread his legs wide to
accommodate Guy's head. That tongue that pierced his most
vulnerable depths was now licking his inside even as it plunged in
and out of him. A thought tantalized Harry - if a tongue felt this
good, how about a cock?

"Guy," he called hoarsely. "Fuck me, Guy."

Guy didn't answer, but Harry felt the man move to stand between
his legs. Harry balanced himself on his spread legs and palms on
the wall and shivered in fear and anticipation when he felt Guy's
wide cock head pressing at his untried anus pucker.

"You sure, Harry?" Guy asked softly.

Harry nodded, unable to speak, then cried out in pain when that
cock pushed up him. He clenched against the cock instinctively,
then forced himself to relax when Guy asked him to. Guy started
pumping shallow thrusts, an inch or so at a time, and Harry soon
felt the pain numb slightly. With each thrust, Guy's cock sank
deeper and deeper, and soon Harry was surprised to feel Guy's cock
bush meshed against his butt. He had Guy's cock up his ass - and
shit if it didn't feel good. No wonder women loved this, he
thought, bucking his ass at Guy's pumps. This was great, almost as
good as fucking - the invasion was so intimate and personal it
aroused the thrill of being invaded and owned. Then Guy's cock hit
his prostate, and Harry was utterly lost in his cataclysmic
climax, so powerful that he was barely aware of Guy's drenching
his insides with hot creamy juices.



The storm ebbed three days later, which was fortunate as their
food was running low. Harry pulled on his frayed shorts and
stepped outside the tree house, rubbing his chest absently as he
inhaled the fresh morning air. He spared a look at Guy, asleep on
the mat of leaves that were their bed, and smiled to himself.

Who would've thought this shipwreck would turn into such an
adventure? The last few days were a blur of sexual excesses, and
what he and Guy did would put even the most torrid porn fantasies
to shame. Guy had totally destroyed Harry's inhibitions, making
him a shameless man that begged and craved as well as one who
dominated and mastered.

Harry saw the plane then. At first he thought he was imagining
things, but no, it was really a plane. He made to wake up Guy,
then hesitated. He looked at the sleeping man, and then at the
sky.

When they leave this island, he would lose Guy. They both had so
different lives. Guy had told Harry of his concert performances,
his face enraptured by the memories and music, and Harry couldn't
even imagine the life Guy must have led. Young, vibrant Guy who
surely had a life ahead of him. Harry couldn't see himself in
Guy's life - not that he wanted to be in Guy's life, he told
himself stubbornly.

He was so tempted to let the plane fly by and leave them both
here, where Guy would always be Harry's and Harry's alone.

But he knew Guy deserved better. He smashed his fist into the wall
in his frustration and made to wake up Guy.



It was over. Guy looked at the quiet man, now dressed in shirt and
trousers just like Guy, sitting beside him on the plane. Trust
Jeremy to discover their whereabouts, Guy thought, looking at the
man piloting the plane, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Harry," he whispered.

Harry didn't look at him. "Yes, Guy?"

"Will you visit me in New York?" Guy asked tentatively.

Harry turned to look at him then. "I will," he said softly, almost
tenderly.

Guy bit back a sob and rested his head on Harry's chest. Harry's
arms reached up to envelope him in that muscular warmth he knew so
well, and Guy slept a dreamless sleep.



Guy's hopes were utterly dashed when he saw the lovely young woman
running into Harry's arms the moment they stepped out of the
plane.

"Is that his daughter?" Guy asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Jeremy looked at Guy pityingly. "If so, I would be really
disturbed by the way he is kissing her and has his hand on her
ass."

Guy shut his eyes in pain. At that moment, he realized just how
much Harry had gotten under his skin in those few weeks. Harry was
his alone during that time, in their own Eden. Now, he had lost
Harry and he was slowly dying inside.



"I must admit he is well preserved for a man of fifty-six," Jeremy
said. "Was he good?"

"Shut up Jeremy." Guy said, looking out of the window. He hated
this place. He wanted to run back to the wilderness of the tree
house where he could be naked and be with Harry. He looked at
Jeremy and in that brief moment, felt an unreasonable hatred for
his friend for rescuing him and Harry and destroying their bliss.
"Just shut up," he said, his voice breaking.

Jeremy stopped the car outside an unfamiliar apartment block.
"Here, this is your Harry's address. Why don't you drop by and ask
him for a ride home?"

Guy just looked at his friend stupidly, then opened the door.

Jeremy smiled to himself and drove away.



Guy's hand paused in its act of knocking. He didn't know why, but
he placed his small bag down and pulled out a penknife from his
pocket. A minute later he opened the door and walked into Harry's
apartment.

Harry lived simply, the place predominantly lined with sports and
outdoor game trophies on the wall, on the TV, on shelves, and god
knows where else. There was also a large golf bag filled with
clubs in the corner, and Guy also saw a tennis racquet beside it.
And there were numerous certificates on the wall driving home the
fact that Harry was one of those macho, physical sort of men. Guy
couldn't see himself living here, and for the first time, he
understood what Harry might have felt. Guy's life of concerto and
sonatas had to be as bewildering to Harry as Harry's life started
to seem to Guy.

A woman's high-pitched keening cry jolted Guy from his reverie.
Despite knowing what he would find, he couldn't stop himself from
walking silently to the sound. A low masculine growl following the
unmistakable sound of wet slapping flesh seemed to warn Guy to
stay away, but his shaking hands only pushed the bedroom door
slightly ajar.

There was Harry, on his knees, gripping the thighs of the woman
Guy had seen him kissing passionately at the airport. Just like
Harry held Guy when they fucked in that position. Guy could only
watch as Harry's thick, red cock, shiny with the woman's labial
juices, pumped smoothly in and out of the woman's red-fleshy cunt,
each withdrawal had the man's thick veins rubbing the woman's
clitoris and drawing loud cry of pleasure from her. The woman, on
all fours, cried out for Harry to fuck her harder. The
increasingly frequent slapping sound proved how obliging Harry
was.

Guy, fighting back tears, walked away.



EPILOGUE

He saw Harry standing outside his door when he walked home two
days later. And at Harry's feet was the bag Guy had left at
Harry's house.

Guy looked at Harry defiantly.

"It was a goodbye fuck," Harry said simply. "We parted friends,
Sheila and I."

"Good for you. Why are you here Harry?" Guy asked, not moving.

"I'm sorry you have to see it. I'm also not happy at you for
breaking into my place, but that's okay. I know I'm old and maybe
not up to your sort of crowd, but hell, people start relationships
with less than what we already had." Harry smiled that crooked,
lovable smile. "So how about you and me going on a date? And we
can fuck afterwards."

The man was incorrigible. Guy felt the reluctant start of a smile
on his lips. "Why are you here?" he asked again, his voice
trembling only slightly.

Harry's smile dimmed slightly, and he looked at the bouquet of
roses in his hands. He extended it to Guy. "I came for you," he
said simply.

For Guy, that was enough. "Come on in," he said, opening his door.

Harry's roguish smile followed him into the room.
