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Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Casual Wanderer © 2024 All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter One "Look Down"
Nicholas fanned his eyes open into the night's deep abyss, the room suffused in an almost tangible darkness. Only a whisper-thin string of starlight dared to invade, piercing through the minuscule crack where the heavy bedroom window had not quite met its frame. He exhaled a sigh that seemed to echo the very weight of his existence, his deep-set, dark brown eyes staring unblinkingly at the shadowed ceiling.
His right hand absent-mindedly reached down, fingertips grazing against his throbbing arousal. The impressive 9-inch appendage was a testament to his virility, even in the dim light. It was his third self-induced release that day, and shockingly, the second time he'd found solace in his own touch with his wife lying just inches away from him, her breathing rhythmic and undisturbed. Nicholas was a creature of habits, some more unseemly than others. His daily tryst with self-pleasure was one he indulged in without fail, needing at least three such sessions to diffuse the chronic stress that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.
It must be mentioned that Nicholas was perpetually aroused, a trait that had remained unchanged since his turbulent adolescence. His friends had often joked that his overactive libido would surely wane once he crossed the threshold of forty. Yet here he was, shy of his 42nd birthday, and if anything, he found himself even more lustful.
Nicholas Bowman was a middle school teacher by profession, a job that paid just enough to scrape by but did little for his self-esteem. His wife, Elizabeth, was emotionally distant, and their physical intimacy had dwindled to nonexistence since the birth of their youngest son, Jett.
His undeniable attractiveness seemed the only ray of sunshine in Nicholas' life. Even at 42, he was considered remarkably handsome and charming. Standing at 5.9 feet, his physique was a work of art - chiseled like a Greek god, broad shoulders that promised strength, dark silky hair that was always slicked to perfection, a neatly trimmed beard framing his face, and a smile that could make hearts flutter.
His oldest son, Brandon, was an eighteen-year-old mirror image of Nicholas. Possessing a rugged handsomeness that charmed many and a brooding aura that intrigued even more. His dark hair often endearingly fell into his eyes, and his lean but muscular build hinted at athleticism.
Admittedly, life seemed to be playing a cruel joke on Nicholas. He had a disappointing sex life, a job that offered little satisfaction, and an overwhelming sense of resentment toward the life he was leading. Yet, amidst this chaos, he held three things dear - Elizabeth, Brandon, and Jett.
However, even before these three pillars had cemented themselves in his life, Nicholas had always yearned for something different. An insatiable urge that lingered just beneath his skin. A sense of unfulfillment that seemed to dissipate only when he climaxed. The feeling of release, the warmth of his load spewing out from his impressive cock, was a solace Nicholas had come to rely on heavily.
"Hmm..." Elizabeth moaned as Nicholas's finger found its way inside her warmth. Her tone was far from joyous; it bore traces of annoyance laced with sleep-induced lethargy. "What time is it?" she questioned, her eyes still firmly closed, arms hugging a giant fluffy pillow as if it were her lifeline.
"It's still early," Nicholas replied in a husky whisper. His hips nudged forward along the bed, tapping his wife's derriere with his arousal while his right hand slid under her kneecap, lifting her leg in a silent request for access.
"What about the kids?" Elizabeth reasoned, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They're still asleep. Relax, Beth." Nicholas disputed, his tone carrying a hint of impatience masked by tenderness.
"Nicholas, I'm not taking any chances," Beth warned, her voice echoing in the dimly lit room. She could feel a shudder running through her as Nicholas's arousal brushed against her inner thighs, leaving a trail of precum like a leaking faucet that dripped with anticipation.
"I'll pull out. Don't worry," Nicholas insisted, his fingers tracing the contours of her wetness with a kind of reverence that spoke volumes about his desire for her.
"Last time you said that, we got pregnant with Jett..." she uttered, her words slicing through the heavy silence of the room like an icy wind. Their son, Jett, was a living testament to Nicholas's failed assurances.
Nicholas paused at her words, his eyes flickering with an idea. "Well, what if we..."
But Beth was quick to cut him off. "No," she declared firmly.
"Just the tip," he pleaded, nudging his arousal against her, the dampness from his tip teasing her skin.
"No," she whispered, pulling away and slapping Nicholas's hand under the sheets and out of her pussy.
"Fucking hell, Beth!" Nicholas exploded as she pulled away from him, slapping his hand away from her body under the sheets. He rolled over onto his side, slamming his fist into the mattress in frustration.
The room fell silent once more until a small voice filled the void. "Daddy?" Jett's voice quivered from the other side of their bedroom door.
Nicholas released a low curse under his breath as he rubbed his face with his hands. His demeanor shifted instantly as he heard his son's voice. "Yeah, bud?" He called out into the silence that followed.
Nothing but silence greeted him. Nicholas rolled to the side and fumbled for his boxers, adjusting himself as he slipped them on. He crossed the room to open the door and found five-year-old Jett on the other side, his tiny body wobbling with nervous energy.
"What's up, champ? Bad dream?" Nicholas asked, his voice laced with concern. Jett merely nodded in response.
Beth's voice floated from the bed, "Do you want mommy to tuck you in?"
But Jett was quick to respond, "I want Daddy." His words brought a warmth that soothed Nicholas's frustration.
"Alright, bud," Nicholas whispered, crouching down to let Jett climb onto his back. His tiny arms wrapped around Nicholas's neck as they set off down the hallway of their apartment.
Nicholas carried Jett back to his room and tucked him into bed, his small body disappearing under the duvet. "Is it time yet?" Jett asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
Nicholas couldn't help but smile at his son's enthusiasm. "Still a couple of hours to go," he replied. "Are you excited?" he asked, feigning excitement that was soon replaced by genuine happiness as he saw Jett's eyes light up.
"We're going to have so much fun," Nicholas promised, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched Jett's eyelids grow heavy. "I love you so much, Bud," he whispered, kissing his son's forehead as sleep claimed him.
Nicholas's words, warm and filled with a comforting tone, echoed in his son's ears. His breath, a gentle zephyr, brushed against his son's cheek - a familiar scent as calming as a lullaby. The soothing timbre of his voice was a balm to his son's restless heart, and the rhythm of his speech was an enchanting melody that eased the tension from his tiny body. The mere presence of Nicholas, solid and reassuring, was enough to envelope his son in an aura of security, a shield against the nightmares lurking in the corners of his mind. As the soft whispers of their nighttime ritual ended, the boy succumbed to the beckoning arms of sleep, his breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm. One minute later, Nicholas also fell asleep, his protective arm still draped around his son.
Three hours later, the tranquility of the house was shattered. Chaos reigned as everyone scurried in a frenzy, their hurried footsteps echoing through the once-silent halls. Boxes were being sealed, suitcases were thrown around, and last-minute items were tossed into bags as they prepared to leave home for an extended period.
"Brandon, get down here." Beth's sharp and commanding voice cut through the din. She stood at the foot of the stairs, her eyes flicking nervously towards the front door just in time to see Nicholas stride in. His face was flushed from exertion, and he looked flustered--a testament to the chaos outside. "Did you manage to fit everything?" she asked anxiously.
"Hum, yeah," Nicholas replied gruffly, annoyance edging his words. "I don't know why the fuck we need so much stuff." His complaint hung in the air between them like a tangible entity.
"We're staying for over a month," Beth retorted defensively. "I'd rather not spend money later buying stuff we forgot to take," she reasoned, a hint of exasperation seeping into her tone. Their heads turned in unison towards the stairs at the sound of footsteps.
Down came Brandon, his youthful face twisted into a scowl. The boy was a mirror image of Nicholas, their shared features strikingly evident. However, the resemblance was marred by the unmistakable hostility that radiated off the teenager towards his father.
"Your brother's already in the car," Nicholas stated, his words hanging heavily in the air.
"So?" Brandon shot back dismissively. He brushed past them and made a beeline for the kitchen, his movements brisk. He grabbed a ripe green pear from the fruit bowl before darting out the front door, his long strides carrying him down the building steps and into the waiting car.
Nicholas and Beth exchanged a loaded glance, their silent communication speaking volumes about their differing views on their eldest son. Beth's protective nature toward Brandon had always been a point of contention, and her leniency toward his behavior was a source of disagreement. The lack of discipline had allowed Brandon to grow unruly and disrespectful, causing a rift within their family unit.
"He's a teenager. We all were at one point." Beth attempted to justify Brandon's behavior, her voice softening considerably.
"He's a pain in the ass, Beth," Nicholas countered tersely. "We've had this conversation." His words implied an argument they had revisited many times before. "Stop excusing his bad behavior. Or he'll grow to be a fucking asshole." He warned before heading out the door.
Nicholas clambered into the car, settling into his seat with a sigh. He glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Jett's innocent gaze reflected back at him. "Ready to have some fun, Bud?" He asked, attempting to inject some cheer into the tense atmosphere.
"Yeah!" Jett's enthusiastic response was a welcome distraction. Nicholas turned to see Brandon, his hoodie drawn low over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the world.
"Wake me up when it's over," Brandon muttered, his words barely audible as Beth slammed the car door shut.
"Okay, let's go, " she instructed, her voice strained as she tried to remain calm.
Nicholas turned the key in the ignition and drove off, the prospect of a warm summer vacation on the horizon as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.
The drive to Seagull's Bay was long, with two hours of open road stretching out before them. Nicholas decided to push through with minimal stops, wanting to reach their destination as soon as possible. They detoured briefly at a gas station for a restroom break to appease Jett's craving for ice cream. However, the sweet treat splattered over the backseat, sparking an argument between Nicholas and Beth about eating inside the car. Throughout the journey, Brandon remained detached, his attention glued to his phone. The sight of the inviting green and white sign by the road that signaled their arrival was a welcome relief. The lush trees lining the road greeted them with a fresh, earthy scent that was synonymous with summer, promising a season of warmth and tranquility ahead.
"I think you need to turn left on the next one," Beth announced, her eyes glued to the small illuminated screen of her phone as she diligently followed the digital voice of the GPS, its cadence as steady as the rhythmic hum of their car's engine.
"Shouldn't we eat something first?" Nicholas proposed, casting a glance over his shoulder. His gaze landed on Jett, whose anxious nodding only indicated he was listening. Brandon sprawled across the back seat, lifted his head from his folded arms, and sighed resignedly.
"I could eat," he admitted, his voice a low grumble that echoed his stomach's sentiments.
Beth's fingers danced across her phone's screen, searching for the nearest eatery. "It seems there's a diner not too far from here," she declared, just as Nicholas caught sight of a large sign looming near a sprawling parking lot. It read "Moe's" in bold, friendly letters. "That's it," Beth confirmed, jabbing her finger triumphantly against the glowing map on her phone before tossing it haphazardly into her bag.
Nicholas steered their vehicle into the bustling lot, finding an empty spot amidst the sea of parked cars. Once stationary, they each emerged from their metallic cocoon, stretching languidly and releasing yawns that had been held captive during their journey. They ambled towards the welcoming glow of the diner, their fatigue momentarily forgotten at the prospect of food. The lively chatter from within caused Brandon to scrunch his face in displeasure.
"Daddy, I need to pee." Jett's voice cut through the din, a note of urgency in his tone. Nicholas glanced at Beth, who gave a nod of assent.
"Go ahead. I'll get us a table," she suggested, gently tugging Brandon's jumper and leading him toward a vacant table nestled by the expansive glass windows that overlooked the entrance.
Nicholas and Jett ventured further into the diner, bypassing the bar and bustling kitchen to follow the signs pointing toward the restrooms. Nicholas nudged open the door with his elbow, heading straight for the last stall, a ritual born from countless similar excursions with Jett. But as he pushed the door, it met resistance, and a gravelly yet youthful voice echoed from within.
"I'll be right out," the voice said before the sound of flushing water filled the room.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was occupied," Nicholas replied, glancing down at Jett and offering him a conspiratorial wink that coaxed a shy smile onto his son's face.
As the door swung open, a young man emerged, garbed in tight black jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. A matching white apron hugged his waist, and a name tag reading "Marcus" was pinned to his chest. His lips curled into an effortless smile as he addressed Jett.
"Your turn, little guy," he said with a warmth that belied their brief encounter.
Nicholas found himself momentarily entranced by Marcus' smile, its allure stirring something unexpected within him.
"Go on, Bud. I'll wait here," he instructed Jett, who scampered into the stall and closed the door with an enthusiastic clatter.
"That's actually for staff," Marcus whispered, his voice lowered to ensure Jett remained oblivious. He gestured towards a small sign on the door that Nicholas had missed in haste.
Nicholas offered a sheepish apology and shrugged his shoulders. Marcus moved past him and leaned against the sink as he did so. His gaze caught Nicholas' reflection in the mirror, an intense look that sent an unfamiliar thrill racing through Nicholas.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious under Marcus' scrutiny, Nicholas turned his back to the stall and found his gaze drifting towards the bathroom's exit. He was acutely aware of the rapid thud of his heartbeat, a sensation amplified by the eerie silence that had descended upon the room. A nagging feeling of being watched gnawed at him, prompting him to steal a glance at the mirror.
The intensity emanating from the young man was palpable. His gaze was a dark, profound abyss that seemed to reach out, threatening to consume Nicholas's soul. The experience defied explanation, and the world around Nicholas suddenly dulled. The ambient noise--the sound of Jett's pee hitting the toilet, the low hum of conversation in the diner--faded to a distant murmur. His vision contracted, blurring at the edges as if the universe had conspired to spotlight this mysterious stranger.
He stood there, a physical embodiment of youthful allure at 5.7 feet. His skin held a creamy hue that was smooth, almost ethereal under the harsh lights. His hair - an unruly mop of black curls - fell over his eyes, veiling them in mystery. His athletic and sculpted body strained against his shirt like each muscle was fighting for attention. His jeans hugged his lower body snugly, outlining a perfectly rounded posterior that seemed to tease with its hidden promise. A certain aura about him reminded Nicholas of James Dean - dark, troubled yet possessing an endearing vulnerability that tugged at one's heartstrings. It was a potent raw energy that Nicholas found himself ensnared within its captivating pull.
"Are you okay?" The young man's voice snapped Nicholas out of his trance-like state. He grinned oddly as he slowly dried his hands with a paper towel. Nicholas shook himself mentally, his eyes flickering as they finally detached from the mirror. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he realized he'd been caught staring at a stranger for what seemed like an eternity.
Just then, Jett emerged from the stall, reaching out for his hand. "All done, Bud?" Nicholas stammered, pulling his son along in a hurry as if their lives depended on it.
With Jett in tow, Nicholas raced through the diner. His eyes flicked around nervously, desperate to find Brandon and Beth's comforting presence. Relief washed over him as he spotted them three tables to the right of the entrance. He quickly ushered Jett into his seat before collapsing into his own, forehead slick with sweat. He could feel Beth's searching gaze on him, her eyes probing his face, trying to discern the cause of his sudden disarray.
"Should we order?" Beth asked, raising her hand to signal a waitress. Nicholas managed a weak "Sure" before peeling off his cardigan. His dark blue t-shirt clung to his muscular upper body, a testament to his earlier anxiety. A trail of sweat glistened on his chest, running down the fabric and drawing Brandon's attention.
"Hey guys, welcome to Mo's," a voice sounded behind them. Its familiarity sent a jolt through Nicholas while an enticing perfume filled his nostrils. "I'm Marcus. I'll be your waiter," the voice continued.
Nicholas raised his head reluctantly, meeting the young man's gaze from the restroom. Beth ordered a smoked salmon salad with no dressing, just olive oil and vinegar, while Marcus turned his attention to Jett. "How about you, little man?" he asked warmly. Jett was about to reply when Marcus interjected, "You look like you could use a tall burger with fries and some nuggets. Am I right?" His suggestion drew smiles from both Jett and Beth. The young man had effortlessly charmed two people at their table without breaking a sweat - something that seemed beyond Nicholas's capabilities at that moment.
Marcus then turned to Brandon, who dismissively slapped the menu onto the table.
"He's a vegetarian," Beth interjected softly, her tone apologetic as if to justify the man's behavior. As she spoke, Nicholas leaned back against the worn-out wooden chair, his weight causing it to creak under him. His eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on Brandon with an intensity that could make anyone feel uncomfortable. He sighed out loud, a sound filled with frustration and thinly veiled disapproval. His gaze was akin to sharp daggers, and they were all aimed towards Brandon. One could almost see the judgment etched in his features, a silent critique of what he perceived as Brandon's appalling conduct.
"Right," Marcus chimed in, his laid-back demeanor contrasting the tense atmosphere that had enveloped the table. "Our cook has a knack for whipping up a mean mushroom omelet. I can ask him to whip one for you if you'd like...?" He left the offer hanging in the air as he studied Brandon's face for any indication of acceptance. Finally, Brandon lifted his head, his lips curling into a reluctant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Fine." His voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled his response.
Beth and Nicholas exchanged glances, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief. They both searched their memories for any instance where Brandon had shown gratitude towards anyone for anything. They came up empty.
"And what about you, sir?" Marcus asked Nicholas, his gaze piercing through the older man's facade of indifference. Nicholas felt the weight of those eyes on him and took a deep breath before lifting his own gaze to meet them.
"Don't call me sir," He muttered under his breath, a scowl immediately taking over his features as he realized how petulant his words sounded. He mentally berated himself for such a foolish remark, but before he could offer a correction, Marcus let out a soft chuckle.
"What should I call you, then?" His tone was teasing, almost flirtatious, and Nicholas wished for nothing more than a hole to appear in the ground and swallow him whole. But as he scanned the faces around the table, he realized everyone was engrossed in Marcus's charisma. Everyone except him.
"Never mind..." Nicholas mumbled in resignation before quickly changing the subject. "I'll have the..."
"Steak. Medium rare...and plain rice." Marcus interjected smoothly, finishing Nicholas's sentence for him. Their eyes locked briefly, and Nicholas felt an odd sensation as though he was being pulled into the dark depths of Marcus's gaze.
Beth's laugh broke the silence that had fallen over the table. "Oh, you're good," she complimented, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"I'll be back shortly with your drinks," Marcus replied, his hands efficiently clearing the menus off the table before he excused himself to return to the kitchen.
"That was annoying," Nicholas muttered more to himself than anyone else. Beth seemed lost in her thoughts and didn't respond to his comment. However, as Nicholas's eyes quickly swept the table, he noticed Brandon watching him with a grin plastered on his face.
From when Marcus returned with their orders until they had finished their meal, Brandon's gaze never left his father. His eyes bore into Nicholas with an intensity that spoke volumes of his defiance.
"You can't stand not being in control, can you?" Brandon finally broke the silence that had settled over them. His words cut through the air like a knife, causing everyone at the table to pause mid-bite.
"Brandon, don't." Beth immediately interjected in a futile attempt to diffuse the escalating tension. But Nicholas's eyes were locked onto his son, a storm of anger brewing within them.
"Don't test my patience, Brandon," Nicholas warned him, his words coming out through clenched teeth.
"When it comes to me, you have none," Brandon retorted defiantly, straightening up in his chair.
"This is all your fault," Nicholas shot back at Beth, shifting the blame onto her.
"No, it's actually your fault," Brandon countered, standing up for Beth.
Beth let out a frustrated sigh and buried her face in her hands. "Jesus Christ..."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Nicholas demanded, his temper flaring.
"Daddy said a bad word," Jett piped up from the end of the table, his wide eyes darting between his father and older brother. The altercation had now drawn the attention of everyone in the diner.
"You're miserable all the time. Everyone knows it," Brandon stated matter-of-factly. "Why do you insist on dragging us all on these pointless trips? You don't even enjoy our company." His voice trembled slightly towards the end, betraying the hurt he was trying to hide.
"You know, Brandon, if I'd ever spoken to my father like that, he would've beaten me black and blue," Nicholas said quietly, his tone softening as if the memory carried a heavy burden.
The revelation came as no shock. "Not surprising. Grandpa was a drunk piece of shit," Brandon confided, the words slipping out in a hushed whisper. He reclined further into his chair, the worn leather sighing under his weight.
In an abrupt eruption of pent-up rage, Nicholas's fist slammed onto the table with a force that sent glasses tumbling and silverware catapulting into the air. The ensuing crash echoed through the room, a harsh metallic symphony that grabbed attention from every corner.
"You're just a spoiled little brat," Nicholas hissed back, his voice barely above a whisper yet laden with venom. His jaw was clenched so tightly it trembled, and his words cut through the tense silence like a knife, each syllable seething with controlled fury.
"Nicholas, please." Beth's plea was soft but frantic. Her slender fingers wrapped around her husband's wrist in an attempt to diffuse the explosive situation. His hand was suspended mid-air over the table, a trembling finger aimed accusingly at their son, whose wide eyes reflected both surprise and defiance.
Casting a quick glance at Beth, then at Jett's frightened face, his lips quivering like leaves in the wind, Nicholas pulled himself away from the table. He made his way towards the back of the diner, pushing open the door with more force than necessary. A wave of hot air hit him immediately, causing him to gasp slightly. His chest constricted as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Regret and sadness began to gnaw at him from within as he realized his inability to keep his temper in check led him down a path he had sworn never to tread. Was he turning into his father? Or worse yet, had Brandon become a reflection of his own parental failings?
"Fuck..." Nicholas muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with both hands before running them through his thick, dark hair. The sudden scuffing sound of a shoe against the hot concrete snapped him back to reality.
"That was intense," came Marcus's languid voice from behind the large dumpster adjacent to the kitchen's back door. Nicholas followed the sound, finding the young man leaning casually against the wall, a lit joint in his hand. His face was bathed in sunlight, casting his wavy hair in a golden halo while his eyes squinted against the harsh light. He extended his arm, offering Nicholas the joint. Nicholas shook his head slowly.
"I'm sorry about that." Nicholas apologized, slowly ambling towards Marcus, his eyes darting nervously back towards the diner door.
"Hey man, it's none of my business," Marcus replied nonchalantly, taking another drag of the joint. As he did, it was as if time had slowed down. Nicholas found himself entranced by the sight of Marcus's full lips wrapped around the filter, leaving a faint sheen of moisture behind. The casual intimacy of the moment left him feeling strangely vulnerable.
"How was the steak?" Marcus asked after a moment, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
"It was...a nice suggestion. Thank you," Nicholas replied hesitantly, unaware of how he'd been unconsciously moving closer to Marcus as though drawn by an unseen force. A sense of tranquility washed over him, replacing the earlier chaos.
"Are you sure you don't need to blow off some steam?" Marcus asked again, offering Nicholas the joint once more.
"I don't..." Nicholas started to protest but stopped short, suddenly aware of their proximity. A sense of nervous anticipation settled over him as he teetered on the edge of an unfamiliar world. Their gazes locked for what seemed like an eternity, with Marcus's disarmingly direct stare stripping Nicholas down to his barest self.
"Fair enough," Marcus stated his voice a low drawl that echoed in the alleyway. He flicked his wrist, tossing the smoldering joint onto the grimy concrete floor. With a swift motion, he ground it out under the worn sole of his scuffed leather shoe. The acrid smell of burnt paper and herbs wafted through the air, mixing with the damp scent of the alley. Pulling back on the cold metal handle of the service door, he strode away, his dark silhouette slowly swallowed by the gleamed interior.
But then he stopped abruptly, his figure frozen in stark contrast against the faint glow from within. He turned, his gaze locking onto Nicholas, whose eyes had been trailing him intently. "If it makes you feel any better," Marcus began, his voice carrying a solemn note, "the way he spoke to you in there...that wasn't hate. That was love." The words hung in the air like a tangible presence before he disappeared inside, the door creaking shut behind him, its slow closure echoing in the silence of the night.
Nicholas stood there, his feet cemented to the concrete beneath him. Marcus's words pierced his internal turmoil, momentarily stilling the doubt that gnawed at his heart. He stepped back, finally turning towards the diner's main entrance, where Beth's confused face was framed in the glass doorway.
"What are you doing? They're in the car. Let's go," she called out, her voice filled with irritation and concern before her figure retreated into the diner's neon-lit interior.
Nicholas heaved a sigh in the cool night air, casting one last glance at the service door before following Beth. They slipped away from the diner and drove off into the night, enveloped by a silence punctuated only by the hum of the car's engine and the occasional flicker of distant streetlights. Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their rented beach home, a two-story architectural beauty that stood proudly against the darkened sky.
The house was a picturesque vision of coastal charm. Layers of white painted wood gave it an inviting warmth, while a spacious driveway offered ample room for over two cars. An expansive deck stretched out towards the beach, adorned with sunbeds that offered an unobstructed view of the ocean's grandeur. The second floor boasts a wraparound balcony, providing a panoramic vista of the surrounding landscape. Inside, a sprawling living room greeted them with its stylish comfort. An open kitchen stood ready, while a pool table near the far corner hinted at evenings filled with friendly competition.
Jett's eyes sparked with excitement as they stepped inside, and the boy bolted for the deck, his youthful energy infectious. Beth followed closely behind him, her laughter joining Jett's delighted squeals. In stark contrast, Brandon rushed past them, focusing solely on the staircase leading to the upper floor. Moments later, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the house.
"Great," Nicholas mumbled under his breath, realizing that he would soon have to confront his son and attempt to mend their strained relationship. If not, this vacation threatened to become an insufferable ordeal. And all the while, Marcus's words buzzed incessantly in his mind like an unrelenting swarm of bees.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as Beth and Nicholas took Jett to the beach, his childish antics providing a much-needed distraction from their earlier lunchtime debacle. But every so often, Nicholas found his gaze drifting back to their rented home, a sense of foreboding gnawing at him as he wondered what Brandon was doing.
As evening fell and they returned to their temporary abode, the pleasant aroma of Beth's cooking filled the air. Now engrossed in the colorful world of cartoons, Jett sprawled on the couch. With a deep breath, Nicholas decided it was time. He ascended the staircase, his heart pounding in his chest. He hesitated for a moment before knocking gently on Brandon's door. Silence followed, stretching out for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and Brandon's gaze scanned him up and down before he turned away, resuming his position on the bed and picking up his phone.
"Can I come in?" Nicholas asked, his voice a soft echo that bounced off the walls of the room. His eyes studied his son's demeanor, etching every detail in his mind. The boy sat on the edge of the bed, his attention glued to the illuminated screen of his phone. Brandon's silence was deafening, his indifference a sharp sting in Nicholas's heart. The older man took two cautious steps forward, his hands finding refuge in the depths of his pockets, the cool fabric providing a small comfort.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Nicholas ventured further into the conversation, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze never left Brandon's figure as he hoped for some reaction, an acknowledgment from his son. But the boy remained unmoved, making it all the more challenging for Nicholas to bridge the gap between them. "What happened to us?" He allowed himself to ask, his words laced with a palpable longing.
Nicholas could feel a lump forming in his throat as he dredged up memories of when they shared an unbreakable bond. "We used to be inseparable. You couldn't wait for me to come home at the end of the day," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. His eyes clouded with emotion as he continued, "You'd rush down the stairs, your tiny arms thrown around me in such a tight hug that I could hardly breathe." A melancholic smile played on Nicholas's lips as he relived their cherished past.
"And I know things change," Nicholas confessed, acknowledging the stark difference between then and now. "And you're not a kid anymore...but I miss those days." He admitted, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. The silence that followed was heavy, with unsaid words and unresolved emotions.
Brandon's sudden movement cut the tension in the room. He reached inside his travel bag and pulled out a set of headphones. His face remained expressionless as he slid them over his ears, his actions speaking louder than any words could.
"Close the door on your way out," Brandon said, his voice devoid of emotion. His attention was back on his phone, effectively shutting Nicholas out.
Nicholas felt a pang of sadness strike his heart. A tangible wall now stood between him and his son. And every attempt to break it only seemed to make it thicker. His son's words echoed in his mind, their coldness chilling him to the bone.
"Okay," Nicholas managed to say, his voice barely audible. He turned around and exited the room, the click of the door echoing in the silent hallway.
The evening passed quickly, the family dinner tainted by a somber mood. Fatigue hung heavy in the air, prompting everyone to retreat to their rooms earlier than usual. As Nicholas went to their suite on the opposite side of the hallway, he found Beth in bed, scrolling through her phone.
He stood on the balcony, staring at the moonlit ocean. The night was tranquil, the glow from the moon casting a silvery sheen over the water. His mind was far from the peaceful scene before him. It was stuck on Brandon and the wall that seemed to grow higher with each passing second.
"I'm worried about Brandon," Nicholas said, breaking the silence.
Beth didn't look up from her phone as she asked, "What do you mean?"
"He's distant...detached," Nicholas explained, hoping Beth would understand. He turned to face her, only to still find her engrossed in her phone. His brows furrowed in frustration as he realized she wasn't paying attention.
"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, hinting at annoyance. He took off his shirt and tossed it on the couch, his mind still preoccupied with their son's indifference.
"He's a teenager, Nicholas. They're all emotionally detached. That's like the definition of being a teenager," she argued, her voice laced with an air of superiority that was familiar yet grating. Her words hung in the air between them, a dismissive pronouncement that seemed to poke and prod at Nicholas's simmering frustration.
"You're doing it again," he retorted sharply, the two words slicing through the tension steadily building. His biting tone commanded her attention, forcing her to lift her head from the book she had been engrossed in. As she did so, her facial features shifted ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of her husband's palpable worry. Yet, a stubborn reluctance lingered in her eyes, her pride seemingly preventing her from conceding to his viewpoint.
Beth had always been obstinate about their son Brandon, particularly in discussing Nicholas's connection with him. This stubbornness had morphed into a defensive wall over time, often causing strain between the couple.
"I don't want to turn this into a 'thing' between you two. We came here to relax, not work through your issues with your son," she said dismissively, brushing off his concerns as though they were mere specks of dust on her pristine blouse.
Nicholas felt heat rising within him as his wife's words fell on his ears, a mixture of anger and frustration boiling over. His eyes began to flicker rapidly as if mirroring his inner turmoil.
"You're fucking unbelievable. Did you know that?" Nicholas exploded. Beth's eyes widened in shock, and she swiftly raised a finger on her lips, signaling him to lower his voice. But by now, Nicholas was past caring about propriety or decorum. His chest heaved as if he'd run a marathon; he was pacing the room like a caged animal. "You're always brushing things off, sugarcoating Brandon's fucked up behavior. It's like you enjoy seeing him treat me like I'm one of those punks he hangs out with," he spat, his voice echoing off the room's high ceilings. "Have you even noticed him lately? He's behaving like a fucking sociopath, Beth," he shouted, his words bouncing off the walls and shooting back at them.
Beth's shock quickly turned into anger as she matched his fury. She rose from the silk sheets of their bed and kneeled on it, her eyes blazing.
"He's not the one shouting at his wife at three in the morning!" She yelled back.
"Fuck you! I'm fucking tired of this bad cop, good cop routine. I'm not going to be made the villain here, Beth. I'm not!" Nicholas declared, his frustration reaching its peak as he grabbed his shirt off the back of the couch.
"Where are you going?" Beth asked tersely, her eyes trailing him around the room. Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and desperation.
"For a drive. I need to cool off," Nicholas muttered under his breath as he rushed for the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Beth alone in their suite.
Nicholas sprinted down the stairs, his heart pounding in sync with each step. He grabbed the car keys from the small bowl near the entrance, hopped inside their sleek car, and drove off into the quiet night. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he raced along the deserted road. His life seemed to flash before his eyes, a montage of unfortunate events leading up to this moment, fatigue and failure being at the root of all his choices, from which only disappointment and despondency seemed to blossom. The faster he drove, the more lost he felt. Soon, he slammed on the brakes and skidded across a patch of dirt.
Nicholas's head fell over the steering wheel, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He raised his eyes and started darting around, trying to figure out where he was. A bike chained to a lamp post caught his eye. He exhaled deeply, opened the door, and exited the car. The gentle heat of the night immediately enveloped him, warming his spirit as he followed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. He walked towards the beach, his shoes sinking into the soft sand with each step, further distancing himself from the heated argument that had pushed him out into the night.
About a dozen strides into the misty shoreline, Nicholas was drawn to a neatly stacked pile of clothes, each piece layered over the other with a casual carelessness that hinted at an unexpected interruption. He crouched down, eyes scrutinizing the abandoned attire while his mind wandered to their owner: who could be so brazenly carefree to leave their clothes on a public beach? As his gaze drifted towards the ocean, he caught sight of a silhouette emerging from the water's embrace.
A young man materialized, seemingly sculpted by the waves as they nudged him onto the shore with playful insistence. The moonlight painted his bare body in a palette of silvers and shadows, transforming him into an ethereal spectacle for Nicholas's eyes. His heart seized in an alarmingly familiar rhythm as he recognized the face.
Marcus, the ever-smiling waiter from Moe's.
His pulse quickened with uncertainty, darting through his veins like a startled rabbit. Should he make a hasty retreat before Marcus noticed him? But even as this thought formed, he realized it was too late. The ship of anonymity had long sailed. Marcus was already striding towards him, his athletic body shimmering under the moon's calm gaze. His nudity was nonchalant, his uncut manhood swaying gently between his legs, framed by a meticulously groomed patch of hair.
Nicholas murmured an incredulous "You got to be kidding me..." under his breath, watching Marcus's head bob rhythmically from side to side, his luscious raven locks bouncing along in agreement.
With an unaffected "Hey," Marcus greeted Nicholas as casually as they were crossing paths on a bustling city sidewalk rather than a deserted beach. He paused, squinting at Nicholas with a spark of recognition. "I know you," he declared, standing unabashedly naked under the moonlight.
Nicholas began to reply, but Marcus cut him off. "Steak, medium-rare. Plain rice," he listed off, recalling Nicholas's usual order. A nervous chuckle escaped Nicholas's lips as he struggled to maintain eye contact, fighting the magnetic pull of Marcus's exposed body. "Toss me my shorts, will ya?" Marcus requested nonchalantly.
Nicholas complied, bending to collect the clothes from the sand and tossing them towards Marcus. The young waiter quickly caught them, pulling them over his salty, water-kissed skin.
"I didn't mean to pry. I just saw the clothes and..." Nicholas tried to explain his presence, his words tripping over each other in their hurry.
"It's okay, man. You don't need to explain," Marcus interrupted him gently, his dark eyes already locked on Nicholas in a gaze that seemed to reach into the depths of his soul. "You never swam naked in the ocean?" he questioned playfully.
"Only in pools. Private...pools," Nicholas replied, rolling his eyes at his awkward response. Marcus laughed softly at this, his handsome face lighting up with amusement.
"It's not the same thing," he said, his fearless gaze piercing through Nicholas like a blunt sword. "Isn't it a little late for you to be driving around?" he asked with a teasing lilt.
"Isn't it a little late for you to be skinny dipping in the ocean?" Nicholas retorted playfully, surprising himself with his newfound ease around Marcus.
"Touche," Marcus conceded before they were enveloped in silence. It was a surprisingly serene pause, its familiarity disarming Nicholas as much as it intrigued him.
"Is that your bike?" Marcus asked, pointing towards a small dirt patch where Nicholas had parked his vehicle.
"Yeah," Nicholas replied, picking up Marcus's backpack from the sandy floor and dusting off the sand that clung to it.
"You live nearby?" Nicholas asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. He found himself stalling, intrigued by Marcus's carefree demeanor.
"About two and a half miles," Marcus answered, slinging his bag over his shoulder before heading back towards the street lamp where his bike was anchored.
Suddenly, an insidious sensation gripped Nicholas' chest, a burgeoning sense of dread and anxiety searing through his gut like an inferno. It was as though he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath him. Before he could mull over the cause of his sudden disquiet or even attempt to rein it in, words were already catapulting out of his mouth with a force that took him by surprise.
"I'll give you a lift," he bellowed, his voice echoing across the deserted beach. The statement caught Marcus off guard, causing him to swivel in surprise. His eyebrows converged into a frown, a silent question etched on his face.
"What about my bike?" he asked, his voice laced with apprehension.
Nicholas was quick to reassure him. "I'll toss it in the trunk, don't worry," he retorted, already striding towards Marcus's direction with renewed determination.
They trudged up the sandy incline together, their footsteps leaving indistinct impressions behind them. Reaching his bike, Marcus deftly unlocked the chain, securing it, and nudged it towards Nicholas, who was waiting impatiently by the open trunk of his car. With a shared effort, they hoisted the bike and secured it inside the trunk. The metallic thud of the trunk shutting echoed ominously as Nicholas slammed it shut. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment before they turned away, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
The silence that followed was heavy yet comfortable. It hung warm and strangely inviting in the air like a tangible entity. They made their way to the front of the car and slid inside. As they did so, Marcus sneezed abruptly, his hand brushing against his reddened nose.
"I forgot my jumper," he admitted sheepishly. Without a word, Nicholas leaned forward and shrugged off his cardigan.
"Here," he offered, placing the garment gently on Marcus's lap.
"Nah, man. I couldn't," Marcus protested, but his voice wavered uncertainly, starkly contrasting his usually confident and raspy tone.
"Don't worry about it," Nicholas insisted, dismissing Marcus's protests with a wave of his hand.
"Thanks," Marcus mumbled, his gratitude barely audible. He leaned forward and pulled the cardigan over his shoulders, fastening his seatbelt with a soft click.
As Nicholas drove off, a silence settled between them once again. The only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the occasional direction Marcus provided. Soon, they were navigating a dirt road in a somewhat secluded area. A rundown shack with an annex built into the roof starkly contrasted the barren surroundings. Nicholas squinted through the windshield, trying to make sense of the desolate landscape.
"That's me," Marcus announced abruptly, breaking Nicholas out of his thoughts.
"You live here by yourself?" Nicholas questioned, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better look at the property.
"Most of the time. My dad shows up every once in a while," Marcus replied nonchalantly.
Nicholas found himself taken aback by this revelation. "How old are you?" he asked, realizing he had never thought to ask before.
"Nineteen," Marcus answered, reaching down to gather his bag from the car's floor. His fingers brushed against the car door as he searched for the lock.
"That one gets stuck sometimes. Let me," Nicholas offered, leaning across Marcus to help. As he did so, his muscular arm inadvertently grazed against Marcus's chest. The fleeting contact sent a jolt coursing through him.
Their faces drifted closer unconsciously, their breaths mingling in the confined space between them. The scent of saltwater clinging to Marcus's skin intermingled with the enticing aroma of his breath, adding to the intoxicating proximity. Within seconds, Nicholas was painfully aware of his arousal, the discomfort almost unbearable.
"You already saw me naked, and I don't even know your name?" Marcus whispered, the words ghosting over Nicholas's lips. The moment's intimacy was overwhelming, the most sensual experience Nicholas had ever had.
"Nicholas," he replied hushedly, his breath hitching as Marcus's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. For a moment, Nicholas was tempted to close the gap between them, to taste the sweetness that lingered on Marcus's lips. But before he could succumb to his desires, his hand found the stubborn lock and flung the door open, breaking their intimate proximity abruptly.
"Well...thanks for the ride, Nicholas," Marcus proclaimed, his voice echoing in the silence of the night as he disembarked from the plush confines of the car. He navigated his way around the sleek, metallic body of the vehicle towards the back, his hands reaching out to retrieve his bicycle from the capacious trunk. With a strength belied by his lean frame, he hoisted the bike onto his shoulder and paced alongside the car, finally halting beside Nicholas' window. He rapped on the glass gently, a rhythmic tap that seemed like a secret code between them.
His hand moved to shrug off the soft cardigan that draped around him when Nicholas' voice interjected. "Keep it," he articulated, his tone veiled with something unspoken.
"Are you sure?" Marcus queried, his eyebrows arching in surprise. Nicholas offered a slow nod of affirmation, his gaze lingering on Marcus' lips as if tracing an invisible path over them before they anchored themselves on his eyes.
Marcus's features were graced with a smile as he spun on his heels and ambled towards the house. Nicholas reclined in his seat, his fingers hovering over the ignition key. A strange force gripped him, akin to an ethereal chain binding him to the spot, thwarting any attempt to drive away.
"What the fuck are you doing, Nic?" he whispered to himself in hushed tones. His eyes were riveted on the house, and he observed every inch with quiet intensity.
In a few moments, a glow emerged from within the house, a beacon of light piercing through the annex's window. Through this illuminated pane, he could see Marcus navigating in the compact room. The young man discarded his bag haphazardly onto the floor before stripping off his shirt and shorts with a nonchalance that revealed his naked form once more.
Nicholas sank further into the plush leather of his seat, hypnotized by the spectacle unfolding before him. His gaze traced Marcus' every move as the young man sauntered out of sight for a brief moment, only to return with Nicholas' cardigan clutched in his hand. He sprang onto the bed, his virility evident and unashamed. Marcus reclined on the bed, a portrait of unabashed pleasure, one hand roaming over his body while the other held Nicholas' gifted cardigan.
Nicholas could only observe, entranced in his voyeuristic act, his own arousal pounding against the confines of his clothing. Yet, he couldn't tear away his attention from Marcus, who was lost in his world of pleasure. He watched as Marcus' movements grew more fervent, his left hand bringing the cardigan to his nose, inhaling its scent as his body convulsed with pleasure. The young man's neck arched back, his hand exploring the soft fabric of the cardigan over his body before it disappeared between his legs.
From his vantage point, Nicholas could hear Marcus' moans echoing into the night as he reached climax. The echoes seemed to resonate within Nicholas, stirring a primal urge within him that manifested as a warm wetness trickling down his thighs.
"Damn..." He mumbled under his breath, gnawing at his lip as he felt the sticky liquid trail his inner thighs.
Inside the house, Marcus was caught in the throes of orgasm, still stroking himself, his body trembling under its force as he expelled every last drop of it. Nicholas found himself leaning forward involuntarily, spellbound by the spectacle before him. As Marcus' hand dropped to the side of the bed, discarding the cardigan onto the floor, he could see him taste himself with an unabashed greed that sparked fascination within Nicholas.
"Look down," he murmured into the darkness, teasing himself with an unspoken command. As he watched Marcus, lost in his world of pleasure, he could feel an undeniable pull in his groin, his body responding to the erotic display before him. His own arousal became palpable, a throbbing pulse that echoed the rhythm of his rapidly beating heart.
Marcus paused abruptly, and his neck slowly swiveled in a deliberate, balletic motion. His muscular legs rolled off the plush bed, and he stood upright, his tall frame radiating a raw magnetism. He sauntered over to the large panes of glass that served as a window, casting a silhouette against the dim light outside. It was barely noticeable, but if one were to observe closely, they would glimpse Marcus's dark eyes twinkling with an unspoken mischief.
Nicholas was still there. He knew it.
"Good boy..." the muscular hunk whispered in a low, husky voice, which echoed in the silence of the night. A satisfied grin played on his lips as he watched Marcus retreat from the window and disappear into the obscurity of the room. Seconds later, the room was plunged into darkness as the lights were switched off.
With a sense of anticipation tingling in his fingertips, Nicholas's hand finally reached the key. He ignited the engine and drove back to the beach house, which held a serene charm in its peaceful slumber. Strangely enough, as he entered the quaint home, no discordant thoughts were plaguing his mind, even though what had just unfolded was anything but ordinary. His spirit soared with a sense of triumph, awakening a part of him he felt he had been suppressing for far too long, a daring, reckless part that yearned for liberation.
Stepping lightly up the creaky stairs and tiptoeing down the corridor, he gently pushed open the door to his bedroom. His gaze immediately settled on Beth, who lay in their shared bed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically in sleep, her smooth thigh peeking out from under the sheets in a provocative tease. Attempting to close the door with minimal noise, the faint sound of the lock sliding into place was enough to rouse her. Beth's head rose from the pillow, her eyelids heavy with sleep.
"Hey, baby... I'm sorry about..." she mumbled, her voice trailing off.
But Nicholas silenced her with a gentle hush, bringing his fingers to his mouth and signaling her to keep quiet. He began to undress slowly, peeling off his shirt and pants, exposing his firm, burly body to her sleepy gaze. He sauntered over to the foot of the bed, grabbed Beth's ankles with a firm grip, and pulled her body to the edge of the mattress, spreading her legs apart. She moaned in response.
"Cover your mouth, or you'll wake the kids," Nicholas whispered urgently before diving into his wife's warm, inviting folds.
That night, Nicholas worshipped Beth's body with an intensity that was unusual for him. He brought her to the brink of pleasure not once but twice, gifting her with two of the most intense orgasms she'd ever experienced. Her entire body glowed in satisfaction as she eventually fell asleep in his arms, her damp thighs hugging his still-hard length.
Nicholas's mind wandered into uncharted territory as he lay alone, staring at the ceiling with wide-awake eyes. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he contemplated the absurdity of his thoughts. Because deep down, he knew that it wasn't Beth's responsive body, her moans of pleasure or intense release that had fueled his desire that night.
In fact, only one thought had been running rampant through his mind as he made love to his wife with such fervor:
What did Marcus's cum taste like?
(To be continued...)