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The Windows
Chapter 3
Chester couldn't drive away from the place quickly enough. He was uneasy every time he entered the cottage. He was certain that it was haunted.
Jim Watkins was a loner from New York, who purchased the cottage six years ago. He was a sane and sober business man, but he had a fault. He hated to socialize, and he preferred to spend his time alone. When he saw the ad for the sale of this place in the NY Times, he drove right out to see it. It was just what the doctor ordered.
Shortly after he bought the cottage, Jim began to neglect his business, and he spent more and more time in this wilderness. Sometimes he didn't go to New York for weeks at a time. Eventually, he lost his business, and then he never left the cottage except to buy provisions.
At first, he answered the phone when his brother called, and he assured him that he was fine. When he stopped answering his phone, his brother became alarmed and drove out to the cottage to investigate. He found Jim cowering in a corner of his bedroom. He was filthy. His beard and his hair were down to his ass. He smelled of feces and urine.
Jim's brother started to puke. He called the authorities and Jim was taken to an institution. He was currently being treated for schizophrenia, but he was showing no signs of improvement.
His brother found Chester's name in the yellow pages of a local phone book, and gave him the job of selling his brother's property. The first thing Chester did was to clean the place up, and that's when he first suffered pangs of uneasiness.
The cleaning crew had no problem making the place immaculate, but no matter what they did, the windows would not get clean on the inside. However, they were able to clean them just fine from the outside. As a result, the interior of the cottage was always gloomy, while the outside looked like something from a fairy tale, just as Pete had pointed out when he first saw it.
Chester was resigned to facing the reality that the cottage would never sell. When he got Pete's call, he was elated. You can bet he never told Pete the history of the place.
During the entire week since they purchased the cottage, Pete seemed to be his old self. He was excited about spending the upcoming weekend there, but he still referred to the cottage as his and not ours. Coop chose to ignore it. What he couldn't ignore was the fear that Pete's strange behavior would return when they went back to the cottage.
During the week, they had arranged for the utilities to be activated. The first thing they did when they arrived was to refrigerate the perishables, and put the rest of the food in the pantry.
Chester had seen to it that the property was clean and ready to move into, but the windows were still murky. Coop could barely see to the outside, where it was sunny and inviting.
"I still think we should hire a window cleaning crew," he said.
"I told you," Pete snapped at him. "Nobody cleans my place or makes repairs except me. I came prepared."
He ran out to the car and opened the trunk. He removed a pail, several scrubbing brushes and plenty of Windex and Spic and Span. He laid everything on the floor and smiled at Coop.
It was the warm inviting smile Coop was used to, and which Pete always used to entice him into bed. As if he needed enticing. Coop was encouraged to believe that he had been too melodramatic in suspecting a curse on the cottage.
"I'll clean the windows later. Want to initiate my cottage?" Pete asked. "I promised you we would when we returned this weekend."
Coop ignored the use of the possessive pronoun "my." He was getting used to it, and was so happy that Pete was happy, that he was afraid to make any waves. He ran into the bedroom, and was almost fully undressed before Pete got into the room.
Pete joined him in bed. Coop began to turn in a sixty-nine position.
"No," Pete said. "I'll suck you and then you'll suck me. I want all your attention and I'll give you all of mine. Don't cum. After we suck each other we'll fuck."
"Shit," Coop moaned. "I didn't pack any lube. Did you?"
"No, but don't worry. We'll use our spit."
Coop was dubious. "I don't know," he said. "You're so fucking big."
Pete's cock was uncut. When erect, it was about seven and a half inches, but it was the fattest cock Coop had ever seen. When he was stroking it, he could not get his whole hand around it. It was months after they met before Coop could take it in his ass, without hurting like hell.
"Your ass is a well-used receptacle," Pete assured Coop. You'll be just fine. Now stop stalling, and suck me."
Coop began to suck Pete's cock. He couldn't get most of it into his mouth, so he just kept licking the underside of Pete's shaft. Occasionally, he went low and sucked Pete's crack. Pete was turning and twisting and moaning. This pleased Coop. It was always his intent to give Pete the most pleasure he was capable of. He stopped when he saw Pete's balls shrinking, and he turned around to lie side by side with Pete.
"My turn," Coop said.
"Sure," Pete said, "I'll turn you around."
Before he knew what was happening, Pete turned Coop on his stomach and fell on top of him. He was essentially pinned down like a wrestler. Pete's immense hard cock pushed right into Coop's ass. The only spit he used was the miniscule amount remaining from when Coop gave him oral sex.
Coop was in agonizing pain. His ass was on fire. He kept begging Pete to stop, but now Pete was pumping harder than ever. Coop was aware that Pete's breaths were getting shorter and shorter, and he was beginning to snarl like a watch dog at his prey. Then he fainted into oblivion.
When he woke up, he was alone in bed and still on his stomach. He was in great pain, and he rolled over on his back. Something sticky was under his ass. He got out of bed to find the bedsheets covered with blood. He ran to the bathroom. They had not brought any medical supplies, and he made a mental note to bring some next weekend. He used toilet paper and dabbed at his ass. Fortunately, the bleeding had stopped. He washed the dried blood off as best he could.
He went out to find Pete. He was still naked.
Pete was naked also. He was humming and washing the windows in the living room, but they weren't getting any cleaner. He seemed not to be aware of having raped his husband. He heard Coop entering the room.
"See?" he asked. "Isn't this better?" It wasn't. Now Coop wondered if he wasn't going blind as well as turning into a monster.
Pete was facing the window, and he turned around to face Coop. Coop couldn't help himself. He began to scream. Pete's face was blood red, and it was wrinkled and ugly. Coop was about to faint again.
"What's wrong, baby?" Pete asked.
As he asked Coop what was wrong, Pete's beautiful face came back into view. Coop was beginning to doubt his sanity. He took a deep breath. It was going to take all his strength to say anything to Pete.
"You know Pete, I'd be much obliged if you drove me to the nearest town. I'll take a bus back to New York. This is your place and you should enjoy it without my being in your way."
"Geez, Honey," Pete gushed. "That's so thoughtful of you. "In fact, I was going to tell you something. My last class is this Thursday. I was thinking of staying here the whole summer. I'm not teaching any summer classes this year. You can come up by bus every weekend, and I'll pick you up at the bus stop."
Coop could not believe what he heard. Given how Pete was acting, maybe some time apart would be a good idea.
"Whatever makes you happy," Coop acquiesced. "But you don't have to pick me up. When I want to come for a weekend, I'll rent a car."
"Fantastic," Pete said. He didn't seem to notice that Coop said `when I want to come.'
On the bus ride home, Coop was in agony. He felt like his marriage was over. He thought long and hard about what to do about this paranormal situation. He needed to make a plan, but nothing viable came to mind.
To be continued...