Gallery

vintage-sweden:

Unknown man, 1941, Sweden.

I stand on the dock and watch him bring the boat up to the tie-off point. Other fishermen in the harbor are watching him navigate the old wooden boat, snickering in amusement.
“Boy why are you naked?” I ask.
“Decided to go for a swim out there, Sir. If I get dressed afterwards, my clothes always get damp after a swim and I hate damp clothes.
Fine warm day today, so there was really no need to put on clothes in my opinion.”
“You have quite an audience. It does not bother you?”
He squints at me in the sun, a smile on his tanned face. “It doesn’t bother the ocean, so it doesn’t bother me. I only care what you think of me naked Sir.”
I sigh softly. He knows I live for every moment he takes his clothes off and how my eyes linger when he changes. The only thing that gets me to bed on time at night is knowing he’s warm and bare under the covers.
“I think highly of your body, boy… you must know that.”
He ties the boat off. “Still pleases me to hear it.”

Another fisherman nearby speaks up. “James, tell your boy to put some clothes on. If you got yourself a misses, well we’d be havin’ another conversation,
No one else out here wants to look at another man’s bait n tackle! though” That makes the other people near the dock howl.
I shrug. “Well, I tried boys, but I think he’s staying naked.” That makes them laugh harder. I glance at the bucket in the boy’s boat. “Dinner?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good work. Let’s head in. I peeled the potatoes already.”
He groans. “Thank you Sir. Hate potatoes.”
I knew.

He throws his bundle of clothes to me and I help him out of the boat. We walk down the dock and then down the road that follows the coast. Our home is at the end of the road, up a gravel path on top of a bluff that overlooks the beach. We have a chat about the weather, the waves, how the fish were biting, if we should make a cake tonight. People gawk and gasp at him, and women giggle. It’s hard for my boy to keep a straight face, but I can tell he’s enjoying causing a stir. He doesn’t care, and I love him for it.

Finally when we get home, he sets the bucket of fish down on the deck and stretches. “I’ll get to guttin’ em.”
I have other ideas. I take him to the bedroom instead. The ocean has dried on his skin instead of his clothing, and every inch of skin tastes salty and fresh. He’s a furnace, all tanned skin under tight muscles. I felt embarrassed later at the vigor I had taking him. I wouldn’t have been able to eat dinner without getting that release though. He has a way of getting to me, this son of a poor dockworker that had charmed his way into my life.

He glances at me afterwards, all flushed, hair mussed. “Didn’t know gutting fish turned you on so much.”
I snort “It’s not gutting fish. It’s the bait n tackle.”
He grins at me. “Well, that bait worked. I did pull in a very big fish today.”
“Did you just call me a fish?”
“Well you should see your ‘o’ face… ack!” I hit him with a pillow and we dissolve into laughter as he reaches for his to hit me back.

_______________________
Captions are fictional.

Gallery

You took your houseboy on a summer trip to make sure he wasn’t getting burned out. Your houseboy was a quiet, territorial type and you weren’t sure how he’d react to being away from his home for so long, though. At first, he seemed sullen and unsure, gazing longingly at your home in the mirror as you pulled out of the driveway. Wi-fi cameras and motion detectors would help him keep peace of mind. Still, he was listless on the drive.

The first day or so he fussed over the rented cabin excessively,  muttering to himself. He cleaned it top to bottom and stocked the shelves. You didn’t want him nesting down in there, and made a point to get him out in nature as much as possible. He protested mildly, but you gave him the task of packing picnics for your trips and soon the complaining stopped. The boy’s skin soon turned a lovely tan from being out doors, and his hair became streaked with highlights. 

One of these days you had rented a boat and were now floating on the lake after a good bout of fishing. Your houseboy was perched on the edge, watching the sunset over the hills and trees. He glanced down at the sun’s wobbly reflection on the water. He bent over, like a swan, and ran his fingers through the reflection. The boy looked so utterly beautiful it took the breath out of your lungs.

He noticed you watching him and straightened up. “Sir?”
“Yes lad?”
“Can we come here every year?”
You smile. “Absolutely. You want to come in the fall when the leaves change too?”
His face brightened. “Can we?’
”Yes.”
Your boy hugged his knees together and a look of tired contentment came to his face. “I’d like that, Sir.”
“Then it settled. Also, what do you think about cooking the fish outside over a fire tonight, instead of int he house?”

That made him gawk. “We can DO that?”
I grinned and leaned back in my chair. “We can do whatever we want. We’re on vacation.”

My houseboy considered this answer. After a moment, he got up, walked over, and slid into my lap.

______________________
Captions are fictional.

Gallery

‘Hey,” I say, with a knock. “You ok?”
“Nn.” Came the reply.
“I’m coming in.”
“Nn.”
I step into the bathroom, not knowing what to expect, but I had a ball of dread in the bottom of my stomach. I’m relieved Darren isn’t hurt, but then I see what he had done with the scissors and his hair. “Hey,” I repeat softly. “What are you doing?”
“It’s coming out,” he says quietly.
I sat on the closed toilet. “Your hair?” I ask.
Darren nods, blankly.
“That happens with chemo.”
“I thought I’d shave it off, but you can’t bring electronic shavers in the bath. And so I tried to cut it off but I can’t.” He hugs his knees. “I can’t. And it’s just falling out.” He begins to cry.
I furrow my brow and purse my lips. I’m only a few inches away but it feels like I can’t reach him. I swallow my emotions, stand-up, and begin to take off my clothes. Darren doesn’t look up. “Scoot forward,” I instruct, and he scoots up. I slip in behind him, but can’t fit my long legs folded. I place them on either side of Darren’s body, and then pull him against me. He leans against me, still a hard ball, shaking in the tepid water. I turn on the warm water to a gentle trickle, then tighten my grip on him. He begins to unravel, until he is laying on me. His body shakes softly as he cries.
“Darren?” I whisper.
“Y-yeah?” he hiccups.
“It’s going to be alright.”
“You don’t know that,” he accuses.
“I mean…” I exhale softly. “It doesn’t matter if your hair falls out. Or if you lose weight. Or if you get tired more easily. It doesn’t matter, no one is going to think negatively of you for it. It’s gonna be alright. You got friends. You got me.”
“…I don’t want to die from cancer.”
I squeeze him even tighter and kiss the top of his head. “We all die someday Darren. But you won’t die now. Not soon either.”
He doesn’t answer.
”You know, they say – live each day like it’s your last. But that’s silly, cause you’d do some stupid things or blow all your money right?”
Darren shrugs.
“Well, I think it’s silly. Especially because even if one of our days was the last, I’d still just want to spend it as a normal day with you. Because each day with you in it is a good day.”
Darren sniffles. “You will love me through out this whole thing?”
“With intense, passionate, unlimited love.”
Darren relaxes against me a little. “I love you, but I can’t believe you would give it to me back knowing what we’re up against.”
“I will always love you back,” I answer firmly, hoping he can’t hear my words shaking.
“That makes me happy. Hey, David?”
”Hm?”
“Would you shave my head?”
“Yeah. I will. Want me to shave mine?” I asked.
“No,” Darren says, “I like to play with your hair cause it’s long.”
I smile a little. “Ok. Just yours. And no more scissors ok?”
“Ok,” Darren says, “No more scissors.”

I kiss him on the head, and reach back to turn off the water. We sit in the silent bathroom, cuddling in contemplative quiet, until the water becomes cold. Darren falls still.
For a terrifying second, I think he’s actually dead.

No, just asleep. Rattled, I wake him up and help him dry off.

I put him to bed. After he’s tucked in, I go downstairs and turn on the living room light. I take the presents out of the hidden spot behind boxes in the closet and put them under the tree. I stuff the stockings with trinkets. Then, I sit down by the tree, stare up at the pretty twinkling lights, and begin to sob.

                                            _____________

It wasn’t my last Christmas with Darren. I got four more wonderful, merry Christmas Eves with Darren. We got a dog. There was a wedding. We bought a house. I let myself be happy.

Then the cancer came back. It didn’t respond to chemo anymore. I shaved Darren’s head again. It never grew back. I lost my Darren on a rainy July evening. I thought by December, that I was recovered enough to handle it. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t OK with the empty tree and the silent house.

My sister, who was worried about my lack of presence on Christmas morning, came to check on me. She found me in the garage. Just in time, the doctors said. But I could see it in their eyes. It was close. Too close. I was mad at first that she had stopped me, but by the time New Years rolled around, I just felt numb. I got therapy. I sold the house. I kept the dog.

A few days into therapy, my therapist told me about a group for gay persons who have lost their spouses. I went, and sat in the back. But I kept going once a month, and fourteen months later, a new person started coming.
“God how California is this that there’s vegan donuts over here?” Judd asked, chuckling.
“The coffee is organic too,” I noted.
“Good lord, this city. When I want to feel pitiful, I just want gas station coffee and shitty donuts made by people who don’t speak English and run a Chinese restaurant next door. Why is that hard?”
I actually laughed. “Now that you mention it, why are there so many Chinese restaurants next to donut places?”
Judd shook his head. “I really wish I knew. Gets me every time. Hm, actually this donut is pretty good..”
“I think you need to apologize to the donut, Judd. I don’t think the donut appreciated you judging it.”
That made him laugh back.

Judd lost his own husband, Mark, three years go. Brain aneurysm. Judd took it harder than me. He had no time to prepare. Woke up next to his husband t to find him dead and stiff. Can you imagine that? Judd, who had a problem with pain killers already, turned to heroin to numb his pain. He was climbing out of his own hole, but sober, and cautiously optimistic.

And quite unexpectedly, I made a friend. And then a close friend. And then, a lover. One day, I caught myself thinking, “if it wasn’t for Darren, I wouldn’t have ever met Judd.” I felt guilt for that. But my therapist said Darren would probably like that he could still make me happy.

At Christmas now, I sit at the sofa and sip coffee while I stare at the mesmerizing beauty of the lights on the tree.
Darren’s favorite ornament hides shyly off the side, keeping Mark’s ornament company too. The tree is even more beautiful now, even though there’s two small children destroying wrapping paper underneath it and screaming over presents. Judd comes and sits next to me on the sofa, and puts a box in my lap. “Merry Christmas,” he says kissing me. I smile and kiss him back. I am happy.
“Merry Christmas, Judd.”

___________________________
Captions are fictional.

Gallery

“That’s it. Nice and still now. I lock you and restrain you for your own safety. The electricity can make your muscles jolt sometimes. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself in ropes. This way we can minimize risk. Why would I risk breaking my favorite toy?” I caress his thigh up and cup his buttock in my hand. “You have a very easy job. You just get to lie there while I do all the work,” I chuckle. “Now let’s get you up on your knees so we can get started. Ah, you are dripping already. Very pleased. Let’s turn that into a torrent shall we?”

___________________
Captions are fictional.

Gallery

reeseloveandsoul:

{reeseloveandsoul.tumblr.com}

I stand there in the entry way to our living room, hand paused while scratching the back of my neck. My mouth is frozen in mid-yawn. My house boy is perched on the mantel of our fireplace with feline grace, all curves and sunkissed bare limbs, gazing out onto the skyline. I work my dry mouth and swallow. He looks like he is part of the room, like I had a naked male version of the Little Mermaid statue from Copenhagen installed in my condo.

I pat my pocket, seeking my phone. I frame the shot and snap it. Perfect.

At the sound, my houseboy looks over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re up. Good afternoon, Sir. How was your nap?”
“Wonderful,” I reply. “I can’t wait until this client partnership is over and I can sleep like a normal person again.”
My houseboy gives me a wistful look. “It will be soon. Shall I get you some refreshments?”
“Mmnn. No, don’t get down. You can get it in a minute.” I walk over to him. “What are you looking at?”

My boy shrugs. “I just realized I never took the time to really look at the view you know? Been working so hard to keep your life and home in order since we moved here, but I spend most of it looking down. It’s beautiful.”
I run my palm over his thigh. I suddenly want him naked and spead open under me in an embarrassingly vulgar way.  
“What do you see?” I manage to say.
“Mmmn. There’s a bird of prey circling to the right there.”
“Oh? So there is.”
“There’s a red flag on that building over there. Someone is having a smoke break on that roof there. There’s a balloon caught on that line there…”
“You see a lot.”
My houseboy looks pleased that I’m interested. “I wonder what I could see if I had that bird’s vision.”
“Probably ants on the sidewalk,” I guess.
“Mmmn. Possibly.” My houseboy looks at me. I position his chin with my pointer finger and kiss him. He leans in, and I give him my tongue. A soft groan escapes from lips. “God, I love it when you kiss me for no reason.”
“Oh there is always a reason,” I insist. “And I could use that refreshment now. Get two.”

My houseboy blinks, trying to snap back into focus. “Ye – yes Sir.” He slides off the mantel with noted grace. I watch that fine body as he sashays into the kitchen.

I sit on the sofa when he returns with two glasses. We sit and discuss dinner as we drink our iced tea. When I finish mine, I set it down on the tray.
“Another Sir?” My boy prompts.
“No,” I say, leaning in and caressing his jaw. “I want you.”
I take the glass out of his hand and put it on the table. I lean forward and guide him backwards until his back is on the sofa, over the afghan. I crawl up onto the cushions and settle between his legs.

He is always naked. I chose not to lock him and instead make him come to me to ask for relief, which is just the right amount of control and humiliation to set me off. He has been so good so far in learning that his cock is mine to touch and handle first. I enjoy a palm full of the hardening thing as I push down my boxers and extract mine out.

We always hide lube and condoms under the sofa seat cushions, and I’m pleased my houseboy remembered to put them there after we moved.

He takes me like a pro – hot and tight, without needing to be stretched. Every inch pushed in makes him mewl and wiggle like a kitten. “Good boy,” I grunt, beginning my thrusts almost immediately. He responds by wrapping his legs around my back.

I reposition and push inside him deep, and I know I hit his spot because pre-cum spurts all over my hand. I rub his cockhead with my thumb and he shivers tremendously.
“Yes. Yes, like that boy,” I murmur. He whimpers my name.

I finish taking him with a breathless pace. I’m feeling particularly amorous and grant him an orgasm with mine – but after mine, of course. I mark him with hickeys and licks, and enjoy feeling him soften and relax under me. I nuzzle his swan like neck. “I could use another refreshment now.”
“Wh – when my legs work again, Sir, I will obey that order.”
I smirk at him and chuff under my breath. “So it shall be.” I caress his sensitive little cock until he’s sweating under me and protesting dearly, but I relent once he’s shot again – a little clear fluid under his belly button. I lick him until he’s giggling cause he’s ticklish, and then my lust is sated.

The next day, I go out and buy him a pair of binoculars and leave them on the mantel. I also give him a journal to write down his finds.

He clearly loved his presents, because my boy drew hearts on my pancakes with chocolate syrup for a week after. When he stopped, I told him not to cause I loved it so much. I love him so much.

______________________________________________________________
Captions are fictional. I didn’t realize this was a selfie by OP. Beautiful work.
The skyline is of Brooklyn apparently.

Also I didn’t know the OP had put a Little Mermaid reference into his tags until after I wrote this, lol.

Gallery

“Boy? Boy are you awake?”
“Mmmnnn. Yez-Zir.”
“Poor thing, you are so tuckered out from the demonstrations we did today. You were such a good boy today. Made me very proud.”
“I love you Sir. Anything for you Sir,” the slave murmured, leaning against his Master’s touch.
“I love you too boy. You are going to fall asleep in the tub if we leave you in here any longer. Give me the shampoo, I’m going to finish washing you.”
The slave flushed. Being washed by his Master sounded wonderful as it was rare. He handed his Master the bottle. Moments later, strong fingers began to massage his scalp. The reward was so lovely that the slave could not even articulate how happy he was, he just groaned. He fell asleep during rinsing, and did not remember a thing until he woke up the next morning in his Master’s bed.

___________________
Captions are fictional.