Page 31 of The Woodcarver's Model
“I have a slight suspicion that I may have done something embarrassing with that one.”
“You mean other than molesting him at the solstice party?”
“Yeah. That’s the way I vaguely remember it. Wouldsorryhelp?”
“You’ll have to ask him now, won’t you?” Mitch replied with a smirk.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. You better believe it. I thought for a minute I might lose you to him.”
Rob paused, then said, “Did you have a…thing with him?”
Mitch looked at Rob.
“Would it make any difference?”
“We’ve all had lives before this one.”
“Eric and I met when I moved here to help my aunt. I took one look at him and fell deeply in lust. We slept together for about six months—the time it took him to finish his work—and then, that was it. We both knew it. There were no hard feelings. No broken hearts. We’re just friends now. No benefits.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Do you believe me?”
Rob stared him in his beautiful eyes and peered into his soul. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Mitch bent over and kissed him. “Now, get to work. You have a whole island to write about.”
* * * *
Mitch prepared the dinner. Like most things he cooked, it was simple, yet Rob knew it would burst with flavour.
At a few minutes after seven, in island fashion, the door opened and Eric entered unasked. He was wearing khakis, a loose-fitting cotton shirt and sandals. As casually fitting as everything was, Rob couldn’t help but make out the musculature that lay below. His cock stirred to attention on cue. Luckily, his untucked shirt hid the treasonous behaviour as he stood to shake Eric’s hand.
“I want to start this evening off by offering my sincere apologies for my behaviour this morning.”
Still holding his hand, Eric said, “Nothing to worry about. I’ve been on the receiving end of Shirley’s laced baking before. They’ll take down a pro.”
Rob thought to himself,How could anyone deny this, what—he’d be no more than thirty—this thirty-year-old god anything?He then told his penis to behave itself.
Wine flowed freely that night, as did the conversation, providing Rob with the seeds that would help him weave stories of island politics, history and personal lives into a tidy story fit for publication. Rob learned about Eric’s upbringing in Seattle, his life as a runaway, hitchhiking up to Vancouver, eventually making it to Marsh Island before he was twenty. He’d established himself as the go-to handyman of the island because he’d always been good with his hands.And probably good on his knees, Rob thought—knees which Eric kept rubbing up against Rob under the table.
As soon as Mitch had excused himself to go to the washroom, Eric slid his hand up Rob’s leg and squeezed his cock through his pants. Rob jumped back, but his cock betrayed him, stiffening in seconds.
“I want this now. In my mouth or in my ass—your choice,” Eric commanded.
Rob panicked. “I… He’s coming back in a second. You can’t. Not now.”
“You’re gonna finish what you started this morning.”
“Look, as hot as this is—and it is super-hot—it’s not gonna happen.”
“We can let him watch,” Eric whispered. “He always liked it when people watched. We can be doing it on the table when he gets back.” Eric started to unbutton Rob’s shirt.
“Oh, fuck…” Then, without thinking, Rob grabbed his full glass of red wine and threw it at Eric. It was like water on the wicked witch.
Mitch came back to Eric shouting and Rob mopping his shirt with a napkin. He was also working on Eric’s pants with another hand, mainly to hide Eric’s engorged penis from view, which only made matters worse.
