by Josan
Dawn came early at this time of year: it was barely
four a.m. It was his favourite time of the day. The
air was still crisp with early dew; the lake, alive
with wisps of mist. The mosquitoes and black flies
hadn't yet begun their daily blitzkrieg. Once in a
while the morning silence was broken by the echoing
sound of the loon that nested nearby.
And by the snore that came from the open bedroom
door.
Alex smiled to himself as he looked over his shoulder
at the man sleeping soundly. He was on the early shift
this week: Walter, on the late. It was his turn to
see off the guests who wanted to go fishing at the
crack of dawn. It was Walter's to put the place to
bed.
Alex stepped up to the small kitchen they'd set up in
the cabin. Nothing fancy. Just a two burner propane
set-up. Apart from hot drinks, the occasional snack,
they ate at the Lodge with the staff and guests. He
poured himself another coffee and settled on the couch
to pull on his boots.
The day promised to be hot for the time of year. He
wore what was basically their uniform for the season.
Shirt, with sleeves rolled up. Actually one of
Walter's old Bureau shirts which sat baggy on him.
Apart from a couple that Walter kept for "official"
occasions, Alex had pretty much taken the rest of them
over. He wore this one tucked into a pair of soft,
worn jeans. Then thick socks in hiking boots.
Any skin that could possible offer the treat of a meal
to any passing bug had been slathered with insect
repellent. He'd even rubbed some into his hair, making
sure that his scalp was covered.
Someone in the 1940's, who had come up to this neck of
the woods on a summer make-work program, had written a
song about the black flies of Northern Ontario, about
how they'd pick his bones clean.
After that first summer Alex believed it. And the song
had become one of those that he whistled under his
breath, not really aware he was doing it, whenever he
had to work outdoors for any length of time.
It didn't help that Walter had no trouble with the damn
things. He might rub some repellent on when he was
going fishing, but apart from that...
A loud snorty snore caught his attention. Walter lay
on his stomach, one arm threatening to fall off the
side of the bed, the other under the pillow in which he
was hiding his face. The sheet, the only covering
they were using these days, was down to his thighs,
framing that lovely ass Alex so loved to caress when
they were making love.
He sighed.
They didn't do much of that during the season. It was
difficult. There were always people around. If one of
them was working the early shift, the other was working
the late. The screened windows of the cabin had to be
kept open for cross-current ventilation as their only
cooling was the breeze that came off the lake.
Oh, they had sex. Once in a while. Just enough to
keep the edge off their libidos.
But that was all it was. Sex.
They kept the loving for the winter-time. For nights
that lasted 16, 17 hours. For days when they had
nothing to do apart from seeing to the dogs.
When, if Walter wanted to take him on the kitchen
table, there was no Marie to gasp at their scandalous
treatment of her working space. Or, if he wanted to
see how long foreplay could be drawn out before Walter
went completely ballistic and took him on the floor,
there were no staff, no guests around to watch, to
offer comments, suggestions, improvements on their
techniques.
When they could say aloud to each other the secrets of
the heart which they could only whisper in season.
And Walter. Alex grinned at his sleeping lover. It
seemed as if Walter stored up all the sexuality, the
loving that he couldn't show during the season to
release when they were alone. For a man his age, he
was—or so it seemed—perpetually hard, or hard at
the hint of a suggestion of intercourse the moment the
last of the staff waved good-bye.
Last season, Alex hadn't even made it off the dock.
Not that he was complaining. His body too seemed to
have stored up the touches, the tastings, the caresses,
the fucking it needed until it was safe to let loose.
And he, a man who had once thought of sex as a tool,
spent his summer nights nestled close to the man who
meant more to him than life, sneaking cuddles, chaste
kisses, and being satisfied with them.
From off the lake came the sudden sound of a small
motor. Alex quickly finished his coffee. John
Sebatien was coming to pick up the two fishermen who
wanted him to guide them. He'd better make sure that
they were up. John was an expert guide, but he hated
wasting good fishing time and he wasn't always polite
about it.
A sudden breeze brought cool air from off the lake.
Alex stopped at the door, turned and went back into
their bedroom. He pulled the sheet up and lightly
covered Walter. It wouldn't do for him to get chilled
while he was sleeping. Alex dropped a kiss onto a
shoulder before he covered it.
Outside, Boy was waiting for him. Together they made
for the dock where the two fishermen were hurrying
along with their equipment, lunches, quietly greeting
their host and guide.
Morning Reflections
lex poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it while
watching the sun climb slowly between tall hills on the
other side of the lake.
