Gif's Island

Copyright © 2013 Nicholas Hall

Chapter 12

“Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man’s life.”
(Daniel Webster)

Sunday morning came too soon for me.  I was enjoying the comforting warmth of Stony’s body next to mine.  I was tired, but the tiredness came from that relaxing, fully satisfied, for the moment at least, loving embraces and coupling a pair of lovers enjoy.  Stony rested peacefully, relaxed and breathing deeply, next to me.  My arm and leg were somewhat stiff from all of the passion we’d experienced while the only part of Stony that was stiff was massaging my right leg, the velvet skin of that massager slipping up and down in gentle motions as Stony slept.  I decided to wake him with a bit of “ah toot” on his horn!

My warm, moist mouth enveloping him to the very root and my tongue swirling around the crown of his twitching dick brought forth a moan and a sigh of pleasure from my lover’s lips and a gentle fucking motion in and out of my suckling orifice, bringing him to an up thrusting climax in a short time.  Hoovering him empty, allowing him to wilt as his ardor diminished, I released his softening appendage with a soft “plop” and he rolled over on his back, lifted and spread his legs, inviting me to plunge into him and love him as I had previously during the night.

It wasn’t long until, after pushing forward to the depths of his flexing bowel and sphincter, I was spritzing my offering into him, seeding him, securing him as my lover. When I slackened and withdrew, I leaned forward, gave him a kiss, and announced, “We’ve got to get back to the Island and take care of the chickens and the pigs,” rose from our bed and heading toward the bathroom.

Our early morning boat ride back to the Island was chilly, portending the winter to come and emphasizing the increasing presence of fall settling on the river and the Island.  Leaves were beginning to color brightly and the cool, crisp air was but a brief hint of much colder days ahead.  Duck season opened in two weeks and, it seemed, shortly thereafter, winter would begin to set in in earnest.  There was much to do before the snow began to fly and ice formed on the river and we’d be isolated, Island bound, until either the ice was thick enough to traverse on or until spring when we could operate the boats again!

Everything looked fine at the house, once we arrived, and while I put our clothes away and fixed our breakfast, Stony fed the chickens, gathered the eggs, and fed and watered the pigs.  After we ate, drinking our coffee on the porch, we planned our day’s work.  I wanted to dig the potatoes before wet weather set in and Stony wanted to start on the electrical wiring project in the house.  The sooner he brought that project to fruition, the sooner he could concentrate on others.  I also needed to arrange for the pigs to be butchered and processed by the local meat processor – the locker plant, and get the decoys and scull boat ready for duck season if Kenneth Anderson was going to come to the Island for opening of duck season.  We’d also have to inventory our supplies and staples and make a trip to town to purchase what we needed to last the winter.  Of primary importance would be LP gas, regular gas for the generator, fuel oil for the backup heat, and chicken feed.  As long as we had plenty of flour, sugar, yeast, and dried veggies, such as beans and peas, we’d be good for the winter, along with what we had in the pantry, freezer, and root cellar.

Stony thought a moment as we perused our list and added cleaning up in the shop, sharpening and testing all of the power wood-working equipment in there, including the lathe. Putting his pencil down, he asked, “J.T., what would you think if I spent the winter making woodcraft items and small pieces of furniture to sell at the farmer’s markets and craft fairs next summer?  Some of the stuff I saw up for sale was just plain horseshit!  I can do better than that and I know it’ll sell.  If the business goes right and people like it, perhaps in the future I could do custom cabinet work and build some grandfather clocks.  The only problem is, if I do this, we’ll have to lay in a supply of number one grade lumber for me to work with.”

Without hesitation, I agreed!  Stony would be doing something he loved and was talented at and, at the same time, would feel he was making a valuable contribution financially and physically to our relationship.  As a result, “Island Woodcrafters” was born with Stony as the master woodcrafter!

We each headed for our respective projects; me, the garden and the potatoes and Stony, the electrical wiring.  He vowed to have every room wired, batteries connected to regulators, and solar panels generating electricity for our use by the end of the week.  As I dug in the garden, trying to uproot the tubers with a five-tined potato fork, the effort strained my left leg and arm. After digging a several hills, I’d stop, lean on the fork to rest and catch my breath, hoping to ease the pain bouncing around those old combat injuries.  The pain and discomfort was something I was accustomed to, a nuisance, yes, but if I rested I could do most tasks; albeit more slowly.

Stony, while taking a break himself and noticing my labors, joined me and with a hug and a smile, took the fork from my hand.  “Why don’t I dig while you bag them?” he insisted. “I needed a break; my neck was getting stiff from tilting my head back while running conduit and wires overhead to fixtures.”

I thought the only thing that got stiff on him was located just below his belt, behind his zipper, but I refrained from commenting, happy to have the help.  We dug and bagged almost two gunny sacks full of the delicious tubers, loaded them in a wheelbarrow, and Stony pushed them up to the storm or root cellar.  I spread them out in shallow, wooden bins for use throughout, the winter.  The moisture level in the cellar was just right for keeping them from drying out and the cool, constant temperature would keep them from freezing.  When we pulled the carrots, we cut the green leaf tops off and buried the carrots in wooden boxes full of sand and placed the boxes in the cave where they’d keep just fine until we used them.

“Tired” was not the right very adjective to use to describe how we felt that night.  Stony, moaned as he stretched out in bed, trying to get comfortable, “J.T., I feel like I was shot at and missed, but shit at and hit.”  It’d been a busy weekend and a busy day and we were worn out.

The next morning, shortly after breakfast, my cellphone rang and Carter announced he was at Hennessey’s Landing awaiting to be transported to the Island.  When I arrived, he was standing on the dock, dressed in jeans, a light jacket, tennis shoes and a light jacket.  He carried an overnight bag in his left hand and I noticed his badge and pistol attached to his belt and right hip.  When I commented, he replied, “J.T. we’re really never off duty.  Our department really believes in ‘Protection All Ways’ and to us that means we’re on duty 24/7.  The bad guys don’t keep regular hours so neither do we.”

I could understand that, especially if an officer took his job and oath as seriously as he seemed to. Carter didn’t say much on the way down Johnson Slough and around the Island to the backwaters where the farm and the house were located.  Stony was standing on the dock to greet us when we moored there.

“I heard the motor on the boat when you rounded the end of the Island,” he said with a grin, “so I made a pot of coffee and set out a plate of sweet rolls.”

I showed Carter the spare bed room, placed his bag on the bed, and then while sitting on the porch drinking coffee and eating rolls, I gave him a brief history of the Island.  When I finished, Stony began our story of water for the house, electricity, and life with me in general.  Listening to Stony anyone could see he was absolutely “gob-smacked” happy living with me on the Island.  However, neither of us brought up what brought him here in the first place or what happened to his brother Raymond or to Cameron Saint-Denis.

Coffee and rolls consumed, Stony and I led Carter on a short walking tour of the farm. While we walked, I noted Carter made very few comments, instead observed, watched, and observed again, taking mental notes of all he saw and heard.  For me, it was the beginning of an admiration for the young man I’d misjudged years before; now a very competent and successful law enforcement officer.  He did inquire what we did with the two hogs before winter. Once learning their fate, he puzzled how in the world we ever got them to the mainland for butchering, if that’s where we had it done.

I laughed, commenting, “Well, they can’t swim that far.  In the past, my cousin Aaron and his son, Jeremy, would come over and we’d load the hogs in the flat boat and take them across to Hennessey’s where the meat processor would pick them up and process them for us. I generally gave Aaron half a hog for helping me.  It’s quite a chore to tussle them up, load them in the boat, and then get them in the truck.  You don’t dare let them get much heavier than they are now.”

“How is Aaron related to you?”

“He’s my Dad’s older brother’s oldest son.  Aaron attended the community college and received an AA degree in Law Enforcement.  He was fortunate a position with the county opened up shortly after he graduated and was hired.  He finished up a four year degree years ago, working on it during his off hours.”

Carter just nodded his head, as if storing away more information for future reference, before saying, “No sense having him help as long as I’m here.  If you’re ready to take them over sometime in the next few days, I’m game for that.”

This time it was Stony turn to nod slightly, flip a quick glance at me, signaling he caught what I caught; Carter just announced he was going to visit more than just overnight; he was looking at an extended stay of some sort.

“Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, depending on when they can get at it,” I responded.  “I’ll give them a call later and see what we can arrange.”

Returning to the house, Stony excused himself, saying, “I’ve still got quite a bit to do on the wiring, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to work.”

“I’ll help, if you don’t mind,” volunteered Carter. “Let me get rid of all of this hardware attached to me. I don’t think I’ll need it right now,” and headed to the bedroom to take off his gun and badge.  The two of them set off to work on the wiring while I busied myself in the kitchen. Working around them while they worked would take me a bit longer to fix lunch.  I decided on soup and a sandwich, but for dinner we’d have steak, salad, and garlic potatoes.  I called the meat processor and was informed he could pick up the hogs the next afternoon if we had them to Hennessey’s.  I promised we’d be there and set the time.

In the afternoon, while I continued household chores and acted as a “gofer” for Stony and Carter, I couldn’t help but notice how well Carter took directions from Stony, although he seemed quite adept and talented as a do-it-yourselfer.  The reverse was also true; Stony didn’t hesitate to use suggestions from Carter.  I was happy they were able to work together.  If Carter hadn’t come by, all of the up and down on ladders would’ve suffered me greatly.

Around five they called it quits for the day.  Stony pointed Carter toward the shower, delighting in telling him how “we” had installed it, how the pressure was maintained, and water heated.  Carter must’ve been impressed because all he commented was “wow” and headed for the bedroom for clean clothes.  When he emerged, he carried a pair of boxers in his hand and, naked as the day he was born, sauntered to the kitchen and asked, “Where would I find the towels?”

Our eyes swept down his naked, well-fit, and trimmed body to a long, thick, cut cock waggling back and forth as he walked toward us.  If I were a betting man, I’d guess it would extend to seven inches plus when hard.  Stony was the only one of us who spoke, his eyes fixed on that magnificent piece of man-flesh, saying only “Wow!” but with much more emphasis than Carter’s previous acclamation.

Carter grinned, “Don’t get your hopes up boys, it may be attached to me, but it belongs to someone else.” Procured bath towel and wash cloth in hand, he walked back to the shower.

Stony, eyes still big, exclaimed, “Did you see that thing?”

I mean, how could I miss it, so I just nodded an affirmation.

“Somebody must be pretty sore or well-stretched to handle that,” he surmised.

“Yeah,” I answered, “but we don’t know which way his boat floats yet, do we?”

Stony nodded, confident when he said, “He bats for the same team we do from what I observed this afternoon or I’ll miss my bet.”

After Stony showered, we gathered on the porch where I took before dinner drink orders, telling Carter, “This is the time of day we take to unwind, enjoy the quiet of the Island and each other.”

“Do you ever talk business at such times?” Carter inquired.

“Only if someone has business they wish to conclude,” I answered.

“Well, I’d really like to rent your Mom’s house,” advanced Carter, “that is, if you’ll rent it and find me acceptable.”

Stony gave me a slight nod signifying his approval, so I answered, “I’m willing to rent it to you, but there’re some conditions or caveats, strings, attached to it and you may not find them agreeable after I outline them for you.  First of all, as you know, Stony and I are a couple of committed gay guys living and sharing our lives together, so if you have a problem with that, renting to you wouldn’t work out.  Secondly, we need a permanent address on the mainland for mail delivery, packages, and voting purposes.  Third, we need a room to stay in when we’re on the mainland overnight and to store a few personal items so the third bedroom will be for our use.  Fourth, we need the garage outback of the house for storage of our vehicles and other things.  Fifth, we’ll maintain a key and retain access rights anytime; however, we’ll respect your property and privacy and expect you to respect ours.  In other words, we keep your secrets, you keep ours.”

“If you agree to these conditions, the house will be provided furnished, rent free, and we will pay one-third of the utility bills.  You keep the grass mowed and sidewalks shoveled.  Any questions?”

“Rent free?” asked an astonished Carter.

“Is that too much?” chuckled Stony as he rose to refill our drink glasses.

“No, I’ll take it.  Where do I sign?”

“Carter,” I replied, “there’s no contract, only a handshake to seal the deal,” and we rented the house to Carter Anderson.

Dinner was delightful and relaxing now we’d concluded our business. We sat, on the porch, enjoying the calmness of the evening as darkness descended on the Island.  Many of the night sounds so prevalent during the spring and summer, were replaced by different bird and animal noises, albeit fewer now.  The relative stillness was broken by the hooting of a nearby owl and an answer from another farther away.  It was nice, the three of us enjoying our drinks and each other’s company.

Carter finally broke our silence by asking, “What brought you here Stony?”

Stony, whether relaxed from work, food, or drink or just trusting Carter, unfolded his tale, including his concerns over the death of his brother Raymond, as the initial reason and our subsequent meeting and involvement with each other.  Carter listened attentively, not interrupting until Stony finished, then turned to me asking, “Do you find Cameron Saint-Denis’s death suspicious as well?”

“At first I didn’t, but listening to Stony I became more inclined to think something was just not right.  I really don’t know, but I do know that Stony has collected some pretty interesting and convincing information on his laptop that makes me pretty suspicious.  There just might be so sort of psycho running loose out there.”

“There are more out there than you think,” Carter added. “Its late guys and we’ve a lot to do in the morning.  Besides, I’m about wiped out,” and wished us a good night before heading in to bed.

I moved from my chair to the daybed on the porch where Stony joined me. Our arms around each other, enjoying the intimacy of lovers, Stony lay his head on my shoulder, asking, “What do you think?”

“I think we’ll know a hell of a lot more once he’s had a chance to look at your laptop and ponder what you’ve found.  He didn’t get to where he is in law enforcement by being some dumb shit with a big cock.”


Thank you for reading “Gif’s Island – Chapter Twelve –“Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man’s life.” – (Daniel Webster)

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Nick Hall

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