For Halloween: Is the help given a novelist to recover from grief and sex fetish guilt in an ancient English manor house driven by flesh and blood gay men or gay ghosts and spirits?
A spooky gay erotic story about English history and age difference, with old ghosts and older men, lots of barebacking and bondage, as well as interracial sex and many partners, both real and ghostly.
I felt stiff and there was a stitch in my side from having been hunched over the desk while I slept. I felt restless and not sleepy now that I'd dozedfor how long, I didn't know. I checked my watch, and when I realized I hadn't changed the time on that since I'd gotten on the plane in New York, I looked around for a clock. There was one on the mantel over the fireplace, but it was in the shadows too much to see the time from where I was sitting, or even enough to discern if the clock was working. There was a flashlight, which David had called a torch, on the desk by the desk lamp. David had warned me that the electricity wasn't always that reliable here and the wiring was ancient in some of the rooms. Not all of the rooms were used that much.
The flashlight worked. I stood and went to the mantel. The clock was ticking. It was after midnight here. I went back to the desk and looked out the window. The pattern of lights in the wood had changed. There weren't as many points of light seen between the trunks of trees as there had been before. I stretched and yawned.
I should go to bed, but I felt restless. What I really needed was to take a short walk. It was a warm night for October. I had a flashlight in my hand that worked. I was curious about the light in the woods. It didn't appear to be far away, and the narrow wood-shavings-bedded road seemed to run right to where the lights were. I decided to take a short walk and explore.
If there hadn't still been a light on in the cottage, I would have missed it and walked on by. This could have been because it was nighttime, although the moon was full enough that, until I entered the copse of trees, I didn't need the flashlight. Indeed, I didn't turn it on even when I got into the woods because I had the light ahead to guide me and kept to the track of the drive. The wood shavings crunched softly, almost silently, under my feet as I walked the drive, sending up a scent of cedar. I might have missed the cottage even in the day. Except for a clearing before the cottage door, the foliage around the small building was overgrown; the cottage was built of stone, with a slate roof and ivy growing up the sides; and it was set into a hillside of like-colored rock and moss.
There had been more lights on, I was sure, when I'd first noticed them from the library window. Now there was only one, and I was drawn to it.
The curtains to the room were drawn open. It was a bedroom, the furniture rustic wood, the floor and walls rough stone. They were on the double bed, the man and the young man I had seen riding on the horse-pulled wagon into these woods earlier in the day. They were both naked. The contrast between them was startling. The young man, lying on his back on the bed, was berry brown. He was small, perfectly formed, both his features and his proportions delicately balanced. He couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. I judged him to be South Asianjet black, silky hair dipping down to his shoulders, dark eyes, hard, well-defined pecs, slim waist and hips, and a young man's cock and balls. He was bound, his arms stretched over his head and tied with rope to the bed's headboard. His ankles were tied together with rope too, but with a play of several inches. His legs were raised and his ankles were hooked on the man's shoulders, the rope lead running between the ankles behind the man's neck.