Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 23

"Wake up sleepyheads!"

Neal's father burst through the door, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I quickly pulled the blankets up to my chin and shrieked like a little girl. Neal seemed completely unphased, stretching and yawning, which only made his penis stick out of his pajamas even more. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, and then rested his arms by his side. My eyes were wide in shock, I could not imagine putting myself on display for any adult, let alone my father.

"Mornin' Dad," Neal mumbled, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Good morning, Champ," he said brightly, standing over his son and mussing up Neal's mop of glossy, black hair. "Let's get you boys up and at 'em. Mom's got breakfast and then us guys are going to take the 'Stang on a little road trip, what'ya say?"

"Road trip? In the Mustang?" I perked up, "really?"

"Where are we going, Dad?" Neal asked, looking up at his father with a wide-open smile, eyes glittering in the morning light.

"That's going to be our little surprise, but it's important that we get a move on." We watched as he headed to the door and closed it behind him. "C'mon lads, put a fire under those little cans of yours," he said through the door. Excited, we both jumped from bed and excitedly began to dress, Neal's errant erection quickly forgotten as he tore off his PJ's and stuffed himself into a pair of briefs.

By the time we got downstairs, Neal's mom had already piled plates high with bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and jam, with a heap of steaming home fried potatoes on the side. As we wolfishly chowed down our food, Neal and I gamely tried to pry information out of our father's, as to our destination for the day. The adults fended off our most clever attempts with ease, leaving us frustrated and excited at the same time.

Mom met us at the car in the garage, as Dad came out carrying his suitcase and mine. Neal's father came out with two more suitcases, keyed open the trunk of the Mustang, and handed them to my father, who started loading them while he started to pick up some fishing rods from a rack on the wall. I must have looked confused.

"Now Oliver," mom took my face in her hands, and kissed me on my forehead, "You and the guys are going to spend a couple of days together, so I expect you to be on your best behavior, okay?" I panicked for a moment, I'm not sure why, but it didn't seem right to leave my mother while I went off on an adventure.

"But..." My voice wavered a little bit, "but what are you gonna do?" Her eyes sparkled a little as she pulled me in for a motherly hug; she patted my back as she did.

"Oh Ollie, my sweet son," she said, rubbing my back, "I'll be fine. Holly and I are going to have a couple of 'girlie' outings and do stuff together while you, Neal, Ned and your father do man stuff. It's all arranged. Now go, be a good boy and have fun." I smiled back at her.

"Okay, Mom," I nodded, "I'll try to keep out of trouble."

"You do that, buster!" She swatted me on the butt as I turned to scramble into the car with Neal. The Mustang roared to life, it's low, throaty growl seemed to settle in my chest as the car slid from the driveway, onto the street. The car felt like it wanted to just go. The engine rumbled with pent-up energy and made me feel giddy with anticipation. In no time at all, Neal's father navigated the streets and lanes, before pulling onto the ramp for the interstate. I watched him throw a grin towards my father, who I'm fairly certain winked at him. Neal and I both fell backwards, pressed against the back of our seat as Neal's father finally took the reins off the great car, let it tear up the road and rocket out onto the highway.

Neal and I whooped and hollered as the city of Hartford loomed before us, and just as quickly, hurtled past our windows in a rush. We turned right from one highway to another, and soon the tall buildings of Hartford sank into the horizon out of the rear window.

"Hey Dad," Neal chirped brightly, "Are we going where I think we're going?"

"Maybe."

"Daaaaaad! C'mon! Tell me!" Neal pressed his head next to his father's ear.

"Go on, sit back Neal, keep your seat belt on. " he chided his son, "you'll know soon enough." Neal sat back, shoulder to shoulder with me, and leaned his head against mine. I look askance at him, and raised and eyebrow. He nodded his head a little bit at me, indicating that he did, indeed, know our destination.

"Well?" I mouthed at him. He just drew his thumb and forefinger across his lips like he was zipping them up. I stuck a finger in to his side and he squirmed away, laughing.

So, it went, for the first hour of the trip, I felt like I was the only one in the car who didn't have any clue as to where the hell we were going, and it was starting to grate on my a little bit. Only when we pulled off the highway in New London and started following the signs for the Block Island Ferry, did it begin to dawn on me.

"Oh my God," I blurted out, "are we going to Block Island?"

"Pssh," Neal snorted derisively, "No silly, Fisher's Island, we've got a cottage there."

"Actually Neal," his father interjected, "we ARE going to Block Island. I made arrangements with Bruce Thorsen's Dad, because their cottage is a little bigger and has electricity. Besides, Block has better beaches." The look on Neal's face was priceless as he was simultaneously annoyed at being snookered by his father, and excited to be going.

Once the car was settled on board the ferry and we were underway,

Neal and I spent the first hour of the trip watching New London sink lower into the ocean. After that, the ocean became flat as the boat's diesels growled and bubbled beneath us, driving us through the featureless, calm water. I stood next to Neal as we leaned on the railing, and looked at him as he squinted into the sunlight, an occasional burst of sea breeze tossing a lock of his charcoal hair up out of his eyes.

The brightness of the sun made the light freckles that spangled his nose and cheek bones, stand out against the whiteness of his skin; you could barely see them otherwise. The angle of the light, also illuminated the slight shadow of soft, downy hairs above his upper lip. I looked away from his face, back to the horizon where he seemed to be looking. My elbow brushed his and I felt the little hairs on my arms stand up and tingle. I was glad to be bent over a little, because I felt my dick throb slightly in my drawers.Neal slung an arm over my shoulders and looked me in the eyes.

"Whad'ya think Oliver," he asked, "pretty freaking cool, huh?" I nodded, swallowing hard. If it weren't for all the other passengers topside with us, I would have pressed my lips to his in one of those eye-closing, foot-popping kisses that I longed to plant on him right at that moment. The very thought did nothing to ease my "condition". His eyes searched mine, the corners crinkling up; I didn't even have to see his whole face to know he was smiling at me.

"Yeah," I breathed, "very freaking cool."

By the time Block Island began to emerge from the horizon, we'd made a thorough reconnaissance of the ferry, visited the pilot house (at the behest of the Captain, of course), and managed to scam some money from our dads for the snack bar. We made our way back to our fathers, who both had their heads tipped back, sound asleep. I sat next to my dad, giving him a little nudge with my hip as I did, causing him to snort noisily and wake up.

"Wha?" he blinked in the bright sunlight filtering through the windows of the passenger cabin.

"We're almost there I guess," I said brightly, offering up my bottle of Coke to him, "want some?" He shook his head quickly, as if to shake off the remnants of his nap. The turned and poked Neal's dad in the ribs.

"Ned," he said, kind of loudly, "the boys say we're almost there." Ned looked confused for a moment as he picked up his head. I noticed then, that he discretely grabbed his jacket and pulled it into his lap; I caught a moment's glance of a tent in his trousers as he sat up and cleared the cobwebs from his brain. I swallowed the little lump that rose in my throat when I saw that. Neal didn't look like he'd taken any notice, and chattered happily to his father about our adventures on the ferry while he and my dad caught a few winks.

I watched how Neal was always touching his father in some way, keeping in direct contact with him. Neal also seemed to have no compunction about climbing into his father's lap, something I couldn't remember doing with my father, for a long time. I kind of envied him that connection. My Dad and me, we had a strong bond too, we just didn't express it in the same way. Dad was always "present" in a way that made that sort of constant touching sort of unnecessary. We did hug on occasion, and Dad was good for freely resting his big hand on my shoulder or on the back of my neck, so I can't say I felt ignored. I guess what I envied most about the relationship between Neal and his father, was that the attention Neal was giving and getting, wasn't strictly about ME; which is kind of selfish, I know.

As we waited in the car for the deck hands to complete the docking procedure and open the gates, Ned consulted a hand-written map scribbled on a piece of notepaper. Satisfied he knew where he was going, he tucked it above his visor, and drove the Mustang down the ramp, off the dock and onto the narrow roads spanning the island. When somebody say's "Island" to me, I picture a small patch of land in the middle of the ocean, so I was surprised at how much land there was to this island. I was also amazed that I could not see anything beyond the horizon. For some reason, I had been under the impression that the shoreline of the mainland could still be seen from the beaches, but I was wrong. The isolation of the place struck me for the first time.

We drove down several narrow roads that didn't seem wide enough to accommodate two full size cars if they had to pass one another. Luckily, the only other vehicle we met was a small, roofless car, with wicker seats; the driver tooted his toy horn and waved at us over his little windshield as he passed. We waved back, smiling and shouting gleefully back at him. Eventually, we pulled into a long, macadam driveway, the tires crunching over the gravel as we came to a stop in front of a weathered looking house, surrounded by a field of tall grass.

We unloaded our stuff from the car, while Ned fished a key ring out of his pocket, and fumbled with the door lock. The door swung open on creaky hinges, revealing the living room furniture, covered with dusty sheets. We quickly explored the small cottage, and found the three bedrooms, the bathroom and kitchen. There was a door in the kitchen that led down into a dank, musty smelling basement, where we did not immediately venture. My dad dragged in our cooler of provisions, while Ned found the fuse-box and threw the master switch, energizing the house. There was a loud fizzle and some smoke as one of the light bulbs above the sink in the kitchen popped. I jumped out of my skin, but Neal seemed to laugh it off.

Once we got settled in, Neal and I struck off down the road, with instructions to be back before dinner time. Neal checked his Timex watch and saw we had about four hours to explore. Shoulder to shoulder, we ventured forth, onto the narrow road, toward a great big lighthouse in the distance.

It took probably an hour before we reached the hulking building. We could hear the surf as it gently rinsed and sifted the sand on the shore. The lighthouse, a sturdy looking brick affair, appeared to be operational, but closed to the public. A official looking sign made ominous warnings about trespassing, so we decided not to attempt entry. We did wander down to the beach. Neal produced an instamatic camera and got me to make several silly poses in front of the lighthouse, and I took some of him running away like a sandpiper, from the surf line as waves crashed on the beach.

"Hey!" came a voice over the waves, "You boys!"

We both startled and turned to see a sandy-haired man, who looked to be in his twenties, walking toward them on the beach. He wore a smart looking uniform, and looked very official. Our first inclination was to beat feet, but the welcoming smile on his face made us stay right where we were. His face bore the all-American stamp of a hale and hearty young man. He had the full height and stature of a grown man, but looked like he hadn't quite completed filling out yet. His smile was disarming and I found my eyes scanning him from top to bottom, and returning to linger below his belt line.

"Hi," Neal said, cautiously, "we was just playing on the beach, we didn't go inside the lighthouse, I swear." The man laughed. As he grew closer, it seemed to me that he was really, not very much older than some of the seniors in my school.

"Ha! I would have known if you did," he grinned broadly, "I was working inside when you two passed by."

"Oh cool!" I exclaimed, "you work here?"

"Yup," he nodded, extending his hand, "the name is Mark Kolquist, I'm the light keeper. You boys interested in having a personalized tour of the lighthouse?"

"Yeah!" we both chorused, excitedly.

"Well c'mon then!" Mark's expansive smile revealed two rows of perfect, white teeth, which stood out against his tanned face. We scampered up the beach with him, and he let us in a side door. The octagonal tower loomed over us as we walked in. I looked up and felt a moment of vertigo as my eyes followed the upward spiraling staircase, as it climbed the interior walls. My jaw hung open as Mark prattled on about when the lighthouse was built and some other stuff about its history, I didn't really listen to him.

"Can we see what's up there?" asked Neal, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Absolutely," Mark grinned handsomely, "but you have to promise me to keep your hands to yourself, okay? Don't touch any equipment unless you okay it with me first. Deal?" We both nodded our heads vigorously in agreement. Mark turned on his heel, unhooked a chain, and started striding up the stairs, bidding us to follow. We started the climb and I took up the position between Mark and Neal. Mark's muscular butt was right at my eye level as we ascended, and I couldn't help but think of Garrett at home; his build looked an awful lot like Garrett's had before the accident. I hoped Garrett could get back into his fine form, and then wondered if he might even have an interest in doing work like this. It might keep him out of the draft, something for which I desperately hoped. I nearly ran into Mark's rear-end as he stopped about half-way up.

"You two doing okay?" Mark asked, "It's kind of a strenuous climb." I nodded to him, and then turned around to see Neal, slightly winded, but giving a thumbs-up. We continued on, but by the time we reached the top, Neal was standing with his hands on his knees, wheezing and taking gulps of air. Mark looked concerned and stood next to him, rubbing Neal's back.

"He has a little asthma," I offered, "he gets like that sometimes."

"You okay little buddy?" Mark cooed. I could see annoyance in Neal's face as he nodded.

"No, I'm good," Neal said, a bit breathlessly, "I'll be fine in a second, just let me be." Mark pulled his hand back, almost as if he'd been slapped. He looked at me, and I shrugged; I knew Neal was a little defensive about his asthma, but I didn't know what else to do about it. Neal, true to his word, straightened up shortly afterwards, and managed to breathe a bit more normally.

The building was considerably narrower and more claustrophobic near the top, in the machine room. All around us, electric panels hummed and buzzed, and great gears turned slowly.

"The machinery and optics you're gonna see here," Mark explained, "are not the original works from when this place was built. The optics use what we call a first-order Fresnel lens." Mark led us up another flight of stairs that brought us up to the lamp house. There, the lenses turned slowly in place, the giant lamp itself was dark. "The weight of the lenses rests on a pool of mercury, which you can see kind of, along the edges of the bearing there."

Indeed, the liquid metal glittered and gleamed along the round edges of the mechanism. I remembered playing with the stuff in the science lab at school. The machinery looked old and worn, but seemed to be running perfectly smoothly.

"Why is the light off?" Neal asked

"It's daytime," Marked grinned sardonically, "Nobody'd see it anyway. As dusk approaches, I'll fire the lamp again; this bulb cost thousands of dollars to replace, you don't wanna run it all the time." The huge, beehive shaped collection of ridged lenses rotated slowly, making the building thrum with its low rumble.

"Then why not turn off the machinery too?" Neal asked.

"Because it runs on a clockwork mechanism that actually takes less energy to run continuously, than it does to start and stop it." Mark said, sounding very competent and knowledgeable. Neal looked somewhat skeptical, but shrugged his acceptance of Mark's explanation. Mark went on to talk about flash patterns and other stuff, and even let us venture out onto the catwalk surrounding the lamp house. As lighthouses go, it wasn't the tallest I ever seen, but from the vantage point of the catwalk, it seemed uncomfortably high up. I felt some of the same vertiginous quickening I got when I climbed the fire tower back at the lake.

Mark took us all over the building, including showing us his quarters, which wasn't much, considering the size of the place. Mark explained that the light keepers of old used to live and raise their entire families in places like this, so that is why it was very much like a large house, with lots of rooms. Now, mostly, those rooms were empty, with accommodations for a few men or women (mostly men) assigned to the station. As we stepped into Mark's room, I noticed an open girly magazine, with its centerfold splayed luridly across the bed. Mark casually folded it up and stuffed it under his pillow.

"You guys interested in a pop?"

"A what?" Neal asked, quizzically.

"A soda," I offered; I had relatives from near Lake Michigan, I'd heard them use the term before.

"Oh, right," Neal said, "sure." I nodded my agreement. Mark ducked into the kitchen, one door down, and returned with two cold bottles of Grape Nehi, which made me very happy. I freaking love Grape Nehi. We sat down on Mark's bed as he made small talk and asked us where we were from and so on.

"You guys mind if I change?" he asked. Not that it mattered much, because he was already pulling off his shirt over his head. As the cloth lifted, his chiseled abdomen came into view, and I heard Neal draw in a quick breath. Mark turned away, as he tugged the shirt completely off, the muscles along his rib cage and sides, rippling under the tanned skin. "I have some maintenance work to do, and I'd rather not get my good duds all messed up."

Neither one of us answered, as we watched Mark undress. He toed off his shoes, unrolling his socks and tucked them into a pair of boots. Without much ceremony, Mark grabbed the waistband of his pants, and shucked them down to his ankles, along with any underwear he might have worn. We were greeted with the sight of his toned butt and legs. As he stepped out of his pants, I saw his heavy scrotum swinging between his legs; I looked over to see that Neal had seen it too. He looked somewhat slack-jawed. I took another swig of my Nehi.

Neither of us were prepared for when Mark turned around and gave us the full Monty. Tossing his shirt over his shoulder, he struck a pose very much like Michaelangelo's David, except that the resemblance to the David, ended abruptly at the waistline. Mark's penis was, frankly, the biggest I'd ever seen this side of a horse. I heard Neal swallow noisily on the other end of the bed. The other distinguishing feature of Marks enormous member, was that it was bone hard. I sat there on my end of the bed, mesmerized.

"Sorry," Mark said casually, "gets like that sometimes. We're all men though, right? You get 'em too, I'm sure." I glanced over to Neal, whose eyes were fixed on it. Neal nodded slowly, hypnotized by the bobbing prong that floated in front of Mark. My belly felt kind of funny, that vague feeling I associated with both fear and excitement, dread and anticipation; when I felt that way, I could never figure out which one it was. I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay and watch what happened, or cut and run. Neal looked like he was having the same ambivalence.

Mark nonchalantly started picking his clothes up from the floor, folding them neatly and putting them on a small table near his bed. The small room seemed suddenly very much smaller.

"I don't know about you boys," Mark grinned his devastatingly beautiful smile at us, "but I prefer to walk around with nuthin' on most of the time. Lucky for me, it gets real lonely out here, and I can do that as much as I want." Mark turned and then sat down on the bed between Neal and I, and leaned back on his elbows, making his proud member stick up in the air. Neal was openly gawping at it, and I'm sure, so was I. Mark sighed heavily, as if enjoying his free nakedness. "Is it the biggest one you've ever seen?", Mark asked Neal, his voice suddenly husky and low.

"Yeah," Neal whispered. I found myself nodding with him. Mark beamed with pride; he flexed his abdominal muscles, making his penis bounce strongly. A thin, clear strand of liquid slowly broke free from the tip, and started meandering down the big pipe beneath the shaft; I stared as it pooled along the top of his balls.

"Whoa," I found myself saying after a breathy gasp.

Probably a minute passed as Mark watched Neal gaze in silence and wonderment at his ample endowments. I could tell that Neal just didn't know quite what to make of the situation. Mark, put a friendly hand on top of Neal's head and rubbed his hair.

"You okay buddy?" Mark asked very quietly, his voice sweet and alluring, "Nothing to worry about you know, it's just us, no big deal." After a few more scrubs, his eyes grew wider as Mark applied gentle pressure to the back of Neal's head, easing him down toward the rampant monster in Mark's lap. Neal glanced up at me, and then back down at the ever looming dick, as Mark gently encouraged him closer. Neal resisted a little bit, his eyes riveted to Mark's penis.

"It's alright buddy," he said with quiet reassurance, "you can do whatever you want to, I know you want to take a good look." Neal glanced up at me again, I can't imagine what look he might have seen on my face, I'm sure it was one of astonishment. Neal closed his eyes and I saw the muscles of his jaw working, like he was clenching it shut. "Go on," Mark soothed, "it's okay..."

Outside, a car horn honked and I heard my father's voice in the distance.

"Oliver, Neal!" he bellowed, "You boys in there?"

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