The Club

Mark pulled up to the intersection and stopped. The Jeep rocked on its lifted suspension, settling to a still position. To the right, a narrow two-lane road that sloped down a long grade and back up disappearing around a curve in the pine that grew on each side. To the left, more of the same. In front of him, the only difference was the road sloped down to a bridge crossing a river. Across the bridge it sloped upward, and where it plateaued, fields lined each side. Shifting into first gear, Mark eased across the road heading straight ahead.

Rock music played through Mark’s phone connected to the Jeep’s system, a little amenity that was part of the modifications he had done last year, when he had moved back to Alabama. The Jeep had been stored in his grandfather’s barn when he graduated college and moved away. He had taken crop, soil and environmental sciences in Agriculture and with degree in hand, found himself with a large seed and chemical company in the research department. At first, the allure of his first real job overshadowed the doubts he had had about it, but after three years those doubts grew to concrete objections to some of the research, along with some policies of the company.

There was also the location of the company’s research facility being in Missouri. Mark found the place boring and the winters far too severe. He wanted a change, one that would take him back to his home state of Alabama. He knew it’s pitfalls, the aspects that had made being a teenager, then a college student, tough at times. The cities were small and most of the state was small towns or rural countryside. For most people this wasn’t an issue, but for a single gay man, it could make life lonely at times.

Mark had grown up outside Atmore, a small town on the state line shared with Florida, where his family operated a farm. It had been farmed for generations and would continue to do so with his older and younger brothers joining his father. For Mark, it meant he could pursue his own desires as to a career. One in the research side of the farming industry. A career path that brought him back to the state with a position in Montgomery. He had an office in the Agriculture Department, one he occupied only about half the time of any month, the rest of his time traveling the state, as he was doing now.

Mark had made a large circular path from Montgomery, east toward the Georgia state line, then south to below Dothan, back across the state to Atmore and finally northward. He would go as far as Tuscaloosa before heading back home. He was surveying test plots, fields planted with new varieties of soybeans, and the test were being conducted across the southern regions of the state. He went from field to field, checking the recorded data, surveyed the crop and in a hotel in some small town or on a major thoroughfare, recorded his findings on his laptop.

There were some long days, getting to a hotel late at night, and there were days when Mark had time for himself. In Dothan he hung out in a small gay bar in town striking up a conversation with some of the local guys and going home with one of them. But all the other hotels were in small towns or off interstates or freeways where there were no gay bars. He knew he could do a hook up but after a long day he wanted more. There was the camaraderie of a bar, guys hanging out and talking about nothing of importance. He could vent about some slight at work, or he could leave it all at the door and just enjoy himself.

The sun was blistering hot as it shined in through the driver’s side window and Mark lowered the temperature on the air conditioning. He motored along the narrow highway till he came to Snake River Road where he turned left and accelerated back to speed. There was woodland on each side of the road which curved its way down slowly till crossing its namesake. On the other side the road gradually rose till on another wide flat expanse of farmland on the right and pine on the left. Glancing at his notes, he saw the next turn was four miles ahead. After driving through Monroeville, he had entered a part of the state that was new to him, and he had to check his directions frequently between each turn.

Ahead there was a stop sign and a small white street sign where a road teed into Snake River Road. Mark slowed when he realized the street sign was small, the letters barely legible. He knew it had to be his turn, for roads had been few and far between in the region. He slowed even more to make the turn. As he came upon the road, he saw the sign had been peppered with a shotgun blast which was the reason for it being so illegible, but up close, he made it out; Nashoba Lane. It was an odd name; one he knew had to Native American in origin. After making the turn he saw an old Chevy, some early sixties model, rusting away in a pasture on the left. The road was even narrower than before, the edges broken and the surface alligatored. He drove slower for the Jeep tried to dart left or right on the grooved surface.

Mark passed a field of cotton, then one of soybeans before coming to a stretch of pine on both sides of the road. The road curved left then right, long sweeping curves that prevented any long-range view ahead. When it finally straightened a small town came into view. He slowed for the twenty-five-mph limit and eased through the traffic light, seeing there was one more at the other end of the one block strip of town.

A drug store on one corner and a hardware store on the other, followed by a row of other businesses. A bank, a consignment shop, a sewing and quilt store, a single screen theater advertising a Country Music Hoedown and a diner, with a bright red awning over the old storefront lined the two sides of the block with a few boarded-up storefronts in between. At the second light he saw a place to stay for the night, an old two-story hotel, smaller than any he had seen before. He wondered how it stayed in business, so far from anything of note. Going through the intersection he eased into the drive on the far side following it to the rear where he found the parking lot already over half full.

“Damn, why are there so many here” Mark uttered as he pulled into a space.

In the lobby, Mark stood at the small wood counter, shocked to see a wall of cubicles behind it, with keys in less than half of them. An old rotary phone sat on the counter along with a sign-in book spread open with the day’s date in neat cursive writing along the top of the page. He scanned the names already written in the book along with the place they were from: Birmingham, Monroeville, Mobile, Greenville, Montgomery and Pensacola. There were a few local towns listed that Mark recognized from his drive up: Thomasville, Camden, Butler and Peterman, plus a few he didn’t recognize.

A noise from a room in back and the dark wood door swung open to the right. A man walked out, neatly dressed, much younger than Mark expected; mid-thirties at most and very attractive with short brown hair and trendy wire frame glasses.

“You have a reservation?”

“No…I don’t; will that be a problem?”

Looking Mark up and down, the man turned to the wall of keys, pulling one down. “It will not be a problem.  Just sign in and let me see your driver’s license and credit card.”

“I’ll need it for two nights.”

“Not a problem” the manager replied, giving Mark a smile as he copied his driver’s license and ran a deposit on the credit card.

There was a wide wood stair off the lobby, with a heavy wood baluster each side of its bottom run. The railing was surprisingly low, and the steps creaked with each step as he climbed to the second floor. The hall was wide, running straight down the middle of the building. Each side were doors for the rooms and a door at the rear that led to an exterior fire escape. Glancing at his key, it was room 21 in which he would be staying.

The door was old, narrow solid wood, and the hardware was black steel, except for the glass knob. Inside he found a small room with a queen bed. The mattress was high with wrought iron head and foot boards. A side table, one armchair and a dresser rounded out the furniture. The oddest thing was the new flat screen television mounted on the wall to the side of the mirror of the dresser. Through a door on the far side of the bed was a small bathroom. It was neat and clean but had an old appearance that Mark found humorous with its black and white mosaic tile floor and brightly colored tile walls.

It was five thirty and even though it was early for him to eat dinner, he knew small towns tended to close early. He freshened up and headed back out. At the front desk he saw another man checking in, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and ball cap advertising a tractor company. He looked late twenties, with a broad-shouldered build and light brown hair that curled out around the cap. They exchanged looks, and Mark felt like he had been sized up just as he had sized him up.

“You’ll be checking out tomorrow as noted on your reservation, or will you need to stay another night?” the manager behind the counter asked.

“I have to leave tomorrow. I’ve got beans that need cultivation.”

“Pity…maybe next time. Here’s your key.”

The farm boy (as Mark thought of him) stepped away, nodded while giving him a smile, then headed up the stair. He moved up to the counter to ask about the diner, it being the only place he’d seen to eat.

“How’s the diner?”

“Oh, it is good, thankfully, for it is the only restaurant for fifteen miles. There’s a fried chicken place over toward Uniontown.”

“The diner sounds good. I’m sick of driving.”

Mark strolled across the street and down the sidewalk till standing under the red awning at the door. Through the window a busy dining room could be seen. Patrons were at all the tables along the window and the booths on the far wall appeared full too, as well as most tables in the middle of the room. He swung the door open and entered, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior where lights aimed at each table provided the brightest light. A young guy, early twenties, maybe younger, approached. He sized him up. Around six feet tall, lean build with thick wavy black hair messed up enough to be stylish. Up close he could see the dark brown eyes that were looking back, and on the nametag pinned to his chest: Travis.

“How many?”

“Just one.”

Mark followed Travis across the dining room to a table near the rear. He scanned the room, looking at its simple décor, void of the usual kitschy items, and along the back was a traditional counter with stools, most taken. He looked at the back of the men seating along the counter, assuming they were farmers, truckers or blue-collar laborers from some mill or factory in the region by the clothing they wore. A chair was pulled out for him and he moved to it.

“I’m Travis, and I’ll be your waiter.”

“Thanks.”

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Sweet tea…no lemon.”

Travis looked across the table then around the dining room.

“David: could you get this table some silverware?” Travis asked another young guy working around the dining room.

“Sure” David replied, giving Mark a quick smile, then walking to the hostess station nearby.

Mark pushed his plate back and drank the last of his tea, his appetite sated but still feeling a want for something different. He had watched Travis and David all during his meal, letting his desire for a little companionship fuel his imagination. It had been a while since his last sex, and even longer since his last serious date. There was no denying it. He was horny, had been for a couple of days. The long days traveling, riding along the secondary roads gave him way too time to think of it. And think of it he did, none more so than when there was eye candy circling around him.

Pulling out his cell phone, Mark searched for the nearest bar. Any bar would do, for he knew in such a rural place there would be none catering to gay guys. He just wanted a bar that would let him grab a drink and relax for the rest of the evening. He searched in a certain radius of the town’s center, but nothing came up. He expanded his search and still nothing. Unbeknownst to him, David was behind him clearing a table.

“Are you looking for a bar?”

Mark was surprised to hear the question and turned toward the voice behind him. “Yes. You know where one is located nearby?”

“Yeah” David replied as he walked back toward the kitchen.

“What the…” Mark uttered as he watched David walk off, leaving him hanging. Across the room David approached Travis and the two of them talked for a few seconds, Travis glancing his way as they did. When they parted, David went into the kitchen and Travis went over to the counter and began to write something down.

“Strange” Mark mumbled as he watched Travis slip his pen into his apron, fold the paper and come his way. David came back from the kitchen and went to a booth on the far side to clean it off while Travis strolled up and laid the paper down on the table.

“This is where you want to go. Be careful with the directions; it’s a bit tricky” said Travis, who didn’t wait for a reply.

Mark picked it up, unfolded it as he watched Travis walk to a table on the other side of the room. Then he read what was inside.

At the stoplight in front of your hotel, turn to the west on Loomis Lane. Go 4.6 miles and take the gravel lane on the right. It’ll cut through a pine forest. .26 miles in turn left on second drive at the farmhouse and go to the second barn in back converted to a bar. Moonlight is the name of it.

Mark couldn’t help it, he laughed aloud at the directions wondering if prohibition was still being enforced in this county for it was a bit cryptic. He folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket as he looked at Travis. Travis was looking at him, nodding his head once when their eyes met.

It was too early to go to a bar, so Mark left the restaurant and walked the sidewalk down the block, crossed and came back up the other side, looking in each storefront amazed at how early so many closed leaving the block almost desolate.

Back in his hotel room, Mark searched online for the Moonlight bar, finding nothing nearby listed. Assuming a backwater bar wouldn’t care about modern social media, he switched to his email and went through those needing a reply. Reaching for his satchel he pulled out his laptop and began uploading the data from his last stop then checked the location for his next one, some 30 miles further north. He could easily get there first thing in the morning and get most of the fields surveyed before the end of the day. He assumed he would have two or three to do for the next day.

Finally finished, Mark saw it was after nine. Enough time to take a quick shower, put on clean clothes and get to the bar before it got late. Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, heading out the door.

He pulled out of the hotel onto Loomis Lane and pulled up to the light, about to cross the main street through town. Checking the odometer, he proceeded ahead when the light changed, following the narrow road as it curved to the right until he was headed northwest. The road followed the terrain, sloping down to a creek, then rising to level ground, curving through pine on both sides of the road. Movement to his right and he saw several deer race into the pine and out of his light.

4.3, 4.4, 4.5 miles clicked by and Mark soon saw a culvert ahead where a drive crossed the open ditch. He turned right, thinking this could not possibly be right, for it was a rough gravel lane. As he debated the turn, he realized the lane was covered in tire track. He eased along the lane till he saw three drives on the left. The first drive looped in at a farmhouse, all the windows dark. At the second, he turned and followed the two-rut drive past the house, around a small barn till he was facing a large one. It was at least a hundred years old, with heavily weathered siding and a high steeply pitched roof. There were a pair of new doors where the barn would have had one large door originally and all around its front were parked trucks, cars, SUVs and even a tractor-trailer rig sat off to the right in a pasture.

Walking across the lot, pine trees towering over everything, Mark made his way to the front doors. He could hear the country music playing inside, and once he was at the door, reaching out to open it, he heard laughter too. Stepping inside he wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it was a surprise just the same. The main area was down the center of the barn, open all the way up to the rafters with tables and chairs scattered around the front and two billiard tables at the rear. Off to the left, the bar ran parallel for twenty feet or so situated at the midpoint of the space. Stools sat along its length; several of them occupied. Under the lower roof, it had an intimacy of its own, with either side walled off, probably for storage or an office. On the other side a wall ran the length of the space walling off the lower roof area except for a small hall near the front with ‘restrooms’ in neon over it.

A few heads turned toward Mark, but quickly went back to their conversations. The song changed and he saw it came from an old-style jukebox sitting to one side. He ambled up to the bar, taking a stool in the middle, the two ends occupied.

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asked as he passed with beers for two guys on the end.

“Jack and coke” Mark replied.

Drink set in front of him, Mark tossed a twenty on the bar. “Thanks.”

The bartender set his change down and began wiping off glasses. “You passing through?”

“I guess it’s obvious, huh?”

The bartender laughed. “Yep. I know all the regulars.”

“How is business? I mean…”

“How do I get enough business in the middle of nowhere?”

Mark smiled sheepishly, nodded his head and looked back up. “Yeah. You are not online and out here so far off the road, not even a main one.”

“Word of mouth. I cover a fair area around here and each night I get enough coming in to make a few bucks and on weekends…well it gets busy.”

“Why aren’t you in town? There’s empty spaces and it would seem to be better for business.”

“People around here like their privacy.”

“A bit of rebellion hidden from prying eyes?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m Mark.”

“Mark, I’m Carter.”

Someone came up to the bar and Carter stepped over to them. Mark had been appraising him from the moment he came up to the bar and he liked what he saw more and more. Average height but muscular. Thick biceps that stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt. And close-cut dark hair that gave him a bad boy look, like a guy who came out of some special ops program of the military. Mark thought he looked early thirties, maybe a little older. He couldn’t tell but either way he imagined what sex with Carter would be like. Physical, a bit rough, the kind where the guy knew what he wanted, and he took it.

Mark looked around as he worked on his first drink. Most of the other patrons were in groups of two or four, huddled around tables or together at the bar, or in back around a billiard table. No one approached him, or seemed to even acknowledge his presence, and after another drink, he slipped out the front door and headed back to the hotel.

The next morning seemed a repeat of the last few. The sun broke the horizon and temperatures soared. The air was thick with humidity causing sweat to form quickly wetting underarms and down backs. Mark put on a white shirt and khakis, then pulled on a cap to keep the sun out of his eyes. He headed east to a nearby test farm that was next on his list. It was thirty miles away and he would easily be able to survey it, drive the four miles to the next area and do the three there before heading back for dinner in the small town.

There were few paved roads and Mark easily found the turn to the Miller farm, pulling up to the ranch style home with the barns sitting behind it. A Chevy truck pulled in behind him and a man stepped out, about his own age, and with a lanky build, dressed in a typical manner of so many other farmers. Plaid shirt and jeans, with a ball cap advertising a seed company.

“Are you John?” Mark asked as he watched the man approach.

“No, I’m Ryan. John’s my brother. Are you the fellow from Montgomery?”

“Yes, I’m Mark” holding out his hand.

“Please to meet ya” Ryan replied shaking the outstretched hand. A door opened under the carport and another man came out, a bit older with a stockier build. “That’s John”, nodding his head toward him.

“John, I’m Mark.”

“Nice to meet ya. Well, should we show you the field?”

“Yes; that’s why I’m here.”

“Just follow us.”

Mark climbed back into his Jeep and followed the old Chevy truck back to the road and further south till they came to a thirty-acre field neatly fenced in with test markers and insect capturing devices along the edge of the soybeans. They pulled through the gate John had opened and parked along the fence at front.

“Will this take you very long?” Ryan asked as he put a foot on the rear bumper and leaned on the raised tailgate.

“No, sir, maybe two hours for a field this size.”

Mark checked the traps, photographing each, making notes as he went. Then he cut through the field, checking the condition of the plants, the initial budding taking place that gave an indication of the seed the plants would produce. He took leaf and soil samples as he made his way to the back of the field. He moved over to the other side of the field and made his way back across. He was near the front when a white Dodge truck pulled in behind his Jeep. He saw a man get out but from the distance he couldn’t tell much about him. At the end of the row he headed back to where everyone was waiting.

Mark almost made a gasping sound as he came up to Ryan and John talking to the other man. He was tall, with a lean muscular build, painfully obvious by the sleeveless shirt and tight jeans. And there was the straw blonde hair, thick, curled out around his cap and once close, he saw the blue eyes and easy smile.

“Mark, this is Caleb. His family farms the fields across the road.”

“Caleb, nice to meet you.”

“Same here” Caleb replied, taking Mark’s hand firmly.

Mark tried to not look at Caleb too much, forcing himself to look at John, then Ryan as he talked about the process, how he would load up the data, and send the samples to the lab when he got back to Montgomery. But at every point between their conversation, he would look. The thing that surprised him the most was Caleb’s height, at least six foot three. The next was his easy manner and how he smiled at Mark every time their eyes met. Caleb would be material for fantasies for days to come.

Mark was back at the hotel by four o’clock and knew if he had pushed himself he could have done the last farms before day’s end and be on the road to Montgomery first thing in the morning, but he was exhausted, most of his days long, spent driving more than doing field work. It was Friday and he hated working on weekends but to cut down on the rush and have time to relax a little was worth it.

Cleaned up, wearing cargo shorts and a blue shirt, the top two buttons undone, he strolled down to the restaurant. It was busy and he had to wait a few minutes to be seated. He watched Travis going from table to table, checking on customers. The kitchen door swung out and David came out with clean silverware, heading toward him.

David gave him a nod and smile as he came up to the hostess station, putting the silverware inside it.

“Travis got you?”

“Yes; thanks.”

It was as the night before. Travis and David were courteous but not really engaging in Mark’s attempt to converse with them. He mentioned the bar being nice and got a simple ‘yes’ in reply. But there were times he saw David looking his way, a grin on his face, and he wondered if he was a guy willing to mess around. He would do it too. David was shorter, maybe five foot six or seven but he was cute, with shaggy reddish brown hair and a rough around the edges look that made Mark wonder what it would be like to get him in bed, stripped out of the baggy clothes he wore.

All through dinner, Mark found himself looking from David to Travis, then at two guys at the counter, farm boys for sure. He saw them come in, and how they walked across the dining room in their boots and tight jeans said it all. One wore a plaid shirt, sleeves ripped off and the other a denim shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest revealing his dark skin tone.

‘Fuck, I’m horny’ Mark thought as he got caught by Travis watching him approach another table.

Back in the hotel room, Mark thought about laying on the bed and watching television for a couple of hours, but all the eye candy on display at dinner had him wound up. He searched the bottom of his suitcase finding the last pair of running shorts and tank top. He changed into them; the softy nylon fabric soft against his cock. There was nothing to do but take a run and beat back his horniness.

On the sidewalk, Mark stretched, got his muscles limbered up, then took off at a slow jog at first. He ran down the sidewalk of the main block thinking the cross street on the southside looked less traveled and more suitable for jogging. He passed the restaurant as Travis, then David came out front, giving him an appraising look that made his horniness worse.

“Hey, guys” said Mark as he passed them, speeding up his pace.

Mark jogged for a couple of miles before turning around. By the time he got back to downtown he was sweaty, the tank top wet down the front and back. He slowed after rounding the corner and walked the block to the hotel. When he passed the restaurant, he saw Travis at the window waiting on a couple. They locked eyes for a second and he swore Travis smiled before looking away.

Back in his room at the hotel, Mark showered, dried off and fell across the bed naked. He left the curtain pulled back so he could look out as he lay within the comfort of the air-conditioned room. His struggled to keep his eyes open, the fatigue of the last few days catching up with him, and he drifted off to sleep.

Mark woke to a dark sky, the day already ended. He reached for his cell phone and saw it was eight-forty-six. He climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom.

Back in the room, Mark pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through news headlines then browsed some social media sites till bored with all of it. He changed clothes, slipping on a black tank top and jeans that fit tight around the ass. He felt horny, ready for something to happen and there was a sense he might could make it happen tonight. Glancing at his watch the hands showed it was nine fifty-three. Time for the bar.

Mark followed the instructions from the night before and found the lot fuller this time. He even spotted a familiar Dodge and Chevy truck sitting off to the side and he pulled in next to the Dodge. As soon as he stepped down, he could hear music coming from inside the barn.

Mark entered and found the place busier. It was such a large space, it was not crowded, but every table and stool were taken, and a group clustered around each billiard table. At the second table he recognized Ryan and Caleb playing against each other. At the bar he ordered a drink, then made his way to where they were playing, taking his time so he could scan the crowd for other attractive guys. He overhead conversations that were so familiar. The flirtations between a woman and man, the gossiping of someone’s past drunkenness at the bar and criticism of a co-worker.

Mark moved to the rear wall and leaned against it watching Caleb take a banked shot. Ryan was standing opposite and nodded toward him in acknowledgment, then moved around the table to stand next to him.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, just needed to get out of the hotel. You guys come out here often?”

“Far too often, probably, but yeah, we’re out here most weekends.”

“Ryan, its your turn” a young guy exclaimed then came over to where Mark and Ryan stood.

“Mark, this is Landon. He works for my family on the farm. Landon, this is Mark, the fellow from Montgomery you heard us talking about last night.”

“Nice to meet you” said Landon, holding out a hand.

“Like wise” replied Mark as he shook it. He appraised Landon, let his eyes move up and down the wiry framed guy. Late teens, maybe early twenties, with jet black wavy hair, dark brown eyes and fair skin. There were multiple earrings in each ear and tattoos on each arm, one three solid bans around the bicep, the other an image of some mythical god and Mark wondered if it was Celtic or Norse influenced. He realized Landon had more body adornment than most of the other guys. It was something he didn’t care about one way or the other, but with Landon, there was something about it, with those dark brown eyes that seemed to look through you, that created the illusion it was a natural part of him.

“How long are you in town?”

“Till tomorrow. I have a couple of farms north of here to survey then it’s back to Montgomery.”

“Oh…well hopefully you’ll have some fun before you leave.”

“Landon; you’re up” said Caleb, capturing Landon and Mark’s attention. “Hey Mark. Are you going to play?”

“I think I’ll pass. You guys are way too good for me.”

Mark watched Landon slide quarters into the slots, drop the balls then rack them, wondering about his last comment. Yes, he wanted to have some fun, and watching Landon move back from the table while Caleb prepared to break, he wondered if there was some real fun to be had with either of them. Looking over he saw Ryan talking to two other guys and he knew all three could be added to the mix. It made him smile, almost to the point of embarrassment. He drained his glass and headed to the bar for another.

When Mark returned, Ryan and the two other guys were standing around a small table deep in conversation. Leaned against the billiard table, Landon was looking for a shot, with Caleb standing to the side smiling at the difficult shots left to him. He went back to the rear wall and took a stool and watched Landon make an impressive bank shot that made Caleb laugh, then congratulate him. He watched the guys, studied their mannerism, then imagined what sex with each of them would be like. Physical, man against man, primitive in its lusts. He imagined it till his cock stirred painfully in his tight jeans.

Mark pulled out his cell phone and brought up a hook up site, one for gay men, and he did a search in the area, wondering if any of the guys before him would come up. There was nothing in the radius he assigned to the search, so he widened it, further out than he liked but he finally got some hits. A guy that worked at a truck stop to the north, another in some small town he had passed through on the way here and to the west two guys, one who lived on a river and the other a mill worker looking for early morning hook ups after his shift. But there were no hits in the immediate area. No one, and this disappointed Mark for he swore there would be at least one or two by the way some of the guys acted.

Mark widened the search again and began to scroll through the hits when a shadow came over the screen and he flipped the phone over quickly, looking up to see it was Landon. The smile was mischievous, knowing, and he swallowed hard worried he had made a reveal of himself that could get him in trouble in this country bar.

“Any luck finding what you’re looking for?” asked Landon, leaning in close keeping his voice low.

“I…was just…”

“Relax, it’s okay. To each his own, right?”

“Yes. You’re not going to say anything?”

“I swear no trouble-makers in the bar will know.”

Mark relaxed, then flipped the phone over where he could see the screen. “Doesn’t matter. All the hits are too far away as late as it is.”

Landon leaned against the wall right next to Mark and for a minute or so they watched Caleb make a couple of shots till only a few balls remained on the table. “My turn” said Landon to no one in particular, as he moved to the table. The shot left to him was impossible. His remaining ball was against the side with one of Caleb’s balls blocking the pocket and another in front. He was hemmed in and no way to get the ball out without opening up the table for Caleb. But he wasn’t one to play it safe, Mark was soon to witness, as he lined up for a banked shot to try to knock his ball out. The shot was slighting off and it tapped Caleb’s ball before hitting his own. Standing straight, he looked across the table at Caleb. “You’re up.”

“Nice try” Caleb replied as he lined up his next shot.

Landon came back next to Mark, leaning against the wall as Caleb sank one ball then the next. He leaned over the table and lined up for the eight ball.

“You’re looking to have some fun tonight? I might have heard of a place you could go later” said Landon in a low voice only Mark could hear.

“Later?”

“Yep. After everything closes, this place opens, so I hear.”

“Yeah, and what else do you hear?”

“It’s out in some barn and its only for guys. A kind of club house for guys who…” motioning toward Mark’s cell phone, “are looking for that.”

“How do you know about this…club?”

“Mark, this is a small community. If you keep your ears open, you hear all.”

“And what do I have to do to find this place?”

Mark saw Landon nod toward Ryan, who smiled back, then he looked toward the bar and Mark couldn’t tell who he was looking at. But he kicked off the wall and stood in front of him, close, blocking the light from over the billiard table casting him in shadow.

“Go over to the bar, away from the others. The service end is best, and tell Carter, the bartender, you need directions to the club.”

“What? You can’t give them to me?” Mark replied laughing.

“I know, it sounds stupid, but Carter is the one to determine if you are…suitable.”

It was odd how secretive Landon made it sound. A bit too bizarre. For a moment he imagined all sorts of horrors that would befall him if he went to this club, as Landon referred to it. But he looked at his phone, the shots of guys holding up hard cocks, trying to lure someone to respond to them. Looking around the table he saw the guys that surrounded it and felt his own cock stir with the same need for someone.

It took only a minute and Mark found himself at the end of the bar motioning Carter over to him. He leaned in close, not wanting anyone to hear his request.

“I’m told you can direct me to the club?”

Carter’s eyebrows arched upward, and a smile formed, one as mischievous as Landon’s. He looked Mark up and down then nodded his head. “Sure; wait here.”

Carter returned with another drink and a folded piece of paper. “On the house” he said to Mark, winking.

Mark took the drink and paper and walked to one of the few places he could be alone and took a sip, looking at the paper in his hand. “This is nuts” he whispered to himself. He set the drink on the rail that ran the length of the wall and unfolded the paper. It was printed out directions.

From the south stoplight, go west on Heimdaller Road 6.2 miles. Turn left on the gravel lane. Follow the lane 1.2 miles. Turn right into the drive that cuts through an old pecan orchard till you come to the abandoned farmhouse and take the drive to its right. .2 miles will be The Club.

Doors open at 1:00 am

First time visitors:  $50.00

Mark read the note twice, both times more surprised by the entry fee than the odd directions. After going through the same for the bar, he knew it seemed par for the course. But he kept wondering about the entry fee. Fifty bucks was more than he had paid for any club or bar. It was more than the fee he paid in Atlanta one time to get into a sex club. What could this club offer that made it worth fifty bucks. Checking the time again, he had an hour to kill before it would be time to head out. He ambled back to billiard table and laid four quarters on the table, putting himself in line to play.

Nothing was said about it by Landon and Mark didn’t dare bring it up with anyone else, not sure who would know about the place. He sipped his drink and watched the next two games play out till it was his turn. He knew it would be a short game, as he was not nearly good enough to play against any of the guys, much less Caleb who still controlled the table.

“Do you ever lose?” Mark asked Caleb as he stood back to let him break.

“Not often” replied Caleb as he leaned down.

Mark heard a couple of the guys scoff at Caleb’s response, Ryan looking over shaking his head no.

Mark looked at the clock on the dash: 1:16 AM. He was at the stoplight on the southern end of town looking at the street sign realizing he had not noticed it before. The odd name of the street never registering before: Heimdaller Road. It was another odd name, one that seemed some variation of Swedish or Norwegian, or some other language he wouldn’t comprehend. The coast was clear, but he never liked to be first to a bar or club, so he waited patiently for the light to change. He saw the yellow light reflected in its shield facing the other road, then the reflection of red at top before his own light turned green. He turned, heading west, noting once again the odometer.

The road was as the other, a rolling, curving narrow two-lane that cut through pine for as far as the headlights allowed him to see. He drove slowly, watching first the miles, then the tenths tick off, till he was 6.2 miles out. A drive came into view, the culvert a dark hole underneath it. He slowed to make the turn. It was a narrow gravel lane, and to the right an old log barn, one corner collapsed, sat among weeds and vines. He drove slowly, keeping the Jeep in third gear. He passed a few houses, all run down, signs of the impoverished state of some of the residents. One had no porch floor left over the framing, just a 2 x 10 spanning from the concrete block steps to the door threshold. At another, an old Chevrolet Caprice, once a police cruiser for the spotlight that was protruding from the A-post, sat on blocks. Mark didn’t know if he was relieved that all the houses were dark, not one light on, or if it made him nervous.

At 1.2 miles he came to another drive, one to the right and when he turned the headlights shined through pecan trees that were old, broken limbs hanging down or scattered around on the ground. There were webbings in all the trees, the webworms unmolested for a long time. Mark followed the lane; it ran straight in until an abandoned farmhouse loomed up in the headlights and he turned right, following the lane around it. He drove slowly looking at the light ahead filtering through the trees. The lane snaked around till he saw the source. Two security lights and a couple of wall mounted lights illuminating the area in front of a barn. At first, he thought it was a weathered siding but once pulled up close he saw it was painted or stained flat black.

Mark wasn’t sure what surprised him the most this time. Finding such a neat large barn out in the middle of nowhere or the number of vehicles parked in front. He parked just off the lane and walked through the lot scanning the vehicles. He saw the familiar white Dodge and further along the Chevy. At least he would recognize a few faces.

At the barn he saw the old sliding doors were open and double doors set inside the opening. Through the wall he heard music playing. It wasn’t country music but something more electronic, the beat heavier, the tone of it darker. He swung one door open and eased inside, hearing the music more clearly. The front room was shallow with a table in front of him. A guy he didn’t recognize sat behind it. There was no signage of any kind.

“Mark, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Fifty bucks and I need you to sign this” said the guy, sliding a sheet paper across the table.

“You take a card?”

“Yes” the guy replied holding out his hand taking Mark’s credit card.

Mark leaned down and read what he was to sign his name to.

• Rules of The Club
• Respect each person; don’t try to force someone to do something they don’t like.
• Respect safe words and established boundaries.
• No rowdy or drunken behavior tolerated. 
• Invitations are only by a select few; do not give out the location of The Club to anyone, nor are you to talk of it. 
• Violations of any rule will result in expulsion. You’ll never find your way here again.

Mark read it again, the meaning of the two first rules, the insinuation of each, and he grew excited at the prospects of what lay ahead. But the last one was odd, the way it said he’d never find his way here again. Maybe it was an odd way of saying they’d ban him for life. He didn’t dwell on it, for he was too excited about what was beyond the door to his right, the one that led inside. Pen in hand, he signed his name across the bottom then dated it.

“Have fun” the guy said as he handed Mark his credit card and took the signed document, slipping it into a folder on the table. “Just through the door” he added, motioning to the right.

Mark eased through it, walking a few steps into the large central space, mouth open at what he saw. Travis from the restaurant came up to him wearing nothing but jeans, revealing a lean muscular torso.

“Welcome” said Travis.

“Hey. I, uh, what is this place?”

Travis laughed then gestured toward the other guests milling around the high ceiling central space. “Well, Mark, this is The Club” he began to explain, continuing with a quick description of the place Mark now stood.

The club was started by Charlie Byrd, the son of the last man to live and farm here. Charlie had left the farm, gone to college and took a job overseas. At some point, he came back, got his father to retire from the farm and moved them to some place in south Florida. How the club got started, no one is sure, but the best rumor has Charlie coming back and meeting his best friend from high school where they admit their attraction toward one another. This friend was said to be Mark Robertson, the son of a poor family that lived back toward the main highway in one of the homes that were as run down back then as they are now. The two left the area, presumably going back overseas.  But sometime after that, the club opened quietly in the summer of 96. 

The format has changed over the years, adding the side rooms catering to different desires of the members, some said even before they understood how much they wanted it. No one is sure how they could operate the club from overseas, especially in making the changes that seemed to occur quickly, faster than seemed possible. But those that worked in it, local men who understood its purpose, reached out to surrounding areas, inviting new members, men who felt isolated, alone, to come and be a member. 

It was a few years after opening, the news arrived in the local community that Charlie Byrd and his companion, the members were sure was Mark Robertson, disappeared over the Indian Ocean on a privately chartered flight. No remains were found. The club continued to operate without a hitch, with a trust based in New Orleans making contact, where they insured the guys working in it and the members everything would be as before.  

“…the club operates only in the early morning hours so the members and those that operate it can be here. There are rooms on each side that provide for privacy, or an arrangement of a particular type.”

Mark looked from one side to the other, then back to the middle where men were getting ready. Some removed shirts revealing harnesses, others nothing but a collar. Some men were dressed in dress shirts and pants, others in tank tops and jeans. One man came out of the bathroom in gym shorts. Turning back to the main area, he saw two men strip completely, their cocks half hard and a glint of metal shining at the base of each.

“Mark, why don’t you roam around a bit, check out the layout and see what interest you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Mark began to walk toward the bar, wanting one more drink before making a pass by the various rooms along each side.

“And Mark?”

“Yes, Travis?”

“Relax and have fun.”

Drink in hand, Mark roamed along one wall, looking in each room. Most were small rooms with a bed, but two had slings and at the back, one room was tiered platforms that looked through a window into the next room, a large bed front and center. He knew this was for the voyeurs in the crowd that like to watch, and for some couple who liked to be watched. He cut across the back and started down the opposite wall. The first room was large and had an array of devices. A cage in the corner with a guy already in it, a stockade and cross leaning against one wall. It wasn’t his scene, but he grew harder just the same.

The next room was a foyer to a sauna, the glass door beyond revealing the wood bench within. After that were more rooms set up with a bed. The room nearest the toilets seemed to be some small closet at first then he realized it was a maze of walls. He stepped in and moved around a few corners seeing gloryholes and raised platforms. He shook his head at it, all of it, out here in the middle of nowhere. Montgomery didn’t have anything like this.

Back in the main lounge area he took a seat on a sectional sofa in the middle of the room. He saw Ryan and Caleb holding hands while talking to two other guys. They laughed and talked in such a casual way; Mark knew they were both couples. David, the busboy from the restaurant walked across the room heading toward the back room on the left and he wondered if David would be in the stockade or on the cross, or if he would have someone else in them. Travis strolled by, his muscular upper body tantalizing to everyone he passed as he made his way to the same room.

“Well, fuck” Mark uttered at how the guys he had met seemed to be paired up already. He had to admit he wasn’t surprised, but still…it’d been nice to have one of them. The two guys he had seen at the restaurant sitting at the counter headed into the last room on the right and several men followed going into the next room to watch. He was tempted to follow too, just to see what those two redneck boys would do to each other. Scanning the lounge area again, there were a few men looking his way. Suppressing a smile, he let his eyes scan on around the room, wondering who the lucky guy would be tonight. Movement to his left then the fall of shadow caused him to turn. Landon stood next to him. He wore black jeans and a black jacket with nothing on underneath. When he leaned down close, Mark saw the bar in one nipple.

“See anything you like?”

“As a matter of fact, I do” Mark replied looking up at Landon. He reached out and ran a hand up one leg till he felt the curve of ass.

“What do you like to do?”

“Truthfully?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to take you into one of the private rooms where it would be just the two of us.”

Landon smiled, stood straight letting the coat fall open even more. “I’d like that too. Too many of the guys just want to role play, which is fine, but…”

“You’re getting bored with it?”

“For the time being…yes.”

Mark considered how perfect the situation was with Landon wanting the same thing he wanted. Just the simple pleasure of sex between two men. A hand extended toward him and he let Landon pull him to his feet. Led to the right to the first room past the labyrinth, Mark went in after Landon, who closed the door and locked it.

“The Club really seems to have something for everyone.”

“Yes…it caters to everyone’s desire” replied Landon as he let the jacket slip from his shoulders.

Mark looked at Landon’s upper body. Lean wiry build and skin like polished marble. He looked exotic with the tattoos and earrings and bars through both nipples. There was something rather impish about him. Someone who’d push the boundaries in ways none of the others in their role play would do. He was aroused by it, the provocative nature of it.

Mark moved close to Landon, ran one hand over the chest, down the flat stomach and back up till he cupped the chin angling Landon’s head where they looked eye to eye. Landon’s eyes looked black, and he swore he could see his reflection in them. Leaning close he kissed the thin lips, then felt the sharp edge of teeth with his tongue.

Hands held Mark’s waist, then tugged at the tank top and he held his arms up letting Landon remove it. The hands went to his waist and worked the button free, tugged the zipper down slowly then worked the jeans down each leg. Landon went down with his jeans, till they bunched around his ankles. He raised one foot then the other letting Landon remove the jeans. He watched Landon look up and smile, then keeping eye contact, move to his crotch were his half hard cock pushed out the front of his boxer briefs. He inhaled when Landon’s lips touched him, then moved along his hardening cock, all the while they stared into each other’s eyes. He couldn’t move and found himself holding his breath as Landon toyed with his cock, mouthed the head till his boxer briefs were wet. He wanted to push them down, to get naked for this boy. But he couldn’t move as Landon bit into the fabric and tugged outward. He watched them tear, the sound of it louder than he imagined possible. His cock sprang free and he watched Landon drag a tongue along its length then wrap lips over the head. He felt the ministrations within Landon’s mouth, how tongue touched the head of his cock, swirled around it, and bore into the slit. He grunted and balled up his fist.

Landon pushed forward and Mark watched his cock disappear into the warm wet mouth. He shuddered when he saw Landon’s nose press into his abdomen then braced himself on Landon’s shoulders as fingers tore into the seat of his boxer briefs. There was a tug, a tear then fingers touching bar skin. They dug into the crevice between his cheeks and rubbed over his tight opening till he was pumping his hips, pushing cock into Landon’s mouth and pushing back against those fingers.

Mark closed his eyes and centered his awareness on Landon’s mouth, the way it moved on his cock, taking all of him, then pulling back and toying with the head. The manipulation made him shudder. He rocked on his feet, unsteady, feeling like he could fall. A hand held his cock while a tongue worked the head, then two fingers of the other hand bore into his hole stretching him open.

It felt as if there were more than two hands touching him. More than one mouth manipulating flesh. He felt like some plaything, something to satisfy Landon’s wants. Fingers bore into his hole, tugged on his nuts, pinched nipples and caressed skin, all the while, a mouth was on his cock. He wanted to go further. He wanted to feel more. He wanted to go to the edge and come back.

Mark realized he had been moved backward slowly when his legs bumped the side of the bed. He eased down on it, watching Landon come down with him, crawling up over him. His legs lifted upward, folded over and he felt Landon pushing against his tightness.

“Fuck me…fuck me…” Mark exclaimed, then cried out as Landon breached his tight opening and sank into his depths. The pain of it made him shudder. Landon felt as thick as a log, stretching him till he thought he’d split in two. Then there was the depth of the penetration. It was impossible. The fullness he felt inside his body. His insides seemed to be shoved aside to accommodate the cock burrowing into his hole.

Grabbing at the bed, sweat beading up on his face and chest, Mark felt Landon begin to fuck. Driving inward, pulling out, over and over and over. The bed squeaked, then howled in protest until it was banging against the wall. The rhythm of it, primitive, like some drumbeat, aligned with the thrusts into his depths. His own cock left a wet trail over his stomach as Landon moved over him. Abdomen smacking against his ass, hands on each ankle holding them down beside his chest as his own hands held tightly to the bed.

“Jesus…” Mark cried out as Landon pulled out. His legs were held together then shoved down to one side twisting his hips. Cock slammed back inside him and hammered his insides. Eyes closed he saw stars light up against his eyelids.

Mark couldn’t hold back. His cock flexed the jerked with release, spurting cum across the bed. His hole spasm around Landon’s cock and it felt as he was being fucked even harder, rougher, the pace faster than before. His cock kept jerking with release even though he was emptied out.

“God…take it…” Landon bellowed as he hammered his abdomen against Mark’s ass. He jammed inward as far as he could and Mark felt it, the flex of cock unloading in his hole.

Mark lay panting, feeling like he had run a marathon. Landon had crawled off the bed and was standing at a side table pouring a drink. It appeared to be red wine. He watched Landon drain one glass, then another, laughing when finished, setting the glass down. It was the first time he saw Landon naked. The tall lean body and a thick cock hanging loose over its sac, wondering how large it got when erect. Landon turned toward him and crossed the room, and he wondered what would happen next. He felt exhausted but exhilarated at the same time. And he wanted more.

Landon reached down and took his hand helping him stand.

“You want to go further?” whispered Landon.

“Yes” Mark confessed.

Landon took him by the hand, both still naked and led him out of the room. The lounge area was busier than before and Mark saw the stares, the knowing smiles, and his cock flexed with his exhibition. Landon led him into the last room, the one with all the equipment. The cage was empty for the young guy was suspended from the rafters. A couple of men were toying with him, shoving a thick dildo into his ass making him shudder and moan. As Landon led him across the room, he didn’t pay attention to where for he was watching the suspended guy have his ass fucked with the dildo. Then he heard the plea, so desperate in tone.

“Fuck me…fuck me, please” the young guy cried out as the dildo was pulled out.

Mark watched one of the men stroke his hard cock then put it to the guy’s ass. One shove and the guy had all of it. He stumbled into something as he tried to watch the young guy get fucked.

“Mark, focus on this” said Landon guiding him to turn. It was the stockade, the top timber raised. It wasn’t something he normally would consent to do, this submission that would be binding, no way to stop except to ask for it to end. He didn’t hesitate, made no protest as he lower himself into place and felt the top timber come down into place. He watched Landon padlock it and move around out of his range of sight. Secured in the stockade, he became aware of his nudity like never before. It felt like he was being watched. His cock hung heavy between his thighs and a cool trickle ran down one of them.

“You got him in the stockade. Fuck, yeah” Ryan’s voice came from behind Mark.

“Nice” Caleb’s voice, closer, right behind him. A hand touched his lower back and moved over his ass, squeezing it before fingers slipped down between his cheek. “Nice” Caleb uttered again.

“He’s loosened up too” said Landon as he moved in front of Mark, stroking his half hard cock. “Suck” was all he said as he moved up to Mark and pushed it against his lips.

Mark opened his mouth wide and let the fat head and thick shaft slip through his lips as far as he could take it, a few inches still view. He could only move a little and Landon began to work his hips, to pull outward then push back in. Everything of the moment was all about sucking Landon’s cock, the feel of it inside his mouth. Then he became aware of the push against his ass, then a stretching as he took someone else.

“Fuck…he’s still tight” said Caleb, and Mark felt hands holding his waist as cock bore into his hole. It seemed impossible the depth of penetration. Bored into the center of his being. Over and over, this push inward. He grunted and moaned around Landon’s cock as it piston in his mouth, only the first few thick inches.

Then Caleb stopped toying with him. The slow push inward and out, the way it let each of them feel every fraction of an inch tug and push through Mark’s opening, suddenly became a fuck. Hips smacking against his ass as cock bore into his depths. Landon pulled free and stepped back where he watched. It freed Mark to cry out, to beg and plead for more. To want it harder, faster.

Caleb shoved inward and bellowed, his cry echoing in the room and Mark knew he was taking another load. He felt the slow final penetrations of his depths, those that racked through the cum and stirred his insides. He could feel it, the way Caleb sated his desire. And he could feel his own cock between his thighs, flexing with need. If he could only take it in hand, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

Caleb pulled free and suddenly another cock raked up and down Mark’s ass. He felt the wetness smeared between his cheeks.

“Fuck Ryan, stop teasing him. Stick ‘em” said Caleb.

The cock pressed to Mark’s wet opening and bore into him, all the way. He jerked upward feeling the stockade press into his neck. He cried out. The penetration seemed to go on forever. Deeper and deeper, till he didn’t think he could take it. Landon stood in his face, the right hand a blur on the thick cock aimed at his face. He opened his mouth, wanting to feel it slip through his teeth, but it only hovered in his face.

“Please” Mark whispered, and Landon laughed.

Ryan didn’t tease. Didn’t hold back for one second. Hands held Mark’s waist as cock pummeled his insides. He didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes. He was conscious of nothing but Landon’s cock in his face and Ryan’s fucking his ass. Then it was over. Ryan stood just in his field of view, cock hanging half hard, dripping with the remnants of cum. Landon’s cum trickled down his face and he licked his lips gathering what fell over them.

Caleb leaned down in front of Mark, still naked, the muscular body in full view. The thick, long cock the focus of his attention.

“Damn, Landon, you do come a lot” said Caleb as he leaned forward and licked some of it off Mark’s face then kissed him, letting the cum pass from one mouth to the other.

The stockade shook then the top timber swung upward freeing Mark and he stood on unsteady feet. His cock was still hard. Landon took him by the hand and headed toward the door.

“Where are we going now?”

“Rick and Cody got the guys wound up. It’s up to us to finish them off” said Landon leading him across the back of the lounge area were guys were in various stages of undress. Some were just lounging around, but some were kissing or sucking each other. Heading toward the last door, Mark knew they were going to the room that he saw the two country boys go into earlier. The room that allowed the voyeurs to watch from the adjacent room.

Mark walked past Landon who closed the door. The room was dimly lit but those on the other side of the one-way mirror had plenty of light to see everything that was to occur. Landon moved to the bed, fell back on it and pulled each leg up spreading himself open before Mark.

“Come on, do it. Fuck me.”

Mark was so aroused he knew there was no denying Landon. He moved as if in a trance, stroking his cock back to full hardness. He eased down on his knees and pushed his mouth up against Landon’s opening and tongued it till it was wet and moans were growing louder and louder, turning into pleadings for him to stop teasing it.

Mark grabbed each ankle and spread Landon open. He moved close and his cock, sticking straight out, aimed naturally at Landon’s opening. He pushed against it, then bore his full weight into it. His cock squeezed through the tightness and continued till his abdomen pressed against Landon’s ass.

“FUCK!” Landon cried out as Mark jammed his abdomen against Landon’s ass a couple of times as if he could get deeper if he just tried. Then he pulled back, all the way till his cock hovered between them, and he shoved forward again, breaching the tightness making Landon shudder and cry out again. Over and over, he did it, knowing he had an audience. That just through the mirror sat men watching him. Watching his cock pull out, able to see every wet inch, then watch it disappear again, as he shoved it into Landon’s depths. But he couldn’t keep doing it for he was too aroused. He’d been dripping wet with arousal and Landon’s ass milked him to the point he couldn’t hold back. He pulled the legs to his chest and began to fuck, to use the muscles of his back, stomach and legs to drive cock into Landon. The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed in the room. Only Landon’s cries were louder.

Mark pulled out, pushed Landon’s legs to one side twisting him at the hips, and he shoved back in. He banged Landon’s insides till a hand dug into his thigh and became aware of what Landon was uttering.

“Fuck me…fuck me harder…do it…fuck me…”

Mark’s vision tunneled down to just Landon, the prone body before him. Its skin glistened wetly from its own heat as he hammered cock into its depths. Then he felt two more hands, one on his waist and one on his shoulder. A rough cheek in need of a shave rubbed against his own. “I’m going to fuck you again” said Caleb and Mark slowed to a stop, cock buried inside Landon, and bent forward. Cock nudged against his hole, then pushed inside him. Inch after inch slipped through his opening till Caleb’s body was pressed against him. “Fuck Landon…fuck yourself” whispered Caleb. “Let them see what you can take”

Mark began to move his hips, pushing back on Caleb then pushing forward sinking back into Landon’s depths. He moved between them feeling his sex so intensely he knew it couldn’t last. No way could he keep it up. He moved faster and faster till his body felt feverish, so hot it sweated profusely. Then he jammed into Landon’s depths and came, shuddering with release.

“FUCK, I can feel it” Caleb exclaimed as he kept fucking, driving into Mark’s depths as his own cock emptied out his load. “Fuck…take me” Caleb uttered as he pushed Mark down on Landon and hammered his cock inside him until he too shuddered with release.

Mark lay on the bed in his hotel room and listened as a couple of guys walked past his door. He heard a laugh, then some comment about ‘too much fun’ and wondered if it were two guys from The Club. He had showered and fell on the bed naked. He was exhausted but too wound up to fall asleep. Looking out the window, the curtain pulled back, he watched a truck drive through town, stop at the red light. It idled at the stop waiting for it to change. He wondered if the driver had been at the club. Or were they getting an early start? It was Saturday, so he doubted anyone would be out at his hour starting a new day.

Every muscled ached and Mark felt the way he had been used. There were small finger size bruises on his waist. Caleb or Landon had held him pretty tightly a couple of times, so it had to be one of them. The last two days played out again, the way he got directions to the bar, then later The Club. The drive to each, and then how the night progressed. The sex with Landon, then Caleb and Ryan. Then the last scene with Caleb and Landon where he ended up on his knees, head shoved down on the bed taking Landon one last time. He swore the smell of cum was still lingering the air around him.

Suddenly Mark smiled, then laughed out loud. He had never been so sated after sex. So worn out, till he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The feel of the pillow in his face, his cries muffled by it, and the feel of Landon’s hands holding his waist as cock piston inside his hole. That one last fuck, his own cock flaccid, dripping, as it swung back and forth between his legs. Then Landon pushing him flat and laying on his back. Their skin slick and wet against each other. Finally, the feel of Landon jabbing inward, hard, as his body shivered with one more release. Landon had lain on his back for a long time afterward, both exhausted.

Right now, he knew he was spent, but he could imagine doing it again. He could imagine sex with Landon or Ryan or Caleb or…. He just needed some rest.

It was Friday afternoon and the week had been a miserable drag. Mark didn’t think it would ever end. Day after day, he went through his tasks. Monday through Wednesday he made a circuit from Montgomery eastward then looped north and back. He coordinated the lab work, made reports and followed up with phone calls to the farmers. And every minute that didn’t occupy his mind he thought of sex, The Club and when he could make it back. There was the agreement he signed for a non-disclosure and he laughed, wondering how in the hell they could enforce such a thing. How would they even know? More than once a co-worker asked him what was so funny, and he had stammered to reply, telling them it was nothing.

By the time five o’clock arrived Mark was packed up, light off and heading for the exit. He was meeting one of his friends for drinks, someone he had met at the bar in town. They never hooked up for their similarities became apparent, aspects that made the prospect of sex with each other seem like it would be incest or something. Stacy was too much like a brother, albeit, one who was gay and like to mess around as much as he did. They got together to trade stories, egg each other on and more than either would admit, just to be with a friend.

Mark entered the small bar and made his way around to where Stacy was sitting, a half-finished drink in front of him.

“Hey Stacy.”

“Mark, grab a seat.”

“So how was last weekend? You mentioned it had been fun, but you were coy about why.”

“Well…it’s crazy. You will not believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not supposed to tell about The Club, but…”

“The Club? Seriously? Weren’t you over in the western part of the state, down below Birmingham where there isn’t shit to do?”

“Well…”

“Come on…spill. What is it? A truck stop with glory holes? A porn store off some interstate exit?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s a bit more…”

“Yeah…what?”

“Well, it’s like this private club for men…”

Mark leaned in close and told Stacy everything. Every detail till Stacy was going ‘no way’ and ‘you’re full of shit’.

“I’m serious. This old barn was converted into a little club for men.”

“And where is this club?”

“You want to know?”

“Yes…for fuck’s sake, yes. Where is it?”

“I’m going back tomorrow. You want to go?”’

“Seriously?”

“It’s only a little over two hours to get there. We can leave around two thirty, get there in time to check in the hotel, grab something to eat and rest up a bit before going out. Come on, what do you say?”

“Okay, count me in. I’ll be at your place about a quarter after two.”

Mark drove along the narrow two-lane road, some of the scenery familiar, till he came to the intersection. Before him, down the long grade sat the bridge that crossed over a creek. He motored ahead.

“How much further?” Stacy asked.

“Not much further.”

Mark sensed his next turn was near and slowed. He saw the culverts where a road intersected and he slowed even more. As he turned left, the small sign for Snake River Road came into view, and he knew they were on the right path. He glanced at his notes, the GPS unwilling or unable to locate the next street. After a few miles, he knew the turn was near. He slowed when the culvert came into view, then turned on the road, glancing at the shot-up road sign and started to accelerate.

“I thought we wanted Nash-o-ba…bie Lane” Stacy uttered as he turned back to Mark after seeing the road sign.

“This is it. There’s the old Chevy in the pasture and…”

“But the sign said Nashville Lane.”

“What? No…you must have misread it with the way it is messed up.”

“No. I’m sure it said Nashville Lane.”

“Either way, this is the road.”

The road made familiar curves, passing fields, then stand of pine on both sides of it. The road sweep left then right before straightening up. Mark slowed, expecting the town to come into view. He motored along the narrow road, passing one intersection then coming to another only a couple of hundred feet away. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to stop.

“No…no, no, no. This can’t be right” Mark stammered as he climbed down and stood in the street looking back at the intersection.

“What? What’s the matter?” Stacy asked coming to the back of the Jeep.

Mark looked at the street sign, shaking his head. In small print, black letters on a white background he read sign again. Lowell Lane, not Loomis Lane. It wasn’t right, nor were the surroundings. A soybean field on each side of the road. There was no town, no stop lights, nothing but farmland with pine off in the distance.

“What the fuck?” Mark uttered, then looked at Stacy. “Get in the Jeep.”

They turned around and headed west on Lowell Lane.

“What is it?”

“The town…it was back there between his road and the other one.”

“But the street names…”

“I know, I know. But fuck the street names. I’m telling you the town was back there.”

“Hey man, I don’t know what kind of shit these farm boys gave you but…”

“I’m not joking around. You’ll see. We’re going to the bar.”

Mark pulled out the note with directions. 4.6 miles. Right turn on a gravel road. .26 miles and down second drive on right. The farmhouse looked different, but it was daylight. He eased along the second drive wondering if anyone was home at the house. He circled back till a barn came into view.

“What the fuck?” Mark uttered.

Stacy laughed, nervously, wondering what Mark was up to. Before them was the barn, but the center was open, and an old tractor sat inside it. Its orange and white paint faded. The barn was old, some siding slipped loose from rot. The roof looked ready to cave in.

“Mark, that is a barn but there is no bar inside that” said Stacy, looking around at the abandoned nature of the place.

Mark swung the Jeep around and headed back to the main road.

“Where are we going?” Stacy asked.

“To The Club. It’s early, but…”

“Okay man; let’s go check it out” said Stacy, in a tone that told Mark he was being humored.

At the first intersection, Mark sat, staring at the street sign. Henderson Road in small black letters.

“This can’t be…it’s not right” Mark mumbled, shifting the Jeep into first and turning west. He followed the directions on the small slip of paper, the turn after 6.2 miles, the 1.2 mile drive down a gravel road, passing old houses in severe disrepair, then the drive that cut through a pecan orchard. The trees were in full leaf, the canopies thick with limbs stretching outward. They looked healthy, with no webs in their limbs.

“They look…” Mark’s voice trailed off.

“They look what?”

“Nothing” Mark replied as he drove down the lane coming to the farmhouse. It was abandoned as before, the lower windows boarded up. He turned right and drove around the house site till an old barn came into view. Mark stopped the Jeep and climbed out. He walked toward the barn and stopped among the pine. Stacy came up next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Mark, my friend, that is no club.”

The barn was falling in, a large hole in the roof. The doors lay on the ground in front of it, the hinges having broke loose.

“But…” Mark stammered then fell silent. He stared at the run-down old barn trying to imagine how it looked last weekend. It was the same shape and layout. But it wasn’t as before.

Stacy’s fingers squeezed his shoulder drawing his attention.

“I don’t know what happened last weekend, but let’s go. I say we drive on up to Birmingham and have some fun. What do you say?”

“Okay” Mark replied.

They made their way back to the Jeep. Stacy climbed in and Mark stopped at the door, looking back one more time. He remembered the document and how it said he wouldn’t find the club again if he revealed its existence to anyone. Did he dream it, all of it? Was it a hallucination? But it had seemed so real.

Mark drove north, heading toward Birmingham. They passed fields and woods and crossed creeks. At an intersection in the middle of nowhere, they had to stop. On the corner was a general store with a couple of old trucks and an old Mustang parked in front. Just as he was pulling away, a guy came out, and Mark recognized him.

“Lower your window…quick” Mart exclaimed as he stopped again. The guy moved out to the old Ford Mustang, the painted faded, with one fender a gray primer.

“Hey, Landon? It’s Mark.”

The guy didn’t seem to hear as he started to climb into the old Mustang.

“Landon?!”

The guy stopped and stepped toward the Jeep. “You talking to me?”

“Yes, you’re Landon, right?”

“Sorry buddy, but you have me confused with someone else. My name is Logan.”

Mark sat stunned. It was Landon. The same hair color and cut. The same tattoos and earrings. But it wasn’t either. The voice was different, the southern accent more drawn out. And he was dressed shabbier.

“Sorry, I…”

“It’s okay. You guys have a nice day” Logan replied as he turned and climbed into the Mustang.

“Mark? Let’s go” said Stacy. Mark eased up on the clutch and let the Jeep move forward, and he didn’t slow, shifting through the gears till they were at highway speed and he didn’t stop again till they were in Birmingham.

Back at the general store Logan had watched the Jeep pull away. He sat still, keys dangling in the ignition, and watched the Jeep get smaller and smaller till it was gone, and he smiled, then laughed while reaching for the keys to start the motor.