"You know, it's not every day you get to take a ride down memory lane," Mark told me as we cruised along the scenic route through rural Maine on our fairly decent touring bicycles. The warm summer air washed over us, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant chirps of birds.
"No kidding," I chuckled, wiping the sweat off my brow. "These old roads are a piece of history, man. But let's not forget, we've got fifteen more miles before we hit the bed and breakfast."
"I get that, Steve, but let's just enjoy the view while I recover my strength. I'm not as fit as you, and I'm feeling hot and bothered after that hill we have just climbed," Mark declared. "I could do with a short break."
We pulled over and leaned our bikes against a crumbling stone wall that marked the boundary of a lush, green field. The sun had reached its peak, casting a warm glow on the landscape. As if mirroring each other, we took off our helmets, allowing the warm breeze to whisper through our damp and sweaty hair from our efforts to make the crest of the hill.
Mark looked down at his cycling jersey, the faded logo of a long-forgotten brand from the '80s, and chuckled. "These old threads take me back. Remember when we thought we looked cool in these?"
I nodded, smirking. "Yeah, we probably did. Or at least we convinced ourselves we did. I picked this one up at that vintage shop in Bangor, right before we started this trip. The owner said it was a rare find."
Mark's eyes scanned me over, his gaze lingering on my shorts. "Well, you're rocking it better than I ever could," he said with a chuckle, "and that jersey matches those shorts, which I always think ... revealing."
I shrugged it off. "They're functional, that's all."
"Functional is my line, Steve. Thank God for my Hanes underneath my shorts, which maintain my modesty, but you, you are such an exhibitionist," Mark exclaimed with a chuckle. "Just look at you, and there's no denying the fact that you are circumcised and reasonably long," was all Mark could say to describe the view as he yet again laughed out loud.
"Can't say I have ever thought about it before, Mark. Is it that clearly defined by the Lycra?" I asked.
"Well, with the way the fabric clings to your body, it's kind of hard to miss," Mark said, still smiling, “and, yes, I can clearly see you are circumcised and long.”
As we took in the breathtaking view, a figure appeared on the horizon, slowly pedalling towards us. He was dressed in cycling gear that looked as if it had been plucked straight out of a time capsule from the '80s. The vibrant neon colours and tight nylon shorts outlining his muscular thighs and calves with uncanny precision. The man's attire was so retro, it was as if he'd been frozen in time and had just thawed out. His bike, a sleek chrome machine with drop handlebars and a pump on the frame, gleamed in the sunlight.
As he approached, the figure grew clearer. His face was tanned and lined with the kind of wrinkles that come from a life lived outdoors. His hair, a wild mix of grey and blonde, fluttered in the wind like a rockstar's from a bygone era. He had a certain charisma about him that was hard to ignore, even in his ridiculous getup.
"Hey, fellas," he called out as he pulled alongside us, not even breaking a sweat despite the steep incline we'd just conquered. His accent had a hint of something European, but it was tough to pinpoint where exactly he was from. "Mind if I join you for a stretch?"
"Not at all," I said, extending a hand. "I'm Steve, and this is Mark. We're just out here enjoying the scenery."
"Nice to meet you," the man responded without shaking my hand, "The name's Will, and it's lovely out here, and did you know that Stephen King lives close by to where we are?"
Mark raised an eyebrow, "Really? Should we be scared, really scared?"
Mark, get a grip," I advised as the other man responded with a loud laugh.
"No need to be scared," Will said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "But you should be aware that this area has its share of interesting stories and strange incidents," as we started pedalling again.
Will fell into step with us, his bike gliding effortlessly despite the heavy look of its vintage frame. His legs, wrapped in those neon spandex shorts, pumped rhythmically, each stroke a silent testament to his surprising strength and endurance. His presence was both comforting and a tad unsettling, like a reminder of a past we hadn't quite left behind.
"I love this section of the road," Will declared as we kept a reasonable pace. "I know a beautiful spot further along the road where, if you fancy, we can stop for a bite to eat."
"Sounds like a plan," Mark said, his curiosity piqued.
"Yeah, that sounds like a plan," I responded.
The road grew steeper as we pedalled on, but Will's enthusiasm didn't wane. He talked about the history of the area, the old factories and mills that once stood tall but had now been reclaimed by nature, and the legends of ghostly apparitions that locals whispered about. His stories were as intriguing as they were eerie, and the way the light played with the shadows as we rode through patches of forest only added to the atmosphere.
Finally, we reached the crest of the hill Will had mentioned. He raised a hand, signalling for us to stop. We did, panting slightly from the exertion. The view was indeed marvellous, a sprawling panorama of rolling hills and winding rivers that stretched out like a canvas painted by a master. The sun had dipped slightly in the sky, casting a soft, golden light that bathed the countryside in a warm glow.
"This is the spot," Will said with a grin, pointing to a spot with a few deserted picnic benches.
As we propped our bikes against one of the tables, I noticed Will's gaze lingering on my attire. His eyes traced the lines of my Lycra shorts, taking in the way they hugged my body. For a moment, I felt a little self-conscious, but his expression was one of admiration rather than judgment.
"So, are you and Mark an item? Will asked. "You seem to have a bond between you, suggesting you are more than friends.
I chuckled, feeling a slight blush creep up my neck. "What? Oh, um, well, yep, we are now, but we've known each other since we were kids, been through thick and thin together."
Mark's cheeks turned a shade of pink that matched his bike's vintage panniers. He looked away, focusing on unclipping his helmet with a fidgety nervousness. "Steve's right," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're... we're together."
"I think that's cool," Will responded. "It must be nice getting out into the countryside with your partner. Do you ever get up to any naughty business?
"N-no," Mark stuttered, his face a deeper shade of red now. "We're here for the cycling, not... not that even though Steve is quite an exhibitionist at times."
"I'm just saying," Will winked, his tone playfully suggestive, "a bit of fun never hurt anybody and being out in the wild rather excites me, hence why I asked."
Mark and I shared a look that conveyed a mix of embarrassment and amusement. We decided to let the comment slide and focus on the breathtaking view before us.
"You're right, Will," I said, changing the subject, "this place is heavenly. It's like a postcard from a different time."
"Sure is," Will answered as he sat on the picnic bench, unpacking his Tupperware sandwich boxes. "I used to spend many times up here with my mate, PJ, cycling and having harmless fun under the sun."
Mark's ears pricked up with that information. "What sort of fun did you have?" Mark asked.
Will pushed his Tupperware to one side, hesitating to immediately answer. "Well, we used to race down the hill," he said with a wink. "But we had a little twist to it."
"A twist?" Mark leaned in, his curiosity piqued, looking at me with a curious smile on his face.
"Ah, yes," Will chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "We used to race, but the one who won had the privilege of choosing what the loser had to do next."
My curiosity now alive, I asked, "What would the loser have to do?"
"Not sure I should really say, my mate might be horrified that I have divulged our secret times together," Will said.
"I get that, and we promise not to tell anyone. Isn't that right, Mark?"
Mark nodded eagerly, his curiosity now overriding his earlier embarrassment. "Yeah, we're all friends here," he said with a forced laugh.
Will thought about his response before declaring, "Alright," he said after a moment's silence. "But I'll only tell you if you promise to keep it between us. This isn't something I share with just anyone."
Mark and I looked at each other and nodded. "You got it," I assured him.
With a grin that held a hint of nostalgia, Will began his tale. "We used to race down this hill," he said, pointing to the steep decline that stretched before us, "And whoever won would get to pick the dare for the loser. Sometimes it was simple, like doing a wheelie for fifty feet or taking a swim in that river over there," he pointed to a shimmering body of water in the distance. "Other times, it was a bit... riskier like being an exhibitionist."
"Wow," Mark responded. Steve's quite the exhibitionist, you know, aren't you, Steve?
"Well, I wouldn't say 'quite' but I do enjoy showing off my goods," I quipped, trying to keep the mood light.
Will's eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked at me and my Lycra shorts displaying my unmistakable manhood. "Ah, so you're the daredevil of the duo, huh? Maybe we should give it a go. You both seem like you could handle a bit of fun," he said. "Besides, it's been a long time since I got to watch some fun on the road, if you get my meaning."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, my pulse quickening at the prospect of a little friendly fun.
Will leaned back on the picnic table, his arms folded across his chest as he surveyed us both. "Well, if you're feeling adventurous, I'd like to invite you to put on a show for me."
"A show?" Mark asked.
"Mark, I think that Will is asking if we could put on a show for him to watch, similar to those shows we have done in a couple of clubs we like to visit from time to time," I said, smiling at Mark, sort of begging him to get it.
Mark looked at me, then at Will, then back at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "You're joking, right?"
"Only if you want to. Besides, you’re fit men, not just sporty fit but physically fit if you get my meaning, and I suspect you might enjoy entertaining me." Will confirmed.
Mark looked at me, his cheeks still red but his eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement. He knew I was up for it, we had done it before, but it was always in the confines of our favourite club. This was different. This was in broad daylight and out in the open. "What sort of show are you talking about?" Mark asked Will.
"It's only the three of us here, the road is always quiet, and it's a beautiful day for fluids to flow if you get me meaning," Will stated, with an element of confidence that his request wasn't unreasonable and would be fun to watch. "Besides, from what I can see, Mark, Steve, is certainly up for it, looking at his enormous arousal demanding attention."
Mark looked at me and then looked at my growing cock behind the Lycra fabric of my shorts. "Alright," he said, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation, "but only if you promise not to tell anyone and it remains between Steve and me only. No threesome if that’s what you intend."
"Not only do I promise," Will declared, "I promise not to get involved. I just want to watch you guys enjoy each other because it will make me a very happy man."
I took a deep breath and stood up from the bench, feeling the cool breeze kiss my skin. My cock was indeed pushing upwards under the Lycra, straining to be free. Will's gaze followed the outline of my erection, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He moved to the next bench over, setting down his untouched Tupperware containers as if preparing for a picnic show.
Mark remained standing, his eyes darting from me to Will and back again. His arousal was less pronounced, but the slight bulge in his shorts suggested that he was more than a little excited by the prospect. "Okay, Steve," he murmured, his voice tight, "but remember, we're doing this for Will and to remind him of younger days on the road with his mate."
"I get that, Mark, but I'm going to enjoy this, however risky it might be, and I agree, it’s for Will, but I get to enjoy you fucking me,” as I pulled my jersey over my head.
Mark took a deep breath and nodded. He knew I loved performing for others, and he was okay with it, having done so before. I could see the excitement in his eyes as I stepped closer, his pupils dilating slightly as I reached out and touched his arm. Our eyes met, and for a moment, it was just us two as Mark’s fingers played with my nipples.
With a gentle push, I sat down on the edge of the picnic bench. My legs slightly apart, and I could see the beginnings of Mark's excitement pressing against the fabric of his shorts. The wood was warm from the sun, and the coolness of the air contrasted with the heat between my thighs as I lay back, waiting for Mark's hands to start exploring my body.
Mark took a moment to collect himself by pulling his jersey over his head and flinging it to the ground before his hands began to move, exploring my lower thighs only to then slide over the Lycra that clung to my legs, his touch feather light as he traced the contours of my muscles. He started at my knees, working his way up to my thighs. The fabric grew taut as he reached the top, and I could feel my cock pulsing in anticipation of his touch. His eyes never left mine as his thumbs danced closer to the hem of my shorts, and when he finally reached it, I gasped.
He hooked his thumbs under the elastic and began to pull them down. The tension in the clearing was electric, and I watched as Mark's chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. He stopped at my mid-thigh, and for a moment, his hand hovered above the fabric that shielded my erection from the world. I could see the desire in his eyes, and the way his cock had grown in response to my exposure.
With a swift motion, he pulled my shorts down to my ankles, allowing them to drop onto the grass. My cock finally free, bobbing in the warm breeze. Will's eyes grew wide as he took in the sight before him, and I heard him let out a low whistle of appreciation. Mark's gaze was fixed on my erect member, and I knew he was torn between his modesty and the thrill of the performance we were about to give.
I leaned back, placing my hands behind my head and basked in the sun's warmth. "Go ahead, Mark," I encouraged him, my voice thick with desire. "Let's show Will what we can do."
Mark took a step closer, and his hand wrapped around the base of my cock. His grip was firm but not too tight as he began to stroke me. His movements were deliberate, and I could see the excitement growing in his eyes as he watched me react to his touch.
To my surprise, he stopped holding my cock, the sound of fabric rustling grew louder as Mark's hands moved to his shorts, pushing them down his legs, revealing his Hanes briefs tented by his erection, and I watched as he began to stroke himself through the cotton material. The sight was incredibly erotic, and I could feel my becoming more aroused with expectation, a damp patch having formed on the white cotton material, as he returned his attention to my pulsating cock.
"Is this what you want, Will?" Mark asked, his voice a little shaky with lust.
"Oh yes," Will murmured, his eyes never leaving the sight before him. "Keep going. I want to see you both enjoy your exhibition of lovemaking."
The thrill of being watched by this mysterious stranger only added to the intensity of the moment. Mark's mouth enveloped my cock as his tongue licked the gland that was more sensitive than normal.
The sensation was overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. I could feel the tension building, my balls tightening as I grew closer to climax. Mark had always been good at this, but there was something about the setting, the thrill of the unknown, and the raw exposure that made it feel like nothing we'd ever experienced before.
As Mark's mouth moved up and down my shaft, I watched him intently, the sight of his lips wrapped around me pushing me closer to the edge. His eyes met mine, filled with a mix of passion and apprehension. He knew he was putting on a show, but the desire in his gaze was genuine.
My hand found its way to the back of Mark's head, gently guiding his movements. The warmth of his mouth, the softness of his tongue, and the gentle scrape of his teeth sent shivers down my spine. I could feel my orgasm building, the pressure mounting with each stroke and suck.
And then, as if reading my mind, Mark's hand reached down to cup my balls, rolling them gently in his palm as he continued to blow me. The additional sensation was all it took, and with a guttural groan, I released my load into Mark's eager mouth. His eyes widened with surprise, but he didn't stop, taking every drop before pulling away with a satisfied smile.
As I caught my breath, I looked over to Will. He was watching us intently, his hand resting on his hidden cock, which I suspected was fully erect. The sight of him was like a trigger, and before I knew it, Mark and I were kissing passionately, our tongues entwined as we shared the taste of each other.
Breaking the kiss, I looked into Mark's eyes, the love and lust swirling together like a tornado as I knew he wanted to fuck me. "Did you bring the lubricant, Mark?" I asked.
With a nod, Mark showed me the tube, twisting the lid off to squeeze a sizable amount onto his fingers, as he began to lower his head until his mouth had access to my hole. I closed my eyes as I felt his tongue starting to explore the rim of my hole as I descended into sensual oblivion.
The sensation was electrifying, sending bolts of pleasure through my body as he explored my most intimate space with a tenderness that was as surprising as it was intense. His tongue circled my entrance, flicking and probing with a teasing expertise that made me squirm with anticipation.
As he worked me over with his mouth, his lubricated fingers gently pushed against my opening. I could feel myself relaxing, my body eagerly welcoming the intrusion as he slid one digit inside me. The sensation was heavenly, and I couldn't help but let out a soft moan that echoed through the quiet clearing.
The sound of my pleasure seemed to spur him on, and he added a second finger, stretching me wider as he pumped in and out with a steady rhythm that mirrored the pounding of my heart. I could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure low in my abdomen growing with each passing moment.
The anticipation was almost unbearable as Mark's fingers danced inside me, his thumb brushing against my prostate with each movement. I arched my back, my toes curling in the grass beneath me, as he continued to prepare me for what was to come.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mark pulled his fingers out and stepped back. I looked up at him, my eyes glazed with desire, and watched as he stripped off his Hanes briefs, his cock springing free, long and hard and just as ready as I was with precum dripping from its head.
He positioned himself at my entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against me with a gentle insistence. Will had moved closer, his eyes locked on the intimate dance playing out before him. I could feel the heat of his gaze, adding another layer to the already intense experience.
Mark leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Ready?" His breath was hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
I nodded, unable to speak, my breath coming in ragged gasps as Mark began to push into me. He was slow and deliberate, giving my body time to adjust to the new sensation. Each inch brought a new wave of pleasure and pain, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out too loudly.
As he buried himself deep inside me, I could feel the fullness of his cock, filling me. He paused for a moment, giving us both a chance to revel in the connection before starting to move. His strokes were long and slow, pulling almost out before sliding back in, sending ripples of pleasure through my body.
The sound of our bodies coming together filled the air, mingling with the distant call of a lone bird and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. It was a symphony of passion that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the universe, a declaration of our love for each other in the most primal of ways.
The world outside of us faded away as we lost ourselves in the moment. There was only the warmth of the sun, the scent of the grass, and the feeling of Mark inside me, claiming me in a way that only he could.
The tension grew with each thrust, my body tightening around him, urging him closer to his climax. And as he picked up the pace, I knew we were both riding the edge of climax.
Our rhythm grew erratic, driven by the pounding of our hearts and the desperate need for release as he rubbed my G-spot with every thrust. I could tell he wouldn't last long, and with one final, powerful push, we both went over the edge together, our voices mingling in a chorus of pleasure as we came.
Cum flowed from my cock in response to Mark's thrusting, shooting up my chest and stomach. Mark, in return, was pumping his seed into me. Not as a single spurt, though. With every thrust I could feel him shooting more cum into me, the warmth wrapping my senses with acceptance and pleasure that my friend and partner had yet again, made me happy.
We collapsed onto the picnic bench, our bodies entwined as I lay there flat on the wood while Mark was slumped on my stomach, my cum providing lubrication between his chest and my stomach, our hearts racing in time with each other's. For a moment, we lay there, panting and sweaty, the aftermath of our performance washing over us in waves.
Will clapped, a slow, deliberate clap that echoed through the clearing, bringing us back to reality with a jolt. "Bravo, gentlemen, Bellissimo, truly, Bellissimo," he said with a smile, his eyes still glued to our spent forms. "That was quite the show."
I looked at Will, smiling as we pulled apart, both a little embarrassed but satisfied. Mark stood there naked, his cock beginning to lose its hardness. I remained laying on the table, my cock flaccid from cumming for the second time as Mark took my hands and pulling me up to kiss him.
The kiss was more than just a simple gesture of affection. It was a declaration of our connection, a silent promise to always be there for each other, no matter how strange or risky the situation. Our tongues danced together as we tasted ourselves on each other's lips, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
But as we pulled away, reality began to seep back in. Mark was the first to notice that the other picnic bench was empty. "Where's Will?" he whispered, his eyes searching the clearing.
I looked around, but his Tupperware and bicycle were gone. The spot where he had been watching us was now devoid of any evidence of his presence. The only things left behind were the lingering whispers of our passionate encounter and the fading echo of his clap.
Still naked in Mark’s naked embrace, my mouth uttered, "What the fuck? My heart racing as we both looked around in confusion. The quiet of the area seemed to have swallowed him whole, leaving us in a moment that was both liberating and eerily solitary.
The wind picked up, sending a chill down my spine as I scanned the area, but there was no sign of Will or his bike. It was as if he had never been there, his existence in this moment reduced to the lingering warmth between my legs and the memory of his words.
"Did he... did he just leave?" Mark asked, his voice filled with a mix of awe and bewilderment.
"Looks like it," I replied, still trying to process what had just happened. The sudden emptiness felt like a trick of the light, a figment of our overactive imaginations. But the sticky residue of our act remained, painting a vivid picture of the events that had just transpired.
We quickly gathered our things, the magic of the moment shattered like the glass of a dropped jar of jam. The air felt heavier now, as if it bore the weight of our secrets.
"I don't get it," Mark said, standing there naked, holding his clothes, his voice still a little shaky. "Where did he go?"
"I don't know," I replied, shaking my head as I pulled my Lycra shorts back on, picking up my jersey almost as an afterthought. "But I have a feeling we're not going to see him again."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions and the realisation that we had just shared something incredibly intimate with a stranger. A stranger who had vanished without a trace, having thanked us for the show with an excited round of applause, you would expect to receive at the end of a concert.
Having got dressed, we mounted our bikes, looked around to say goodbye to Will just in case he had returned, and set off down the hill. The thrill of the downhill was great as we refused to apply the brakes, but a sense of unease embraced us, the descent becoming a blur of motion and confusion as we both pedalled as fast as we could, our legs pumping in a frantic attempt to outrun the wind.
As we reached the bottom of the hill, we both slowed, our breathing ragged and our hearts still pounding in our chests. We looked at each other, our eyes filled with a mix of excitement, fear, and wonder as we saw what appeared to be a roadside memorial.
Mark turned his bike and cycled towards the tiny memorial at the side of the road. I followed him, wondering what had caught his attention.
"What the fuck?" Mark whispered as I too saw the inscription.
The words etched into the stone sent a chill down my spine. "William Hyde," I murmured, the name echoing in my mind like a whisper. "Will... that was his name, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Mark's voice was barely a murmur as he too stared at the memorial. "And he talked about his friend PJ. What are the odds?"
The dates swam before my eyes. The date of death matched the year Will had said his friend had passed, but this was for William and not his friend PJ. The world around us grew quiet, save for the distant hum of the river and the occasional rustle of leaves. The realisation dawned on us like a dark cloud.
Had we had just had sex for the ghost of a man who had been dead for over thirty years. The thought was absurd, terrifying, and somehow, very Stephen King, and we were in Maine. We exchanged glances, a mix of shock and awe colouring our faces.
The memorial was simple but touching. A small stone plaque set into the base of a tree, surrounded by a ring of flowers that looked freshly picked. A few candles flickered in the gentle breeze, their flames casting a warm glow on the inscription.
"This can't be real," Mark said, his hand shaking as he reached out to touch the stone.
"But it is," I replied, my voice a little shaky. "We saw him, talked to him, and... and he watched us."
"I don't know what to think," Mark whispered, his eyes never leaving the inscription. "But we can't tell anyone. They'll think we're crazy."
"Agreed," I nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "But we can't ignore this either."
We stood there for a few moments longer, the weight of what we had experienced pressing down on us like a heavy blanket. Finally, Mark broke the silence.
"Let's go," he said, his voice a mix of fear and excitement. "We'll figure this out later, but right now, let's just... let's just go and get to the bed and breakfast we have booked. It can't be far now."
We climbed onto our bikes, the pedals feeling cold and unyielding under our feet. The world around us had changed, the shadows deeper, the colours a little less vibrant. We cycled away from the memorial, the image of Will's ghostly presence still burned into our minds as we dismissed the event and the connotations.
As we approached the bed and breakfast, the warm light from the windows beckoned us like a lighthouse guiding two lost sailors to shore. We were greeted by the jovial host, Mr. Jenkins, who looked like he had stepped straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. His smile was broad, his handshake firm, and his eyes twinkled with a mischievous spark that put us at ease.
"You must be Mark and Steve," he said, his voice a comforting baritone. "Welcome to the Cosy Nest. I hope your journey was as delightful as the scenery around here."
We nodded in unison, still slightly dazed from our encounter with the mysterious Will. The hallway was indeed filled with photographs, each frame capturing moments of joy, love, and camaraderie. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and homecoming.
Mr. Jenkins beamed at us as we stepped inside, our shoes clacking against the polished wooden floor. "Ah, yes," he said, following my gaze to the photo that had captured my attention. It was a picture of a young man, probably in his early thirties, with a mischievous smile and a pair of vintage cycling shorts. "That's William when he was a world-class cyclist and we used to spend many hours training for the Tour De France that he wanted to enter," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "It's tragic what happened to him, and I still miss him even today."
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as Mark and I shared a look. "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mr. Jenkins' smile faded a bit; his eyes grew a little sad. "Well, William, he was a daredevil, that one. Always pushing the limits. He and I were on the way down this very hill, racing as if we had the devil on our tails. We didn't see the lorry coming up the hill until it was too late and I swerved just in time, but William....didn't."
The silence in the room was tense. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken sorrow. I felt the blood drain from my face, the reality of what we had experienced setting in.
"Are you boys okay?" Mr. Jenkins enquired.
As Mark and I continued to stare at the photograph, I mumbled to our host, "But we've seen him today. He joined us for a ride and then we stopped at the picnic benches and....."
Mr. Jenkins' smile froze, and his eyes grew wide. "You saw William?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You saw the same man today, this man in this photograph?”
"Yes, and he told us about the games he and his mate PJ used to enjoy. Simple dares and sometimes riskier games they used to share," I recounted.
Mr. Jenkins' face paled. "You're joking? It’s impossible."
Mark answered first. "No. Seriously. We spent an hour with him today and he asked us to...."
Mr. Jenkins interrupted, his voice shaking a bit. "To what?"
Mark continued as I remained stunned and frozen. "Did he like to watch, and are you PJ?"
Mr. Jenkins took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the frame. "Yes, I am PJ," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Peter Jenkins. William had a... unique way of enjoying his life and, well, he was always up for a dare, and he had quite the reputation around here. Well, we both had quite a reputation around here during the times when being gay wasn't acceptable to the wider society. And, yes, he liked to watch me do things."
"You're gay?" I eventually asked, coming out of my shock and stunned silence.
"Of course. That's how I met William, or Will as he always reminded me. We became an item in the days when you had to keep it secret. He was my best friend and lover in the days when it remained a criminal act in Maine."
His words hung in the air as he turned to us. "You're the first ones to mention him in years. It's like he's been waiting for someone to remember him, to continue the legacy. If I were to believe you, what did he ask to watch?"
Mark looked at me, then at Mr. Jenkins, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "He... he asked us to perform an intimate act. Something we've done together before in private. He said it was a part of your tradition; it now appears. He asked us to perform for him and....well, we did and afterwards he clapped enthusiastically shouting, Bravo, Bellissimo, Gentlemen, and then while we were kissing each other, he vanished into thin air."
Mr. Jenkins looked at us, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions as he slipped into the chair next to the table holding the visitor's book. "You did it?" His voice was a whisper, as if afraid to break the spell.
"Yes," Mark said, his voice firm despite the tremor of disbelief. "We did it. And he provided a round of applause as if we had just performed at Carnegie Hall."
Mr. Jenkins sat back, his eyes misting over as he began to chuckle. "That's so typical of Will," he murmured, his gaze drifting to a spot just beyond us, as if he could see his long-lost lover standing there. "He always had a thing for a good show. He used to ask me to do the same, back when we were young and full of ourselves. We'd find some secluded spot, just like that hilltop, and I'd lie bare on a picnic bench just like he had you do. He'd watch me stroke myself, the excitement in his eyes as I grew closer to climax."
He paused, lost in his memories, before continuing with a sad smile. "And when I was done, when I had painted my chest with my seed, he'd take me right there on that bench. He was insatiable, my William. Always pushing the boundaries, always looking for the next thrill. I tell you what, join me for dinner because I think we have a lot to exchange about Mr. William Hyde."
Mark and I looked at each other, the gravity of our situation sinking in. We had just had an encounter with the ghost of a man who had been dead for decades, and now we were being invited to dinner by his former lover to hear more about his life and adventures. It was a bizarre turn of events, but we were both intrigued and couldn't refuse.
"We'd love to join you for dinner tonight, Mr. Jenkins," I managed to say, my voice a little shaky. "We're all a bit shook up by what happened, but it would be nice to hear more about your friend."
Mr. Jenkins nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Of course, of course. It's a lot to take in. But I promise you, it'll be a night you won't forget." He stood up, the moment of reminiscing passing. "Now, go get cleaned up, and I'll have a nice meal ready for you at seven."
We thanked him and made our way upstairs to our room, the weight of our encounter with Will still heavy on our shoulders. As we showered, washing the sweat and cum from our bodies, we talked in hushed tones about what had happened.
"Do you think he was really there?" Mark asked, his voice echoing off the tiles.
"I don't know," I replied, scrubbing at my skin. "He never shook our hands, and thinking about it, he never ate his sandwiches, and his gear was retro from the 80s."
"Yeah," Mark said, his voice a little shaky. "But what does it mean? Why us?"
We didn't have the answers, but as we dried off and dressed, we both knew that we had stumbled into something much bigger than ourselves. Something that had been a part of this place for a very long time.
Dinner that evening was a feast of comfort food, the kind that seemed to have been made with love and care. Peter, no longer Mr. Jenkins, regaled us with tales of Will's life, his daring spirit, and the way he had made even the simplest of moments into an adventure.
"He had a way of making you feel alive," Peter said, his eyes distant. "And when he looked at you, it was like he could see right into your soul. He knew what you wanted before you did."
The stories painted a picture of a man who had lived life to the fullest, despite the risks and the challenges he faced as a gay man in the '80s. His love for Peter was evident in every word spoken, and the pain of his loss was still raw.
As we finished our meal, Peter stood up and walked over to the fireplace, his hand reaching for a framed photograph on the mantel. It was the same picture we had seen earlier, but now, knowing the story behind it, it held a different kind of power.
"You know," he said, turning to face us. "I think Will chose you two because you reminded him of us. Young, in love, and not afraid to live life on your terms." He handed the picture to me. "Keep it. It's a reminder of the joy and passion that existed here, and hopefully, it'll bring you luck on the rest of your journey."
As I took the photograph, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of kinship with the ghostly cyclist. We had shared something special, something that had left a mark on both of us. And as we said our goodnights, I knew that our encounter with Will was far from over. “It was him, wasn’t it, Peter?”
Peter thought for a moment. “I believe it was him you and Mark saw and performed for. So typical of him to demand a show and then go over the top, congratulating you on your performance. And then you saw him in the photograph. Could it have been anyone else? I doubt it, and I believe that he has often been here with me over the years. Keeping me company, if that makes sense. A few times over the years, I could almost smell him, the fragrance of his aftershave being unmistakable.”
“I think it was him,” I said. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but perhaps we might have to rethink this. What do you think, Mark?”
Mark just nodded with a sense of sadness for Peter as we retired to bed for a well-deserved sleep, the emotions and memories Peter had shared with us still buzzing through our minds.
The next morning, we set off again, the photograph tucked safely in my bag. The road ahead was long, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched over by a mischievous spirit, eager to share his love of life and his passion for the thrill of the unknown.
And as we pedalled away from the Cosy Nest, I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Will's ghostly figure standing in the doorway, giving us a cheeky wink before disappearing into the mist of the early dawn.
