Grief Of Three: Mmm Gay Menage Romance

by Sam Haywood

  GRIEF OF THREE

  Sam Haywood

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  COPYRIGHT

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book is licensed solely for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people for personal gains. If you are reading this book and did not purchase a copy, its highly likely that it has been stolen, then please return it and purchase your own copy.

  All characters in this book are purely fictional and any resemblance to any real person dead or alive is purely coincidental.

  ©2020

  Cover Design: Malik ProDesigns

  Edited by Jack Davidson

  Chapter 1

  The Budweiser delivery truck ran over my grand-daddy in the vicinity of Fourth and Lafayette. It was Tuesday afternoon, around 4:30. Its driver had made his stock-up delivery at some little store-front near-by, and he was backing from the side street into the avenue. The back-up alarm was beeping, but Grand-daddy had not put in his hearing aid that day. Apparently, he was heading towards his DeVille on the opposite curb, looking toward any oncoming traffic with cane in the air as a warning and guard against all dangers, as was the habit that had worked for him perfectly for at least 25 years in the little two-horse burg where everyone knew him, when he got creamed from his blind side. It made quite a mess, they said.

  Grand-daddy would not have liked that. He was an impeccable dresser of the old school, a lawyer, local real estate tycoon, and all-around entrepreneur of some prominence in the region. Every item of his clothing came from New York or London, and he was the only man in town who continued to wear a hat (a Panama, on the occasion of his death, this being June)-but never, never the barbarous base-ball cap!

  Now, Wednesday morning, I was a family entourage of one, my mother having opted for the safety of her home in West Chester over participating in her ex-father-in- law's burial, landing at the little local airstrip in a wavering crop-duster of a prop plane with half a dozen other grim-looking passengers and a gum-popping, blase flight attendant. If my Yankees cap did not announce the distance in relationship with Grand- daddy, the cargo-shorts, black tee shirt, and battered Birkenstocks would do it.

  I'm twenty-four, just received my law degree from Columbia, and I'm gay. Still in the closet south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but with Grand-daddy gone now, I've no family left down here to come out to.

  We deplaned outside of Gate 1. There was no Gate 2. But there would have been no gate confusion for my welcome party, anyway. I had no one in town to meet me. I snagged my carry-on bag at the foot of the steps, and strode all the way through the tiny terminal, by-passing the luggage carousel for the moment in my quest for "the" taxi-I knew there would not be more than one, if that.

  Bingo. A faded blue Impala rested at the curb, with a formerly impressive- looking gold medallion on the door, surrounded by the legend "Crenshaw Livery Service-Taxi, Limo, Speedy Delivery." This was obviously not the limo, but if it would deliver me to Grand-daddy's house, speedy or not, it would do.

  The driver's door stood open, and a slender young man, maybe a year or two younger than me, dressed incongruously in denim shorts, flip-flops, NYPD cap, and tee- shirt emblazoned "COCKS," stood beside the vehicle. (Only in the University of South Carolina colours could one possibly get away with such a shirt in this part of the country!) He was in the midst of a debate with one of my fellow passengers, who had rushed ahead of me with the same intention as I had. But the driver was telling him that he was already taken, that the fellow would have to call Ed Hackett, the other cabbie, for a ride into town.

  "You're booked already, then?" I repeated stupidly, as my competitor stalked off sullenly, flipping open his cell-phone. "By whom?"

  "If you're Jack Carter, by 'youm'," he smirked.

  And oh, god, what a smirk. This guy was hands down the handsomest taxi driver I ever encountered in any city. Probably six feet tall, long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, greenish eyes, swimmer's build, great legs and feet. I began to look forward to this twenty-minute ride into town.

  "But who sent you?"

  "Well...Undertaker told the Reverend you'd be here. Reverend told Ruth Ann, the housekeeper-you remember Ruth Ann? She told Byron, the yard man, he's her son. He told me. I knew you wouldn't rent a car with Mr. Carter's Caddy sitting in the garage. So here I am. You got more luggage?"

  In five minutes, as Romeo chatted away in the local manner about people in town that I never heard of, we fetched the other two suitcases, which the airline agent had scowled over, but which I knew I would need for a stay of several weeks and stowed them in the Impala. I wanted to see more of Romeo's legs and feet as we drove, and maybe check out his basket, so I hopped in the front and we were off. Romeo kicked the flops onto the floorboard and drove barefoot (about size 11, I would say).

  He talked to me the whole trip, and he's the type who likes to look at whoever he's talking to, meaning that he rarely glanced at the road. But soon enough, we pulled into the driveway at 515 Willow Glen Drive, and the enormity of my mission swept over me.

  I'm the only living descendant of James Pendleton Carter III (I'm number V, by the way), a stuffy old codger I hardly knew, life-long resident of a town where I am a virtual stranger, particularly in recent years. It is my duty to bury him, handle probate, execute his estate, dispose of all his effects-and inherit his considerable, but unknown assets.

  It was a good thing I'd decided to take it slow on the job front, since I now knew I'd be buried here for the summer, at least.

  I wouldn't be slumming, though. Grand-daddy was a rich old coot. I gazed up at the Colonial manor house before me-no tacky ante-bellum columns for dear old J. P. III, no sir. This was right out of Williamsburg, complete with boxwoods and ivy. The grounds inside the iron fence were immaculate, and inside, I knew the carpets were all hand-knotted and Persian.

  Romeo was unloading suitcases. When I reached for my wallet, he shook his head. "I'll put it on Mr. Carter's bill."

  Grand-daddy has an account with the local cabbie?

  "I always take-took--Mr. C. to and from the airport. Other places, too, when he doesn't want to drive. Of course, we usually use the Caddy. Used."

  He shooed me away when I reached for a suitcase, so I sauntered on up to the front steps and gave the door a push. It opened, and I entered my house.

  The king is dead. Long live the king.

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  Ruth Ann came scurrying when she heard the door open. A tall, imposing black woman in her early sixties, she wore a black dress with gauzy white apron, just like in the old movies. Thank God, no lace cap-I wouldn't have put that past Grand-daddy. With a multitude of "Law's" and "My, my how handsome you've grown up to be!" and "Oh, if your Grand-daddy could have seen you now!" she just about crushed my ribs with her welcoming embrace. Of course, I remembered Ruth Ann well, as she had been in J. P. III's employ all of my life, and I had spent several months cumulatively, summers and holidays, visiting this house under her supervision. Visits had been less frequent since my grandmother's death when I was fourteen.

  "And you do look so much like Jimmy." She just couldn't help it, I guess.

  "Yeah, everyone says so."

  My parents divorced when I was ten. It was my dad, Jim, himself who told m
e why, so I wouldn't think I had caused it, or blame my mom. He had a boyfriend on the side, and Mother had found out about it. Apparently, it was not the first time. He moved out of our house, and in with Andre. But within three years, there was some kind of blow-up with Andre, this episode never explained, and Dad put a bullet in his head. Age forty-four. We all thought the tragic loss of her only child was what brought about Grandmother's stroke just ten months later. Yes, we'd known tragedy on this side of my family. Now I was the only one left to change that pattern, and it looked like I might be even less inclined to reproduce than my fore-bearers.

  Behind my back, I heard Romeo's bare feet padding up the stairs with a couple of suitcases. In a couple of minutes, as Ruth Ann was forcing a cup of coffee and a buttered biscuit with home-made peach preserves on me in the dining room, I heard the front door close as he returned to the taxi, then open again as he made a second trip upstairs. With a thirty-three inch waist to maintain, I drew the line at a bite-no, two-- of the biscuit, but drank down most of Ruth Ann's excellent coffee. Meanwhile, Ruth Ann recited the list of food items that had been delivered so far this morning. The refrigerator would be popping and the dining table groaning by the end of the day, as the people of the town sought to kill the last remaining Carter with foods their doctors had forbidden them ever to consume themselves.

  It dawned on me that Ruth Ann would have her own business to attend to in preparation for Grand-daddy's funeral, and I asked her about that. It took some doing, but I gradually finagled the admission that she did indeed have a few personal needs, like getting her hair done and purchasing a dress or two for the coming funereal events. Faced with the fact that the house was immaculate and filling up with prepared food, she finally consented to take the rest of the day off. That was a relief since, much as I liked and respected Ruth Ann, I was eager to be alone and naked to enjoy the house, enclosed garden, and pool this afternoon and evening-with Romeo if possible!

  Several minutes had passed, and Romeo had not reappeared. I wondered absently what he might be doing-surely, he was not unpacking my bags for me! But mostly, by now, I needed the john, the coffee having tipped the balance in my bladder. Ruth Ann having headed for the kitchen, from which she would shortly depart the premises, I headed up to the bedroom I had used on my childhood visits, at the far right front corner of the upstairs corridor. The room was dark and empty. I turned and retraced my steps but glanced into the much larger guest suite on the back of the house. My belongings were there. Of course-I had received a promotion due to my new status as adult and heir. I stepped inside and surveyed this unfamiliar and formerly forbidden space. The decor was twenty years old, but luxurious and little used. Romeo must have opened the silk drapes, as sunlight streamed in from long side windows. The bed was queen-size (nice of them not to call it "queer-size," I thought), and beyond was a large, marble bathroom, which I entered, urinating forcefully into the pristine toilet. There was a whirl- pool tub the size of a swimming pool, AND a large shower stall as well. This would make a very welcome refuge during my stay, I reflected.

  Still no sign of Romeo. Leaving behind my own sandals, I wandered down the hallway, ending at the master suite in the ell balancing the guest quarters. There stood Romeo, barefoot, at the foot of Grand-daddy's big four-poster bed, head down and shoulders hunched over. He heard me behind him and turned, almost guiltily. His face was red and tears were rolling down his handsome cheeks.

  "I'm sorry. It was the smell. I shouldn't have come in here."

  Now that he mentioned it, the scent hit me, too, of lavender and something else, some spice or flower fragrance. It smelled like Grand-daddy. How odd that I felt nothing but nostalgia, while this stranger was overcome with emotion over the loss of my relative. I moved toward Romeo and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He turned toward me and slowly laid his head on my shoulder. Somehow, his arms wrapped around me, and mine around him. I think I may have nuzzled his neck slightly. The next thing I knew, Romeo was kissing me on the lips. My tongue found his, and both of us familiarized ourselves with one another's dental work. The faint stubble of his morning- shaved chin brushed mine. We somehow maneuvered to the side of the bed and more or less collapsed onto it. From that point, we rolled around like earthworms on the fluffy satin-covered duvet, until I came up for air.

  "Let's get out of these clothes."

  "Isn't Ruth Ann in the house"

  "Gone for the day," I grinned.

  He smiled alluringly, but then a hesitant frown swept his face.

  "I have to tell you a couple of things first."

  I nodded.

  "Where to begin. Well, I've wanted to be in a bed with you since I saw the graduation photo album your mother sent. Some of those pictures-do you have any idea how hot you look in a swim suit, or in that damn rowing outfit? J. P. made fun of me for staring at it so much, acted jealous and mad and all. But really, he was proud of you, not only how you look, but also your degree and all. Summa cum laude, whatever that is."

  "Jealous?"

  He didn't look at me now. "I've been in this bed before, Jack. A lot. For about three years now."

  This thunderbolt was slow to sink in. It seemed unimaginable. This incredibly good-looking, erotic young man, my grand-daddy's lover? It could only be about...

  "Yes, it was for money, at first anyway." He sat up, defensive, almost angry. "Look, Ace, I didn't get the silver spoon up the ass background. My family is what's called poor white. I know your daddy is dead. But mine-he's in jail. See these teeth?" he bared perfect pearly whites at me. "It wasn't my grand-daddy who got braces for me, it was yours. And when he found out I was turning tricks on the side, sometimes in that very back seat you just rode in on-just like he found out about everything that happens in this town before long-and he also found out why I was doing it, to pay tuition at the community college over in Spartanburg-- he never once scolded me or put me down. What he did was, he transferred me over to the University, and he paid my tuition and books himself. But he never asked me to go to bed with him. It just happened. I was so damn grateful." The tears began to flow again.

  "And I'll tell you this, though you might not want to know it. J. P. was one hell of an accomplished lover. Even at his age, he was not bad looking, for an old guy. But turn the lights out, and what you've got is a damn good fuck. Although, so much of the time, all he wanted was someone to put his arms around. And something else-your grand-daddy had an eye for the male form, you know? He really liked to look. So what the hell, if anybody wants to get off on just looking at me naked, what the fuck is that to me? I'd stay naked all day and all night, to make someone like him happy so easy. And I often did."

  Romeo scooted over to the far side of the bed and stood. He turned to look appraisingly at me, wondering, I suppose, if he had just sacrificed his next fuck as well as his next term's tuition. I was almost, but not quite, too shocked to be thinking that I, too, would like to look at Romeo "naked." He wasn't quite finished, though.

  "And you might as well know this, too, Jack-as long as I'm ratting on your grand-daddy. I wasn't the only one, OK?"

  "How many? Who?"

  "Look, I only confess my sins, not theirs. It's for them to say, if they want to, not for me. But between you and me, I don't want secrets that will come out later anyway. If I'm throwing too much at you all at once, I'm sorry. I just need to be honest with you."

  Luckily for both of us, I have a great appreciation for forthrightness, and maybe not all that much in the way of sexual scruples. I returned his gaze.

  "Sounds like we have a lot to talk about." I sat up and pulled my shirt over my head. Romeo didn't even try not to look at my smooth chest and sculpted pecs.

  He nodded, that erotic smirk now partially returning to his lips. He began to pull his shirt off as well.

  "I have something to tell you, too. Though it will soon be apparent anyway." His head pulled out of the bottom hem of his shirt and he looked at me quizzically.

  "I'm a damn good fuck
, too. With the lights on."

  Now we were both grinning. He flopped back down on the bed beside me. In unison, we rocked our legs up into the air and slid our shorts over our feet. I laughed. Neither of us was wearing any underwear.

  Our lips locked again. We were two well-matched kissers, Romeo and me, and both obviously gourmands of labio-lingual stimulation. I pulled back after several minutes, though, to study Romeo's naked body for the first time. It was worthy of extended perusal.

  Romeo's face is handsome rather than beautiful, as I far prefer. Beauty is attractive, but its fragility and femininity have less appeal to me than the strong, lean jaw of masculinity. His features were proportional and balanced. His depth of forehead spoke to me of intelligence, his crinkling eyes of wit and humor, his bold nose and wide mouth of character, expressiveness, and good nature. There was just enough of the weathered look about his tanned complexion to indicate manliness.

  With the "Cocks" shirt gone, I could now see well-muscled, bronzed shoulders, rounded biceps, and a wide, powerful chest. He had brown hair lightly scattered just between the small, brown tits, then a gap as the chest narrowed dramatically to a slender, rippling waist, resuming from the delicate navel into a narrow trail swooping down to the darker brown pubic triangle. The pubes themselves looked like they had been trimmed to half-length and cut back from the sides into a narrower patch. At the base of his penis, there were definite signs of shaving back to expose the root to fullest advantage. And the penis itself-now there was a "cock" to crow about! At the moment, it was only partially inflated from our kisses and light caresses. Even so, it was showing great promise as a love tool, lying across his long, powerful thigh at about six meaty inches. He was cut, and showed a hefty, substantial head with a generous piss-slit.

  I'd be a leg man if I wasn't so turned on by chests, shoulders, butts, cocks, and abs, and Romeo had terrific, long, shapely legs, and beautifully formed feet. In all, he made a sensational specimen of young manhood. I felt my dick start expanding as I realized suddenly that Romeo was giving me the same admiring visual examination that I was giving him. His face was a mirror image of my expression of admiring lust. Simultaneously, we reached for one another's dicks, and both responded with instant full erection.