monshanjik
Member
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2008
- Messages
- 649
- Reaction score
- 85
- Points
- 0
BUMP IN THE NIGHT
By Roland Graeme
(Honcho.Dec.1987.)
Dale suffered from bouts of insomnia — and they were no less irritating
simply because they were intermittent. He usually had at least one bad
period every couple of months. The episodes of sleeplessness came
without warning. Feeling tired, he'd go to bed as usual, but he just
wouldn't fall asleep. Worrying that he'd be worn out at work the
following day only made it worse. He tried all the things that experts
recommend. He used his bedroom only for sleeping at night — with one
kind of exception on occasion, of course! He avoided coffee, soft drinks
containing caffeine, and other stimulants. He tried his best to relax
and not think about the day's events or any personal problems he might
be having. He jogged for an hour or so every evening so that he'd be
pleasantly tired, but not truly fatigued, by the time he went to bed. He
drank warm milk, which he loathed.
But nothing seemed to help.
The moment his head hit the pillow, he either felt sleepy and knew he'd
have no problem that night — or he felt inexplicably restless and
anxious and knew it was going to be one of those nights. Now after all
these years, Dale no longer fought his insomnia. If he couldn't fall
asleep within a reasonable amount of time, he simply got up and read, or
listened to music, or puttered about his apartment.
In the morning, he didn't feel all that bad, as a rule, and the
following night a full night's sleep was practically guaranteed.
Dale certainly couldn't blame his new apartment for his continuing
problem. It was one of the nicest places he'd ever rented. Set back from
the street behind a brick wall was a huge old Victorian house, which the
owner had divided into several apartments. Dale was happy to pay a
slightly higher rent for the carriage house, which he had all to
himself. It was at the far end of the garden, completely isolated and
very quiet at night, a small two story structure with sliding glass
doors that gave him a view of the garden and, beyond it, one side of the
house.
Dale's bedroom was upstairs. He used the large area downstairs as a
combination living room, dining room, and study. He liked to sit and
look out through the glass doors, particularly in fall and winter, when
the garden was barren but strangely lovely nevertheless.
When Dale first moved into the carriage house, the apartment on the
ground floor of the main house directly opposite him was empty, so he
didn't even have a nearby neighbor to distract him. One hot afternoon in
late summer, when a moving van pulled into the driveway, Dale was
momentarily resentful. He'd die if his new neighbor turned out to be
some noisy, inconsiderate bastard whose comings and goings at odd hours
might keep him awake at night.
Rather shamelessly, Dale watched the humpy young moving men carry
furniture into the house. The most muscular of them, in tight jeans and
a sweat stained T-shirt, really got his juices flowing. His curiosity
piqued, Dale finally strolled "casually" across the garden and offered
to help. He was taken aback when the object of his fantasies turned out
to be his new neighbor.
Brandon turned out to be polite but rather distant, and in the weeks and
months that followed, Dale really didn't get to know him very well.
Brandon kept regular hours and was obviously something of a health nut.
One of the things Dale had helped him carry into his apartment was a
pressing bench and an awesome, back breaking assortment of weights. At
night, Brandon would change into shorts, pump iron in front of his
living room windows for a couple of hours, then come outside and sit
half naked on the front steps to rest for a few minutes. When he went
back inside, his lights usually went out shortly afterwards.
Dale felt mildly ashamed for spying on his sexy neighbor but told
himself that it was a harmless enough diversion. Whenever he had one of
his bad nights, he would glance across the garden at Brandon's darkened
bedroom windows and envy the other young man for the deep, restful sleep
he was surely enjoying — and probably taking for granted.
On one such night in late fall, having given up the battle at two A.M.,
Dale was leafing idly through a couple of old magazines when he happened
to look out. There was a light frost on the ground, and the garden
looked especially peaceful in the moonlight. Dale was startled to catch
a glimpse of something pale flashing through the bare trees. He went up
to the glass and peered more intently. The pale object, which seemed to
flap in the chilly breeze like a sail, moved back toward the main house
then abruptly vanished. Dale pushed the glass door open and stepped
barefoot out onto his terrace, but he couldn't see or hear anything.
Shivering, he went back inside.
For some reason, he felt excited. He treated himself to a snifter of
brandy. It tasted so good and felt so warm in his belly that he drank
another glassful. Slightly drunk, he shed his bathrobe and wandered
naked through the apartment, ending up back in his bedroom, where he'd
left the light on.
He stretched out on the bed, reached for a tube of lubricant, and
slowly, painstakingly coated his cock with the cool, slippery gel. While
playing with his rapidly enlarging prick with one hand, he used the
other to rub his chest and toy with his tits. He closed his eyes and
savored the taste of the brandy, the sense of lassitude and heaviness
that was spreading throughout his limbs, his dick swelling and twitching
inside his fist — and he started to think about Brandon.
He got really excited and came very quickly. And even though it had
started out as one of those nights, he fell asleep almost at once. The
next thing he knew, the alarm clock beside the bed was buzzing. For
once, the combination of brandy and masturbation — and Brandon — had
defeated his insomnia.
Further refreshed by a shower, Dale was dressed and out the door on his
way to work when a thought struck him. He made a quick detour through
the garden, just to reassure himself that there'd been no intruder on
the property during the night.
He was startled to discover a large piece of cloth lying crumpled on the
ground near Brandon's apartment. When he went closer and gingerly picked
it up, he saw that it was a cotton bed sheet, unpleasantly clammy to the
touch. It was a good quality designer brand in a "masculine" beige and
gray pattern.
Baffled, Dale folded the sheet up and deposited it on the front steps of
Brandon's apartment. He couldn't imagine who else it could belong to.
Dale forgot the incident until one night a month later, after the first
real snowfall of the season had left the garden buried under four or
five inches of glistening snow.
He had worked late that night, and by the time he got home he felt
exhausted. He took a long, hot shower and went to bed a little early.
Within a few minutes, he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He
was wide awake, weary but absolutely incapable of relaxing enough to get
any rest. It was maddening!
Disgusted, he got up and went downstairs. He built a fire in the wood
burning stove in his living room and, without turning on any lights, sat
down in an easy chair and warmed himself by the fire, gazing out over
the snowy garden.
Brandon's apartment was dark, as usual, and Dale was full of envy.
Suddenly Brandon's front door opened and a tall, husky male figure
stepped out onto the porch. Dale sat up in his chair. It was Brandon,
all right, and he was completely nude.
He paused on the porch for a long moment, and Dale saw that he had a
pillow stuffed under one arm; he was holding a bed sheet in his other
hand, allowing it to drag behind him. Slowly and deliberately, he walked
down the steps and across the garden — naked and barefoot in the ankle
deep snow!
At first Dale wondered if he was asleep after all. But he knew he
wasn't. He jumped up and ran to the glass doors and slid one open to get
a better look. Brandon was walking toward him, his muscular body eerily
relaxed, his limp cock swinging to and fro between his sturdy thighs.
His eyes were open, his face expressionless. The guy was walking in his
sleep!
He was still clutching the pillow in the crook of his arm, like a sleepy
child toddling off to bed, and he was drawing the sheet behind him,
dragging it through the fresh snowdrifts. When he was halfway across the
garden he stopped. His lips moved, and he pulled the wet sheet around
his hips, as though he had suddenly become aware of the cold for the
first time. Walking more rapidly, he came right up onto Dale's terrace
and through the open glass door.
Had Dale not stepped aside at the last moment, Brandon would have walked
right into him, and in all probability the big man would have knocked
Dale down. Instead, Brandon let out a long, low, voluptuous sigh of
relief as he dropped his pillow and sheet to the floor, then went to the
stove and warmed himself in front of it, holding his hands stretched out
toward the grate. The red glow lit up his body, and for the first time
Dale could see just how well built — and well hung — his somnambulistic
neighbor really was.
"Bed," Brandon said quite clearly. "Bed," he repeated, turning and
walking toward the stairs.
He couldn't possibly have known the layout of Dale's apartment, but some
instinct led him directly up the stairs and into Dale's bedroom. Dale
followed him, fascinated, and got upstairs just in time to see Brandon
lie down on his bed and pull the covers over his legs. His eyelids
closed and he began to breathe slowly and deeply — the perfect image of
complete oblivion.
It was a provocative situation, to say the least. Dale had always heard
that you weren't supposed to wake a sleepwalker. He hesitated then did
the most logical thing under the cir
stances: he slipped into bed,
cuddled up next to Brandon's warm, naked body, put an arm around him,
and hugged him close under the quilt and blanket.
Dale had a hard on. He cautiously explored with his hand, and discovered
that Brandon did, too. Suddenly, Dale was struck by the awareness that
Brandon was completely out of it. Dale could do anything — anything at
all — to the big guy, and Brandon would just lie there.
Unable to resist the temptation, Dale wriggled even closer to his
bedmate and slowly brought his mouth down to meet Brandon's. A faint
murmur rippled up from Brandon's throat, but he offered no resistance.
Thrilled by the kiss, even though Brandon's mouth didn't really respond,
Dale decided to go even further. Lowering his head, he put his mouth on
one of Brandon's dark brown nipples and sucked tightly. Brandon stirred,
but his eyes remained tightly closed, his breathing deep and steady.
Only his cock pulsed, within Dale's grasp, betraying his body's natural
response to the suction on his tits.
Wildly turned on now, Dale pressed his face into the warmth of Brandon's
belly and licked his navel until the soft hairs all around the deep pit
glistened with saliva. Brandon's cock began to harden into full
erection. Dale's lips and throat felt dry and his heart pounded
fiercely; his palms oozed a guilty sweat as he held Brandon's stiffened
prick shaft upright, toward his open mouth. Dale brought his mouth
slowly down until his neighbor's cock pushed its way between his lips.
Closing his eyes, Dale forced the stiff shaft all the way down his
throat.
"Suck," Brandon moaned, articulating the monosyllable in the same clear,
emotionless tone of voice he'd used before. "Suck cock. Suck cock."
Dale took him at his word and eased himself into the quick rhythm of a
hot blow job. He knew exactly what to do to coax a quick and violent
ejaculation from his unconscious partner. He did his magic, and abruptly
Brandon started firing against the back of his throat. Groaning with
delight, Dale stopped sucking and let the warm male seed pour into his
mouth and slide down his throat. When he was sure he had taken it all,
he pulled his mouth away from Brandon's cock and swallowed the fresh
jizz.
Pressing himself against Brandon's back and buttocks and embracing him
with one arm, Dale masturbated himself quickly and roughly with his free
hand. After a very few minutes, Dale sprayed all over Brandon's buttocks
and the bed. Then relaxed, his mind a blank, he slept.
Brandon was a fantastically deep sleeper. Dale's alarm clock didn't
rouse him, so Dale got up, showered, and made coffee. Finally, feeling
slightly embarrassed, he shook Brandon awake and silently offered him a
cup.
Now it was Brandon's turn to be embarrassed. He blushed — becomingly,
all over — as he sat up in the strange bed, rubbed his eyes, and stared
sheepishly at his host.
"Oh, Jesus," he mumbled. "I — I must've been walking in my sleep, Dale.
I do that a lot. That's why I moved here in the first place. My last
apartment was in a big high rise building, and I wandered around the
hallways and the elevator a couple of times in the middle of the night
buck naked and fast asleep. Hell, I even walked out the front door and
down the street once — and got arrested!" He laughed then took a sip of
the coffee. "I thought living here, with the garden and the wall and
all, it might be less of a problem. Now I see that it isn't."
"It's no problem," Dale insisted. "I've got the exact opposite problem,
as a matter of fact. Sometimes I can't get to sleep at night. When you
wandered through the door last night, it was sort of a diversion,
actually. I'm just glad you didn't stay outside and end up with
frostbite."
"Oh, I always seem to end up in a bed — my own or somebody else's."
Brandon's eyes met Dale's, and he blushed again.
Dale slapped him on the bare shoulder. "If you want to take a shower, go
ahead. Then I'll lend you some of my clothes."
If Brandon noticed the dried, flaky patches of on his body while he
showered, he didn't mention it.
"Thanks, Dale," he said as Dale handed him the clothes. "I'll get these
back to you. Hey, listen. The next time you have insomnia, just come
over and knock on my door. I won't mind. We can — talk or something. I
don't know too many people here in town yet, and I get kind of lonely
sometimes. Maybe that's why I walk in my sleep."
"I may take you up on that," Dale said, his casual tone belying the
fierce twitching of his prick. "And any time you happen to be walking in
your sleep, feel free to wander over here. My terrace door is always
open."
As he shook Brandon's hand, Dale decided that he wasn't likely to be
spending too many sleepless nights anymore — not with this humpy number
living next door. As far as he was concerned, Brandon could wander into
his bed any time.
-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
By Roland Graeme
(Honcho.Dec.1987.)
Dale suffered from bouts of insomnia — and they were no less irritating
simply because they were intermittent. He usually had at least one bad
period every couple of months. The episodes of sleeplessness came
without warning. Feeling tired, he'd go to bed as usual, but he just
wouldn't fall asleep. Worrying that he'd be worn out at work the
following day only made it worse. He tried all the things that experts
recommend. He used his bedroom only for sleeping at night — with one
kind of exception on occasion, of course! He avoided coffee, soft drinks
containing caffeine, and other stimulants. He tried his best to relax
and not think about the day's events or any personal problems he might
be having. He jogged for an hour or so every evening so that he'd be
pleasantly tired, but not truly fatigued, by the time he went to bed. He
drank warm milk, which he loathed.
But nothing seemed to help.
The moment his head hit the pillow, he either felt sleepy and knew he'd
have no problem that night — or he felt inexplicably restless and
anxious and knew it was going to be one of those nights. Now after all
these years, Dale no longer fought his insomnia. If he couldn't fall
asleep within a reasonable amount of time, he simply got up and read, or
listened to music, or puttered about his apartment.
In the morning, he didn't feel all that bad, as a rule, and the
following night a full night's sleep was practically guaranteed.
Dale certainly couldn't blame his new apartment for his continuing
problem. It was one of the nicest places he'd ever rented. Set back from
the street behind a brick wall was a huge old Victorian house, which the
owner had divided into several apartments. Dale was happy to pay a
slightly higher rent for the carriage house, which he had all to
himself. It was at the far end of the garden, completely isolated and
very quiet at night, a small two story structure with sliding glass
doors that gave him a view of the garden and, beyond it, one side of the
house.
Dale's bedroom was upstairs. He used the large area downstairs as a
combination living room, dining room, and study. He liked to sit and
look out through the glass doors, particularly in fall and winter, when
the garden was barren but strangely lovely nevertheless.
When Dale first moved into the carriage house, the apartment on the
ground floor of the main house directly opposite him was empty, so he
didn't even have a nearby neighbor to distract him. One hot afternoon in
late summer, when a moving van pulled into the driveway, Dale was
momentarily resentful. He'd die if his new neighbor turned out to be
some noisy, inconsiderate bastard whose comings and goings at odd hours
might keep him awake at night.
Rather shamelessly, Dale watched the humpy young moving men carry
furniture into the house. The most muscular of them, in tight jeans and
a sweat stained T-shirt, really got his juices flowing. His curiosity
piqued, Dale finally strolled "casually" across the garden and offered
to help. He was taken aback when the object of his fantasies turned out
to be his new neighbor.
Brandon turned out to be polite but rather distant, and in the weeks and
months that followed, Dale really didn't get to know him very well.
Brandon kept regular hours and was obviously something of a health nut.
One of the things Dale had helped him carry into his apartment was a
pressing bench and an awesome, back breaking assortment of weights. At
night, Brandon would change into shorts, pump iron in front of his
living room windows for a couple of hours, then come outside and sit
half naked on the front steps to rest for a few minutes. When he went
back inside, his lights usually went out shortly afterwards.
Dale felt mildly ashamed for spying on his sexy neighbor but told
himself that it was a harmless enough diversion. Whenever he had one of
his bad nights, he would glance across the garden at Brandon's darkened
bedroom windows and envy the other young man for the deep, restful sleep
he was surely enjoying — and probably taking for granted.
On one such night in late fall, having given up the battle at two A.M.,
Dale was leafing idly through a couple of old magazines when he happened
to look out. There was a light frost on the ground, and the garden
looked especially peaceful in the moonlight. Dale was startled to catch
a glimpse of something pale flashing through the bare trees. He went up
to the glass and peered more intently. The pale object, which seemed to
flap in the chilly breeze like a sail, moved back toward the main house
then abruptly vanished. Dale pushed the glass door open and stepped
barefoot out onto his terrace, but he couldn't see or hear anything.
Shivering, he went back inside.
For some reason, he felt excited. He treated himself to a snifter of
brandy. It tasted so good and felt so warm in his belly that he drank
another glassful. Slightly drunk, he shed his bathrobe and wandered
naked through the apartment, ending up back in his bedroom, where he'd
left the light on.
He stretched out on the bed, reached for a tube of lubricant, and
slowly, painstakingly coated his cock with the cool, slippery gel. While
playing with his rapidly enlarging prick with one hand, he used the
other to rub his chest and toy with his tits. He closed his eyes and
savored the taste of the brandy, the sense of lassitude and heaviness
that was spreading throughout his limbs, his dick swelling and twitching
inside his fist — and he started to think about Brandon.
He got really excited and came very quickly. And even though it had
started out as one of those nights, he fell asleep almost at once. The
next thing he knew, the alarm clock beside the bed was buzzing. For
once, the combination of brandy and masturbation — and Brandon — had
defeated his insomnia.
Further refreshed by a shower, Dale was dressed and out the door on his
way to work when a thought struck him. He made a quick detour through
the garden, just to reassure himself that there'd been no intruder on
the property during the night.
He was startled to discover a large piece of cloth lying crumpled on the
ground near Brandon's apartment. When he went closer and gingerly picked
it up, he saw that it was a cotton bed sheet, unpleasantly clammy to the
touch. It was a good quality designer brand in a "masculine" beige and
gray pattern.
Baffled, Dale folded the sheet up and deposited it on the front steps of
Brandon's apartment. He couldn't imagine who else it could belong to.
Dale forgot the incident until one night a month later, after the first
real snowfall of the season had left the garden buried under four or
five inches of glistening snow.
He had worked late that night, and by the time he got home he felt
exhausted. He took a long, hot shower and went to bed a little early.
Within a few minutes, he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He
was wide awake, weary but absolutely incapable of relaxing enough to get
any rest. It was maddening!
Disgusted, he got up and went downstairs. He built a fire in the wood
burning stove in his living room and, without turning on any lights, sat
down in an easy chair and warmed himself by the fire, gazing out over
the snowy garden.
Brandon's apartment was dark, as usual, and Dale was full of envy.
Suddenly Brandon's front door opened and a tall, husky male figure
stepped out onto the porch. Dale sat up in his chair. It was Brandon,
all right, and he was completely nude.
He paused on the porch for a long moment, and Dale saw that he had a
pillow stuffed under one arm; he was holding a bed sheet in his other
hand, allowing it to drag behind him. Slowly and deliberately, he walked
down the steps and across the garden — naked and barefoot in the ankle
deep snow!
At first Dale wondered if he was asleep after all. But he knew he
wasn't. He jumped up and ran to the glass doors and slid one open to get
a better look. Brandon was walking toward him, his muscular body eerily
relaxed, his limp cock swinging to and fro between his sturdy thighs.
His eyes were open, his face expressionless. The guy was walking in his
sleep!
He was still clutching the pillow in the crook of his arm, like a sleepy
child toddling off to bed, and he was drawing the sheet behind him,
dragging it through the fresh snowdrifts. When he was halfway across the
garden he stopped. His lips moved, and he pulled the wet sheet around
his hips, as though he had suddenly become aware of the cold for the
first time. Walking more rapidly, he came right up onto Dale's terrace
and through the open glass door.
Had Dale not stepped aside at the last moment, Brandon would have walked
right into him, and in all probability the big man would have knocked
Dale down. Instead, Brandon let out a long, low, voluptuous sigh of
relief as he dropped his pillow and sheet to the floor, then went to the
stove and warmed himself in front of it, holding his hands stretched out
toward the grate. The red glow lit up his body, and for the first time
Dale could see just how well built — and well hung — his somnambulistic
neighbor really was.
"Bed," Brandon said quite clearly. "Bed," he repeated, turning and
walking toward the stairs.
He couldn't possibly have known the layout of Dale's apartment, but some
instinct led him directly up the stairs and into Dale's bedroom. Dale
followed him, fascinated, and got upstairs just in time to see Brandon
lie down on his bed and pull the covers over his legs. His eyelids
closed and he began to breathe slowly and deeply — the perfect image of
complete oblivion.
It was a provocative situation, to say the least. Dale had always heard
that you weren't supposed to wake a sleepwalker. He hesitated then did
the most logical thing under the cir
stances: he slipped into bed, cuddled up next to Brandon's warm, naked body, put an arm around him,
and hugged him close under the quilt and blanket.
Dale had a hard on. He cautiously explored with his hand, and discovered
that Brandon did, too. Suddenly, Dale was struck by the awareness that
Brandon was completely out of it. Dale could do anything — anything at
all — to the big guy, and Brandon would just lie there.
Unable to resist the temptation, Dale wriggled even closer to his
bedmate and slowly brought his mouth down to meet Brandon's. A faint
murmur rippled up from Brandon's throat, but he offered no resistance.
Thrilled by the kiss, even though Brandon's mouth didn't really respond,
Dale decided to go even further. Lowering his head, he put his mouth on
one of Brandon's dark brown nipples and sucked tightly. Brandon stirred,
but his eyes remained tightly closed, his breathing deep and steady.
Only his cock pulsed, within Dale's grasp, betraying his body's natural
response to the suction on his tits.
Wildly turned on now, Dale pressed his face into the warmth of Brandon's
belly and licked his navel until the soft hairs all around the deep pit
glistened with saliva. Brandon's cock began to harden into full
erection. Dale's lips and throat felt dry and his heart pounded
fiercely; his palms oozed a guilty sweat as he held Brandon's stiffened
prick shaft upright, toward his open mouth. Dale brought his mouth
slowly down until his neighbor's cock pushed its way between his lips.
Closing his eyes, Dale forced the stiff shaft all the way down his
throat.
"Suck," Brandon moaned, articulating the monosyllable in the same clear,
emotionless tone of voice he'd used before. "Suck cock. Suck cock."
Dale took him at his word and eased himself into the quick rhythm of a
hot blow job. He knew exactly what to do to coax a quick and violent
ejaculation from his unconscious partner. He did his magic, and abruptly
Brandon started firing against the back of his throat. Groaning with
delight, Dale stopped sucking and let the warm male seed pour into his
mouth and slide down his throat. When he was sure he had taken it all,
he pulled his mouth away from Brandon's cock and swallowed the fresh
jizz.
Pressing himself against Brandon's back and buttocks and embracing him
with one arm, Dale masturbated himself quickly and roughly with his free
hand. After a very few minutes, Dale sprayed all over Brandon's buttocks
and the bed. Then relaxed, his mind a blank, he slept.
Brandon was a fantastically deep sleeper. Dale's alarm clock didn't
rouse him, so Dale got up, showered, and made coffee. Finally, feeling
slightly embarrassed, he shook Brandon awake and silently offered him a
cup.
Now it was Brandon's turn to be embarrassed. He blushed — becomingly,
all over — as he sat up in the strange bed, rubbed his eyes, and stared
sheepishly at his host.
"Oh, Jesus," he mumbled. "I — I must've been walking in my sleep, Dale.
I do that a lot. That's why I moved here in the first place. My last
apartment was in a big high rise building, and I wandered around the
hallways and the elevator a couple of times in the middle of the night
buck naked and fast asleep. Hell, I even walked out the front door and
down the street once — and got arrested!" He laughed then took a sip of
the coffee. "I thought living here, with the garden and the wall and
all, it might be less of a problem. Now I see that it isn't."
"It's no problem," Dale insisted. "I've got the exact opposite problem,
as a matter of fact. Sometimes I can't get to sleep at night. When you
wandered through the door last night, it was sort of a diversion,
actually. I'm just glad you didn't stay outside and end up with
frostbite."
"Oh, I always seem to end up in a bed — my own or somebody else's."
Brandon's eyes met Dale's, and he blushed again.
Dale slapped him on the bare shoulder. "If you want to take a shower, go
ahead. Then I'll lend you some of my clothes."
If Brandon noticed the dried, flaky patches of
on his body while he showered, he didn't mention it.
"Thanks, Dale," he said as Dale handed him the clothes. "I'll get these
back to you. Hey, listen. The next time you have insomnia, just come
over and knock on my door. I won't mind. We can — talk or something. I
don't know too many people here in town yet, and I get kind of lonely
sometimes. Maybe that's why I walk in my sleep."
"I may take you up on that," Dale said, his casual tone belying the
fierce twitching of his prick. "And any time you happen to be walking in
your sleep, feel free to wander over here. My terrace door is always
open."
As he shook Brandon's hand, Dale decided that he wasn't likely to be
spending too many sleepless nights anymore — not with this humpy number
living next door. As far as he was concerned, Brandon could wander into
his bed any time.
-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
