Heights of Passion

By Don Schecter

A man plans to leave his wife for a lover•Two queens get their dead batteries jumped by a foreign student•An older man attempts to train a young stud as his pet•Murder/suicide in Ft. Lauderdale in 1982•One man is influenced by a closeted mentor•Another man's life is changed by his knife-wielding mother•Bisexuals profit from a torrid novel•A Hollywood director finds excitement in submission to a producer•A spinner of tales seduces a straight man•Conquest in a Spanish dance bar•A retired doctor finds a wet dream in a chat room•An older man is stalked on the internet• A traveler breaks new ground with a Korean novice•An artist uses food as a metaphor for sex• An observer is asked to referee a squabbling couple in bed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Schecter
• Release date: May 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458103758

Don Schecter

I had an exciting career in communications with the National Security Agency in Maryland. Retired in San Antonio TX, now I travel and write fiction. My work has appeared in magazines, an anthology, and on internet sites. I've written five volumes of short stories dealing with the gay experience. HEIGHTS OF PASSION (2009), OUT OF THE BOX (2010), DISCOVERY OF FIRE (2011), LOVE WANTED, WILL TRAVEL (2012) and STILL YOUNG (2018). These are realistic stories, not intended as erotic fiction but listed under that heading because of their honesty. Sex happens because it's part of the plot, just as sex drives our lives. In 2019, I collaborated with a longtime Dutch friend, Jaap Cové, to produce REMEMBERED PLACES (2020). We had traveled the world in our full lives and certain stories recall their foreign, or local, settings. The longest tale is the true story of the man who gave the gay world The Spartacus Guide and the tortuous path he took rising to success only to tumble ignominiously from the heights.I used my life experiences in a series of novels. A COMPLEMENT OF LOVERS, published in 2013, is a full-length novel that describes the romance of a young couple, Meg and Rodney, who try to make their own rules for living, but come into conflict with the conventional thinking of the 60s. THE ROAD TO FRANKFURT (2014) continues their struggle to adapt while maintaining their individuality. UNCOUPLED, the third novel in the series, was published by Smashwords in August 2015. It follows Meg and Rod through the mid-70s. The fourth in the series, NEVER PROMISE FOREVER was published in 2016. In CUSPS, volume 5 published 2018, Rodney accepts that he is gay, while his daughters are becoming young women, and the family must adjust to a new reality. I'm currently at work on the final volume in the series. Rod begins an open, live-in relationship, hoping that his daughters can adapt to two dads.I hold degrees from Columbia University in both Arts and Engineering, and an Arts degree from Loyola University.

Book preview

Heights of Passion

Stories for

Older Men & Younger Lovers

Volume I

* * *

Don Schecter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2008 Don Schecter

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Contents

Apollo in the Garden

Just Do It!

The Doctor Is In

The Queen’s Party

Crossing Borders

Happy Hour

The Therapist

El Baile

Turning Point

Heights of Passion

Saul and David

Remote Control

My Mentor

Seduction

You’ve Got Male

Endnotes

Apollo in the Garden

I’m a big man, large-boned and awkward. My torso’s too long, my waist too wide; I’m totally out of proportion. And I love to eat. I think nothing of rising from bed in the middle of the night and concocting some horrifyingly calorific creation that I devour with sensual pleasure before returning to sleep. That is why I long ago abandoned any thought of achieving with my body that perfection of form I perceive, and so admire, in my mind’s eye. That is also why I began to sculpt.

I work at it and I think I’m getting pretty good, but the world has been slow to discover me. I do nudes, male; and I imbue them with the physical beauty that, even when it isn’t visible to my eyes, I can express through my hands. I occasionally sell one or two small statues; not enough to live on, but I have my retirement check and my Social Security, and that lets me eat comfortably and buy a good chunk of stone when I need one.

What I can’t afford is to pay live models, so I run an ad in the local alternative newspaper for young men who would like to earn a few extra dollars posing while I photograph them. This keeps a continuous stream of males flowing through my house. Some are students, some not; some are gay, some not. All share a willingness to bare all before my camera for a few moments. I photograph them in various poses from various angles, and then work for weeks or months from a photo board . What I missed in the photos, or what never existed in the model, I supply from memory or from my very active imagination.

One such model was Tim. He arrived wearing jeans and a denim jacket. When he stripped…or rather, peeled his clothes off, he revealed an artist’s dream body. He was in his thirties, five-foot-eight, athletically muscled, and magnificently proportioned. His skin was pale and translucent, and stretched in hairless elasticity over a totally toned physique. He moved with a dancer’s grace and, except for a tendency to be quiet, had an easygoing, relaxed way about him.

I turned my floodlights on and put Tim on a pedestal. I placed him in a relaxed pose that he had no difficulty assuming or maintaining. Then, shutter clicking away, I circled him until I was dizzy, trying to capture him on film. If he was beautiful in normal lighting, he was overwhelming under studio lights. I set them harshly to contrast one pec against the other, to make his musculature jump out, to display the curves and angles of his arms and legs. I set them softly to remove the shadows, to illuminate the gentle curves of his beautifully developed torso, the natural rhythms of his penis, which arched and swelled, pleased by all the attention. I shot a month’s film budget that night, but it was a luxury well worth it.

We broke for something to eat. Tim worked his pants back on—probably because I was clothed and unable at the time to come up with an excuse to get naked—but he left the top buttons open…as an invitation, I hoped. The way his ass was molded into the denim, there was no danger his jeans would slip down.

While I ate, Tim stared without interest at the goodies—skillfully created out of thin air—that I had placed on the table hoping to impress him. He used his fork to toy with the linguine Alfredo while he told me about himself. He was married, had three kids, and was (would you believe it?) a motorcycle cop. All day he was clothed according to regulations from gauntlet to helmet, and even wore the obligatory shades. His spare time was divided between his family (which he adored) and the gym, where he kept mostly to himself to avoid unwanted advances from both sexes. (You might not believe this, but he was able to say that without sounding conceited.)

When he caught my ad, he was incomprehensibly and uncontrollably overcome with a desire to display himself for the camera and, hence, for me. And here he was, impatient to put the dishes away and get back to work. Licking the last of the chocolate mousse off my mustache, I willingly obliged, although I already had enough photos of him to fill an album.

This time the poses were more intimate; pornographic, some might say. There was no part of his body which Tim did not gladly open, flower-like, to my lens. I didn’t tell him what to do. He posed; I photographed. The camera burned in my hands.

When we were finished, I felt I knew him so well, it was easy to put an arm around his shoulders (God, touching him felt good!) and lead him to the bed. He helped me take my clothes off, and then I gratefully broke the barrier the camera had interposed. He was easily aroused and totally responsive. I re-created the photo shoot by bathing with my tongue all the places I’d photographed, and used my fingers as my lens to poke into all the crannies I wanted to examine. I nibbled and gnawed, I sucked and swallowed. Tim negotiated my considerable bulk with cat-like grace. He was beside me, under me, in and out of me, with astonishing drive and force. In a sense, he took advantage of me because I was so distracted, devouring him with my artistic eye, that he could do whatever he wanted. And he did. Although, in retrospect, I would have altered nothing, even if I had had my wits about me.

When our appetites were fully sated—me, once; Tim, four times—he curled up in my arms and went to sleep. I didn’t catch a wink. For the remainder of the night, I lay there in the low light, gorging myself on the planes of his face, the sweep of his lips, and the rippling of his muscles under his smooth, warm skin when he moved. I was already planning the next day’s work; I couldn’t wait to begin.

In the morning, Tim dressed and left. He thanked me for a great time, saying it was something he had always wanted to do, had done now, and had no desire to repeat. I hoped he was lying, that the itch would grow and need scratching, but I didn’t say anything. I told him I hoped he would be happy wherever his life led. I never saw him again.

There is a statue in my garden; I can see it through the window from where I’m writing. It is precisely 5’8" inches tall and I would never think of selling it. It’s my favorite. I get hard just looking at it. I can feel the muscles of its arms and chest that I placed there with my hands; and, in my mind, I try desperately to retain the memory of Tim’s flesh, because I know, as long as I live, I shall never again dine quite so well as I did that night.

Just Do It!

Myra Burton was justifiably satisfied with herself. She had nailed the most difficult sale of her career after weeks of negotiation, and shown her New York buyers that she could put together a sophisticated real estate deal with the best of them. Since the listing was hers exclusively, she got both ends of the commission, which meant an occasion for dining and dancing. And maybe…maybe…if she continued to play her cards right, she could convince Marv just this one time to have sex more than once a week.

Honey, she called as she opened the front door, I’m home. She wandered the spacious downstairs rooms. "Honey?…Marv? Where are you, darling?

Upstairs, sugar, I’ll be right down. Marvin Burton’s voice came from their bedroom on the second floor.

I’m coming up, she called.

Hang on a sec, hon, I’m on the phone. Be right down.

OK. I’ll break out the champagne.

I gotta go, Marvin said into the phone. Myra’s home early, and she sounds like she’s landed a big sale….Look, I’ll call you later…No, Geoff, I can’t say that. Geoff, grow up! Myra’s in the house.…Now is not the time for such foolishness….Look, I gotta go.…Goddammit, Geoffrey, don’t make me hang up on you; I hate that….OK, all right—I love you. Now, are you happy? Goddamned fool. You know how much I miss you. Speak to you tomorrow, asshole. G’bye.

Marv joined Myra in the kitchen where she had two glasses of bubbly waiting. What’s the occasion, doll, as if I didn’t know? Tell me you made the sale.

She nodded vigorously. I did it: I finally closed the Benson deal. Myra threw her arms around Marv’s neck and kissed him. My goodness, hon, you’re dripping wet. You’re not getting the flu, are you?

Marv realized he was soaked with perspiration. Keeping Geoffrey a secret from his wife was harder than he had supposed it was going to be. No doll, I was out jogging, and I guess I haven’t cooled off yet. Congratulations. So how does it feel to be a super saleswoman?

Like a million, almost. We’re forty thousand richer.

Marvin whistled. That’s a hunka hay. How’re we gonna spend it?

Well, for a start, dinner at Raimundo’s; then celebrate with a roll in all that hay.

Sounds good to me. Let me shower. He raised his glass to her. Here’s lookin’ at you, kid. Marvin gave her his seductive wink.

They drank. Myra sipped, and shuddered with delight. Marv gulped down the champagne and set his empty on the counter. As he headed upstairs again, over his shoulder he called as matter-of-factly as he could, Doll, sorry, I have to go back to Corpus this weekend. Let’s have our weekend tonight. Is it a date?

Myra frowned. Oh Marv, again? What is it this time?

Honey, until you can support us, I’ve gotta cover the territory. I can’t manage twelve stores from long distance.

Determined not to let anything spoil her celebration, Myra said, It’s all right. I understand. Tonight’s our night. She raised her glass to him.

Later, as she sat up in bed with her arms around her knees, she wondered how he had slipped off the hook again. Marv snored softly at her side while Myra stroked herself consolingly. Everything had gone well until they climbed into bed. Then Marv announced he had eaten too much and begged off with, You know I can’t manage sex on a full stomach. Forgive me? And she had…again. As always.

It was hot and humid in Corpus Christi, but Geoffrey looked cool and fabulous. He was wiry and blond, with a deep tan, and had the knack of appearing crisp when others were wilted. They sipped frozen Margaritas in a restaurant at lunchtime.

I will, Geoffrey, I’ll tell her. I just couldn’t burst her bubble this week. She was so happy. Marv held the ice-cold glass to his forehead and welcomed the cool moisture against his brow. The strain was telling on him. The base of his neck ached as he sipped at the lime-flavored tequila.

Marv, Marv, Geoffrey intoned, shaking his head in frustration. I don’t know how many times you’ve said those same words. You’re never going to tell her. I think you’re afraid to make the break. Geoffrey overrode Marv’s rising protest. We said it wouldn’t be easy. We went over it a thousand times. Just do it, Marv! Do it and get it over with.

Geoff, I can’t hurt her. I don’t hate her. It isn’t her fault I’ve found you, and found out about me. Now I have to find a way to let her down easy.

No Marv, there is no way. When people grow in different directions, unless there are extenuating circumstances like children or support issues, the answer is clear: a clean break. She’s still young, only forty-two, she’ll get over it. She’ll find someone else who can give her…well, he sighed, what you give me—that wonderful feeling of deep passion, like I’m the only one in the world for you. She deserves that, and you should set her free so she can find it.

Marvin echoed Geoffrey’s sigh. "It makes so much sense when you say it. I sort of owe it to Myra to leave her so she can find happiness."

You’ve got it. Hold that thought, and just do it. The words can never be taken back. It’ll be tough, but we’ll have each other. I won’t let you down.

Marvin looked at Geoffrey, trying to read the truth of that statement.

I love you, Marv. With all my being, I love you.

But there are things to straighten out first. I should move to the lake house in Galveston. It’s just right for you and me. Myra can keep the big one.

That’s bull, Marv. Don’t sweat the little stuff. That can come later.

Texas is a community property state. She’ll get half of everything.

"That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’ll be lucky if all she gets is half."

Marvin exhaled loudly. He stopped dredging up dumb arguments. OK, I’ll do it. This week. Before I see you again."

You’d better, because telling her is becoming easier than dreaming up another trip to Corpus. Myra’s a smart lady; she won’t be fooled forever.

The waitress came to take their order.

It’s decided. I owe it to all of us.

Geoffrey raised his glass. To us. To our future. He ordered a chicken burrito.

Same here, Marvin told the girl. He touched his glass to Geoffrey’s. To us. The throbbing in his head seemed to lessen now that he had made up his mind…again.

Back in Houston, it wasn’t as easy as it had appeared. He waited for an opening, but the opportunity never seemed to come. Myra was always doing something nice for him: fixing him something, bringing him something.

As newlyweds, she began to lay out his clothes at night for the next morning. He felt pampered and puzzled as he dressed in patterns he never would have thought went together. Over the years his reputation grew as a sharp dresser. The trouble was, twenty years later, she was still doing it. Only now it didn’t seem so charming anymore; he felt stifled. At times he switched ties on her as a small rebellion. Myra would say sweetly as she handed him his juice, The other tie went better. And when Marv would report lamely, It had a spot on it, Myra would buy him a replacement for the offending tie by evening.

Then Tuesday, at the office, while talking on the phone to Geoffrey, Marvin stopped cold. His eyes defocused and he forgot to breathe.

Marv?…Marv, are you there?

Geoff, I don’t feel well, I can’t… and he slumped to the floor with the phone in his fist. When he opened his eyes he had to wait for them to focus again. He heard words. He saw shapes. Myra’s face consolidated out of a gray background into an oval cameo with blurred edges. He opened his mouth and clicked in his throat. No words came out.

Oh darling, you’re back. I thought I’d lost you. Thank heaven.

Marvin wanted to say, What’s going on? Why do I feel so leaden? Instead, he watched Myra’s eyes loom wider as she neared to kiss him, and he fell asleep on her again, as always.

Two months later, he was home—in Galveston. To save money, Myra had sold the big house in Houston, netting another twenty thousand on the sale, and moved them into the cottage by the lake in Galveston. The profit had evaporated on necessities like making the front porch wheelchair accessible; bars in the bathroom to help Marvin get up and down, in and out; a hospital bed that raised and lowered electrically. She spared no expense for his comfort.

Fred Weems is taking over your job, she told him, but Maury guaranteed you could get it back if and when you want to return to work. And there’s really no hurry, darling; I’m doing awfully well now. And…and…a man keeps calling, a Geoffrey—he spelled it for me—he says he’s a business associate and I’ve asked him to go through the office, but he still calls back. He’s getting to be something of a nuisance.

Even though only one side of his body was capable of movement, Marv lurched from his wheelchair, his mouth twisted in anguish. Myra caught him and settled him back.

Darling, I’m so sorry. If he upsets you so, I won’t mention him anymore. Don’t worry, I can handle Mr. Geoffrey.

Marvin had a lot of time to think. On successive days, he thought entirely opposite thoughts. One day he cried for missing the best times of his life, the ones that might have occurred if he hadn’t had the stroke. The next day he despaired of ever seeing Geoffrey again. Later, he knew he never wanted to see him again—how could he burden him with such an invalid? He loved Geoffrey too much to do that to him. Ha! Geoffrey would be crazy to