TITLE: Morning Reflections
The Lodge IV - Morning Relections
Alex poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it while watching the sun climb slowly between tall hills on the other side of the lake.
Dawn came early at this time of year: it was barely four a.m. It was his favourite time of the day. The air was still crisp with early dew; the lake, alive with wisps of mist. The mosquitoes and black flies hadn't yet begun their daily blitzkrieg. Once in a while the morning silence was broken by the echoing sound of the loon that nested nearby.
And by the snore that came from the open bedroom door.
Alex smiled to himself as he looked over his shoulder at the man sleeping soundly. He was on the early shift this week: Walter, on the late. It was his turn to see off the guests who wanted to go fishing at the crack of dawn. It was Walter's to put the place to bed.
Alex stepped up to the small kitchen they'd set up in the cabin. Nothing fancy. Just a two burner propane set-up. Apart from hot drinks, the occasional snack, they ate at the Lodge with the staff and guests. He poured himself another coffee and settled on the couch to pull on his boots.
The day promised to be hot for the time of year. He wore what was basically their uniform for the season. Shirt, with sleeves rolled up. Actually one of Walter's old Bureau shirts which sat baggy on him. Apart from a couple that Walter kept for "official" occasions, Alex had pretty much taken the rest of them over. He wore this one tucked into a pair of soft, worn jeans. Then thick socks in hiking boots.
Any skin that could possible offer the treat of a meal to any passing bug had been slathered with insect repellent. He'd even rubbed some into his hair, making sure that his scalp was covered.
Someone in the 1940's, who had come up to this neck of the woods on a summer make-work program, had written a song about the black flies of Northern Ontario, about how they'd pick his bones clean.
After that first summer Alex believed it. And the song had become one of those that he whistled under his breath, not really aware he was doing it, whenever he had to work outdoors for any length of time.
It didn't help that Walter had no trouble with the damn things. He might rub some repellent on when he was going fishing, but apart from that...
A loud snorty snore caught his attention. Walter lay on his stomach, one arm threatening to fall off the side of the bed, the other under the pillow in which he was hiding his face. The sheet, the only covering they were using these days, was down to his thighs, framing that lovely ass Alex so loved to caress when they were making love.
They didn't do much of that during the season. It was difficult. There were always people around. If one of them was working the early shift, the other was working the late. The screened windows of the cabin had to be kept open for cross-current ventilation as their only cooling was the breeze that came off the lake.
Oh, they had sex. Once in a while. Just enough to keep the edge off their libidos.
But that was all it was. Sex.
They kept the loving for the winter-time. For nights that lasted 16, 17 hours. For days when they had nothing to do apart from seeing to the dogs.
When, if Walter wanted to take him on the kitchen table, there was no Marie to gasp at their scandalous treatment of her working space. Or, if he wanted to see how long foreplay could be drawn out before Walter went completely ballistic and took him on the floor, there were no staff, no guests around to watch, to offer comments, suggestions, improvements on their techniques.
When they could say aloud to each other the secrets of the heart which they could only whisper in season.
And Walter. Alex grinned at his sleeping lover. It seemed as if Walter stored up all the sexuality, the loving that he couldn't show during the season to release when they were alone. For a man his age, he was -- or so it seemed -- perpetually hard, or hard at the hint of a suggestion of intercourse the moment the last of the staff waved good-bye.
Last season, Alex hadn't even made it off the dock.
Not that he was complaining. His body too seemed to have stored up the touches, the tastings, the caresses, the fucking it needed until it was safe to let loose. And he, a man who had once thought of sex as a tool, spent his summer nights nestled close to the man who meant more to him than life, sneaking cuddles, chaste kisses, and being satisfied with them.
From off the lake came the sudden sound of a small motor. Alex quickly finished his coffee. John Sebatien was coming to pick up the two fishermen who wanted him to guide them. He'd better make sure that they were up. John was an expert guide, but he hated wasting good fishing time and he wasn't always polite about it.
A sudden breeze brought cool air from off the lake. Alex stopped at the door, turned and went back into their bedroom. He pulled the sheet up and lightly covered Walter. It wouldn't do for him to get chilled while he was sleeping. Alex dropped a kiss onto a shoulder before he covered it.
Outside, Boy was waiting for him. Together they made for the dock where the two fishermen were hurrying along with their equipment, lunches, quietly greeting their host and guide.