Best Gay Erotica 2007 by Richard Labonte

Author:Richard Labonte [RICHARD LABONTÉ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEP:

A GOTHIC TALE

Jay Neal

At that time of year on the rocky coast of Maine—not long after the summer solstice— twilight extends well into the late evening. However, it was now pushing on toward later evening and a thick blanket of clouds, which had already been responsible for several days of rain in the area, conspired to make it a dark and rather stormy night, as required by the conventions of gothic literature.

Additional needed elements were in place as well: the intrepid and unsuspecting traveler— yours truly—his transport in difficulty —car stuck in mud at the side of the road— trudging along in search of assistance. Sure enough, I finally spotted a light glowing in the window of a not-too-distant cottage.

A cottage, mind you, situated next to a dark, looming lighthouse that obviously hadn’t operated in years. I dragged myself toward the cottage, the sound of surf crashing against rocks growing louder with each step.

I knocked loudly at the door of the cottage, which precipitated some loud crashing noises and considerable swearing within. At last the door creaked open and I was facing a short, gnarly man of indeterminate age. His face was a fine collection of wrinkles on weathered skin, largely obscured by a silvery beard that descended halfway down his chest. However, he couldn’t have been more than an inch over five feet tall. The gnomish effect was completed by a knitted cap pulled over a mass of unruly silvery hair, and a pipe clenched in his teeth. To be honest, it was all I could do to keep from giggling.

“Arr,” he said, “which it’ll be: lost or car trouble?”

Arr? I thought. Was he for real? “Car trouble, actually. Stuck in the mud about half a mile back.”

“Lot o’ rain last few days. Makes lots o’ mud. Best come in for the night. We can pull your car out come mornin’.”

He opened the door wide to let me in then closed it quickly against the wind, which was beginning to howl around the corners of the cottage. Most of the small house was dark, so he led me into the kitchen and invited me to sit at the table. “Coffee?” he offered.

“Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

He poured some dark, thick liquid into an enameled mug and set it in front of me.

“Looks like we’re in for a storm tonight,” he said as he sat at the table.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight…?”

He cocked his head at me for a moment before answering. “Er, no, I saw it on the Weather Channel.” He tried not to look smug; I felt suitably chastened.

“Do you keep the lighthouse?” I ventured.

“Arr, no, I broker real estate in Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. The Internet has been very liberating for me, let’s me telecommute.”

So far the score was intrepid traveler: 0, gnarly old man: 2. “But,” I protested, “that was an old lighthouse I saw outside, wasn’t it?”

“Arr, that it were, that it were. And,” he puffed on his pipe and then took it out of his mouth to point the stem at me, “therein lies a tale you’ll be wantin’ to hear.

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