Encounters by Harold C. Jones

Author:Harold C. Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, erotica, love, gay, encounters, harold c jones

Whatever Happened to Davey?

Act One

Dave Corrigan fumbled around in his fanny-pack for his close-up spectacles, thick of lens and frame. He used them for reading and minor work but had so far resisted the need for bifocals or even trifocals. He cheerfully admitted that it was pure vanity. At his advanced age of thirty-nine, it didn’t make much difference anyway. Not these days. The notion that he might once have had a love life was a cruel, nagging joke.

The highly-pitched and rapid-paced voice of their tour guide Maurice Abdullah pattered away in the background. He’d never been this close to a real mosaic, Byzantine or otherwise, in his entire life. So far, they’d all been on the ceilings, or high up on the walls. It really was beautiful, and yet the tour was at such a fast pace, eight countries in eleven days. On a whim of some previously unsuspected masochism, Dave counted up the stops listed in the brochure. There were forty-seven prime attractions in all, and they’d only done about seventeen or eighteen of them so far.

There was one cancellation. He chewed his lower lip and moved slightly to the left, out of the soft, indirect light to avoid throwing glare and shadows on the image. The old place smelled a bit musty, all dry stone and a thousand years of time. They always did the feet and the sandals the same way, there were maybe two different types of sandals that he’d seen so far. With his limited knowledge, he wondered how significant that was.

The cancelled stop was put down to an attempted suicide just down the block, and all the streets around their hotel were barricaded during that particular time-slot. That was in Ravenna…three days ago.

He’d studied Byzantine Art on a whim, while majoring in Business Administration in university. It was an easy elective credit, a bird course, until all of a sudden he threw himself into it on some kind of love thing. For some reason, he wanted to do really well. It was like he realized his potential, for the first time in his life, and then wanted to impress someone special with it.

Professor Beaumont, The Bee, their resident Byzantine expert—and every university had one, was the most fascinating thing in the world. It lasted for about a semester. He’d even fantasized about him physically once or twice. The Bee must have been getting up near fifty-five, maybe sixty years old. An oddly compelling man, perhaps it was the simple authority of the teacher-student relationship. He was gruff but kindly, with big, strong peasant hands, Dave recalled, and he had those penetrating blue eyes.

He bit his lip, moving on to another small mosaic.

He supposed he looked all right in the simple sun-shorts, cut just above the knee, vaguely Greek in form, and done in a simple off-white that set off his newly-acquired colour. His loose white T-shirt was sleeveless. He’d been doing a bit of involuntary tanning, especially after making the mistake of sitting on the sunny side of the tour bus.

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