After the Storm by Summer Devon

Author:Summer Devon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance, victorian romance, historical gay romance, mm romance, lgbt romance
Publisher: Summer Devon
Published: 2019-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

The night in London had been an achievement of overcoming the peculiar fear that had shackled him—and he’d had no one with whom to share the triumph.

Near the train station, a gangly fellow about his age with a cigarillo and a bowler hat had given him a grin that promised something special. By then Jenks just wanted to return to the animals. The triumph had faded.

All the way home on the train, he argued with the ghost of Mutt. Now that he’d forgiven his dead lover, Jenks felt he could better imagine their conversations again. It was almost like having him back.

“You should have gone after that man Griffin. Instead of all that talk, talk, talk, put your mouth on his.” Mutt had done something very much like that with Jenks so long ago. A kiss on the corner of his mouth, a soft press of lips.

Jenks knew he wouldn’t, not with Griffin’s wife there. Not with that anguish in Griffin’s face. That wouldn’t have been fair.

“You know what they say about love and war, my boy.”

He spoke words in his mind, a silent argument with a ghost. “You weren’t fair, were you, Mutt. You took me from school and kept me because you were bored. Your version of love didn’t stop to think of what I needed, and I don’t believe that’s the way I want to approach love now, my dear dead friend. Love is not selfish.”

“Hi-ho, Jenky. This is lust we speak of. Love is something else. Did you and I even know it?”

Jenks wondered if either of them had. But then he recalled the way he’d stayed with sick Mutt and held that up as an example.

His imaginary Mutt laughed at such tediousness. “Your love is the sickly sweet thing of a ladies’ magazine, all sanctimonious and boring. And so chaste at the end, alas.”

Yes, Jenks did have a tendency to be more self-righteous than most men with his predilection for perversion. But boring? Was his version of love boring?

Jenks had an image of himself kissing Griffin, nipping at those shoulders, fondling his back and rump and stroking his erect penis. Would Griffin’s organ be thick and long? Or perhaps thin and elegant. Whatever it was, Jenks would have learned every inch soft and then hard with his fingers and mouth, tasted and sucked...and, no, that wasn’t boring.

The train came to a stop, and a few moments later, he was no longer alone on his bench. A sleepy farmer who reeked of alcohol drove out Jenks’s thoughts of Mutt and the fulfillment he didn’t have with Griffin that night.

He stared out the dark windows at the edge of London and reassured himself again, although this time without the silly version of Mutt who’d vanished back into the darks of his imagination. Jenks would not have kissed James Griffin with Clara Griffin right there, and not with the misery of a man who looked half-broken. And likely had a headache from a blow to the head, poor fellow.

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