BAB-109 Gay Island
Gay Island
Bathhouse Books
BAB-109
Tony Scott
(same as DS-141 and PF-164)
$2.50
Gay Island
Bathhouse Books
BAB-109
Tony Scott
(same as DS-141 and PF-164)
$2.50
Introduction
From that moment on the island, Peter and Chip’s love had everything going for it except for one thing—Chip was straight!
Peter’s search for love crossed many lives, ultimately driving him into a sinister web of intrigue surrounding a strange pleasure resort for very rich men with a peculiar passion for young boys…
Excerpt
“Come on!” Chip demanded, fists clenched, lower lip down-hung in fury. “Let’s have it out! You hate her, don’t you? DON’T YOU?”
Peter looked at Chip, holding back his feelings as best he could, and then walked to one of the window seats and sat down on the velvet cushions, drawing up a leg to hug. He looked out into the thickly falling snow and put a thumb knuckle between his teeth and bit to the point of pain.
It was a minute before either boy could speak. Then Chip came to the window and sat down by Peter’s feet. He hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, Pete,” he said.
Peter still couldn’t talk. He continued to look out at the falling snow.
“I guess that’s the first time either of us hit the other guy, isn’t it?”
Peter nodded, his eyes still outside.
“As a matter of fact, I do have a hangup,” Chip said. “I want it so much! Jesus, why do I have to be such a crummy, horny bastard?”
Peter put a hand on Chip’s shoulder and moved it gently.
“And take it out on you, of all people,” Chip continued. “You know, love isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes it’s just plain hell.”
Peter continued stroking Chip’s shoulders, then moved to his neck and the light hairs at the back of his head. Chip made no motion to move away. Across the room the fire flared up momentarily as a log fell, and the sudden red flickering light on Chip’s face reminded Peter of another time and another fire. He tried to pull Chip’s head down into his lap, but Chip resisted, so Peter simply let his hand stay.
“Peter,” Chip said in a very quiet, small voice, “I don’t want to be stuck with guys.”
And then they sat for some minutes in a trance of temporarily spent emotions, not speaking, Peter occasionally moving his calloused thumb on Chip’s neck.
“Well,” Peter said, finding his voice at last, “I guess we better go to bed, if we’re going to ski in the morning.”
They climbed the stairs and stripped in the chilly room. In bed Chip drew up the covers to his chin and looked at Peter who, naked and in the manly state, went first to the window and opened it a crack, next to the alarm clock and set it at seven-thirty, then to the light switch by the door and plunged the room into darkness except for the cheerful glow of the gas furnace on the opposite wall. Then, his skin pleasurably goose-bumped in the frosty air (he could see his breath) and his heart throbbing with anticipation, he sat down on Chip’s bed and put a hand to the side of Chip’s face.
“Peter,” Chip said, “this is no good for you.”
“Let me worry about that, okay?” Peter moved his hand over Chip’s cheek and nose and lips and felt the warm, moist breath against his fingers.
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