Temptation Castle Ch. 02

"Wow, I think I've died and gone to heaven. Will you look at that, Ron. I didn't even know they made lava lamps anymore."

"With luck, they don't," Ron answered his wife, with a laugh. "Most of this stuff looks like it's been here forever and will remain here forevermore."

"And look, they have them in school colors. Do you think . . .?"

"No, I don't think," Ron answered, this time with a snort. "Girls. No, don't run off like that."

"Oh let them go, Ron. What harm can they come to in here? Let's give them some space," Sally said. "They've spied Barbie heaven over there. They'll go home declaring this their favorite summer vacation ever, and we haven't even gotten to the cabin at the lake yet. Look up at the walls over there. There are samples of the photography. Not the sexy ones but glamour shots and in costume. Let's go over there and take a look."

Ron's family had scattered about in the cavernous shop room of Temptation Castle as soon as they had cleared through the entry gate, complete with draw bridge and portcullis that had been tacked onto the front of the building. Ron already had some idea why the girls shouldn't be left to roam in here—from what he'd seen on the Temptation Castle Web site. But he couldn't very well say anything to Sally about this. He'd just watch out for them in the corner of his eye.

As advertised, the novelty shop seemed stuffed with every misbegotten fad item of the last fifty years. Both Sally and the girls were reacting like this was Disney World. Ron wasn't sure now whether they'd reach the cabin before dark. Good thing that Susan's family, coming from another direction, probably had already arrived, had taken possession of the place, and were setting everything up. Ron visualized Phil already in a bathing suit and sitting out on the deck, drinking martinis and supervising as Susan and the boys rushed around making the house theirs for the season.

As Ron sidestepped his way through the maze of overflowing shelves toward the left rear corner of the shopping floor, where he could see a wall of framed photographs and drawings hovering above a display of who knew what, his eyes were riveted on a large painting of a stylized castle set over an arched and stone-edged doorway closed off with scarlet red velvet curtains. It was the castle used in the motif logo of the enterprise's Web site. It was a black ink line drawing on an oversized canvas and was much more elaborate, all curlicues and hatch-mark shadings of detail that the size of the Web site versions didn't allow. There were circular swirls where Ron had seen circles on the Web site version, though, and they were tinted in the same colors Ron had already played with in the progression that had led him deeper into the Web site and a darker, building obsession that he was fighting—but without much success and not enough will.

On this larger version, Ron could see letters and numbers on the circular areas that he was able to connect with what he'd played with on the Web pages. On the larger depiction, the floors of the castle, which was, Ron realized, an elaborate representation of the building they were in, were discernible and tinted. The middle floor had a slight yellow cast to it, and Ron could see a Y in a large curlicue to the right—and it even had "The Yard" written out in faint, elaborate script. Having seen that, Ron could make out other words now as well. The level above this one was tinted green from the left, fading into blue toward the right, and was titled "The Gallery." There Ron found three lettered and numbered circles, showing G1, G2, and G3, right where he had found the pulsing disks on Mart's Web page that took him progressively deeper into the maze, sensuality, and fetish of Mart's costume art photos.

Ron found that his eyes were searching for that last, elusive area that had been called The Chamber on the Web page. And he found it at last, at the top of the tower—a C worked into the circling swirl near the top of the tower, which was tinted red, and the words "The Chamber."

Strangely satisfied and pleased that he'd found these markers, Ron let his eyes roam further—they went to the right, to the untinted wing, extending out in that direction, and he found a BH in a circular pattern and then the scripted words "Banquet Hall" nearly hidden in the seemingly free-flowing lines of the pen work.

His eyes went back to the castle proper and dropped to the gray-tinted base, where, after a close scrutiny he found a D worked into a circular pattern and then the words "The Dungeon."

Ron was trying to remember the logo used on the Web pages, wondering how much might have been discernible there that he just hadn't seen yet, when a mellow man's voice from very close at his side brought him out of his deep focus on the art work.

"Do you like it?"

Ron turned and almost blanched, as he was standing face to face with Mart himself. Ron's near-blanch rosied right up into a blush, with the realization that he'd seen Mart naked and in arousal already. It was a strange mix of feelings—embarrassment and an immediate sense of intimacy that Ron knew the other man couldn't possibly share, although the look he was giving Ron was level and appraising—and somehow knowing. Ron found his hands moving around his body, instinctively checking out that he, indeed, was fully clothed. And the man's eyes followed Ron's hands briefly before coming back and taking possession of Ron's eyes. And in that brief moment of diversion, Ron felt entirely naked before the other man.

"Yes," Ron responded in a voice suddenly and inexplicably thick. "Not my taste really, but intriguing. It's basically a rendering of this building, isn't it?"

"Yes it is. It's pretty much the logo of our little collection of enterprises here. Have you perhaps seen it before?"

"Ye—. No, no, of course not. But it's the sort of drawing that one thinks they may have seen before and that pulls you in to the details."

"Indubitably," the man said quietly. And the look he gave Ron conveyed that he thought Ron wasn't telling the truth—that he might have seen it before, that it was quite likely that Ron had been drawn to it because he had seen the motif before. And maybe more than seen it—that maybe he had already fiddled with unlocking its secrets.

Ron blushed again, something that people found surprising about Ron and that the man couldn't have missed. Ron was basically a red head, although most couldn't tell that. The tones of his hair changed from a deep auburn with reddish-gold highlights on the top of his head down to a decidedly golden red in his pubic hair. So, when he blushed, he blushed rosy as any red head would.

It often gave his emotions of embarrassment and befuddlement away, and Ron was afraid he was broadcasting this clearly to the man he already knew was Mart.

The man started to speak, but the tinkling voice tone of Ron's wife, Sally, broke into the moment. "Oh, look, Ron. Here's what I'd like. This one in the cowboy outfit, but more sexy—like Phil's—you've got a great body still. We need to capture that."

Ron broke eye contact with Mart, but not before he'd clearly seen the smile when Sally had mentioned his "great body," and he turned to his wife. "I don't know, Sally. I didn't think you really were serious."

"Yes, of course I am. It's just what I'd like to . . . oh, sorry." Sally had turned and seen the other man for the first time. It was her turn to blush and look disconcerted now.

"Ah, the glamour photos," the man said smoothly. "That's one of our little businesses here. Mine, actually. I'm the photographer. Are you interested in having one of those done?"

"No, I don't really think so," Ron said, but he was cut off by Sally's "Yes. My brother-in-law had a photo made here for his wife for Valentine's Day, and we've all been trying to convince my husband he should have one made too. My brother-in-law used that Roman soldier costume over there. But I think I'd like my husband as a cowboy—more sexy than this pose, though. I've always had a thing about cowboys. Don't you think my husband here would make a sexy cowboy?"

The man turned toward Ron and made like he was looking him up and down and, after giving Ron a "certain" smile, turned back to Sally and said, "Yes, I think he'd photograph quite well."

Both Sally and Ron were blushing, and Sally gushed, "Oh, I mean I know I'd like him to pose that way. Excuse me, I'm letting my enthusiasm get the best of me. My sister, Susan, and I have been joking about this so much that I couldn't wait 'til I could visit your store—this is a real treasure trove of a place. And I think my husband should do it. It would be great fun, don't you think?"

"I know it's a little intimidating at first for many," the man said, with a twinkle in his eye, "But they soon get into the spirit of it. I'm sure your husband would enjoy it. I know I'd enjoy photographing him." And then he turned and gave Ron a smile that assured him that he, indeed, would enjoy the activity and that he suspected Ron knew more about what that activity entailed than he was letting on.

"I don't know," Ron said. "Haven't thought about it. Maybe . . . maybe later in the summer. The family's up at the lake for the summer, so maybe later."

"Yes, I'd advise later too," the man said, moving his gaze around to take in Sally and the family's two girls, who were still dancing through the aisles and make squeals of delight at every new, fascinating find. "The process is a bit involved. It does take some time—and concentration."

Ron felt the tension flowing out of his body—and felt even more relief, cut with a twinge of disappointment maybe, when the man looked up, and seeing a clerk motioning at him from the front of the store where another customer was standing, excused himself and turned and walk away.

"Please do it," Sally whispered, putting her arm through Ron's and reaching up and giving him a peck on the cheek. "For me. You're so sexy."

Sally wasn't helping one bit, Ron thought miserably. As tempted as he naturally was, he was fighting hard against this—for Sally and the girls. And Sally was undermining his resolve.

"Daddy, Mommy, come here quick," Cindy was crying out from across the store. "They gots Olympic stuff over here. Lots of it. Maybe there's stuff from Daddy's games."

Ron patted Sally's arm. "Do you really need a photo to turn you on to me, Sally?"

"No, silly, of course not—especially not in the last couple of weeks. I thought you said it was too soon for another one, but . . . well, no I don't need the photo. But I want one. Please think about it. Maybe sometime this summer."

"Yeah, maybe," Ron answered. "But let's go see what the girls are up to now—and let's wave to Cindy to let her know we've seen her and are coming. I'm afraid she might pee in her pants from trying to get us to drag over there."

"This is Mr. Halterman," Cindy was gushing. "He says he put all of this stuff in the store—the stuff on the Olympics. And he says he was in the Olympics too—just like Daddy. So, you guys might know each other."

Mr. Halterman was smiling like he'd like to know Ron as they approached, and Ron was doing everything he could not be swallow his tongue from the realization that Mr. Halterman was Theo from the Web site and that Ron knew him a whole lot better and intimately than Mr. Halterman could imagine.

They shook hands, Theo almost crushing Ron's hand with the strength of his beefy hand, and Theo was saying, "Your little girl here tells me you were in the Olympics too."

They shared identifications of Olympic years and venues and sports and realized that they had completely missed each other, none of their Olympic experiences having overlapped, but an Olympian was an Olympian, and there was an instant rapport establishing between them. Sally and the girls stood at the side, beaming, knowing how animated Ron got, how he glowed with pleasure and pride whenever he met another Olympian.

Ron was surprised himself at his reaction to Theo. The man looked dangerous and menacing—reminding Ron of Phil—in the Web site photos, but there was an attraction there too—to both of them, Ron, had to admit. And the attraction to Theo was accentuated when meeting him in the flesh. Ron couldn't keep himself from grinning with pleasure at the meeting and trembling underneath like a race horse when its trainer shows up and lays a hand on it.

Theo did have a hand on Ron's arm, and Ron was focused on that touch—a burning, firm-hold, possessive touch—while they reminisced about what little of the Olympic experience they could share.

"Most of this stuff is souvenirs left over from Lake Placid, to the north of our lake. I was there. That's what made me want to come back here to live," Theo was saying. "But I might have some from your two Olympics. You're welcome to sift through it to see if there's anything you want, and I'd give you a big discount on it."

"We'll see," Ron said. "We've been here longer than I figured. I need to get these ladies up to the lake. We're summering with my wife's sister's family, and they'll be wondering where we are."

"Maybe you'll come back later," Theo said. "If you get bored and your family is otherwise occupied, you could come down and use the gym if you like—for free, as my guest, one Olympian to another. I run the gym too." He was looking at Ron like he could eat him for dinner.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe . . ."

"You do work out still, don't you?" Theo asked. "You look like you do. Do you still row? Will we be seeing you out on the lake?"

"Not rowing, I don't think," Ron said, with a laugh. "I do hope to get in some sailing, though. I did that as a child."

"He runs now," Sally chipped in. "Real serious about it, too. He's run a couple of marathons and has done real well." Sally was letting the pride shine through in her voice. There was no question what she thought of her man.

"Runs?" Theo said. "Well, then, you'll want to come over here for the July 4th charity run we sponsor every year. Can I count on you for that?"

"Well . . . maybe," Ron answered. Normally he'd say yes in a flash, and Sally was giving him a frown, knowing he normally wouldn't be coy about such things. He'd have to walk around this carefully—he didn't want Sally to lock into the effect Theo was having on him. The date on the poster about the event the man was pointing to showed that it was on a Saturday, and Ron could certainly arrange to be here for it.

Ron wasn't reluctant because of the charity run itself. He was reluctant because of how arousing having Theo hold his arm firmly was—and the scene of Theo in the buff that kept flashing through Ron's mind—just the snatch of frames at the end of the video, where Theo, muscle bound and hirsute—and completely naked and in monstrous, almost animalistic arousal, sat down on the bed where Mart had just finished masturbating himself. Once again Sally unwittingly wasn't helping keep Ron on the straight and narrow one bit.

"We'll see," Ron said. "But now, girls, we've got to go. The boys will wonder if we're not showing, and we need to find the cabin before it gets dark."

Theo had already left them and gone to the front of the store, where he was leaning in close to Mart, and they were whispering.

As Ron and his family moved forward, Theo peeled off and Mart slowly crossed to intercept them at the door.

"Let your family go on ahead," he was saying as he intercepted Ron and took him by the hand, as if to give him a farewell handshake. "Let me tell you a bit about the photo procedure and cost—the photo your wife would like to have made."

Sally flashed Mart a smile, indicating her appreciation for having an ally in breaking down Ron's shy resolve, and she and the girls bustled out of the building and crawled around on the statuary and bits and pieces of paraphernalia that lay about on the ground between the castle and the parking lot. Mart slowly walked Ron out of the door, still gripping his hand and with his other hand on the small of Ron's back.

"I'm Martin, called Mart by most," he said. "And my partner you just met is Theo." There was a pause; Ron knew Mart was trying to gauge whether Ron already knew this from having perused the Web site, but Ron did his best not to show that he did know. "We'd really like to you come again. And I do urge you to have that photo made. Your wife seems to really want it."

"I'm Ron," Ron answered. "And we'll just have to . . ."

"No number? I got the impression you already had a Temptation Castle number," Mart said in a low, husky voice. His eyes were boring into Ron's.

Ron blushed and then, with no intention of doing so, he blurted out, "TC46. Or that was the number given."

Mart smiled broadly. "Yes, I rather thought so—and hoped. If you come back for a photograph, there will be no charge for the photo shoot . . . because you already have a number and know what the photo shoot entails. And I think you'd really enjoy it."

After Mart had backed away into the castle, Ron stood there, by the car, mortified and exhilarated all at once. But this was a familiar feeling for him over that last couple of weeks—ever since he'd first happened upon the Temptation Castle Web site.

* * * *

"Come on, throw on a swimsuit—or not—and pull up a beer. The wives and kids are out killing the groceries and we can have some mano-mano time."

Phil had been right where Ron had expected him to be when they had arrived at the "cabin," which turned out to be a seven-bedroom log home with soaring ceilings and stone fireplaces reaching up three flights for the heavens and with great expanses of glass looking out on two sides onto the shimmering Copper Lake, named for the color that was evoked at sunset for the water's unique mineral mix.

Ron and his family had found Susan and the boys already boisterously exploring the cabin and grounds. The boys had managed to visit nearly every nook and cranny already, and Susan had just about finished a grocery list for the first week. Phil was on a chaise lounge on the expansive wood deck, stripped down to a skimpy Speedo and inhaling martinis. At least he gave the impression of inhaling them—there were two empty martini glasses and one half full one on the table next to him. He always insisted on a new glass with his new drink. He was ever watchful of his intake, as a man in the nightclub business had to be, so he insisted on being able to count the number of drinks he had, and he had the fortitude to cut himself off before he'd had too much to be able to function.

Ron felt tired and wrung out—emotionally as much as physically—after the long drive up from the city and the highly charged stop at Temptation Castle. Thus, upon Phil's invitation, he'd just stripped off his Polo shirt and shoes and socks and stretched out on a chase lounge next to Phil's in his worn jeans, and accepted the cold can of beer Susan handed him. After a couple of swigs, he was close to dozing off.

As on earlier occasions, Ron had been both repelled and aroused by the sight of Phil's beefy, well-worked, swarthy, and hirsute body, and he tried to keep his eyes focused on the lake as he grew drowsy and they talked desultorily about the stop at Temptation Castle. Phil had reacted with pleasure when he heard they'd pulled in there on the way to the cabin, and Ron was barely awake when Phil was telling him that he was a member of the gym there and that maybe they'd break away when the women and children were otherwise occupied and Phil would take him there as his guest for a workout.

"Not needed, but thanks," Ron murmured. "Already have a standing invitation from Theo, the gym owner. Happy to meet another Olympian, he was."

"Ah, so you've already met Theo."

It might have been this, the last comment Ron had heard before drifting off to sleep. Or it might have been the sight of Phil's near-naked body, one that closely matched Theo's, although not as overly accentuated with muscle as Theo's was, that made Ron dream what he did. Or it might have been a combination of that as well as the disturbing, enticing visit to Temptation Castle earlier in the day. Ron had never had a same-sex arousal dream before—or, to be more correct, he hadn't had them since leaving college and getting married and settling down in his cushy city job.