Mark Bartel relaxed on the sofa, soaking up the warmth of the fire. He smiled, his gaze resting on his dog Chip. The big English spaniel was sprawled on the rug, sound asleep.
"We had quite a day didn't we buddy?" Mark murmured softly, "Lots of fresh air, exercise and a hot hunk who could thaw a glacier in the middle of winter."
Mark snorted softly, knowing Chip could care less about the hunk. He had more interest in the wildlife. Although, he reflected, anyone hooked up with that guy could probably expect a lot of wild in his life. Chip remained still, except for the slight twitch of one ear. His master's voice was low and soothing. Even in sleep, the dog instinctively knew, nothing was required of him.
Having just quit his job at Davis Architectural Designs, Mark was taking a well earned vacation. At 26, he'd gone from highschool, to college, to job, with barely a break. His hard work had paid off by earning him a well deserved reputation as a master architect. He was preparing to open his own firm, but first, he was taking some time off. He was looking forward to an entire three months of nothing but rest and relaxation at his cabin in the woods.
The cabin was located a mile off the main road, in a wood shrouded clearing which also contained a garage and a shed. The garage housed his 4 wheel drive jeep and a snowmobile. The shed was home to a generator that could be used in case of power outages, the fuel for which was in a large underground tank.
Outwardly rustic, the cabin fit effectively into its environment, reflecting the natural surroundings. Mark had done some extensive modernization of the inside. It now contained some very nice amenities, extra large tubs and multi-head shower stalls in the bathrooms. The kitchen boasted granite counter tops, natural wood cabinets and convenient, modern and unobtrusive, built-in appliances. There was a hot tub on the small deck off the living room. The living room itself was primitive and cozy with its log and quarried stone walls. A large fireplace complimented the wilderness ambience.
Mark spent considerable time here as he was growing up. His parents, both career driven, did quite a bit of traveling, with the result that Mark had been raised almost exclusively by his grandparents. It was in fact at this very place, the summer he turned 13, that he admitted to himself that he was gay. An admission that left him feeling alienated and afraid. He'd seen at school, how some boys were teased about being gay, whether they were or not. He didn't want the same thing happening to himself. He'd never had trouble before, but then he'd never acknowledged the truth until that time. What if they noticed some change in him?
One day, deeply troubled, Mark had gone for a walk in the woods. He'd stopped and sat in the grass under an oak tree, his thoughts jumbled and confused, his stomach feeling like lead. Tears had welled up, spilling silently down his cheeks as he rocked slowly in distress. It was thus his grandfather found him.
Without a word his grandpa eased down beside him, putting his arm around his grandson, "Tell me about it, son." His words were so encouraging and gentle that Mark told his grandfather everything.
His grandpa listened and nodded, letting Mark spill his troubles without interruption. When he'd finished, his grandpa gave him the greatest gift he'd ever received. Acceptance.
"Mark," he told him, "you've been given a hard row to hoe, son. It won't be easy. There are a lot of people in the world who don't hold with the notion of homosexuality. They think it's something you choose to be, they fear it, and what they fear they hate. If they took the time to really think about it, they'd realize that no one chooses to be gay. Who in their right mind would want all the problems associated with it?"
"Not me, that's for sure." Mark put in.
His grandpa squeezed his shoulder and smiled, "I know that, son, but the good Lord has His reasons for making you this way and that's the way it has to be. The way I see it, just be the best man you can, gay or straight, nobody could ask more of you than that." he paused, then continued, his words somber, serious, "You're going to have to be real careful about who you tell, you know that don't you? There are those who aren't above tormenting, even physically trying to harm, those they know are gay."
Mark nodded, having already seen for himself the truth of his grandpa's words.
"Damn son, I wish I could make things easier for you."
Mark heard the slight tremor in his grandfather's voice and hugged him, "You have grandpa, you still love me."
His grandpa returned the hug, "Damn right I do. Your grandma and I will always love you and be here for you. Speaking of your grandma," he stood and offered a hand up to Mark, "she sent me to fetch you for lunch. She's probably wondering where the Sam Hill we've gone off to. You'll have to protect me when we get back, son."
Laughing, the two of them returned to the cabin. Mark's grandparents remained true to their word and were always there for him, filling him with their love and acceptance. In time, they deeded the cabin and the surrounding thirty acres of land to him when they moved to Arizona for the drier climate.
Mark knew there wasn't any other place he'd rather spend his time off than here.
Following his grandfather's advice and his own natural caution, Mark kept his sexual orientation to himself, a thing not always easily accomplished. Rather than make excuses as to why he didn't date, Mark kept himself buried in his studies, then his work. A social life was too much trouble to cultivate, too risky. The result of this self-imposed isolation being a tendency to shyness and reticence.
When it came to his work, Mark was very much in charge, sure of his plans and ideas, not afraid to voice his opinions and comments. He dealt with his clients effectively and efficiently. In any other arena, he found himself fumbling, uncertain to the point of being tongue tied while trying to make the simplest of statements. Socializing became the stuff of nightmares. His solution, to retreat behind his professional facade, to keep people at arm's length so they never saw the kind and gentle dreamer. The man who liked to laugh and joke, the insecure man who sometimes lost the fight to fear and loneliness. The man who longed for a strong lover, one who would see him, take him and yet let him be his own man with his strengths intact, his weaknesses buoyed, uplifted by their love.
Such was the stuff of dreams, part of his thoughts as earlier in the day he and Chip wandered the woods around the cabin. Following a favored trail, they hiked some distance into the national forest/wildlife refuge that bordered Mark's land. The entire area was beautiful, even this far into winter. All of the deciduous trees had pretty much shed their leaves, but the evergreens were there, plentiful enough to relieve the stark display of bare branches.
The air was crisp and cold, the breath of man and dog clearly visible as they hiked. They had seen a few deer and other smaller examples of the areas wildlife such as rabbit and squirrel. Chip, being well trained, remained at his master's side, sometimes quivering with the desire to give chase. Mark let him flush a few birds, quail and pheasant, just for the practice and as a reward for his obedience. They hadn't come out to hunt, but to enjoy the day before the coming snows would keep them mostly cabin bound.
It was while on their hike that they came across the hunk. Joe Moning. Joe had set up camp a two-day hike from the park's visitor center.
Mark had brought a backpack and was contemplating stopping for a midday meal when he caught the smell of wood smoke. Fearing that a fire might have somehow broken out, he and Chip emerged into a small clearing. There in the clearing, someone had set up a camp, just a tent really. A small fire was burning merrily in a shallow pit. Nearby, water trickled over a jumbled grouping of rocks. An underground spring had decided to make a random top-side appearance. Mark wondered where the camper was. As though conjured by the thought, a man emerged from the tent.
Mark felt his heart skip a beat as butterflies took flight in his stomach. The man was beautiful. He was tall, exceeding Mark's own five foot eleven inch height by perhaps three or four inches. His hair was dark blonde, short at the sides, longer on top, wavy, with a lock that fell artlessly over his brow. The sun highlighted its healthy gleam. His features were put together in such a way as to make the breath catch in Mark's lungs. Under a wide forehead, streaky blonde brows shaded deep blue eyes that held a benign, yet shadowed expression. His nose was straight, with a slight downward curve at the end. He wore a neatly trimmed mustache which topped sculpted lips. The full bottom lip and firm jaw line were accented by a short well trimmed beard. Dressed in jeans, a tucked-in tee shirt which was topped by a flannel shirt, and hiking boots, his clothes revealed a wide shouldered, trim and muscular body. He projected a fit, rugged, even tough image and yet there was something gentle and refined about him as well.
Mark hesitated, torn between the urge to run from the sudden surge of desire the sight of this man stirred in him and the almost magnetic pull he felt between himself and the stranger. The decision was taken out of his hands.
At first preoccupied, he seemed to suddenly sense Mark's presence and turned his slightly distracted blue eyed gaze in his direction. Momentary surprise crossed his features, then a tentative smile.
"Hi, you startled me. Wasn't expecting to see anyone out here." his voice was rich and smooth, the almost husky timbre sending a shiver down Mark's spine.
Mark mentally shook himself and replied, "Sorry, my dog and I were out hiking and I smelled your smoke," he paused with a grimace, "I mean the smoke from your fire. Didn't mean to imply you were smoking, not like cigarette smoke, but like you were on fire, smoke. Ah jeez, do you have any idea what I'm getting at here?" Mark wanted to kick himself for his rambling, tongue tied explanation. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
By this time the stranger was chuckling, "I think I get what you mean." he came forward and offered his hand, "Joe Moning."
Admonishing himself to get a grip, Mark shook Joe's hand and felt a warm rush of heat pass between them. He would have been gratified to know that Joe felt the same heat. He released Joe's hand, feeling a residual tingle in his palm, "Pleased to meet you Joe, I'm Mark Bartel. Guess you startled me too, I'm not usually so incoherent."
