his sea captain’s hat made him look distinguished and important, yet his steel blue eyes
were soft and mellow. He had a strong, angular face and a dark, well-trimmed beard.
Captain Lang wasn’t smiling or frowning. His dark eyebrows weren’t up or down. And
his overall expression could only be described as pleasantly amused, as if sitting for a
portrait had been self-indulgent and silly.
Dexter leaned in closer and whispered, “Damn, you must have broken more than
a few hearts in your day, man. You’re the hottest freaking sea captain
I’ve
ever seen.” He
stared at the lips in the portrait and whistled.
While he was whistling, he felt a warm breeze and he stepped back from the
fireplace. He turned to the right and watched a rush of wind pass through one of the tall
front windows. It blew the white cotton draperies forward and knocked over a pewter
candlestick that had been sitting on a round cherry table. Dexter crossed to the table,
lifted the candlestick, and closed the window. Then he covered his mouth and yawned.
On his way out of the room, he looked up at the portrait again and made a mental note to do some research on Captain Lang. Supposedly, he’d been very well known and slightly
notorious, and Dexter was curious.
When Dexter was upstairs, he heard Brighton and Marion. They were down the
hall in Brighton’s bedroom, and they were laughing about something. It was good to hear
Brighton laugh again. In the past year, Dexter had experienced many sleepless nights
worrying about her. When Dexter’s ex-partner, Michael, had left them to move in with a
nineteen-year-old guy, Brighton had been devastated. Her grades had gone down, she’d
stopped seeing her friends, and all she did was watch television. Dexter had tried to put
up a good front, but he’d been devastated, too. But he’d worked hard to keep his
separation with Michael amicable for Brighton’s sake. After all, athough Michael wasn’t
much of a father, he was Brighton’s other father and she loved him in spite of his flaws.
The sound of their laughter at the other end of the hall made Dexter smile. And
for the first time since he’d decided to move to Cape Cod, he felt a warm, comfortable
feeling pass through his body. Starting over wasn’t going to be easy, but at least it felt
right.
Dexter had read the floor plans of Keel Cottage so many times he knew exactly
where he was going. He crossed to the other end of the long hallway and opened the door
to his bedroom. It was the largest bedroom on the second floor. There were four others on
the second floor, including Brighton’s bedroom, and three more on the third floor.
Marion’s private bedroom was on the first floor, off the kitchen.
His room was the one above the dining room, where the front of the house
rounded to form a turret. The turret was lined with tall windows flanked with cream
colored cotton draperies. He went inside, closed the door, and turned the old skeleton key to lock it. His heels clicked on the wooden floor as he walked through the room. There
was an antique high boy beside the window seat. He passed a four-poster bed with a
white cotton duvet, and a large desk with tons of small drawers. He stood in front of the
windows and looked out to the sea. Keel Cottage sat high on a hill in the far West End of
Provincetown, at the end of Commercial Street. Even though Keel Cottage wasn’t
directly on the water, every room in the front of the house had a clear view of the ocean.
The Realtor had told him that the only other building with a better ocean view than his
was the Pilgrim Monument on High Pole Hill Road.
Dexter yawned again and walked to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress so
he could remove his shoes and socks, then stood up and removed the rest of his clothes.
When he was naked, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It was a simple
bathroom, with white subway tiles, a white marble floor, and white marble counters. He
looked at his body in a full-length mirror and sighed because he hadn’t had a chance to
work out since a week before he’d left Hollywood. He’d lost a few pounds, and the
muscles in his arms looked smaller. Dexter had a naturally lean, defined body. When he
worked out with weights, his compact muscles popped and rounded with definition. Even
though he was thirty-two years old, he still looked like he was in his twenties. Now that
he was single again, after twelve years of being in a monogamous relationship with
Michael, he wanted to hold on to his looks for as long as he could.
When the water was hot, he stepped into the shower and closed his eyes. The hot
water saturated his short blond hair and coated his naked body. His legs were smooth and
tan, and his ass was round and firm. Dexter didn’t have much body hair, and the little he did have below his waist he trimmed and shaved regularly. He always kept a small patch
of blond above his penis, a triangle that pointed down.
He reached for the soap with his left hand and grabbed his penis with his right. He
was already semi-hard and a full erection was forming fast. He hadn’t had sex with
anyone since Michael had left him. And he hadn’t masturbated in weeks because he’d
been on the road with Brighton. His balls felt low and heavy; the tip of his penis was
already dripping with clear pre-come. He usually masturbated at least once a day, and this
was the longest he’d gone without coming in his entire adult life. So he leaned back
against the tiled shower, spread his smooth legs wider, and started to jerk his dick. The
water splashed against his body; he arched his back and closed his eyes. When he
pictured Captain Lang’s face from the portrait in the double parlor, his balls tightened
and the head of his penis expanded. He usually fantasized about a porn movie he’d seen,
or a famous actor from a recent film. But for some reason, Captain Lang’s strong,
masculine face entered his mind. A minute later, he rubbed out a load that was so intense
it smacked into the white tiles on the other side of the shower and left his legs trembling.
When his body was clean again, he stepped out of the shower and dried off with
thick white towels. These were his towels. He’d had them and a few other personal things
shipped to Provincetown ahead of time so he’d feel at home. He’d hated leaving his
house in the Hollywood Hills, but there hadn’t been a choice. Dexter lived on money
he’d made as a child actor, and Michael handled all his finances. He could afford to not
work as long as he lived within his means. In the years that he’d lived with Michael in the
Hollywood Hills, property values had increased so much that when it was time to sell the
house, he couldn’t afford to buy Michael out without dipping into his capital. So when they split up, they sold their home and divided the money in half. Dexter bought Keel
Cottage with his half and he didn’t have to touch his capital. And the fact that Keel
Cottage had been listed at such an outrageously low price allowed him to own a
beautifully restored home for a fraction of what he normally would have paid.
When he was finished in the bathroom, he went back into the bedroom and double
checked to make sure his bedroom door was locked and shut tight. He wanted to take his
nap in the nude, and he didn’t want Brighton or Marion walking in on him by mistake.
Then he walked to the bed and went down on top of the white duvet cover. He
plopped hard in the middle of the bed, on his stomach, and spread his legs. He took a
deep breath and closed his eyes. The light cotton duvet felt smooth against his balls and
the mattress was firm, but not too hard.
And just before he dropped off into a deep sleep, he thought he heard a whistle.
Not just any whistle. This was a soft, clear whistle that sounded like an old song he’d
once heard. But he couldn’t remember the title. He wanted to lift his head and turn
around, but his feet began to tingle and he couldn’t lift his eyelids. He was so relaxed he
just drifted off to sleep with the whistle running through his head.
Chapter Two
On his first morning in Keel Cottage, Dexter woke to the sounds gulls squawking
and cars creeping down the narrow, one-way path of Commercial Street. He opened his
eyes and pulled the white duvet cover up to his chin. The antique clock on the mantel
over his bedroom fireplace said seven o’clock. He looked to the right and saw he’d left
one of the front windows in his room wide open all night long. A cool, early summer
breeze was blowing in from the bay. But the sun was shining, the sky was vivid blue, and
he knew it would be warmer by noon. Though he was a native Californian, he knew the
climate well. Dexter and his former partner had taken many summertime vacations to
Provincetown. They usually went during the fourth of July, when all the good-looking
young circuit boys were in town. Michael had insisted on going then.
Dexter rubbed his eyes and looked at the open window again. He tilted his head
and twisted his lips. Though he’d gone to bed late the night before, he could have sworn
he’d closed the window. He always slept in the nude, and he knew Provincetown
mornings tended to be cool that time of year.
Then a strong breeze blew the drapes forward. It passed over his bed, touched his
face, and caused his erection to jump. He closed his eyes and smiled. A quick release
before breakfast always put him in a good mood for the rest of the day. But when he
reached down to wrap his hand around his penis there was a hard knock on his bedroom
door. The door was locked. Even though the rule in the house had always been to knock before entering bathrooms or bedrooms, he would have never taken the chance that his
daughter would walk in on him.
“Dad,” Brighton shouted. “Are you awake?” Her soft voice was high, with an
excited, musical lilt.
Dexter smiled and rolled his eyes. “Yes, sweetie, I’m awake.”
“Good,” she shouted, “because Marion is making cream cheese omelets for
breakfast, with little sausages and fried bread.” She pronounced omelets,
om-a-leds.
Dexter smiled and rubbed his eyes again. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll be down in ten
minutes. I just want to jump into the shower and get dressed first. You go down and I’ll
join you.”
He heard Cleo bark. Then Brighton said, “I’ll see you downstairs, Dad.”
When he heard her scamper down the hall to the stairs, he pulled back the covers
and looked down at his naked body. His erection was already shrinking. Having children,
he’d learned, tended to do that. But he didn’t care. His daughter was the most important
person in his life, and he knew she was excited about being in a new place. He didn’t
want to miss the expression on her small, innocent face when she ate her first breakfast in
the new house; he didn’t want to miss her wide eyes when they took their first walk up
Commercial Street after breakfast. Dexter and Michael had adopted Brighton at birth, and
he’d never missed a single event in her life. He’d fed Brighton her first spoonful of solid
food, he’d been there for her first steps, and he’d never missed a school function. Michael
had missed more than a few events, but Dexter had always been there for everything, and
he always would. So he jumped out of bed and jogged into the bathroom. His semi-erect penis
smacked against his leg. He had to reach down and hold it because the head was still
sensitive.
Then he showered and dressed fast. And when he left his bedroom and reached
the top of the staircase, he smelled fresh coffee and frying sausage. Marion was a
tremendous cook, and Dexter was lucky that he’d always been thin and never had to
worry about what he ate.
Brighton was sitting at the white antique kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and a
tall glass of orange juice. The massive kitchen in this house had been totally renovated,
with stainless steel appliances, white shaker cabinets, and white marble counters. The
original hardwood floor had been sanded and refinished just like those in the rest of the
house. There was a large eating area on one side of a long center island, and the cooking
side was on the other.
Dexter sat down across from Brighton and smiled. Marion was cooking on the
other side of the island, staring down into the frying pan. Dexter smiled and said,
“Marion, you look like one of those chefs on TV in this huge kitchen.” Their kitchen in
Hollywood had been a long, narrow galley kitchen, with a small table at the end. The
