Grand Tour

Copyright © 2011, 2016, 2020 by Etienne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Wherever possible, the syntax and spelling in this book follows guidelines set forth in The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Cover Art © by Caris Lester

Acknowledgments

To my long-suffering editor Jim Kennedy, Thank you.

To my partner of twenty plus years, for his support and encouragement.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About the author

Contact the author

Other books by Etienne

Grand Tour

Revised edition

Etienne

Chapter 1

Somewhere in South Carolina

William

WHOSE IDEA WAS this anyhow? I said.

I did not receive, nor was I expecting an answer. It was a rhetorical question, one that had become the slogan for our trip. I’m pretty certain that one of us—I’m not at all certain which—had first asked the question when we were standing wet and miserable under a highway overpass somewhere in the middle of nowhere waiting for it to stop raining. From that moment forward, one or the other of us had asked it as we’d hitchhiked through the heat of the high desert country of Utah, as we gazed in awe at the majesty of the Grand Canyon, and at every high and low point since. Currently we were standing under a huge live oak tree on US-301 in a small South Carolina town vainly seeking shelter from a sudden downpour. We were, I thought, a long way from Boston ‘home of beans and scrod, where the Cabots speak only to the Lodges, and the Lodges speak only to God’.

Look at us, I thought, Henry Cabot Lane and William Lodge Lane. First cousins, sons of identical twin brothers, who’d married respectively, female descendants of the celebrated Cabot and Lodge families of Boston’s Brahmin society. In truth, the Lane family was older and wealthier than either of the other two families, but had managed to stay out of the limelight for some three hundred plus years, and was therefore less well known, though equally Brahmin. The Lane brothers and their society brides had participated in a lavish double wedding in Boston’s historic Trinity Episcopal Church, and their brides had evidently been on identical fertility cycles, because Henry and I had been born on the same day, exactly ten months after our parents’ weddings. We had grown up together, gone to school together, and roomed together through five years at Groton School, four years of Harvard, and three years of Harvard Law School, from which we’d recently graduated. In a word, we’d been virtually inseparable for all of our twenty-five years.

It’s at times like this, I said, that I wish we’d taken our parents up on their offer to send us on a grand tour of Europe after we graduated from law school.

I know, Henry said, but we wanted to do something different, didn’t we?

Backpacking around the country is about as different as you can get, isn’t it? I said.

True enough, but it’s been nearly six weeks and we’re getting into the hottest part of the summer. I, for one, am more than ready to be back in Boston studying for the bar exam in air-conditioned comfort.

In other words, you’re saying that you’re ready to cut the trip short?

No, cousin, not in other words. Those are the words—the exact words, in point of fact. As soon as we get to Charlotte, I’m ready to head for the airport. How about you?

Yes.

Yes, what?Henry said.

Yes, I’m ready to fly home, I said. For that matter, why wait until we get to Charlotte? There are closer airports.

True, he said, but I doubt if either Greenville or Columbia would offer direct flights to Boston.

Okay, then, Charlotte, here we come, just as soon as it stops raining. The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is shave. This is the first time I’ve ever allowed my beard to grow for six weeks, and I don’t like it.

They might have a barber shop at the airport, he said. Some airports do, and we’re both looking pretty shaggy.

While we were having this conversation I’d noticed a police cruiser drive by and, out of the corner of my eye, I’d also noted that it had done a slow U-turn and was pulling up in front of us. The letters on its door said ‘Police Department, Manning, South Carolina’ in large black letters. The driver motioned us over to the car, and we walked up to the passenger window which slid down as we approached.

The uniformed officer behind the wheel said, Would you boys like a lift to someplace dry?

Much obliged, I said, and Henry and I got into the back of the cruiser.

When we were settled in the backseat with the door and window closed, the officer said, Where y’all from?

Some sixth sense made me wary of giving out too many details, so I said, Up north. We graduated in May and have been backpacking around the country before we start looking for work in the fall.

Henry spoke up, You mentioned someplace dry. Where would that be?

Police station, the officer said. There’s nobody locked up in the jail right now, plus we’ve got a couple of empty holding cells as well as an interview room. Plenty of space for you to dry off, change clothes, and wait for the rain to stop.

Thanks officer, I said. I didn’t catch your name.

Captain Starling, he said.

I’m William and this is Henry, I said.

After a few minutes, the cruiser pulled into an alley running between a two-story brick building, whose sign said ‘Police Department’ and an Episcopal Church, also brick, whose design was clearly late Victorian. The captain drove around behind the police building and pulled under a carport attached to the rear of the building. The carport was large enough to shelter several cars, although there were no other vehicles in sight. He unlocked the rear door and led us down a short hallway past three or four doors. He opened one of them and said, This is the interview room. You can dry off and change in there. Do you need towels?

No thanks, I said, We have dry towels in our backpacks.

Okay, he said, I’ll be just down the hall. He closed the door and left.

We stripped off our soaked clothing, retrieved our towels from the backpacks, and began to towel ourselves dry. I’d just finished drying my hair and was about to dig in my backpack for clean clothes when the door opened. I turned toward it just in time to see Captain Starling and two other uniformed officers entering the room.

One of them was young, in his twenties I guessed, and the other was middle-aged and getting more than a bit heavy. The older one said, Shee-it, Frank, you wasn’t kidding. Looks like you reeled in a couple of good ones.

I know, J. W., Captain Starling said. He pointed at Henry, Look at the ass on that one. It’s just made for fucking.

I started to protest, but before I could get two words out, Starling backhanded me across the mouth and said, Shut up, boy. You will speak only when spoken to, got it?

Afraid to say anything else, I nodded my head.

Starling said, J. W., do you want this ass first?

Naw, Frank, you go ahead. I’d rather have a blow job. I haven’t had a good blow job in a long time. That fat bitch I’m married to won’t even touch my dick, let alone suck it. I expect one of these boys will oblige me before we’re through with them.

I stood and watched in a state of shock while Starling spun Henry around and roughly shoved him face down and bent over the table in the center of the room. Then, when he unbuckled his belt and his trousers and boxers slid to the floor, I could see that he was already tumescent with anticipation.

You’d better use a rubber, Frank, J. W. said. No telling what kind of diseases these boys have. Bobby, you go around to the other side of the table and hold him down.

I don’t know, J. W., Bobby said. I don’t feel good about this.

I don’t give a shee-it how you feel, J. W. said, just do as I tell you.

The one called Bobby nodded and walked around to the other end of the table, where he placed his hands firmly on Henry’s shoulders. Starling bent down and retrieved a condom from his pants pocket, opened it and rolled it down the length of his erection. He turned to Henry, who was still bent over the table with his ass fully exposed, spread Henry’s cheeks, and rammed his erection quickly inside Henry in one long thrust until he hit bottom. Henry let out a single yelp of pain, then was quiet.

Hot damn, he’s tight, Starling said. I’ve never had my dick in anything this tight before. He began to push roughly in and out of Henry.

I couldn’t bear to watch. On the other hand, I couldn’t bear to not watch either. This barbarian was hurting Henry, who I had known and loved all of my life. With that thought, I had a moment of absolute clarity—a true epiphany, if you will. I did love Henry, and not just in the brotherly sense of the word. I suddenly realized that I had always loved him, and I fervently hoped that I would live through this experience so that I could tell him so.

Starling let out a grunt and pulled out of Henry, saying, J. W., you really ought to try this. His ass is so tight. He pulled the condom off his now shrinking penis, duck-walked over to the exposed toilet in the corner of the room, and flushed it before pulling his boxers and pants back into place.

Maybe I will, J. W. said.

An idea sprang into my head and I said, Don’t hurt him anymore. You said you wanted a blow job. I give good blow jobs. In fact, they used to call me ‘Hoover’ in school because I had such good suction.

All right, now you’re talking my language boy, J. W. said. Get down on your knees and show me what you can do.

Yes, Sir, I said, and dropped to my knees.

He walked up to me, unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers and shorts. I reached out and started fondling his penis and testicles until he began to become tumescent. Okay, I thought, you can do this no matter how revolting it is, and I took his hardening penis into my mouth and bobbed up and down on it a few times, fighting down the instant nausea that I felt from the stale and sweaty smell of him alone. Then I locked my knuckles together into a vice grip around his testicles and began to squeeze them as hard as I could. At the same time I bit savagely down on his erection and began to saw my teeth back and forth.

He began to scream, Get him off of me, get him off of me.

I squeezed my hands together harder and continued to bite and chew. My mouth filled with his blood, then something hit me on the head and the world went black.

Chapter 2

South Carolina

Henry

WHEN THE THREE officers came into the room where William and I were toweling ourselves dry, I experienced a sudden feeling of dread. There was something about their body language that indicated nothing good, and when the words I heard coming from their mouths registered fully, I knew that we were in for trouble. When William started to protest, Starling backhanded him across the mouth and told him to shut up, so I decided that it would be wise for me to keep quiet as well. Before I knew it, I’d been spun around and sent sprawling face down on a table that appeared to be bolted to the floor. Strong hands pushed down on my shoulders, making it impossible for me to move, then I felt hands at my ass spreading my cheeks, so I braced myself for what was to come.

Starling shoved his erection into me with one long thrust and, despite my resolve not to cry out, I uttered a yelp of pain. After that, I clamped my mouth shut, determined not to give these refugees from Deliverance the satisfaction of knowing how much I was hurting. Eventually the pain subsided and I resigned myself to grin and bear it—mercifully, the condom was lubricated. I could feel him pumping in and out of me for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, before he groaned, gave one final thrust, then pulled out of me.

I lay there in a daze for a few moments, then I heard William offer to give J. W. a blow job in order to prevent him from raping me, too. I finally realized that I was no longer being held down, so I stood up and turned around to face the others in the room just in time to see William sink to his knees and begin to fondle J. W.’s penis. William’s head blocked my view so I couldn’t see precisely what he was doing, but from the motions of his head I presumed he was performing the promised blow job.

All at once, J. W. began to scream, Get him off of me, get him off.

Starling pulled his gun and, holding it by the barrel, hit William over the head a couple of times, which caused William to collapse to the floor. When William was on the floor and no longer blocking my view, I could see that a good portion of J. W.’s penis was dangling by a strip of flesh, and he was bleeding profusely.

Starling said, We’ve got to get you to the Emergency Room right now, J. W., and he and the other officer half dragged and half carried J. W. from the room. The door clicked shut solidly behind them. I hurried over to it and tried the knob, but it was locked from the outside, so I turned my attention to William, who was now flat on his back on the floor. He was moaning softly, which I hoped was a good sign, so I went to the sink in the corner of the room, cupped my hands together and filled them with water. Then I hurried to William and splashed it in his face, repeated the drill two or three more times, and I stopped only when he began to show signs of coming around. After that, I took my towel and wiped the blood from his face. His eyes opened as I wiped away the last of the blood.

What happened? he said.

Starling whacked you on the head with his revolver a couple of times, I said. You’ve been out cold for a few minutes.

Are we alone?

At the moment, I said. They took J. W. to the Emergency Room. You very nearly bit his penis off.

I hope I crushed his balls for him as well, he said. I had them in a vice grip and I was squeezing as hard as I could.

William, I said.

What?

I have something to say to you. Something clicked inside of me while I was being raped and later when I watched Starling knock you out.

I’ve got something to say to you as well, he said, but you go first.

I love you, William. I’ve always loved you, but I never realized until now how much I love you. I’m not talking about brotherly love here, you understand—I love you in exactly the same way that my father loves my mother.

Having said that, I lay down full length on top of him and kissed him thoroughly. He began to kiss me back and we kissed for a while, then he broke the connection. We had both become erect during the kissing.

Henry, he said, when I saw that bastard raping you, I had a sudden realization that I love you, too. I can’t believe I never realized it before.

Shut up and fuck me, I said.

Say what?

Those guys are going to come back here sooner or later and kill us, I said. Think about it—they don’t dare leave any witnesses to what they did. And if I’m going to die, I want to die knowing that at least once I had an opportunity to show you just how much I love you.

Aren’t you worried that I’ll hurt you just like he did?

I remember the pain of that guy raping me, I said, how could I possibly forget that? But If I’m going to die with a memory of pain, I’d much rather that memory be a part of the process of giving you pleasure. Now shut up and fuck me. I don’t know how much time we have, but we’re wasting it with all this talk.

Okay, he said. Roll over on your stomach.

No, not that way.

What?

I want to be on my back, with my legs in the air, so I can see the pleasure on your face. I rolled off him and over onto my back. Hurry, we don’t have a lot of time.

He didn’t say anything else; he just got on his knees between my legs and raised my heels to his shoulders. He spat on his hand and used the spit to lubricate his erection as best he could. As he began to slowly insert it into me, I winced at the intrusion.

I knew this was a bad idea, he said. I’m hurting you.

Hopefully it will pass, I said, in any case, shut up and fuck me.

As he began to slowly thrust in and out of me, the pain was replaced by a feeling that I couldn’t describe.

You don’t know how good this feels, he said.

Yes, I do, I said. Go faster and deeper.

He complied and began to thrust deeply into me. At the bottom of every stroke he must have found my prostate, because my erection began to twitch with every thrust. He noticed this and, bending double, took my erection into his mouth and began to suck it.

What are you doing? I said.

He removed his mouth from my erection long enough to say, The same thing you are and for the same reason, that is, writing a good memory over the top of a bad one. He put his mouth back where it had been and continued to fellate me.

After a few minutes, he grunted, and I actually felt him spurt inside me. Mere seconds later I erupted into his mouth. Eventually he pulled out of me and placed my legs back on the floor before he climbed back on top of me and kissed me.

You cheated, I said.

Cheated?

Yes, cheated, I said. I didn’t get to see your face when you came.

Next time, he said. If there is a next time. First, we’ve got to get out of this mess.

We got up, removed dry clothing from our backpacks, and dressed. Then we stowed our still wet clothes and damp towels in the packs so that we were ready for flight should the opportunity arise. Sometime later we heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by someone fumbling with the doorknob.

Whatever happens, William, know that I love you more than I can ever tell you.

I love you, too, Henry. Just as much, perhaps more.

The door began to open and we both stood behind it