I gulped and cleared my throat, nonetheless before I knew it he grabbed me. Even to this day, I do not remember him moving to me, it just happened all at once. I think I let go a squeal, a small cry like a mouse or rabbit being taken by a hawk, being flown away.

"Of all people..." Stan said under his fiery breath.

I tried to reply, however he interrupted: "I dont know whether to shake you stupid or turn away and leave like you left me!"

"Stan, I did-not 'leave you', I let you alone to think! To clear your thoughts! I would never abandon you!" I snapped.

His talons loosened enough for me to turn from him. I felt hurt and told him so.

Before long, Stan and I were talking, sitting on the side of the bed. He apologized for 'drowning' within himself, and promised the last day or two in Britain would be about us relaxing. I didn't feel for more sight seeing, but yielded for him, like he went along with me to golf time to time.

After a while, night blanketed the sky. Stan went towards the room door and said 'goodnight'. I replied the same, hearing the doorknob click. Unbuttoning my shirt, I quickly turned my head to the door and noticed Stan sitting in the chair next to it, taking off his shoes with one hand, loosening his tie with the other, focused on me the entire time. I was going to say something, but he got undressed so frighteningly quick, that it took me for a pause as he came over and started to finish what I was beginning to do with my shirt. In defensive shock, I gently slapped at his hands making Stan pause. Our eyes locked and time stood still. Forcing myself to gulp, I then lowered my head and eyes.

I felt like a small bird, Stan the Owl picking at the feathers and skin, trying to reach my flesh.

My shirt peeled off, then slippers, pants and the same for him. All that was separating us was old world decency and boxers.

As Stan snaked over my body, also pulling the covers over us, I reclined into the bed, him pressing against me firmer with every inch I surrendered to the uncharted landscape of our emotions. I closed my eyes and prepared for the enviable.

His breath like a warm, quick fog, settled over the cup of my neck, softening the landing for Stan's lower face to sink in.

Then I shot up, launching Stan off of me falling back into Earths surface from space.

"Babe, what, what are you-"

"My wife...! I told her that I would talk to her tonight..."

"Babe, that dame is probably swimming in every drink for 50 miles!"

I turned on the light, not even remembering it being turned off, went around the room to find my clothes and threw them on. Stan moaned, kissed his teeth and followed suit.

I knocked on my wife's door with Stan behind me looking almost breathless, breathing mostly through his mouth. Our eyes locked and before we could say anything, Myrtle opened the door. She surprisingly looked sober, kind, wearing a soft robe. That clean face always reeled me in. It was a promise never kept. She then snapped to Stan, started tapping her foot and her nails on the edge of the door.

"Three is a crowd, Babe. I thought it was going to be just the two of us?" She said.

Stan quipped, "I know the feeling."

Myrtle then gave Stan a confused look. I patted his shoulder, told him goodnight and went into my wife's room, closing the door behind me.

We ended up spending the night together. She profusely apologized and tried to be intimate. The most I did with her was some passionate kissing and embracing, but wasn't in the mood past that.

That was one of the first, last straws for me.

I was a married man, a Mason, a fellow with commitments, awards, internationally known! All of this tangled emotions, running around and giving into another mans grasp was something I thought wouldn't be prudent. Had me a wake at nights... Wondering if it would be.

Morning came, I shaved, took a shower, put on my best business suit, and like a man on a mission knocked on Stan's door.

I knew he would be there, it was only 6 a.m. After no answer for a few minutes with no sound of movement from in his room, I felt the instinct to turn the doorknob and it was unlocked. My alpha attitude went to curious concern. Unfortunately, it was justified.

Stan was on the floor in the middle of the room, his face to the side with no less than five bottles of booze next to the bed. I rushed over to him, turned the marinated man over then found a note in his pants pocket sticking out halfway.

"Since this gets your attention, then I will do it too. But I always had a problem with drink anyway. No skin off my nose, Babe."

It was written with haste like most of Stan's unfortunate life decisions. I wanted to slap him, but he probably wouldn't have felt it. I stuffed the letter into my pocket, lifted Stan off the floor and laid him in the bed.

Later in the morning, Myrtle joined me, feeling embarrassed. Seeing him like she sometimes was actually had her stop drinking so heavily for the next few weeks. She spent the rest of the day sightseeing as I sobered Stan back to existence. Holding the man up as he vomited in the bathroom, not always making the sink or toilet, fixing black coffee, cold water and ordering meals with lots of bread.

By mid afternoon, Stan had a terrible headache, but was mostly coherent.

"Of all the stunts, Stan!"

"...I just wanted... Babe, I-"

"Don't you think I deal with this enough?!" I yelled.

"Babe..."

I stood up, stomped my foot and tightened my fists.

"No! No, dammit! All I've see in Georgia, Jacksonville, Hollywood, in my own home, wit' my wife! Now here, practically in another world... With you...?"

Stan's face became frozen on me, his mouth agape.

"Of all people... Right?..."

Stan looked down and away. He swallowed, not knowing what to say.

"RIGHT?!" I roared.

"Babe, please! I-"

I turned away, not angry at him, I felt actually ashamed I yelled at the boy! Rushing out of his bedroom, it felt like miles to mine. I could hear him calling, afraid to turn back. I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it as I slid heavily down to the floor, I wept. I wept heavily. Stan, whom must have been riding on my shadow, came knocking and as luck would have it, my wife. She knocked calling for me. Suddenly, the two started to argue. I shot up, wiped away tears and opened the door.

"Babe, what did he do?! What did he say?!" She asked in real concern.

I looked at him, then at her and said, "I-I guess things happened differently from what I expected."

"Oh, Babe." My wife said as she embraced me. A real warm, loving embrace. Not different from what I have felt with Stan. Stan took one look at us and turned away like a tornado ready to rip apart a town.

We played the ending of our 'British tour' for the cameras and Pathe. The press followed us onto the ship back to The States for Pete's sake.

Thank goodness for first class. The press was ushered away and we could unwind. I looked at Stan through the tops of my eyes, then quickly turned away. I knew that my trust for him was broken, fractured at the least. Stan went away quickly to his quarters.

We didn't speak the entire ship ride until room service knocked on my door saying Stan and my tickets were voided for the second half of the trip.

Stan soon called saying he needed to see me immediately about this diversion and see if we could "fix the error'.

I greeted him 'good morning' and Stan nodded. I sighed, rolled my eyes, with a few blinks. The two of us had to get off the ship at the next port. We had ample time to reorder tickets or speak to someone about what happened. We sat within a private first-class balcony overlooking the port, just a few hundred feet from the cruise.

Stan sat on the other side of the small table, taking long draws of his cigarette, looking forward at the ship. The more he stared forward the more antsy I got.

"Stan, did you speak with anyone? What is this about?" I asked with worry.

He took in a long breath of the cigarette, crossed his legs, and sighed out the smoke. Tapping his mostly finished cigarette on the tables ash tray, he had the nerve to ask me about the gift of cigars.

"I bought them, I should get at least one or five. These cigarettes aren't enough." Stan demanded softly.

Becoming flustered, I nearly tore open the suitcase with the gift, actually counted six for the demon incarnate and almost throwing them, but caught the fact it was late morning with hundreds of people walking about.

Stan nodded his head, barely making eye contact with me. The gentleman within me took over. I lit the cigar for him and begun to ask him about the ship, when a very cheerful service man came to Stan with tickets. Stan nodded, autographed a paper for him, me in turn and he left. I felt relief thinking everything was handled, then as I started to stand, Stan reached out his arm and barred me.

"That's not our ship, Babe." Stan said calmly, looking forward.

I looked on confused back at the ship, then back at him. "What? Stan, you said that you would handle everything. What about the tickets you just got? The trip home?!" I asked, perplexed.

"Our ship is at the least another hour in a half or so, Babe. I made arrangements to explain to your wife we had other priorities due to Hollywood and celebrity status nonsense."

"Stan, that isn't-You... What did you...!" I began to yell at him, catching myself again.

All I could do was roll my lips in, widen my eyes and glare at the devil of a man. He then picked up another cigar, pressed the tuck to the lit end of the one he was smoking. Stan then put the newly lit cigar in his mouth passing the one he was smoking to me. Looking down at his fingers, I realized this trip was far from over. I took his smoked cigar raising my eyes to his. Looking at one another, there was a pause. As I felt myself starting to blush, Stan looked down at his hand then at me again with a aura of invisible satisfaction on his face.

My lips embraced the dampened cap and head of the cigar. I put my hand on the middle of the table as I looked forward then felt his almost leap a top of mine. His hand, mine, melted into one.

I felt free and bound.

End of Chapter Two.

To be Cont.