Guys with amazing butts; second installment of “The Mirror” ….

butt #9Hi, friends and readers:

If you follow this site then you know I’m a huge fan  of the male behind. There’s nothing sexier than a guy with a firm, smooth, and rounded butt, like the guys in today’s photo posts. How could you resist touching those beautiful cheeks if he were your boyfriend? Well, you couldn’t …. 😉

I rose at 7:30 this morning, to take a three-mile walk on the beach. The weather was cool and sunny, and the Gulf was calm. I saw a very beautiful seabird called a North American Oyster Catcher on my walk, which is a fairly rare occurrence, and I saw two dolphins swimming about fifty yards offshore. What a nice way to start my day.

I’ve already finished writing for the day; I put in a good 2-1/2 hours at the keyboard, writing new material for my short novel-in-progress, which is now approaching 30,000 words. It’s coming along nicely. I need to get a haircut, and I have some household projects to take care of this afternoon, so I’ll stay busy.

Okay, everyone, here’s the second installment of my short story, The Mirror. Remember it comes to you with a caveat. The story contains graphic depictions of to sexual activity between two adult males. If this sort of thing offend you then you shouldn’t read The Mirror. 

butt #3****

The Mirror, copyright Martin Delacroix, 2014

I called my friend Jerry. He owned a pickup truck, and I sweet-talked him into helping me with the mirror. By the time we got to Pulsipher Street, the time was close to four P. M., and the “Garage Sale” sign no longer stood in the front yard.

I had to knock three times before the little man answered the door. Now he wore a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts; they showed off his spindly legs. His sandals were buckled over Argyle socks. He smelled of soap and hair tonic.

“We’re here for the mirror,” I told him.

He eyed Jerry suspiciously before motioning us inside. I gasped when we entered the living room. The place was empty, save for the mirror I’d bought.

“You’re lucky you came when you did this morning,” the little man told me. “Around ten, these antique dealers—two fellows—pulled up in a moving van. They bought most everything except the linens. Paid me cash and then carted the stuff away.”

A vision of the stuffed bear riding around town in a truck entered my head, and I almost laughed.


Okay, the mirror was a bit oversized for my bungalow, but it looked terrific in the foyer.  It served a practical purpose, too: I could check my appearance, head to toe, just as I left the house. No more running out the door with my zipper open or my hair askew. No more mismatched shoes. I’m a bit scatter-brained—it’s the Gemini in me—and I do such things.

I initially planned to re-gild the frame and base—I’d restore the mirror to its former glory—but as days passed, I grew to like it as it was: black and hulking, and looking like something out of a Dracula film. I held a dinner party, and the mirror drew a number of comments, most of them positive. I felt sure I’d made a wise purchase.

Then, late on a Friday afternoon, I was home by myself. I pondered whether or not I should visit a gay club downtown that night. I like to dance, and several friends were going out, but what to wear? I stood before the mirror, trying on a shirt and slacks, when I noticed a yellowish glow—an apparition of sorts—beside my reflection. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Seconds later, when I opened my eyes, the glow had disappeared entirely.

I shook my head, and then I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing.

A few days later, around dusk, I watered houseplants. A dieffenbachia grew in a pot by my front door, and I’d just given it a drink when I turned toward the mirror and I saw the apparition again. Only this time it was brighter and more defined.

I thought, what the heck? I stepped to the mirror, touched its surface.


I peeked behind the mirror.


I stepped away from the foyer and walked into the kitchen. When I returned to the foyer a few minutes later, the apparition was still there. I shook my head, and then I spoke to myself, out loud.

“Kevin, are you losing your mind?”

“Is that your name, Kevin?” a male voice said.

I jerked in surprise. Then I glanced all about me. Was someone hiding in the house? Was a friend playing a practical joke?

I placed my hands on my hips. “All right,” I said, “who’s there? Come out and show yourself.”

I looked here and there, not seeing anyone. Then I looked at the mirror again and . . . .


A boy no older than twenty, lanky and dark-haired, appeared beside my reflection in the mirror. He wore overalls, a chambray shirt, and hobnail boots. Tall as me, with a pretty nose and prominent cheekbones, his dimpled chin bobbed while he chewed a piece of straw. A red bandana sprouted from one pocket of his overalls, and a randy bulge appeared in his crotch.

My knees quivered. For a moment I feared I might faint, and then my voice shook when I spoke.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You asked me to show myself.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Thaddeus, but folks call me Thad.”

I puckered one side of my face, still convinced this was some kind of joke. “How come I’ve never seen you before?” I said.

He shrugged again. “I’ve been around this mirror all my life, but I’ve never seen you in it until today.”

“Where do you live?”

“Kansas, on a farm near Lawrence.”

Something about the boy’s appearance suggested he came from another era. His shoes and clothing? His shaggy hair?

I said, “What’s today’s date?”


I repeated my question.

He removed the straw from his lips and twirled it between his fingers. “Wednesday, August fifteenth. Why?”

“What year?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Eighteen and sixty-three. How come you don’t know that?”

My scalp prickled.

I am talking to a ghost.

“I live in a different time than you,” I said. “About one hundred fifty years later.”

He burst into laughter and bent at the waist. After rubbing the side of his jaw with the heel of his hand, he lifted his gaze and studied my face. “Are you some sort of loon?”

I shook my head. “Can you see anything around me?” I pointed to the dieffenbachia. “Can you see that plant?”

He squinted. “I don’t see a plant. I see you and a reflection of me. I see a reflection of things in my bedroom: a bed and chair, and the rug I’m standing on.”

“Have you seen people in your mirror before?”

He shook his head. “And it’s a good thing I’m alone right now, ’cause Mama would think I was a loon myself, talking to you like this.”

I scratched my head. This is no ordinary mirror.

“Let’s try something,” I said.


I pressed the palm of my hand to the mirror’s surface, at shoulder height. I felt the coldness of the glass. “Place your hand against mine,” I said, “and leave it there.”

He did so. Within moments, warmth radiated from the mirror: I felt it first in my hand, and then it traveled through my wrist, up my arm, and into my chest. I glanced at Thad. His brows were gathered above his emerald eyes.

He looked at me and moistened his lips. “I can feel you. Can you feel me?”

I nodded while my pulse accelerated. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

Thad’s eyes glistened. “My chest feels like hot coals are inside it.”

I bobbed my chin. “Mine too.”

A buzzing sounded in my ears. My vision blurred and my knees shook.

“I feel dizzy,” Thad whispered. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but leave your hand where it is. Don’t move.”

He nodded. Then he lowered his gaze and worked his jaw from side to side.

The buzzing noise gave way to a louder sound—one like a transfer truck makes when it blows past you on the highway. My breath huffed while purple spots as big as cake plates appeared before my eyes. My legs turned to jelly, my pulse galloped, and for a moment my world went dark.

Then . . . .


I stood in a room with Thad and a mirror identical to mine. A bed with a chenille spread hugged one wall. A braided rug adorned the varnished pine floor. Afternoon sunlight entered through a double-hung window. The light reflected in Thad’s eyes, and in brightwork on a U. S. Army forage cap. The cap rested atop a bureau. A framed portrait of Ulysses S. Grant hung on a wall.

Thad’s face was pink; his breath whistled in his nose. Sweat eddied down his temples. He used his bandana to mop his brow.  He looked me up and down, and then he gently touched my shoulder.

“Lord in heaven,” he whispered, “you’re here.”


Okay, folks, that’s all for today regarding The Mirror. I’ll post another excerpt :tomorrow (Wednesday). I hope you’re enjoying the story, and I hope everyone has a great Tuesday.


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