Bed and Breakfast

There's nothing like having breakfast in bed. And there's nothing better than serving breakfast in bed than when the recipient is a hot man.

Through some wise investments, an inheritance, and sheer determination, my dream of owning a bed and breakfast finally came to reality. Built by my great grandparents in the late 1800's and with several additions and renovations later, this rambling Victorian/Queen Anne house with it's Overseer's cottage offer my guests eight well appointed guest suites as well as my own living quarters. Staff was delegated to the Bunkhouse, removed from the main house and offer three small apartments and one larger multi-bunk area for when I need more staff.

Situated on a bluff area overlooking the Mississippi River, the Inn at Hillcrest had become my pride and joy with a gazebo, new pool and whirlpool, a tennis court and an exercise facility.

A cook and housekeeper handled most of the necessary services, while I handled the guests. As the busy season really doesn't hit until the first part of May, weekday guests in April were rare and when I took his reservation I thought I recognized the name, but didn't press the issue. Until he arrived.

Jason Mitchell could be described in many ways, but a gorgeous hunk of man meat is the only one I have. At 6'1", dark curly hair, strong chin and bottomless brown eyes, Jason had never failed to cause my pulse to quicken. We had worked together for only one year, both of us fresh out of college, young skinny kids just learning the ropes. Nearly fifteen years had passed since then, and nearly ten years since we'd seen or heard from each after transfers and company changes separated us both. We'd been friends as co-workers, but hadn't kept in touch.

But when he walked through my front door, it was like time stood still. He smiled when he saw me and flashed that 1000-watt smile of his.

We started getting caught up on old times as we toured the house. I showed him where his suite would be. I gave him the large Master suite that opened to the deck area where the pool and hot tub were located. After supper, as the cook cleared the table and set for breakfast, we sat in the living room enjoying a bottle of white wine.

As the evening was cool, I had a fire going in the fireplace and we sat enjoying our wine and conversation. As the night wore on I could tell he was tired and suggested he turn in, as we had several more days to talk.

"The air might be a little cool for a dip in the pool, but the hot tub's always hot." I said. He said he might just do that.

Since I enjoy the scenery and had my apartment in the converted attic I rarely closed the drapes to my room. On those nights when the sky was crystal clear I usually sat in one of the wing back chairs looking out at the night sky. My routine was so set that I never turned the lights on until I moved to the bed, and tonight I walked to the window to look up at the sky. I never did see the sky, in fact, they never left the ground below for the sight I held was more spectacular than any night