The house was built on a rise, and the garden sloped gently down to the banks of the Hunter River. Willows and reeds lined the shore, and a few ducks busied themselves feeding in the water occasionally turning their tails up, as they lowered their beaks to the muddy bottom. I looked behind me. The house was impressive, a fine Georgian style home with 15 rooms, not counting bathrooms or laundry.
It was very pleasant, but so were a lot of other houses. What I needed if I was going to decide to buy this one was some sort of extra inducement. Wild salmon or trout in the river, a healthy artistically inclined community. I needed something more than just a nice building in a convenient location to make any house grab me.
The pavilion was set down near the river to the left of the parklike grounds. So that from the house it was a pretty structure on one side, and on the other was a collection of Japanese maples, which would glow with shades of red and orange in the right season. They formed a picture, the sloping green lawn with darker old pines at the sides of it, and at the end, the river, and sitting just in front of it on the left was the white, French inspired pavilion.
The pavilion created a romantic effect with its pointed roof and high round topped window, opening out as they were now, their fine curtains catching in the breeze and drifting out of them occasionally, adding to the lightness and romance of it. And to the right of the vista, in the right season, would be the blaze of crimson from the Japanese maples. A bit lairy for my tastes, but still effective I imagined. It was summer now and the trees were not at their finest.
I wandered down to the pavilion for a closer look. It was octagonal, with a tall wide curved topped French window set in each of it's sides, and today those on the sides facing the river and the park were open. I stepped up into the cool dimness of the interior. Pleasant, I thought.
But for some reason it was furnished in Balinese carved teak furniture, the busyness and darkness of the timber at odds with the lightness and fragility of the pavilion itself. To one side was a canopied day bed, its three sides intricately carved, the cushions though cream and soft looking and the muslin curtains matching the fabric framing the tall glass windows. Two lounges cushioned in the same cream fabric faced each other across a full sized 'opium bed' coffee table.
And to the side a small marble topped Dutch Indonesian reproduction table stood with two matching chairs. Again cushioned in cream. An ancient willow patterned tureen stood on top of it filled with overblown blossoms, the petals falling artistically on the marble.
The only interior decoration that really appealed to me was the young man sleeping naked on the day bed. I had been encouraged to wander down this way by the real estate agent, Rosemary, who had implied I might find something here to help encourage me to buy the house.
If the dark haired young man was meant to induce me, well he was certainly appealing to me in the right way now. And he was definitely causing a reaction.
His back was towards me and his firm rounded butt, and full muscular thighs, were right there in front of me as I stepped up to the bed.
I bent and kissed each firm round cheek and ran my tongue over them, he tasted fresh, just a hint of salt on a warm day.
