Boy in the Mirror

He stands before a dusty mirror. It is candlelight night. He is blonde. He is looking at himself. He is in a Roman villa that is old and ancient in disuse. He is bending over slightly. He is boy. He is thick blonde hair. His body is a stream of beauty made human. He is pale. He is slightly shy. He is wearing only white briefs. His back is a small comma. You can see his spine shadows in it. His chest is thin. His nipples are pale. He is pulling down his briefs, keeping his eyes on his reflection in the mirror. His face is kind. It is delicious. It has pale lips. And blue eyes. He is pure innocence. He pulls down his briefs after a single silent sigh. His hips are rose buds of winter when you remember them a long time later.

He steps out of his briefs. He is ecstasy. He has a certain air about him as though he could be anyone he wanted, but he chose to be himself. He stands now, after the briefs are off. He looks at his face in the mirror. His chest, the chest of a child. His abdomen, the abdomen of a child. Thin. And wanting so much. He looks down at his penis and balls, which the mirror does not show us. He stands straight. This is me, he thinks. He is a precision that has come to find out he has a body. That he approves of this body. That it makes him somebody. For the very first time perhaps.

He dreams of love. A different kind. He has seen so much pain. He wishes to be alone. He studies his face, pretends to shave, pretends to be a man and not fourteen. He stands unashamed not. The shyness is still with him. But he loves being naked. Being naked with the man who has just left the room. Who has been naked when the boy was clothed. The boy dared not look at the man, naked, shaving. He must not be bothered by the young man's casual nudity. He is after all still a boy. Of dignity. And propriety. He talks to the young Italian man as the man finishes shaving and dressing. The man goes to lie on the bed. The boy holds onto the bed post. Talking. Shyly. Talking like to a friend. "Would you be my friend?" the boy asks coquettishly. The man says something inconsequential. Wanting..waiting...thinking why do I have to wait?..thinking everything lost and won at this moment at the same time.

And when the man leaves the dusty tired bedroom of this rubble of a palace, the boy goes to the mirror and imitates the man, pretends that he too is shaving. Then the idea, then taking off his shirt, slowly, luxuriating in it, This is sex and not sex. This is who he is. This is a boy discovering the uncharted land of himself. He does not know he was trying to seduce the man. He does not know as he is bare chested, and as he begins the long slow dive
to remove his pants, that he has always been a sexual child. That his face is like summer directly after an tremble ice floe winter. He looks almost in a splendid pain. As he has almost always looked like that. The shy awakening of awareness of awkwardness. The shy longing as he stands without briefs, and looks down at himself. Thinking: this is mine. This is me. And he turns from the mirror for a moment to the bed where the man has lain moments before lain. Then hurriedly back to the mirror. He is safe only in the scope of reflection. He is perfect. He is always surprised by the world. He is always surprised by people. He sees delicately and more deeply than he is aware of. His back is straight. His hips are small crescents. His crack is a merry doorway, waiting. His penis is hard. It is of coral, as is the rest of him. He takes it in his left hand and holds it, touching the hood of it, feeling the shaft of it,
holding his balls in the palm of his other hand. Small balls. Little pubic hair. He has a thick heft of hair on his head, as though stolen from a golden coin that used to be the sun before it died in retrospect of failure in the match against this boy. He is quiet. He has been silent most of his life. There is fear in him. There is need of fear, considering what has happened to him. It is boy examining boy. It is nakedness as bold and loving and afraid as the whole of galaxies.

He begins to masturbate. His hips move as he slowly moves his crotch inward and outward. He is rose bud. He is the first thing he sees in the morning. He is not obsessed with himself. He thinks, I am beautiful, he thinks, I am average, he thinks will someone love me?, the man?, if he ever returns? He wants to educe himself. He wants to lie on the bed of dust and age and masturbate, really for the first time, that has a meaning, that is more than just an incredible good feeling. He wants the man to walk in on him doing this. His face is perplexed. He is lost. He is lost. The wilderness of woods that surrounds this broken down palace. He is afraid of what has happened. And what will happen next.

He wishes to be naked all the time. He wishes to say, see me and desire me, and I will say--no. He wishes a girl with him. He wishes to be naked with her. He is so tentatively here. He is no longer bundled child, but he is not adult yet. There is such serene silence on this hot bug filled summer night in this sweaty cramped room. He wishes to die. He wishes to live forever in exultation. He wishes to smile one of those teary smiles he is so self famously for. He
wishes to stay. He wishes to run away. He wishes to be made love to. He wishes to hit someone. Or have someone hit him. He puts both hands on his hard on. He
strokes it masterfully. Warm. Hard. Blood like an ocean flowing madly in him. Fully. Completely. He looks in the mirror at his face and his mouth goes ooooooo. He is so excited. He closes his eyes in the candle lit darkness of the room. He cums. Spurting. Splattering. On the mirror. He does not smile. He is beyond that now. He has never smiled much. But now he is just a boy delivering a paper in the fourth form.

Come now. No. Stay away. I shall stay here naked, with my come running out of my penis, and on to my flat abdomen and down my left leg. I shall stand here and be a British boy with a high piping girl voice. I shall stand here like an orange waiting to be dressed then unpealed by hands other than my own, which he finds a disturbing thought. I shall stand here and be me. I shall be a painting. I shall be a statue. In front of a prominent building in Rome. People will love me with their eyes, for centuries. And with their hands and bodies too? That he is not so sure he wants.

Whoever and whatever sex and love might be. He holds his throbbing small still penis and he feels the cum in his hands. It is sticky and white and thick. He puts one finger to it, and then to his lips, and tongue. He feels deliciously decadent. He swallows. This, he thinks, will give me the world. Or not. He looks at the mirror. At his face. At the golden sunlight that is him. And he will wait. He will wait. Though not for long. For he needn't. And he knows that,
akimbo arms, then hands on hips, secure, insecure, and sly smile and a hand tracing his nipples and down his chest and he looks at himself in the mirror and feels--

Pride. Just as long as its his own hand doing it. But not, he thinks, for long.

If Only

I looked forward to beginning college for a number of reasons. Since,
being as objective as possible, I was fairly bright, I had been tracked for
college since early elementary school. When I was accepted to the
University of Illinois, it was as much a relief as anything else.

In addition, I had spent all my life in a very small town. I don't regret
a second of the experience, but I was ready for a change.

And one of the big reasons for looking forward to the move was that
hopefully I could find more people to screw around with, both girls and
guys. With an enrollment of 35,000, U of I seemed to at least have some
potential in that regard.

My first home on campus was Oglesby Hall. Although I was taken by the fact
that it was the newest facility, I didn't appreciate the drawback of it
being at the other end of the known universe from most of my classes until
it was too late.

New student week was a blur. Lots of people, still some money left from
summer jobs, and no classes for awhile yet. I met a lot of people, and
forgot most of their names almost immediately. But some made an
impression.

Steve was one of the first people that I really hit it off with. He was
from Morton, Illinois, a sort of suburb of Peoria. He appeared to be
reserved on the surface, but as I got to know him better he liked to just
sit back and observe the goings on around him. It was an air of near
detachment that for many was an affectation, but for Steve was his way of
not taking life any more seriously than necessary.

It was about the end of new student week when we were in the dining room
finishing our institutional lasagna, talking about movies. 2001 A Space
Odyssey had just hit the theatres, and with the HAL computer having been
created in Urbana, there was an additional tie-in. Neither one of us had
seen it, but it was in our plans.

"As much as I would hate to end all the speculation, we could just actually
go see the movie" I suggested.

"That might work" replied Steve, "but there is a meeting I was going to
tonight."

"Oh, I didn't mean tonight. I've got something else to go to, too. Maybe
the weekend. Matinee or something."

"Sounds like a plan. Catch you later."

What I didn't mention to Steve is that the event on my calendar was a
meeting of the gay students in the Union.

Now I suspected from reading the available information on student
organizations that the gay students group was more political, more
agenda-driven, than social. And that's fine. But I was hoping to find some
people like myself who were less concerned about defining themselves
through their sexual preference than just getting laid as much as possible.

That being the objective, the last thing I wanted to be was on time, or –
gasp – early to the meeting. The idea was to be about the last one in,
maybe 5 or 10 minutes after the meeting started, so everyone can check you
out, and vice versa.

So about 7:00 I entered the Illini Union, walked around for about 5
minutes, and then entered the meeting room through the rear door (no jokes,
please).

A number of heads turned, and I returned the more obvious attempts at eye
contact with a smile and a nod. I pretended to concentrate on the
ever-so-earnest speaker, when there was a tap on my shoulder.

"You really need to get here earlier if you want a seat, Stu" Steve
whispered.

That would go down as one of the more WTF moments of the semester. I made
a vain attempt to regroup.

"Your meeting over already?"

"Nope. Started about 8 minutes ago, same as yours."

We needed to put a damper on our conversation, muted as it was, so as not
to be unduly rude to the rest of the group. But at that point I could – as
we used to say – give a shit less about the rest of the meeting.

Finally, the speakers were done, a sign up sheet was passed around – I
wonder what happened to the letters they sent to Hermie Melville or Hank
Thoreau – and we were out of there.

Steve and I walked together down the Quad.

"So can I ask what you found interesting about the meeting?" he eventually
asked.

"Actually very damn little. And I wasn't expecting much either."

"So why go? Got to be enough to do around here otherwise."

"Take a wild guess."

"If I had to take a wild guess, it would be that you went for the same
reason I did."

"Being?"

"To scout out the talent."

I laughed.

"So what did you think of what you found?"

"I think there is some serious potential. What about you?"

"Definitely some areas for follow up."

"Agreed. But I think both our roommates are in the rooms studying."

"Damn pre-meds. But I think we could probably find a quiet spot in one of
these buildings. Pick - Lincoln or Gregory."

Lincoln Hall and Gregory Hall were two adjacent buildings on the south end
of the Quad. Lincoln was larger, and usually had less traffic.

"Lincoln."

We walked into Lincoln, and then took a flight of stairs up to the third
floor. We saw no one. A restroom was down the hall about 30 feet to our
left. Empty.

"You kiss?" I asked. Some did, some didn't.

"Come here and find out."

The answer was yes, and well. As our tongues played together, we groped
our denim-covered cocks which were trying to rip out of our jeans.

"Let's get in a stall, just in case."

I quickly grabbed the seat, which gave me first dibs on cock. Steve pulled
his out – a nice, cut 6-incher – and I went to work.

Ordinarily when it's someone I like and it's the first time, I really want
to make the blowjob a work of art, something that would hang in the x-rated
section of the Louvre. But usually those occasions are not in a public
bathroom.

So a quickie it was. But his cock and cum were no less sweet for the
haste.

After I had milked the last of his juice, we switched places. Steve's oral
skills got me off in no time, and my knees nearly buckled as I shot my load
down his throat.

We got everything back inside our jeans, got all zipped up, and then left
the bathroom just as someone was entering. We did our best to keep a
straight face, although the look we got suggested that we were not all that
successful. Too bad.

So at least I had made one sexual connection that seemed likely to keep me
from going too long without getting my rocks off. The fact that he was a
good guy as well was a bonus.

Not that it was in any way easy. With 50 other guys on the floor, you
couldn't really be overt. Having to coordinate our class schedules, our
roommates class schedules, and our sexual activities should have gotten us
at least one hour's credit. Would have stood out on a transcript, for
sure.

Once classes got started the semester really started to fly by. Late
October and early November saw midterms hit, and then we started into
cruise control before Thanksgiving break.

It was about two weeks before Thanksgiving that Steve gave me some news.

"Hey, you know they have that science thing down here next week?"

That "science thing" was a program for hyper-intelligent junior and senior
high school students to spend some time visiting campus. The part in the
movie about the HAL computer being invented in Urbana was not all that
far-fetched. The Illinois faculty collected Nobel prizes like the Southern
California backfield collected Heisman trophies, although they probably
made less money doing it.

So the more they could expose the school to the best young minds, the
better. At least that was the theory. And thus the event that was called
– for obvious reasons – "Nerd Weekend" – although any one of them would
have explained how that was incorrect because the program began on a
Thursday and technically the weekend didn't begin until a Friday until you
stuffed them in a closet to shut them up.

"Yeah, I know. You planning on getting smart or something?"

"Nah, too late for me. But my brother and one of his friends are coming
down."

"Lucky you."

He smiled. "Maybe."

I was puzzled, and he did nothing to solve it.

"I made need a favor, though."

"Such as?"

"Ed (Ed was Steve's roommate} is going back home to get an early start on
Thanksgiving. But I still need another bed."

"Luck is with you. Jim (my roomie) is heading out, too."

"So you don't mind putting up with a 13 year old for three days?"

"As long as he doesn't make too much noise with his slide rule we'll be
fine."

I didn't give it a lot of thought after that. I was taking 19 hours, an
overload, and was a James Scholar – an honors program of sorts – and so was
using what for most students was a blow off period to try to maintain some
sort of acceptable academic standing. Running a mini youth hostel was not
exactly on the front burner.

But as happens before Thursday, Wednesday rolled around. With both of our
roommates gone, having set a school record by cutting out 8 days early for
Thanksgiving, we were able to get some rather leisurely sex in after lunch.

One of the things you learned to do when engaging in sex – any kind of sex
– in the residence halls was to put the mattresses on the floor. The beds
were on rollers, and usually right against the gypsum board walls. Figure
it out.

So it was that Steve and I were laying on the floor in his room, his cock
still in my ass, when the subject of the weekend's logistics became
inevitable.

"I figure my brother will be in your room, and his friend Dan with me."

"I could give a shit less, but I would have thought the opposite."

"Hey, you'll really like Tim. And it gives him a chance to get to know
someone new."

"Like I said, I could give a shit. What time they getting in?"

"My folks were going to bring them down tonight after supper. Probably
about 8:00."

"O.K. I'll make sure all the women are gone. Or at least dressed."

Steve started laughing.

"Thanks, but you know that was really lame."

"I know, but..."

Phone. Not a reach over and pop it open cell phone, but a black sit on the
desk and the cord comes out of the wall phone. My ass bid adieu to Steve's
cock, and I got dressed and headed to my room to get my books for my 2:00
class. As I left, I could hear him engaged in conversation with someone
wanting to sell him a newspaper subscription.

The afternoon came and went. Then supper in the dining room. Baked
spaghetti. (Didn't we have regular spaghetti for lunch yesterday?) Then a
little studying in the basement library.

The library wasn't much of a library. But it was quieter than most other
places in Oglesby Hall. And you always stood the chance of meeting a girl
from neighboring Trelease.

I had dozed off with my head on my linear algebra text – it seemed to work
as well as actually trying to read it – and was awakened by Steve tapping
me on the shoulder.

"So that's your study secret."

"Don't tell anyone until I publish the research."

"I thought you were suppose to publish and then make up the research."

"That's only for federal grants."

"Ah, o.k. Hey, company's here."

We hopped on the elevator and went up to fifth floor. Tim and Dan were in
Steve's room.

They were both about 5'4". Dan was a blonde; Tim had Steve's dark hair.
Both wore glasses. They probably didn't weigh 200 pounds combined. I
noted neither pocket protectors, nor extensive acne, so they didn't qualify
as geek poster children.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Oglesby Five."

"Thank you" Dan offered. Tim remained quiet, his apparent reticence not
that far removed from his brother's normally reserved behavior.

"Tim, you wanna go put your stuff in my room?"

"Sure." He speaks.

We walked down the hall into 511. I gestured to Tim to make himself at
home on Jim's side of the room.

"Closet's not locked so if you need to hang some things up feel free."

"Thanks."

Apparently the stores were not enforcing a limit on plaid madras shirts
because it seemed like that was the only thing in Tim's suitcase. Not that
I didn't have one or two in the closet myself.

Tim emptied his suitcase and slid it in the space between the end of Jim's
bed and his desk. The rooms in the residence hall would have made an
Apollo astronaut claustrophic, so having room for one extra thing was a
bonus.

"So let's go see what Dan and your brother want to do."

"I think maybe not now," Tim answered.

"Why do you think that?"

"Cuz they're probably getting it on."

WTF Moment Number 2.

"They're what?"

"I think you heard me," he smiled. Great smile. "They like to play around
with each other."

"O.K. That would explain..."

"That would explain why Dan is staying with him, yes."

"So I guess we won't be meeting them for breakfast."

"I hope not."

"Why is that?"

"Cuz I want to be playing around with you."

WTF Moment Number 3 over and out.

I am rarely speechless, but this was too much too soon.

"Steve says you're great. I've been wanting to make it with you since he
told me I'd be staying here."


I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I was beginning to feel caught up
in a sort of sexual hurricane. I turned out to be right.

"Well. What the hell. Why not?"

I locked the door, and then, with Tim and I each taking an end, we took the
mattresses off the bed and made a sort of queen-sized play area on the
floor.

Throwing my clothes in the general direction of my bed – or at least the
non-mattress portion – I stripped and turned to check on my soon to be new
lover."

WTF Moment Number 4 I have died and am proceeding to heaven.

Sticking out from between Tim's legs through a still expanding patch of
pubic hair was a fucking fire hose. Except this fire hose was standing
almost straight up and was over 8 inches long.

"Tim, we are going to have a great weekend."

I knelt in front of him, almost in homage to the most magnificent cock I
had ever seen. I ran my hands over it like an archeologist who has
unearthed a long-lost treasure.

"Are you going to suck it? A lot of people like to suck it."

Where to begin with something like that? I put one hand on the base, not
that the thing needed any support, and use the other to guide the tip into
my mouth. Knowing that I could in no way take all of him, down my throat
anyway, I took my time.

I very tenderly worked the head of his cock with my lips and tongue.
Around the head, an inch or two up the shaft, a little tickle on the piss
slit, then repeat. Repeatedly.

"That's nice."

I relinquished my prize long enough to say thanks, but quickly resumed my
duties.

"Can I suck you, too?"

Since a verbal answer would have required taking Tim's dick out of my
mouth, I carefully rotated my body until my cock was in his face. The
subtle hint was not lost.

Tim had some degree of skill, and a lot of eagerness. That is a tough
combination to beat under most circumstances, and this was no exception.
He was taking it quicker than I might have under the circumstances, and
that, coupled with the incredible sexiness of the moment had me near an
explosion.

"Tim, you're doing great, but you may want to take it a bit easier. I'm
almost ready now."

"I know. I want you to cum right away, so we can fuck."

I caught his drift. So we can fuck, meant so I can fuck you. Oh my God.

"You want that up my ass, do you?"

"Yeah, and you want it up your ass, too."

Well, what is life without a challenge.

"Then you better finish sucking my cock then, hadn't you?"

Tim probably did not need the extra encouragement, knowing that me getting
my rocks off was the only thing keeping him from royally screwing my ass,
but he rose to the challenge. It took less than two minutes, and I had
fired my load down his throat.

"Good work, amigo. First time I'll bet."

Tim laughed. "First time was a while ago. But I'm glad you liked."

Now the moment was at hand. There were storage drawers, the rooms being
too small for dressers, built into the beds. I reached in and found the
never-far-from-me and in this case absolutely necessary jar of Vaseline.

"You know what to do with this, right?"

"Just roll over, you'll see."

I've always like laying on my side when I take it up the ass, seems more
leisurely. There are times when I like it a little more vigorous, and will
be on all fours or leaning against or over some wall or piece of furniture,
but vigor in this case might have proved fatal for me. This one was gonna
be as easy as I could take it, considering what was going to be going up my
ass.

Tim started by wiping the lube around my asshole. Then he added more, and
inserted one, and then two fingers to loosen me up a little more. I guess
I must have let out a satisfied sounding moan because I heard him ask "you
like?"

I think I answered "mmmm" or something else that could have been
interpreted in the affirmative, because I felt what had to be a third
finger enter. The little SOB was gonna have me ripped in two without even
using his cock.

"Showtime, Tim. Let's get fucking."

I could feel what I thought was Tim applying some more Vaseline to his
dick, and then I felt the head of his cock at my asshole. Here goes.

"Slow and steady, Tim."

I felt the initial penetration, which given the working over Tim had given
me with his fingers wasn't as much of a shock as it might have been. Then
there was more, and more, and still more. Glorious.

"How are you doing, Stu?"

"I'm getting fucked by the hottest cock on the planet, how do you think I'm
doing?"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Tim, if you weren't already illegal, you'd have to be outlawed."

"You don't mind that I'm not in high school or college or anything?"

"Are you enjoying this?"

"Yeah, you know that better than anyone."

"Anybody making you do this against your will?"

"No."

"Then what's to mind. Anytime you don't want my cum down your throat, or
your cum up my ass, just say so. Otherwise enjoy."

"Speaking of my cum up your ass..."

"Yeah, back on topic. How are we doing?"

"Halfway in, little more, little less."

Halfway. Sheez.

"Let's get it all in, then you can do some pounding."

Tim grabbed my hips to get some more leverage. I could feel his dick
going, in the cliché of the day, where no man had gone before. And few
since.

"Done. Now time for you to get seriously fucked."

Tim started out with slow, gradually lengthening strokes. Even after a
number of years, and a number of cocks, I still struggle trying to describe
the feeling. It was just off the charts.

His strokes started getting longer and more violent. I had never
experienced anything like it; each thrust felt like it would tear me apart.
Needless to say, I loved it.

I laid there with my eyes closed, moving my hips back to meet his strokes.
I could hear his breathing quicken, then stop. I knew what was next.

"Don't yell" I cautioned, just in time.

Tim turned his head and grunted, growled, you name it, into the mattress.
He was quiet for several minutes.

"How're you doin' back there?" I asked.

"I'm great."

"I'm supposed to say that."

Even Tim laughed...a little.

"You liked it, huh?"

"Liked is not the word. I was in heaven. You know I'm gonna need this
again before you leave."

"I hoped you would say that. I'll bet you wouldn't mind doin' me sometime
either."

"Well, I wouldn't turn you down, that's for sure."

The phone rang. I usually don't like getting out of bed to answer phone
calls, especially if it involves leaving a naked partner unattended. But I
had a hunch who it was.

I was right.

"So, did you and Tim hit if off?"

"Let's just say you're in my will."

"Why don't you two think about getting some clothes on? We were gonna head
out to Mr. G's and get some pizza."

"Yeah, as if you're dressed. See you downstairs in five."

The four of us met in the elevator lobby at the appointed time. Everyone
had this JBF look to them that would, if anyone had been paying attention,
been a dead giveaway to the evenings activities. The lobby was, however,
empty.

We walked across Florida Avenue, traffic being light, to Steve's car, and
headed to Urbana for our pizza. I usually prefer the thick-crust Chicago
style pizza, widely available on campus, but sometimes the think crust,
square-cut variety had its appeal. And I had worked up a serious appetite.

As drank our pitcher of Pepsi and waited for our pizza, Steve and I sat
there observing the almost giddy looks Dan and Tim exchanged with each
other. While I hated to be the one to have to break into their reveries,
there was the matter of the purpose of their visit to discuss.

"Hey, far be it from me to be an adult or anything, but where do you have
to go tomorrow for this program, and when do you have to be there?"

Dan reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved a heavily folded piece of
paper.

"It says South Lounge Illini Union 9:00 a.m. They are going to take us
around to places from there."

"So you need to leave Oglesby at 8:30, latest."

"Shit" said Steve. "I've got nothing tomorrow until 11:00."

"I've got an 8:00 trig class in Altgeld..."

"Idiot" Steve interjected.

"True, but I still have to go. You guys can either walk up with me and
hang out in the Union for an hour, or go later by yourselves."

"What are the chances you two are going to get up on your own?" Steve
asked.

Tim and Dan looked at each other.

"Zero" Tim answered.

"Or at least approaching zero" Dan agreed.

"O.K. I be your native guide. You eat breakfast, Dan?"

"Usually."

"Tim?"

"No. Wake me up at maybe 10 after 8."

"Done."

The arrival of the pizza ended the logistical phase of our discussion. We
spent about 20 minutes in small talk mixed with food consumption and then
returned to Oglesby.

We said goodnight to Steve and Dan, then retired to my room.

I made no comment to Tim, but stripped and flopped on the mattresses, this
time taking a sheet, blanket, and pillow with me. He soon joined me.

"So Steve figured we'd get it on, huh?"

"Yeah. He kind of watches out for me."

"How's that?"

"Well, you know I'm kind of..."

"Yeah. Very much so."

"And he's worried that I might attract the wrong kind of person."

"I can see where that would be a problem. So am I the right kind of
person, so far anyway?"

He leaned over and kissed me.

"Steve said you liked that, too. And that's a yes, by the way."

I leaned over and brushed my lips against his.

"Good. But there is an obvious question, albeit none of my business,
really."

"I know, and the answer is no we don't. We jerk off together, and
sometimes one of us will watch the other do it with someone else, but Steve
and I have never made it. I think he's conflicted a little, me took,
maybe."

"Well, however you've worked it out, seems like you're doing pretty good."

"You liked the blow job, huh?"

"Yeah. As they say, I never had a bad one, but you are a talent."

"Thank Dan. We practice a lot."

"I will remember that. Now do you want to get it on again, or grab some
sleep? Morning will come earlier than you think."

"I was gonna say you could suck my cock for a few minutes, but then we'd be
back at it. Let's get some sleep. We've got all weekend."

Tim rolled over and faced away from me. He made no objection when I slid
over beside him and put my arm around him.

"Good night, lover." I gave the back of his neck one last kiss.

"Night."

I woke up about 7:00. I hadn't set the alarm clock, but ordinarily I am
not a late sleeper. I threw on a robe and grabbed a towel and headed off
to the bathroom to grab a shower before breakfast.

There were about 6 showers on each floor. Unlike some of the older
residence halls, there was an individual changing area for each shower. I
usually took the farthest unoccupied one. As I walked to the end of the
row, I heard someone else in one of the stalls.

"Hi, Stu."

"Morning, Dan."

I leaned over and whispered "I see Steve let you escape".

He whispered back "yeah, and you left that cock of Tim's all by itself in
your bed".

"What could I do, it was too heavy to lift?"

Dan laughed. Then he pulled his robe off and turned to face me.

"I bet this would be easier to lift."

His dick was maybe half the size of Tim's, but was fully erect.

"I can think of other things to do besides lift it" I answered.

"Like what?"

"Like stand on this bench and find out."

Dan was standing on the bench in an instant. I bent over just a little,
and started slipping his cock into my mouth. Just exquisite.

However, before I could get really into sucking his cock, one of the
bathroom doors opened. I ducked into the next shower stall, hoping that
whoever it was had just come in to take a leak. No luck. Shower time had
begun in earnest.

Dan and I finished our showers about the same time, and as we walked out
the door into the hallway he whispered to me "Tim and Steve's folks are
driving down tonight to take them out to dinner. You're gonna be stuck
looking after me."

As if I was going to pay attention in class anyway.

Eric

I awoke well rested, and looking forward to the new day. I had slept through the night, which rarely happened any more. I was totally relaxed, and laid on the bed for a few minutes enjoying the silence of the early morning.

I got up and did the necessary things to make myself comfortable, put on my shorts and shoes, and padded across the hallway to Eric's room. I tapped on the door, and opened it carefully. He was lying there snoring softly. I wanted to let him sleep, but he had said he wanted to get up so I walked to the bedside, turned on the small lamp on the night-stand, and shook his shoulder gently. "Eric," I said just above a whisper. "Eric. Wake up, Son."

He rolled onto his back, and opened his eyes. As he focused on my face, he started to frown, and then the fog cleared as he remembered he had said he wanted to get up early. "G'mornin' Dad."

"Good morning, Son," I said as he screwed his little fists into his eyes. "Are you sure you want to get up?"

"No," he said honestly, "but I'll try it 'cause I want to be a part of everything you do."

I smiled at him, and said, " Well then, get up and wash the sleep out of your eyes, and put something on. I'll be in the basement when you're ready."

"OK. I'll just be a minute," he said as he got out of the bed, and followed his rigid boyhood to the bathroom.

I left him to his private morning rituals, and went to the basement. I did my stretching, and started the treadmill. Adjusting the speed to a normal walk, I had just gotten on it, when Eric came in and climbed on behind me. He had watched me jog the morning before, so I was not really surprised that he did it correctly. "You should do some stretches first," I said, "to prevent stiffening up later."

He stepped to the sides of the moving belt, and dismounted. I did the same, and showed him how to stretch out his tendons and muscles. "You should do this before and after every workout," I said. "It will help reduce any soreness you may get."

I put him to walking some more while I sat down and did some work on the butterfly machine. He watched me while he walked, and said, "How long do I have to do this?"

I smiled and said, "It's not a chore. If you think that's enough, stop and do something else.

"Like what?" he asked as he stopped the treadmill.

I got up and said, "You could start building up your arms with some curls>" I showed him how to do the exercise properly, and handed him a couple of five pound weights to work with.

"These are too light," he said. "I can lift a lot more than this."

"I'm sure you can," I said, "but using a weight you can handle easily let's you do more reps - er, repetitions - and it's the reps that build the muscles. You can increase the weight when you can do a hundred reps with each arm, but for now just start with three sets of ten reps each."

"What do you mean -sets?" he asked.

"Do ten lifts with each arm, and rest a bit," I said. "That's one set."

I watched as he started flinging the weights up and down. "Slow down, Son," I said. "Take your time and make sure you do each lift properly. This isn't a race. We want to spend the time exercising, not doing it in as short a time as possible."

I worked on my abs, which I felt had suffered from the large caloric intake on Christmas, and showed Eric various exercises he could do without making him too stiff and sore. I taught him the proper way to do pushups and squats. We both finished up with a jog on the treadmill. I put Eric in front of me so he could hang onto the handle while I used the side rails for balance. We ran a moderate half mile that left us breathing deeply.. I showed him how to cool down, and we went up to my shower, which was big enough for four people to bathe in at the same time.

We soaped each other's back, then rinsed the sweat off our own bodies. Eric wanted to wash my privates, but I told him that would get us both all sweaty again. He giggled and said, "Yeah, maybe, but it would be fun too."

I said, "That kind of fun will lead us down a slippery slope, and we aren't ready to take that plunge yet."

We got out of the shower, dried off, and Eric ran to his room to get dressed for the day. I took a little extra care with shaving, and then put on a pair of slacks and a turtle necked shirt, black socks, and a pair of loafers. By the time I got down to the kitchen, Eric had my coffee waiting. I kissed his forehead, and thanked him. "How about sausage and pancakes this morning," I said.

"Yeah, cool."

I put some link sausage on the grill and they cooked while I mixed the batter. In less than fifteen minutes we were feasting on a good breakfast. He had set the places on the island with orange juice at each place, my cup freshly filled with the last of the coffee from the carafe, and milk for himself. I enjoyed the closeness, and could no longer imagine a life without this wonderful boy.

"Do you want to watch the market with me this morning?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe for a while."

We sat in the same seats we had used the day before. I turned on the computer, and brought up the markets. It seemed to be a rather listless day, and I noticed Eric beginning to flag after a short time. I said, "Do you want to go take a nap? You really aren't used to being up this early."

He smiled at me a little guiltily and said, "Maybe for a little while."

I hugged him as he got up, and said, "Pleasant dreams."

He hugged me back, and went up to his room. I stuck it out for another hour, but finally gave up, and went into the kitchen. I used the bones from the rib roast, and some other leftovers from the freezer to start a pot of hearty beef soup. I put it on the back of the range, and let it simmer. I put a pork loin in an enameled roasting pan, and after rubbing it with salt, pepper, thyme, and rosemary, poured some red wine into the pan. I peeled some small potatoes, opened a bag of baby carrots, and threw in some roughly chopped onions and garlic. I put the cover on it, and put it in a slow oven to braise.

I went back into the computer room, and checked the IM for people I knew who were online. I chatted with a couple of them for a while, listening to them brag about their Christmases. I smiled to myself when I realized none of them had gotten anything that could compare with the gift that had been given me.

I checked the local newspaper for anything interesting, and was about to shut the machine down when a small headline attracted my attention. Teen Found Dead in Snowbank. I clicked on the link to the story, and read that an unidentified teenager had been found by a store owner while shoveling the walk in front of his business. The police estimated him to be about fifteen, but said he had no identification, and they had no clues as to where he was from. The article went on to say that no facilities were available for runaways, and that he had evidently frozen to death in the big storm on Christmas Eve. Yeah, I thought. No room for him at the Inn.

I got a printout of the story, and determined to write a letter to the paper with a view to pointing the finger at incompetent social services, callous taxpayers, and self righteous "Christians.". I was angry for the first time in years, and thought about how close Eric had come to a similar fate. Then I cried for this unknown young man whose life Society had wasted.

A little after noon I went up to wake Eric, but found him in the library reading a book. "What are you reading?" I asked.

He held the book up so I could see the title on the spine. The Book of Virtues I read. "Do you like the stories?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "They're all about how to be a good person. Have you read it?"

"A long time ago," I said. "I got a lot out of it. It helped me deal with the nasty bastard I used to be."

"No way," he said. "You were never nasty."

"Well, thank you kind sir," I said smiling at him. "I'm glad you think so, but the fact is that I used to be the same kind of queer you hated while you were on the streets. After I read that book, I didn't like myself very much, and I changed some of the things that made me that way. I still have to keep a tight rein on my thoughts, but it gets easier every day."

"Is that why you went to prison?"

"It certainly had a lot to do with it, " I said. "It took a long time for me to realize it was my fault, and not the fault of the boy I had sex with."

"Did he rat you off?"

"Yes, and I hated him for it back then," I answered. "I spent three years devising plans to get even. Then I realized I was only wasting my time instead of using it constructively. When I got out, I had to attend a therapy group, and that was one of the books they suggested I read. It made me think of all the damage I had done to others, and I decided to try to do better."

"You sure did a good job of that," he said. "You're the best guy I ever knew."

"Thank you for saying that," I said. "We can talk about it later if you want to, but it's getting on toward one o'clock. John will be here soon, and you'll want something to eat before he gets here. Go comb your hair, and make yourself presentable. You want to make a good impression, don't you?"

He put a bookmark in the page, and stood up. "I don't care what you were before. I sure love you the way you are now."

"I love you too. Now go."

I went back down to the kitchen,, and heated a can of chili. I put some lunchmeat on a plate, and poured a glass of milk. Eric ran in as I was dishing up the chili. I noticed he had changed into slacks and a dress shirt. "You look very nice," I said as he filled his mouth with chili.

He smiled at me, and continued his assault on the chili and sandwiches. When he finished, he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, and came to me and hugged me around the waist. "You can stop changing now," he said. "You're perfect just the way you are."

The intercom beeped, and Tom told me John was on his way up. I thanked him and sent Eric to greet him at the door while I stood off to the side where I could watch his face.

When Eric heard John's knock, he swung the door wide and nailed the man with his brightest smile. He stuck his hand out, and said, "Good afternoon, Mister Bishop. My name is Eric Larson, and Bob wants to adopt me."

I had known John for a little less than a year, but had never seen him at a loss for words before. He stuttered, "Er, um, ah." He finally took Eric's outstretched hand and said, "How do you do Mister Larson." Eric gently guided him into the house, and closed the door. John stood in the foyer staring at him with his mouth agape.

I walked up to him barely subduing a laugh, and said, "I see you've met Eric. Quite extraordinary, isn't he?"

Although still somewhat taken aback, John regained his bearing as Eric headed for the kitchen, and said, "He's amazing. Where did you find him?"

"Actually he found me. I believe he is Santa's gift to me because I've been such a good boy all these years." We both chuckled over that statement.

As we retired to the family room, I gave John the short version of Eric's plight and how he came to be my permanent guest.

We sat at the coffee table while Eric busied himself in the kitchen. He came in a few minutes later carefully balancing a plate of Oreo cookies, three cups and saucers, a sugar bowl, a creamer, and a carafe of coffee on a tray He put it down and asked, "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?'

John shook his head more in wonder than denial and said, "Not for me. Thank you."

After we had sipped the coffee and dispensed with small talk, the tray was pushed aside, and John opened his attache case. He pulled out a manila folder, and put it in front of me. "This is the result of that project you had me look into last February," he said.

It was my turn to lose it. I sat with my chin on my chest looking at the vellum document in front of me. Emblazoned across the top was the unmistakable single word "PARDON". I glanced at the State Seal, and the scrawled signature and said, "I don't believe it! You did it!"

"Well, I had a small part in it," said John, "but you did most of it. That shelter you funded had a lot to do with it. That gave him a good reason to consider it, and the two hundred thousand in his offshore account did the rest.

"Your record has been purged," he continued. "I had a friend run an NCIC [National Criminal Information Center] background check on you, and it came back blank. There are undoubtedly some hard copies of your transgressions laying around in old files somewhere, but the computers are clean."

"How is the shelter coming?" I asked. "I just saw a story in the local paper that said a youngster died in the storm. He was found in a snowbank."

Eric asked, "Was it a street kid?"

"They think so," I told him. "He didn't have any ID, and there is no missing persons report fitting his description."

"Was there a picture with the story?"

"Yes, but not a very good one," I said. "It's on my desk if you want to look at it."

Eric jumped up and ran out of the room. He came shuffling back a few minutes later weeping quietly. "It's Jeremy," he sobbed. "That's one of the guys I told you about who helped me."

John asked him gently, "Do you know his last name?"

"He said it was Shaw, but nobody ever gives his real last name. I'm not even sure his real name was Jeremy," Eric sobbed. "All I know is, he was a good guy. He was another one the pastor at the Angel of Mercy mission wouldn't let stay."

"WHAT?" John burst out. "Why couldn't he stay?"

"Pastor Bucholtz said there was no room in God's house for faggots," said Eric. "That's why I couldn't stay there either."

John was appalled. "How many were told that?"

"There were five of us. We kind of looked out for each other until I lost track of Jeremy and Josh." Eric was still crying, but he was holding up better than I would have under the circumstances.

John dialed his cell phone, and spoke into it. "I want to talk to Dan. This is John Bishop." He waited a minute or two, and then said, "He damned well better find the time to talk to me right now. I have some information on that dead teen" Less than a minute later he said, "Dan? I think I have some information for you. I have it on good authority that the boy that was found in the snow this morning went by the name Jeremy Shaw. He had some buddies that weren't found. Do you know if they're in your lockup?"

A couple of minutes went by, then, "Yeah." ---. "I see. Who's the PD? --- Uh-huh. ----Uh-huh.--- No.--- Well, I may take a hand in it. ----- OK, Dan. I'll talk to you soon." He laughed and then broke the connection. He turned to Eric and said, "Your other friends are being held at Juvenile Hall at the moment. They are being charged with Breaking and Entering. I'll see what I can do for them tomorrow. I have to talk to the Public Defender first. We lawyers have strict rules about stepping on each other's toes." He made a wry face.

"Can't you just get them out and bring them up here?" asked Eric. Things are so simple to solve when you're thirteen.

"There are a lot of reasons why that's not a good idea," John said to him. "For one thing, it would put you and Bob at risk. Then too, I know what Bob's rules are, and I doubt these boys could measure up. I'll see what I can do tomorrow. Till then, there isn't much we can do except pray I can convince the DA not to press charges."

"If it will help, I'll cover any damages they caused," I said.

"That might be the thing that springs them," said John, "Well, let's table that for the time being.

"To answer your question about the shelter," he continued, "the contractor is into cleanup, and the decorators are in full swing. We have the necessary permits and licenses. It should be ready for occupancy by the first."

"That's only a few days away," I said. "Is the staff lined up?"

John ticked the positions off on his fingers; "We have a pediatrician, three of the four counselors, a cook, and a housekeeper," he said. "I'm sold on Janet Hayes as the director, but I know how you feel about women in authority, so I've also got William Petty on the list."

I knew they were both highly qualified. "Why do you like Janet better than Bill?" I asked.

"Both have impeccable credentials," he said, "but I read both their doctoral theses, and Janet's covers the ground in the field we need. It's a masterful paper on the needs of homosexual youth. Besides that, she has seven years experience working for the Colorado State Hospital in just that niche." He paused, then said, "And I'm pretty sure she's gay."

"Is she available now," I asked, "or will we have to wait while she plays head games with us?"

"She wants the job. The salary offer is acceptable, but the thing she loves most is the idea of functioning without the State looking over her shoulder."

"Sign her up," I said. "Have her ready to take over on the first. Hire the others, and have them move in. I want to get the shelter open so there are no more 'Jeremy Shaw's' slipping through the cracks.

"The first is next Monday," I said. "I want to have a small ribbon cutting ceremony, and I want to be the one to cut the ribbon to open 'The Jeremy Shaw Memorial Shelter.' Invite the press. I'd like for them to hear what I have to say." I gave him an evil smile. He had his mouth open again. "Well, I paid four million dollars to build the place. Shouldn't I have the say as to what it will be called?"

Eric suddenly wrapped his arms around my neck and murmured, "You're the greatest, Dad."

John looked thoughtful. "Be careful how you word that speech," he said to me. "I feel the same way you do, but I don't think it's a good idea to tread on too many important toes before we even begin."

"Fuck them, their important toes, and the horse they rode in on!" I said angrily. "They've had a hundred years to fix the problem, and have done nothing constructive."

"If I'm following your logical train of thought," John said, "you will want me to petition the court to assign Eric's delinquent friends to the new shelter."

"Why, that's a wonderful idea, John," I said sweetly. "If the staff is ready, they could move in tomorrow after court., don't you think?

"I'd also like to cover the boy's funeral expenses." I said. "It makes me angry that the State will just throw him in a hole and cover him up to hide their mistakes."

John pulled out his cell phone, and started dialing. Within a half hour he had notified all the staff members except one of the counselors, and was assured that the shelter would be staffed sufficiently to accept the three boys when they were released. "Done, and done," he said. "The funeral home will take care of the nitty gritty, and Jeremy will be 'at rest' by tomorrow morning in viewing room 'B'.

"Now, what's this about an adoption?"

"I think Eric said it quite succinctly," I said. "What we need to discuss is a plan of action."

"Well, now that your record is no longer an issue, I don't see any reason why it can't be done," said John. "It might be a good idea to file the petition in another county, though. You are quite well known in this one, and there are pit bulls around who might try to derail your petition. Marie Perkins comes to mind." He had mentioned the assistant DA who had prosecuted my conviction. "She can't legally quote chapter and verse, but she can mention the pardon, and throw suspicion around."

"Where would you suggest," I asked. "I'm a legal resident here, and I really don't like the idea of moving." I laughed. "It's pretty hard to move a place this big."

"How about Lincoln County," he said, ignoring my attempt at humor. "It's not that far away, and all you would have to do is buy a vacation cottage - a beach front cabin on the coast, maybe. After the adoption is final, you can sell it, or rent it out. Consider it an investment."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "If I rented it out during the summer, I could also make it available to friends and employees. I'm sure Tom and Carl would enjoy a week or two on the beach, although I don't know what we'd do around here without them."

"Well, we'll call that a 'yes'. You can get hold of your realtor in the morning, and let me know as soon as you've completed the purchase." He continued, "Meanwhile, I'll get the paperwork started. Anything else?"

"Yes," I said. "Eric needs his basic records, and I thought you might be able to talk to his father about them. He will need his school records, birth certificate, Social Security Card, and anything else you think he might need in the future."

John thought a moment. "I think it's a good idea to talk to his father anyway. We might be able to make a shortcut in the adoption process if we can get him on our side."

"Good luck," snorted Eric. "He threw me out of his house. He said I must be the milkman's kid because none of his family was queer."

"That's even better," said John. "I'll bet he has a favorite tavern where he drinks."

Eric nodded.

John said, "I wonder how he would like it if it became common knowledge there that his son is gay." He put on an evil smile. "This is all ammunition for our side. We might even get lucky, and get him to sign a 'Termination of Parental Rights' affidavit."

"He stole my bank account too," Eric said. "I had over a thousand dollars in it that my mother gave me before she died."

"Oh Eric," John said, "I'm going to love doing this for you. I don't suppose you know the account number."

"No. The passbook was in the family strongbox," he said. "Does that make a difference?"

"It would make it easier," said John, "but I'll see what my investigator can find. For now, just write down your father's name and address. Put down your mother's name too. I'll take it from there."

Eric took the proffered paper and pen, and wrote the names and his old address on it. John took it and put it in his attache case. "Anything else while I'm here?"

Eric and I looked at each other, and I said, "I guess that's all. You're welcome to stay for dinner if you want to."

"Thanks, but no," he said. "Billy will be waiting for me, and he'll be cooking tonight. I can't miss that - much as I'd like to." He laughed at his own joke, and we all stood up. He extended his hand to Eric, and said, "I'm very happy to have met such an extraordinary young man. I hope to see you again soon." He turned to me and said, "It's always a pleasure, Bob. I'll keep you posted on everything, and I'll call you tomorrow about those three in Juvie."

"I appreciate it, John. I'll be waiting for your call."

Eric and I saw him to the door, and said our farewells. He smiled and waved as he got into his Mercedes, and drove off down the hill.

Eric pushed his head up into my armpit, and put his arm around my waist. I led him back into the family room, and sat him next to me on the sofa in front of the fire, which he had rebuilt earlier. He grabbed me with both arms and sobbed, "He didn't deserve to die," he moaned. "Why did God make him die? He wasn't really bad."

My eyes were full of tears too, but not so much because of Jeremy's misfortune. My love for Eric made me hurt because he was hurting, and I had no answers for him. Platitudes would not assuage his grief, so I cradled him in my arms, and rocked him until he fell asleep from emotional exhaustion. I loved him the more because even in the flush of his new-found largess, he had not forgotten the realities plaguing those he had shared the hard times with.

I gently woke him after an hour, and said, "Supper time, Little One." He opened his eyes, and his eyes filled up again. I said quietly, "Maybe Jeremy died so that your other friends could live a better life. There are people in town who are really pissed off that a young boy died because there was no place for him on Christmas Eve."

I heard the phone ringing, but let the machine answer it. What I had in my arms was much more important than anything else. I said to Eric, "It's time for dinner."

He answered, "I'm not really hungry."

"OK," .I said, "but you'll have let me go turn off the oven or we'll be smoked out." He released me, and I went to the kitchen. I turned off the oven, and took the roast out to cool. Eric came in a few minutes later, and said, "I guess I should eat something. You went to all the trouble of fixing it."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "I'd throw it out and start over if it would make you happy again. I felt the way you do when my mother died. I was in prison, and they wouldn't even let me go to the funeral. They just told me she was dead, and sent me back to my cell."

The phone rang again, and I picked it up. "Llewellyn here." I said.

John's excited voice said, "I got him! I got the son of a bitch. He's going to be defrocked and sent to burn in the Sahara if I have my way."

"John?" I said. "What are you talking about?"

"I called the head honcho at the Angel of Mercy Synod, and read him his beads, from 'a' for asshole to 'z' for zero - including, but not limited to 'f' for faggot and 'q' for queer. I told him his fucking pastor here was responsible for Jeremy's death. I told him the donation you made last year would not be renewed, and that I was going to try to bring charges that would take away their tax exempt status."

John," I said, "are you drunk?

"You bet your bippy. And I'm mad too."

"Is Billy there?

"Yep, and he's mad too," he said.

I had never known John to be this upset over anything before. "Let me talk to Billy," I said.

Billy came on the line, and said meekly, "hello?"

"This is Bob Llewellyn, Billy. I want you to find your dad's keys, and hide them. He's apt to go looking for that pastor, and do him real harm. That will only get John in trouble, and won't do anything for Jeremy or anyone else."

"OK, Mr Llewellyn. I'll do it. I've never seem him so spaced out. He really scares me."

"There's no need for you to be scared, Billy. John couldn't hurt you, but he might kill the son of a bitch who turned Jeremy out into that storm."

"Thanks for telling me what to do."

"Just hold him tight," I said. "He needs your love now more than ever. I'm always here if you need me. Just call."

"I will. Thanks again." He hung up.

I put the dinner on the island, and Eric picked at it, but did get some of it down. I ate sparingly too, and there was a lot left over. I put everything away, and carried Eric upstairs. I put him to bed, and laid next to him until he fell asleep. He slept fitfully, so I stayed with him all through the night. He woke as dawn broke gray and cloudy. "Dad?" he said. He looked at me mournfully and asked, "Why, Dad?"

I looked at him sadly, and said, "I don't know, Son. Some things have no explanation. I wish I could give you a reason, but I can't."

He snuggled himself into my arms, and asked, "Do you suppose he suffered?"

"I don't know that either," I said, "but I've heard that it's an easy way to go. I read that you get warm and go to sleep before you actually die of the cold, but I don't know. I guess nobody knows."

"I hope he's happier now," he said. "He always said that all he wanted was to be safe and warm ."

"I'm sure he has his wish. He's probably looking down on us, and wondering why we're so sad when he's so happy."

"I hope so," he said, and closed his eyes again.

New Experiences

Enrico was now alone in the room he had shared with Samuele. Therefore for some months he had no more sex. Samuele was happy with his new life as a married man and told Enrico that he had enjoyed having sex with him, but that he clearly preferred a woman.

Possibly, also to compensate a little for his separation from Samuele, Enrico started to mix with his study mates more than before. One of them invited him to attend a group of "historical studies". Enrico found it interesting. Soon he noticed that in that group were circulating new
ideas. Especially a young doctor, whose name was Carlo Poma, fascinated him. Not only and not so much physically, but for his personality and character. Carlo Poma was clearly oriented towards women, therefore Enrico, after a first moment of expectation, set aside his hope. But the
fascination of the young physician's personality was so strong that he tried, all the same, to become at least his friend.

Carlo defined himself as a patriot. But to him the concept of fatherland was deeply different than, for instance, that of Enrico's father and of the majority of people. To Carlo the fatherland, the "land of the fathers", was not Venetian land, and even less the Austro-Hungarian Empire. To Carlo the Fatherland (with a capital "F") was Europe. A single culture, the Greek-roman one, a common racial stock, an unic religion, the christianism, united Europe in a sole entity whose peoples were so mixed up to constitute, at his eyes, an homogeneous and indistinguishable whole, especially if compared with cultures such as the Arab-Asiatic or the Russian-Slavic.

But in this whole, artfully divided in nations, according to Carlo, one nation didn't still have the dignity of existing as a homogeneous entity - the Italian nation.

"From the Alps to the Jonian Sea, we speak one only language, Italian, we have one only religion, Catholicism, one only cultural tradition. Dante is not only a Florentine, a Tuscan, he is the poet of us all, and he is Italian. The same for Michelangelo, Cellini, Leonardo, Raffaello, Pier Capponi, Masaniello... they all are Italian, and yet it doesn't still exist as a recognized entity having the same dignity of the other states, that we can call Italy! Italy has been divided, enslaved, humiliated..."

Enrico listened carefully to these speeches - in the group were circulating in great secrecy the writings of one Giuseppe Mazzini, who championed the republican ideal; they talked about the writings of one Gioberti, who wished an united Italy under the rule of the Pope; they whispered about one Giuseppe Garibaldi, who was recruiting volunteers ready to give their life for an united Italy...

These were dangerous, subversive speeches, and yet very fascinating and Enrico felt more and more involved in them, as he felt they were right and sound.

Enrico was twenty one years old when he met his third man, a theatrical actor.

This was a twenty nine year old youth, his name was Otello Atzeni. With his troupe they were playing ShakespeareÕs tragedies and Otello was splendid in Hamlet's role. Enrico went to see it with his university mates. After the play one of them, who was really rich and full of money, invited the entire troupe to dinner. Enrico found himself sitting near Otello Atzeni.

The actor was a likeable and handsome companion, so that Enrico felt attracted to him. Otello was sitting between Enrico and another university student, but this last was engaged in a conversation with the actress sitting at his right, so that Enrico and Otello talked all the
time together.

When Enrico told him he would have liked to see the other tragedies played by the troupe, Otello said, "I will send you a carnet of complimentary tickets, so that you can come and see us any time you like."

"That's very kind of you, and I am really grateful. What can I do to repay your courtesy?"

"Two things - advertise our plays and, when you come to see us, after the performance come to greet me in my dressing room..."

"More than willingly." Enrico said gladly.

The following day he received at home the carnet with a card jot down by Otello, saying, "I hope to see you soon at the theater. Your company yesterday night during the dinner has been extremely pleasing. See you soon, Atzeni O."

Thus, once a week, Enrico started to go to theatre and after the performance he gave his name to go to Otello's dressing room.

The actor, though always surrounded by his admirers, found the way to talk with him, and one evening told him, "My friend, you see how I am besieged!"

"Aren't you pleased? It is the evidence of your fame."

"Yes, certainly it is... but I would like having more time to spend with you. Why don't you wait for me? I'll change my clothes, and then we can go to have a drink together..."

"With real pleasure. Where can I wait for you?"

"In front of the theatre there is a cafe open till late. Wait for me inside there. I will try not to be late."

In the eyes of the young man Enrico noticed a special light and asked himself if by chance also the actor was a lover of his own sex. And he wished so - he liked the actor very much. He went to wait for him at the cafe and ordered a hot chocolate.

Otello came and sat, smiling, at his table, "Here I am at last, all for you! I hope you don't have to go back too soon..."

"I have the key, I don't have a fixed time to go back home."

"Very good, but here they will close in a short while. Why don't you drop in to my place? I have a room at Damiani's Hotel, a small room but all for myself. And so I can show you the newspapers cuttings talking about me..."

"Willingly, if this doesn't bother you."

"On the contrary! Are you coming, then?"

They went to the hotel and up to Otello's room. There reigned an agreeable disorder, the one you can expect to find in an artist's room. Otello tried to tidy up summarily and freed two chairs and a part of the small desk.

"Have a seat, please. Here is the album of the cuttings talking about me..." he said and, opening in front of him the album, instead of sitting on the other chair, he stood at the back of Enrico, to point out the various articles and to comment on them. Enrico could feel his proximity and became aroused.

While Otello, leaning above him, was explaining, Enrico raised a little his head and their faces brushed slightly. Their eyes met.

"Do you know that you have wonderful eyes?" Otello said to him and passed his hand through EnricoÕs hair.

Enrico raised some more his head and whispered, "And you... you have sensual and sweet lips..."

"Do you think?" Otello asked in a breath and his lips went down to meet Enrico's lips.

They kissed. Enrico stood up turning; they embraced, hugged kissing again, and felt that the other too was aroused.

"Oh, Enrico! Come..." Otello said driving him towards his bed. They undressed each other with feverish hands, climbed on the bed and enlaced to each other, full of desire. Otello knew where to touch him to stir up his pleasure, and Enrico was more and more aroused - he loved those long preliminaries.

"Enrico..." moaned the young man lying on his back and pulling Enrico upon him.

"Yes?"

Otello spread his legs raising them at the sides of the other, "Take me, and push it all inside me, please!"

Enrico looked at him in surprise, but Otello had his eyes shut and was pulling him to himself. So Enrico directed with the hand his member, pushed, started to sink in him, smooth like a hand entering in its glove, and felt strong warmth enveloping him.

He emitted a low moan, "Ooooh, Otello... I like it!"

"Yes, push, harder!"

"Yes, oh yes!" Enrico cried out, feeling prey of an intense pleasure and, when he was fully immersed, he placed his knees and elbows on the mattress and started to heatedly piston inside the young man.

"Yes so, yes so..." Otello spurred him tossing under him.

When finally Enrico lay motionless on him, panting, emptied, Otello caressed him for a long while.

"Now it's you turn to take me." Enrico said thinking that his companion could desire to take him.

"No, I only like being fucked. You are a real young bull, Enrico. I'm glad I offered myself to you."

"And I to have taken you! Did you know that it is my first time?"

"To make love or to have sex with a man?"

"Neither of them, it's the first time I am on top."

"I would say you liked it, luckily. Will you come again to visit me?"

"For sure, and with a real pleasure." Enrico answered and Otello kissed him.

They became lovers. The met two or three times per week. No more in the late evening but in day time, when Enrico ended his lessons. They dated one time for the other. Enrico loved the merry welcome of the other - they talked about theater, about this and that, they made love, they talked again.

Enrico grew fond of Otello, or rather, little by little he fell in love. Thus, a day, he told him so.

"It's now seven months we have known each other... and I, Otello, have become aware I am in love with you..."

"Thank you." the actor answered with a short smile.

"But... do you love me?" Enrico asked, slightly strained.

"Yes, yes, I love you. I adore this beautiful member of yours that you push inside me with such vigor. You make me feel I am all yours, when you take me."

Enrico was happy.

Otello seemed... hungry for him. When he went upstairs in his room, he embraced him impetuously and said to him, with urgency, "At last here you are! Come, let me feel your good pole, take me, make me yours!" and undressed him, filled with irrepressible lust, took him to the bed, made Enrico lie down on him and offered himself spurring him, "Your are a real male, Enrico... Oooh, yes... harder, stronger.... Oh, Enrico, what a bull you are! Fuck me, make me die!"

"Did you miss me, Otello?"

"Yes... your good pole, Enrico... Harder!"

"Did you think of me, in these days?"

"Yes, and each time I throbbed with excitement waiting to meet you, to give myself to you! Oh, yes, Enrico, soooo... make me feel all of it!" the man moaned tossing under him.

Enrico felt on fire, he put his heart into it, got into him with enthusiasm, and when finally he abandoned himself on top of him, exhausted, sated, Otello hugged him almost violently and whispered, "You like banging me, don't you?"

"I love you, Otello." the youth answered, panting. But then, much to his regret, he had to leave.

The actor cleaned him, then himself and gave him the date for the following meeting, "I'm sorry you have to leave... I would be ready to start again, even now."

"But unhappily you have to rehearse your play and I have to go to study..." said Enrico, glad for the inexhaustible desire that the actor showed him.

Inexhaustible desire, for real.

Several months later, one morning Enrico went to the university just to be informed that, for a sudden illness of his anatomy teacher, the lesson was not held. His friends invited him to a political meeting, but Enrico on the contrary thought he could do a surprise to his Otello and be for a longer time with him, therefore he excused himself and went, in a fast pace, to his man's hotel. He went up to his room and knocked at the door. He had to knock several times, but finally Otello came, wrapped in his gown of damask, his eyes drowsy.

"Otello! Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, but... why are you here?"

"There is no lesson, this morning, so I thought..." the young man said entering the room of his man.

"But it is not your turn, this morning..." the man said hesitantly,looking the watch he had on the table.

"My turn? What do you mean?" Enrico asked slightly puzzled. Then, noticing he was looking at his watch, he asked, "Are you waiting for somebody?"

"Our wardrobe designer... for some fitting..."

"Will that take you a long time? When does he come?"

"In fifteen minutes..."

"Well... I can wait in the other room; I have all the morning free."

"No... The fitting will take me much time, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, but I was waiting for you tomorrow afternoon..."

"What did you mean, before, when you said it was not my turn?"

"Nothing... I'm just a little drowsy, I talked haphazardly."

The wardrobe designer, Enrico thought. A twenty eight years old man; he caught a glimpse of him several times... He was going for the fittings there, in his room... Weird! Why not in the dressing room in the theater? Enrico felt a pang of jealousy - a handsome young man, there...

"But you... what fittings are you talking about? And why here, in your room?" Enrico hesitantly asked.
"I was waiting for you tomorrow..." the man repeated, ill at ease.

"You and that young man, then..." Enrico said looking him in his eyes, anxiously.

"Enrico, try to understand..."

"Understand? What do I have to understand, that you make him bang you too? And who else? How many more?"

"But what? Do you believe that it could be enough for me doing it with you just two or three times each week? I like you very much, yes, but... of course I have others, as long as my body is young and desirable... Beauty and youth elapse even too fast, don't you know? I have to profit, as long as I'm still pleasing. How many more? The most I have the best it is, Enrico. The wardrobe designer, one of the waiters of this hotel, the son of my impresario... and at evening, after our performance, some of my admirers, not less than two each day, Enrico."

"And you said you loved me!" the young man accused him, bitterly.

"And I love you, but you are not always here for me."

"But what does it mean to you, then, to love?"

"I like how you mount me, how you bang me! You are a young bull."

"Yes, and you... you are a cow in heat!" retorted with rage and scorn Enrico, feeling on the brim of tears.

Otello smiled, "Yes, why not, a cow in heat surrounded by bulls in heat. Nunzio, the waiter, is married, he has two sons. He says he likes best banging me than his wife. I like being banged and you know how to bang, you are skilled. But it's not only you who exist. You have a very good
cock and you use it in the right way, but yours is not the only one, luckily."

"And you said you loved me..." Enrico repeated feeling emptied.

"Come on, Enrico! You really couldn't believe you only existed, could you? I like you, I really like you a lot or else I would not have continued having sex with you for almost two years..."

"You rather like my member!"

"Yes, sure, I like it. I like sucking it, I like the feeling of it sinking inside me, and how it hammers into me. What more? Didn't I always give you pleasure?"

"You told me you were mine!"

"And I am yours... while you bang me. I'm yours!"

"You are ready to be banged by the first passerby who wants to amuse himself inside you!"

"Why, didn't you amuse yourself inside me?"

"But I loved you. I was in love with you..." Enrico sadly said, shaking his head.

In that moment someone knocked at the door.

"I must be going, then!" the youth said.

"Will I see you tomorrow afternoon?"

"I don't think so."

They knocked again.

"Go and open the door." Enrico said.

The wardrobe designer entered.

When he saw Enrico, he stopped, disconcerted, but then opened in a wide smile, "You didn't tell me it was a threesome, today, Otello! Mmmhh, no bad at all, the boy, I should say! He too takes it up his ass?"

"No... He is going away..." the actor said, somewhat embarrassed.

"Yes, I take it also up my ass, but not by you. You should content yourself to mount him, I regret." Enrico dryly answered.

The wardrobe designer took his arm looking at him with a smile and with his other hand groped Enrico's crotch, "You seem well endowed. I like both ways, why don't you mount me while I mount Otello? It would be amusing." he proposed with a lusty look.

Enrico wriggled away, "No, look for somebody else for your threesomes." he said and went out of the room, going hurriedly home.

On the way back, he met Samuele.

"Enrico! What a pleasure meeting you! It is almost ten days we don't see each other. But... what face you have! What happened?"

"Oh, Samuele... Nothing, it is nothing."

"Come on! You have such a look... as if you were about crying."

"That's so..."

"Some problems? Besides being cousins, we are friends, aren't we? If you would tell me..."

"Do you have time? Take me somewhere... where we can talk in tranquility..."

Samuele took him in a cafe and asked for a reserved room. Here Enrico told him the burning delusion he received from Otello.

Samuele listened to him then said, "My poor Enrico. I can understand you. But what could you expect from an actor? With theatre people one goes just to amuse himself, one should never fall in love."

"It seems that I always fall in love with the wrong people..."

"You are still young, come on! And then, for people loving his own gender, everything is more difficult. But you are a dear boy, and sooner or later you will find somebody able to give you true love. I too loved you, in a way. It's not worth feeling so bad, for that actor."

"I fooled myself..."

"That's right."

"Because... I need love."

"And who doesn't need it, my friend?"

"You, at least, found it."

"Do you believe so? No. I found a woman, a good wife, a worthy mother for my children the day we will have some, a nice companion. But love... There was more love between you and me, believe me. Between me and my wife there is affection, and this is better than nothing. She doesn't cheat on me, I don't cheat on her. But love... I believe that one human being in a hundred has the privilege to know real love and to keep it for all his life. And possibly even less than one in a hundred..."

"Therefore, how can I expect to be that one in a hundred?" Enrico commented with a bitter accent.

"And finding the other one in a hundred, this is the problem. For a true, deep love, you have to be in two and so the probabilities became one in ten thousand..."

"Samuele the mathematician..." Enrico smiled.

"Oh, good, at least mathematics had the power to make you smile! Come on, Enrico try not to be too much upset. Life goes on, doesn't it? Just think that the actor... didn't deserve you. And this is true."

"Thank you Samuele, it made me feel good talking with you. The biggest problem for us who love our same sex possibly is to have somebody with whom we can talk about what we feel, face, and experience. Talking is a healing thing..."

"You know that you always can talk with me, don't you?"

"Yes, and I am grateful. And I am also grateful because you don't repudiate what was between us for some years."

"Repudiate it? How could I? I too wanted it, I too enjoyed it? It would be not honest nor towards you and neither towards myself. Come on, Enrico, never lose your beautiful smile. Learn from this event not to fool yourself, but continue in your search for love with faith..."

"Also if I have a possibility of one in ten thousand?"

"Also, sure!"

That dialog made Enrico feel good, and even more than the words, the affection that Samuele showed him.

He immersed himself in his studies and in attending the political group and his friendship with Carlo Poma grew stronger.

Pillage and Plunder

R I C K, I wrote in big block letters on the self stick name label. I was careful to center the name and not to smudge the felt pen. "Hello, My name is RICK." There, that looks pretty good. Then I thought there could be other Ricks on board, and I quickly squeezed a B period in at the end. Immediately I regretted the addition. How stupid, I thought to myself. Now the nametag looks asinine and so what if there's another Rick. Anyone talking to me on this cruise will call me Rick, not Rick B.

I handed the Magic Marker back to the young bare chested stud seated behind the registration table. Man, did I once have pecs like that? Probably not, and what muscles I ever had haven't been visible in decades. I pushed the nametag into the plastic holder, slid the rainbow colored cord around my neck, and sidled up to the next position. Pec boy's partner was a blonde wearing a white T and a sailor hat. He handed me an information packet and souvenir bag and welcomed me aboard again.

I knew it was too late now. I was on board, but I was having tons of misgivings about my decision to sign on for this "Pillage and Plunder" Cruise. All around me were studs in their twenties, laughing, slapping each other on the back, already knowing they were going to enjoy themselves for the next four days. Oh, maybe a few were over thirty, and probably someone on board will be over forty. But here I was, a widower in my sixties. What the hell was I doing here?

A steward had my suitcase and was leading me down halls and stairways to my state room. I kept thinking to myself, I gotta tip this guy. How much doyou tip a steward? Did the fine print say that gratuities were included in the price? I don't remember. Damn! He was in uniform. He was an employee of the cruise ship, not like the guys at the table who were from Pride Tampa Bay, the group that organizes the annual P&P cruise. The crew must have known this was a gay group that chartered his ship. Were the stewards gay too? This guy did have a nice tight ass inside those white uniform pants. Most of the trip to the state room, I was behind him so I got a good look at his ass. It was only briefly in the elevator that I stood beside him and was able to read his name badge (Mark). Was Mark looking at me? Was he wondering what an old fart like me was doing here?

We got to the room and Mark opened the door for me, showed me the head, pulled back the curtains over the porthole, and put my suitcase on the rack. "Shall I unpack for you, Sir?"

"Oh, no, thank you," I muttered as I looked out the porthole on to the dock. I was glad I paid extra for an outside room. I didn't know but what I might be spending the whole four days in my room, and at least now I could look out the window.

"You're the first one here, so you have your choice of bunks." I looked around and saw two beds. But of course; I had signed up for a double. I didn't want to waste money on a single. But now the reality hit me. I was going to have a roommate. Double damn. What did I get myself into?

"If you tell me which one you choose, I'll turn it down for you, Sir."

"Oh, no, uh, Mark. That's OK." I realized then he was stalling. I fumbled in my wallet and pulled out a five and pressed it into his hand. "Thanks for all your help. I can take it from here."

"Thank you, Sir." He grinned happily and I hope honestly. I had no idea if that was an appropriate tip or not. My late wife always knew the appropriate tip to give anyone.

After Mark left, I thumbed through the information packet and saw I had two hours before the first event, an orientation. I decided to unpack my clothes and then try to familiarize myself with the ship.

I discovered where the dining rooms were, the pool (there were already a dozen young lads in speedos), the weight room, the sauna, and the ball room. I found the deck marked "clothing optional," and there were already three naked hunks sprawled on deck chairs. I came around the corner and found myself back by the registration table. Pec Boy and Sailor Hat were still welcoming guests aboard. The guests were still as young as before. More couples were arriving now, though. Guys who welcomed this opportunity to hold each other tight, to kiss in public. I played a mental game, trying to decide which guy in each pair was the top and which the bottom. Of course, I knew that often mates don't have strictly defined roles but I enjoyed the mental challenge.

I heard Mark's voice and caught a glance of his white ass disappearing down the deck followed by an older gentleman. He was wearing a tan jacket, bermuda shorts and white sox that extended up his shins. From my vantage point, he must have been at least forty, which gave me some comfort.

"The orientation session begins in ten minutes in the ballroom," Sailor Hat was telling the couple who had just registered. I glanced at my watch and confirmed it. So I turned around and tried to picture the route back to the ballroom.

In my mind, I kept asking myself, "What am I doing here?" It's been three years since my Caroline died. We were married before we were twenty and had already celebrated our fortieth anniversary. I loved her like no other. We had a good life, raised a good family, and yes, had good sex. But I always knew that I was attracted to cock more than pussy. I just never acted on it. Oh, I snuck plenty of beefcake mags into the house. And when the internet got established, I became a frequent flyer on the gay porn sites. I fantasized daily about what I would do with a man. But in body, I always remained faithful to Caroline.

When she died, I began to explore my homosexuality. I bought books like The Joy of Gay Sex. I found a gay sex shop and rented gay videos. I went to a gay bar where, on Friday nights, male dancers would strip down to their jocks for tips. But I always went home alone. I read the personals, especially those on websites that sorted them by location. I found that there were actually men who were looking for older guys. But I never found the one who seemed right enough to contact.

In a lot of ways, I knew I was still not ready for an active gay lifestyle, but now at least I could explore it openly. I looked at ads for gay vacations: there were B&B's that catered to gays, there were tours of Europe, there were nudist camps. I considered them all. I didn't rule anything out, but I deliberated about the pros and cons of each option. But when I saw the ad for the Pillage and Plunder cruise, I actedimpulsively. I called them up, gave them my credit card number, and before I realized what I had done, I was signed up.

Of course, I could have backed out and gotten my money (well, most of it) back. And several times over the months that intervened I had the phone in my hand ready to do just that. But I never made the second call and now here I was on board the Regal Empress, still wondering, "What the fuck am I doing here?"

What am I looking for? What am I expecting? What do I want when these four days are over?


The organizers were taking their turns at the mike outlining the schedule of events: the scavenger hunt, the best buns contest, the biggest dick contest, the talent events, the day in Cozumel. I had read the literature so I was already aware of all this.

Then we were introduced to the stars. As part of the enticement to get passengers to sign on, Gay Pride Tampa manages to get several porn stars to take part in the cruise. It's a chance to get to meet these guys close up and personal, get their autographs, get to touch them, and get to fantasize about doing something dirty with them. I began to pay more attention now.

Spike appeared wearing a Boy Scout uniform. Hey, didn't he learn that scouts are supposed to be morally straight? Chad Hunt, Logan Reed, one after another I watched the guys parade on to the stage, guys whom I had watched getting fucked in their videos, guys whom I had fucked myself many times in my mind.

The meeting broke up and most of the audience began barraging Spike and the other stars. I figured there'd be enough time later on to meet them, so I wandered back to my room. I passed several crew members in their neat, pressed white uniforms. I caught sight of a couple of well endowed packages, but even though I was among a shipload of gay passengers, I still felt self-conscious about staring. All those years of marriage had conditioned me to be discrete when out in public.

I also passed fellow passengers, and confirmed in my mind that I was doubtless the oldest on board. Some were already parading around the ship in their speedos, and some were even walking around in their tighty whities! Wow! Discretion of not, I had to stare. Could I walk around like that? I wondered.

I was still in a daze when I got to my room and opened the door. That's why I was surprised to see someone else inside. Of course, I knew I would have a roommate, but somehow I expected to find the room just I had left it, empty. Now here was another man unpacking his luggage on my bed. He turned toward me and I recognized the man I had seen earlier with Mark, the tan jacket, bermuda shorts and white sox that extended up his shins. "Hi, my name is Phil. I guess we're bunkmates, Rick B." Phil extended his hand.

"Uh, yeah, hi," I stuttered. I realized Phil had read my nametag with those huge block letters and that fuckin initial. Phil had thinning gray hair, a bit of a paunch at the waist, but actually looked fairly fit for a man in his, what, at least in his fifties.

"I didn't know which bunk was mine. Do you have a preference? Or did you think we'd share the same one?" Phil winked. I should have left some of my stuff out on my bed before I left, but I wasn't thinking. The reality of a roommate was only now beginning to sink in. My last roommate had been Caroline. For three years, I had slept alone. Suddenly I realized I was staring at this guy.

"I'm sorry, Phil. I just feel a little awkward. This is my first time." I realized "first time" could be taken a dozen different ways, and I guess all of them were legitimate interpretations.

"Don't worry. We have plenty of time before supper. What do you say we go get a beer and get acquainted. My treat."


At the bar, Phil got a Bud light, and I got a 7Up. I explained that I really didn't drink, and he was cool with that. We sat down, and Phil began. He was gregarious. Unlike me, he seemed to have no qualms about opening up to a stranger. Phil explained he was from a little town in Wisconsin, right on Lake Michigan. "Trivers, that's how we say it, but it's written Two Rivers." Phil was surprised that I'd actually heard of the place. Somewhere I had read that the ice cream sundae was invented in Two Rivers. Phil laughed. I felt more at ease.

"I'm from Long Island, New York. I live in a retirement community there."

"No shit! You look so young, Rick B."

"Please, forget the B. I shouldn't have put that on there." I told him about my nervousness at the registration table. "I'm 65 by the way."

"Damn. You look real good for 65. I'm 69!" My jaw dropped. Fifties maybe, but I would never have pegged Phil for being my senior. "I guess that's why the organizers put us together. Figured we'd have things to talk about." Phil laughed heartily. He took a swig of his Bud and then turned solemn. "I'm a widower, Rick. Agnes died last year. I'm actually kind of new at this gay scene." I was again amazed. I told Phil about Caroline, and we both realized we had a lot more in common than the decades of our age. Phil also had explored gay porn, he also had tried the bar circuit,and now he felt he was ready to move on, whatever that meant. In a couple ways Phil was already a few steps down the road ahead of me. He had a gay son, so he was familiar with some things second hand. And he had had a couple oral experiences with a man.

"Well, I guess we should get changed for supper," I ventured. Phil paid the tab and we began strolling back to our room. We passed a few couples as we walked, and suddenly I realized that Phil had taken my hand in his. I didn't resist. It felt good. I thought back nearly five decades to the days when I took Caroline's hand as we walked. I had never held hands with a man since I was a toddler holding my Daddy. Now, I was walking hand in hand with a beautiful mature gentleman. I chalked it up as my first truly gay behavior.

When we got to our state room door, I said, "I'm really glad we're roommates, Phil. I'm beginning to think I'm actually going to enjoy this cruise." Then without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. My second truly gay behavior.

I leaned back from him. He smiled. "You know, Rick, I've never kissed anyone with a beard before." Phil leaned forward again and planted his lips squarely on my mouth. We kissed lovingly and softly there in the hallway. When we let go, I realized there were other guys in the hall, but
it didn't seem to matter any more.

We got inside our state room and closed the door. Phil went over and closed the curtain over the porthole. I doubt that anyone on the dock could have seen anything, but I saw that Phil was just as discrete as I. He kicked off his loafers and pulled off the tan jacket. I began with my shoes and
socks. Phil sat on the bed (my bed?) to take off his sox and watched me as my shirt buttons opened to reveal my chest. "Very nice. I like a guy with a hairy chest."

"I got a hairy ass too," I blurted out.

"Sure would like to see that."

I stood in front of him, turned my back, and slid my jeans down my legs, then pulled down my briefs so Phil could admire my hairy crack. "Well, what's your verdict?" I tried to joke. Instead of hearing his answer, I felt his mouth on one buttock. He gave me a long soft kiss, then slid his
face over toward the other buttock. The next thing I knew I felt his wet tongue licking my crack. It felt wonderful. I closed my eyes and felt my whole body shudder as he licked my hairy crack. Another truly gay behavior. I realized my dick was getting excited.

Phil stood up, turned me around and kissed me again on my mouth. "I'm also glad to have you as my roommate, Rick. I want this to be a good experience for both of us." Phil then dropped his bermuda shorts. Standing in his t shirt and boxers, he suggested it was time to get showered and dressed for supper.

We took turns in the cramped head, but allowed each other to watch as we showered off. Tonight was supposed to be Leather Night. I had brought along a bomber jacket. I decided with a pair of jeans, a pair of boots, and a pair of shades that would pass for a leather outfit. I watched as Phil pulled out a pair of shiny black chaps and a black vinyl vest. They looked brand new. Under these, he wore a pair of denim cutoffs and a clean gray t shirt. He looked exciting. The way the chaps framed his crotch in front and his ass behind made me quiver. As the coup d'gras, he sported a jaunty motorcycle cap.

When we arrived at the dining hall, about half the passengers were already seated. There was no assigned seating, so we selected a table back from the dance floor. It was a table for four; there were none for two. We sat down and waited to see if anyone would join the two old farts.

I told Phil that in high school I was always getting kidded about being Dick. I hated the name. As soon as I moved away and began living on my own, I called myself Richard. Everyone, my wife, my friends, my coworkers. They all knew me as Richard. If someone tried to shorten it, I corrected them. After Caroline's death, I wanted to do something to mark a new beginning in my life. So I assumed the moniker Rick. Phil said he liked it, that I looked like a Rick, whatever that meant. He reached over and took my name tag, slid it out of its plastic holder and deftly folded the offending initial back. He replaced the card which now simply read "Hello, my name . . . Rick" (the "is" got folded back also.) "There, that's better," he pronounced and handed it back to me.

"Is this seat taken, Mate?" Phil and I looked up to see what was attached to this voice. There stood a gorgeous man, in his thirties, slightly short, brown hair. A stache and small goatee framed a beaming smile. He wore a vest like Phil's, but was bare chested, except for a leather harness
that crossed his chest in a Y, with one strap shooting down into his leather shorts. He also wore a leather armband.

"Hell, I know you," Phil said. "You're Peter Raeg! I saw you in Missing Link!" Stupid me, why didn't I recognize him. All the porn stars on board were pictured in the literature. "Hell, no, the seat's not taken. Come, take a load off."

"Thanks, Mate. Lance will be along in a few minutes, if you don't mind."
Lance Gear was Peter's lover, I remembered. They had moved to Sydney which explained the "Mate" business. "I like your beard, Rick. In fact, I always preferred hairy guys. I spotted you two right off when I came in here." I don't know how much of Peter's schmaltz was on the level, but he made us feel good, sitting and chatting with us. He was a natural guy with no hint of attitude. Lance did come by, but after shaking our hands and giving Peter a wet sloppy kiss, he said he ought to move on to some other table, spread the wealth so to speak. It wasn't a put down at all, though we would have loved to have his company also, but he was a professional, and he knew the passengers expected to meet the hunks they had masturbated to on the screen.

Fans did come by our table all evening to get Peter's autograph or get their picture taken with him. We enjoyed watching him with his fans. He listened with honest interest as we told him our stories. When the dancing started, he wished us the best of luck and headed on to the dance floor
where he accommodated everyone who wanted to dance with him. Phil and I knew we wouldn't see him the rest of the night.

At the bars I had gone to on Long Island, I had sometimes stepped on to the dance floor by myself and shimmied my ass around to the music. Occasionally, a punk kid would come over and dance in front of me, maybe thinking I was a potential sugar daddy, but I had never actually danced with a man. But when Phil asked me, I was ready. The music then was slow and romantic. The couples on the floor were holding each other tight. We stepped on to the dance floor and immediately pressed our bodies together and grabbed each other's ass. Another truly gay behavior, but I was already losing count.

All of a sudden, my anxiety abated. Dancing (well, moving anyway) with my body pressed against Phil's, my hands caressing his ass, his strong arms enveloping me, my head on his shoulder, eyes closed, his head on mine whispering softly in my ear, -- I was finally at peace with this strange world, with my new lifestyle, with myself. The other couples on the floor seemed to disappear. Phil and I were alone; alone in heaven. Then I thought of all the times I danced with my Caroline; we preferred a slow waltz. Now here I was dancing with someone new. But I felt no guilt; I didn't feel I was in any way betraying her, or dishonoring her memory. It was almost as
if she were there, smiling on me, finally accepting me for who I really was, blessing my behavior. My eyes began to tear.

"Something wrong, Rick?" he whispered in my ear.

"No, not at all. Damn it, I'm just so happy right now."

"I can tell." Then I realized that I'd grown a boner, and with our bodies pressed together, there was no hiding it from this wonderful man.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"No need to apologize, Rick. I'm flattered. Let's say we go back to our room and take care of it."

"I'd like that very much." I felt my erection was the biggest thing in the ball room. I remembered as a kid in Junior High getting an uninvited hardon and dying of embarrassment. But maybe this time I was just flattering myself; it probably wasn't all that obvious, especially with the low lighting. And if any other passengers did notice my bulge as Phil guided me to the exit, well, after all, isn't that what a P&P cruise is all about?

Walking back to our room, Phil kept turning toward me and kissing my cheek. "I think I'm falling in love, Rick," he whispered. Finally, just yards away from our door, I couldn't resist. I stopped, turned to him, put my hands on his cheeks and planted a full kiss on his mouth. There was no
holding back the tears now. I gushed like a teenage girl who'd just found the "one."

We ran the remaining distance, fumbled with the key, and stumbled into our room. We flopped on the nearest bed and began unbuttoning and unbuckling each other, while trying not to interrupt the string of kisses. Phil got my jeans and briefs down to my knees and starting working on my manhood. I couldn't untangle his chaps-covered jeans enough to reciprocate so I just leaned back and let him take the lead. With me mostly naked, and he mostly dressed but with his cock freed, I began my first gay sex. I knew this was what I wanted, and I allowed myself to swim in all the emotional currents of the experience. As his strong, knowing hands worked on my cock and balls, I kept running my hands up and down his arms. When the precum began to flow, he leaned over and took me into his mouth. I held his head, running my fingers through his thinning hair. Every nerve ending in my body was on high alert, and as he began licking my shaft, my legs began to tremor. Phil had said he'd already had oral sex so I tried to concentrate on his technique, tried to learn from my mentor, but it was useless. My mind was flying in a thousand directions, as my emotions were cascading in only one. I was tumbling into my new homosexual world with all the unstoppable motion of an avalanche. I gave up thinking, as I had already given up resisting. Phil brought me to the verge of climax. He seemed to know exactly when to ease up on the sucking.

"I want us to cum together," he whispered. I realized then how selfish I'd been, relishing his attention on me, and not giving him any. I reached over and started exercising his uncut cock, already hard and oozing.

"Phil?" I mumbled.

"Yes, Rick, what is it?"

"I want you . . ."

"What?"

As I said, my mind had already turned off, so I don't know where this came from but I said, "Phil, I want you in my ass."

"Are you sure, Rick?"

"Not at all, but yes, definitely," was my nonsensical reply.

"Hold on." Rick grabbed his souvenir bag and began fumbling about inside it. He pulled out the tube of KY he remembered seeing there and a condom. We both quickly removed the rest of our clothing, and I laid down face up, grabbed my knees and pulled them up as high as I could. Phil
applied a liberal dab of KY on my hole. Then one finger invaded my chute. Fuck, it felt so good to finally have a warm, loving human organ inside me. He continued to lube me up, then tore open the condom. My eyes were glued on him as he rolled it on his shaft. He leaned forward and I
rested my ankles on his shoulders. I felt his dickhead pressing on my sphincter and began involuntarily gritting my teeth, but I gave him a big smile. Phil lunged and suddenly his cock was inside me. Oh fuck! My entire body exploded. I felt the heat of a thousand fires. He began pumping; in and out. He took my ankles in his hands and spread my legs wider. It felt
like he was going a mile up my asshole.

We both moaned. All those years of hetero sex with children in bedrooms down the hall had trained us both not to yell out the emotions we both felt. We moaned and whispered, "Fuck," "Yes," "Don't stop." Then Phil leaned in, his lips inches from my ear and whispered, "Oh, Agnes." I don't think his own ears heard it. He continued his rhythm and soon his whole body tensed and became catatonic. Then I felt the warmth as he released inside my hole. Simultaneously my own dick, sandwiched between our two bellies, also erupted. Phil collapsed on top of me and I held his sweaty body.

"I love you, Phil."

"I love you, Rick."

"I know."

Phil began to frown as his mind started to take account of the last few minutes of ecstasy. "Uh, Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I call you Agnes just then?"

"Yeah," I smiled.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be, Phil. I was happy. It made me think we might have something real going here. For my part, I'm ready to start the next forty years with my new lover." We both broke into laughter, as we did the arithmetic.

"It's going to be a great cruise!"

I wasn't sure if Phil meant the literal cruise or the metaphoric one, but my answer applied to both: "It sure is."