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EDEN: A Sex Story

Poor Josh, I am sorry that he had to go through something so horrible. I am glad he came out to Pat and I hope that his parents are accepting of him. Great new portion and I look forward to reading whatever happens next! Have a great weekend. :)
 
And of course, all this is in the past, so it was always poor Josh, only we didn't know it until now, and coming out is the least of his problems. In fact, I'm just going to flat out say it doesn't happen. Glad you enjoyed and made it through the horror. Really, nothing is going to turn out the way you think. By the way, this will be the last time for a while that I post on Fridays. At the days get shorter in this part of the world. I'm going back to the old format of no posting on Fridays.
 
CHAPTER SIX
CONCLUSION

“I can change the sheets.”
“That’s not necessary,” Josh said.
“I didn’t expect this to happen,” Pat explained. “The house should be clean for you. This bed should be.”
“It’s all…” Josh began as Pat went briskly into his bedroom.
“Right,” the other syllable hung.
Josh followed Pat. By now, in the low lit bedroom, he was pulling the sheets away, furiously. He had a roll of sheets, and he placed it down. Josh opened the closet door and seeing it was the linen closet, handed Pat sheets.
“We don’t have to remake the bed,” Pat told him. “We can just… lay down new sheets.”
Josh nodded, and helped Pat to do this.
Pat’s mouth was wet and gentle on his own. Josh always thought it would be hard, or demanding. His cheeks were bristly even though he’s shaved and Josh’s arms went to Pat’s shoulders, down his back, into his hair, across his face. They lurched toward the bed, and then away and then in a moment Pat was pulling up Josh’s tank top and running his hands over the hair of his chest. Josh was unfastening, with difficulty, Pat’s belt, and then Pat laughed gently, and helped him with it, and in a few moments he was pulling down those briefs, and in the deep brown gold light of afternoon they beheld each other before Josh pulled him to the bed.
Their bodies moved together, trading top to bottom, kissing up and down. Josh took Pat in his mouth for a long time, and Pat’s head went back, his fingernails clutching the covers, and then Pat’s perfect body was over him in the early darkness, and Josh’s hands were going up and down it’s smoothness.
“I want to fuck you now,” Pat said.
Pat added, nervously, “Only if you want. I mean… I shouldn’t have…”
Josh put a finger to his lips.
“I want you to. Just… go easy.”
There was spit involved. At the edge of the bed Pat fucked him for the first time. It was not as easy as either of them thought, and it hurt at first, required more spit, a little Vaseline, patience. Josh was shocked by Pat’s entry, and then it just felt… right. It just felt good to be filled with Pat and feel Pat’s hands pushing on his shoulders, pushing on the bed around him. It felt good to reach around and pull Pat’s into him, pressing on the firmness of his ass. It felt good to moan, to cry out with the joy of it, pulling him in, running his hands up and down him, hearing the rhythm of Pat slapping into him, slapping quicker, quicker, murmuring with a triumph, bowing so that Josh’s hands were in his hair.
“Uh God… uh, God… uh…”
The coming.




It was dark when Pat came that second time and lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling, Josh beside him.
“I needed that,” Pat said. “I needed you inside me.”
They were quiet a long time. Outside a car passed by.
“You in a hurry?” said Josh.
“No,” Pat told him, turning over and placing a finger on Josh’s chest. “I want you to stay. Would you like to stay?”
Josh pressed his body close to Pat’s.
“Yes.”
 
S E V E N













“I always mean what I say.”

- Isaiah Frey




When Frey was down to a few wet spluttering coughs and writing most of the day while wiping his nose, Rob came by in the afternoon as well as the evenings. He had taken to rummaging through Frey’s things without asking. Frey didn’t seem to care, and one afternoon he was flipping through Frey’s journal when he began to read out loud:
“I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened…”
He stopped reading out loud and read to himself and when Frey came back into the living room, Rob looked up at him.
“What?”
“I didn’t know you were religious.”
“Huh?”
Rob showed him the page of his journal. There were some notebooks which were bound with tape and which, Rob supposed, were not for him, but this one was in the open and Frey only said, “Well… Yeah.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go to church because you didn’t believe in God or something,” Rob said.
“Do you know there are Unitarians who don’t really believe in God who get up and go to church every Sunday? And they even have this thing called the humanist church,” Frey said. “They get up and go and sing songs and have sermons every Sunday. All of them atheists. Which seems so silly to me bcause I feel like the best part of being an atheist is getting to sleep in on Sunday.
“But… I don’t like church because I don’t like church.”
Rob shrugged.
“It makes me feel better.”
“Yes,” Frey said. “Only I don’t think that’s the point of a mystery. I don’t know if that’s the point of God. To make you feel better. The only church I ever cared for was an empty one. And now the church of the fields, and the grass, of solitude, of my room when I am alone of the sunlight in the kitchen. That church.”
Frey went to sit down and took out his pack of cigarettes.
“Do what you wish, but getting up at seven in the morning to stand in church with some vague feeling of goodness is not what I want to do. I was very serious about my religion,” Frey said. “That was my downfall. Much too serious. I was one of thos people who wanted everything from everything. I gave so much of my life to the Church… It was another incarnation of me.”
Rob, who had been looking at the notebook, now looked up at him.
“I remember,” Frey exhaled, “I had gone through the Triduum. You know, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. The night of the Vigil… All the way through that, and the bells were ringing. I left on the closing hymn, It was Easter now, Eleven fifty at night, but still, it was Easter morning, and I felt so strange. I felt like, so what?”
“Jesus was back,” Rob said, automatically. “Risen again.”
“Yes, Rob, like anyone else in western civilization, I know what Easter is. But, so what?
“That was when I began to think the whole Christian business might not be for me. That church might be over. Because it wasn’t that I didn’t believe, I just didn’t understand why it mattered. One man, twenty centuries ago, came back from the dead. But how did it change my life? How did it makes my debts go away? How did it make me less lonely? How did it make job searches easier? How did it change my world a bit? It didn’t. Except, we were taught, one day, at the end of it all, in a very far off future, we would come back too and… Well, that just wasn’t enough. I had to find meaning in other things.”
“Then, one day, I came into church on a Holy Saturday. This was not a regular church. It belonged to a religious order, and I heard these words. They were from some Greek saint, I could tell by the rhythm, and I felt as if they were speaking right to me. I memorized them, and they are dear to me. They are from the Harrowing of Hell, when after the Crucifixion, bearing the Cross, Jesus goes down into Hell, into the underworld, to bring up the righteous dead, really all the dead, who will come. He meets Adam and Eve, and they have been waiting for him since the beginning of the world. He says to them,
“I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise.”
Rob looked down and saw word for word, Isaiah Frey did know it, and as he looked down the paper, Isaiah continued:
“I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.
“For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.
“See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.
“I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.
“Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you.”
Rob put the paper down, and Frey’s face was lifted, a hooked smile on it, and his eyes were quiet.
“That…” Rob started, “is very nice.”
“You don’t get it,” Frey said, his voice a little heated. “But make sure that you’re not getting it because you don’t want to get it. Some people are stupid on purpose. Especially Christians, which is why I won’t call myself one, and especially, especially Catholics, which is why I don’t have time for church.”
“Then help me get it,” Rob said, impatiently. “Jesus goes down to hell to talk to Adam and Eve, and...”
“But where is hell?” Frey said.
“I dunno. Under the ground and—”
“No,” Frey said. “No. The descent to hell is God coming into this world. This is the underworld. This is the dream the sleeper must awaken from. That is the purpose of Jesus, or God in any of the ways he ever came, to wake us up from our hellish sleep, the sleep of half assedness, the sleep of willful misunderstanding, the sleep of cowardliness, the sleep of all the bullshit we know, the sleep of being common because we are too afraid to be uncommon, the sleep of…. Lovelessness, of not making an effort, of just trying to feel better instead of feeling good, of feeling good instead of being good. Jesus comes to Adam, and you are Adam and I am Adam, and he says, ‘I did not create you to be a prisoner.’ That, that is the whole purpose of… all of it. That’s the only purpose there ever was.”
“That we could be better.”
“That we could be us.”
 
A great conclusion to the chapter! Its nice to see Josh and Pat get closer and have sex. I look forward to reading whatever happens next! Great writing and I hope you are having a good night! Just saw that another portion was posted so I will make another post for that!
 
A great start to Chapter 7! I had not expected it but it was nice to hear Frey talk about his beliefs. Excellent writing as usual! :)
 
Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. There was such a little bit of the last chapter, and that was all in the past, that I thought we needed some Rob and some Frey. Poor Frey and his cold! But what do you think of his beliefs?
 
I have just been rereading the last section and I think I got a bit confused. What I meant to say is that Frey's beliefs are good and that they made me think.
 
CHAPTER SIX
CONTINUED

The first man Rob Dwyer ever fucked was Merritt. He’d felt been fooling around with guys before, and then had come the strange night with Pat. After this he didn’t touch anyone, and it was a year later, almost a surprise to himself, that he finally fucked Merritt against his sofa, and when he came, Rob’s eyes flew open with the release, the hot feeling of shooting deep into the abyss of another man.
When they were both sitting, legs wide apart, chest heaving, half naked on the sofa, Rob, running his hands over his face, finally spoke.
“I don’t usually do things like this,” he said.
“I don’t either,” Merritt began, then he said, “But I have done them.”
“I’ve had some…. Trauma in my life, “.Rob explained. Then, “And I haven’t been with anyone, really. Not that you really want to hear all of this.”
“No, I’ll listen,” Merritt told him, sitting up.
“Do you think you’d like to do this again? I mean,” Rob said, hunting for his jeans and picking them up, stretching out his legs to pull them on. “If you liked it? Would you like to do it again?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a boyfriend, and i’m not likely to get one again anytime soon, so yeah,” Merritt said. “This is definitely something I could get used to.”

When Rob’s father had the stroke, Rob came back home. Looking back it had never been a hard decision, living alone had not been that pleasant. For all of a week, caring for his father, helping his mother, had been his only concern, but when he was sure that his mother could handle enough on her own, and that his father was as well as he was going to be, it made it easier for him to sneak away and get motel rooms. One night, even though he had been expecting it, the knock on the door still came as a surprise.
Rob ‘s legs seemed to unfold and stand up of their own accord, and then he came to the door, trembling.
“Hello?” he said on the other side, and then answered it, not wanting to seem crazy.
“Come in,” he said. He stretched out his hand manfully as he opened the door and hoped he didn’t look too eager. “I’m Rob.”
The other young man looked around the apartment. It was on loan for the day. Sal never asked questions. Rob watched this guy lick his lips nervously and Rob was instantly hard. His heart was thumping. He couldn’t really feel the ground beneath him.
“I’m Him,” he said.
“Cool,” Rob sounded breathless. “That’s what you said.”
“Yeah,” He said dumbly.
Rob’s apartment consisted of the cozy living room, a breakfast nook with a window threw it and then a short hallway to what should have been a bedroom. He was looking around, His hands shoved in His pocket.
“So,” He said, “where do we do this?”
Suddenly Rob didn’t want to do this. The breathless excitement was merely on his end, he realized. There was that wonderful surprise sex, often when you’d been talking to a guy for a long time, missing appointments, meaning to get together but not doing so, or maybe just the heat right away that kept relationships going and friendships going long after the sex. In that kind of thing a guy came to the door eager as a puppy and before you had looked, his hands were all over you, his tongue in your mouth. You could order sex, but you could not really order passion.
“Over here,” Rob said, sounding smaller. “That couch is a bed. It lets out.”
If this was going to be business, then Rob added, “Did you bring anything?”
“I got a condom. If that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I meant.”
He asked him, “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Well, just out there, like that.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Rob asked him.
“Yeah,” He said, his voice dull.
Rob sort of hated him right now. Rob said: “All right.”
He undressed slowly, and climbed onto the bed, on hands and knees and arched his back like a cat as He entered him. He realized that here was a good looking young man inside of him, on his birthday, and he hadn’t ordered up a wonderful companion or a friend, or a lover, he had ordered a fuck. and there was no point in being all hurt because that was all this fool was. He felt good in him and Rob was, after all, the master of the house, so he pulled him out and sat on the bed looking over His’s body. His penis was thick in the midst of dark hair going all up the side of His thighs, spreading to His stomach and chest.
“Sit down,” he told him. and The Guy obeyed.
“Get on your back,” Rob said.
Rob, erect now. was powerful for the first time all day, and he felt sexy for the first time in he didn’t know how long. He was long and slender and blond and somewhat good looking. He knelt down and took The Guy in, deep inside of him, and then he began to ride Him, his hands pressed to The Guy’s chest, running over His breast, over His nipples making Him moan , feeling the piston throb inside of him shake him, He reached up now and again as their bodies bucked.
And then The Guy’s mouth opened. The Guy kept leaning up, leaning up. He wanted to kiss him. Suddenly, Rob let Him. His tongue was like a whip. It lurched in his mouth and pulled him down. His hand pulled Rob, His body came pressing against Rob’s. Their bodies pressed together and The Guy’s hands were in his hair, demanding. Rob turned over so that the dark haired stranger was on top of him.
Rob put a hand up. For a while went down on Him, while moans escaped from the other young man’s mouth. And then He bent down, and kissed Rob quickly and went down His belly and took him in His mouth. He shocked Rob, Rob bucked up and down, and He lifted His head, looking up at him.
“Are we going to to this?” Rob said. “Are we going to do this properly like two people who don’t have issues?”
“Yeah,” the Other Guy said, eagerly.
“Alright, then,” Rob lay on his back, he pulled Him between his legs. “Alright.”



Rob never knew quite how he felt coming back home from these encounters. The fucking, and then later the being fucked, was exhilarating. But by the time he was home he felt blank—not ashamed—just blank. And then, sleeping alone, he felt more alone, more hopeless than ever before. But the moments of sex were moments of intense freedom and when things had been going on like this for some time, he met Alex.








The house is dark and this night, Frey has coughed, what? A handful of times. They are in total darkness except for the tall lights that line the train tracks beyond and the air is cool enough that even the air is off. Side by side, black and white, they lay, Isaiah scooped up in Rob’s arms.
“You’re not the first to tell me to use my head,” Rob says.
“I don’t mean to be as harsh as I am sometime.”
“I love every bit of you, even the means bits,” Rob kisses his head.
Frey knows better than to make a big deal out of Rob saying he loves him. He reaches back to touch his hip.
“So often I am shut down before I even begin,” Frey said. “Too waspish. Too snappish. But people say stupid things.”
“Then you ought to be snappish.”
Rob sat up and he looked down on Frey.
“What’s the dumbest thing someone has said?”
“So many dumb things.’
“Well, just one.”
Frey lay on his back and said, after a moment of thought, ‘I’ve never been with a Black guy. Or, you’re my first Black guy. In which cause I’m not, cause I’m done.”
Rob shrugged.
“Well, you’re not my first Black guy.”
Frey did not betray his surprise. After all, Rob had hit on him the first time online. He had to have seen Frey’s pictures. But where, in this place? He knew so little of him.
Frey said none of this. Instead he said, “And you’re not my first red head.”



That night they were completely in the moment. Later on, Isaiah Frey said that many other times he thought about the future, about the past. But with Adam he thought of Adam’s fingertips, of the light hair up and down his thighs, of the wetness of his mouth, of the pressure of him, entering him gently, like a lover asking permission. His own being pulled in, being fiercely welcomed and overwhelmed.
When it was over Adam said, “It’s funny but I didn’t know I wanted that. Not until we did it.”
Frey said nothing. Adam stopped talking after awhile. Frey said everything with his hands, gently moving across Adam’s breast, his stomach, under his stomach where the hair went from red to deep black like the earth, then he up again, kissing him.


There was a night when he and Adam lay together.
“I can’t wait to see this book,” Adam told him as he was getting dressed in the morning.
Was it his imagination, or were Adam’s eyes penetrating him? Was it possible that once someone had penetrated you, everything in him did? No, Jason didn’t. It was all Adam. It must have been the other way around, not that Adam’s eyes bore into him because his penis had the night before, but rather both had happened because Adam was Adam and they’d always, really, borne into each other.
“I want to help any way I can,” Adam said while he and Chet were getting ready to go. “Then I can say I knew the two of you ‘back when’.”
For now, Melanie had made it clear that all she needed from Chet was a little child support. He’d brought up dating and all that, and she’d put the whole idea away.
“I don’t know if I can do it right now,” she told Frey.
Frey’s mind turned to the matter of books. It actually never occurred to him to look for a regular publishing house. Somewhere in his mind was the idea, not that they wouldn’t have him, but that they shouldn’t. And he needed The Immortals to come out now. He skipped the vanity presses, thinking he would make something immediate the way the school used companies to put together creative writing magazines. For the cover he used a company outside of Chicago, and then he assembled all of Melanie’s poems—behind her back—into a book, not exactly knowing what he had in mind. They went to a local printer. It would cost part of their student loans to get it done. That whole second semester he waited like someone in labor for the books to come.
“I have a book?”
“You have a book,” Frey said. “And so do I.”
He showed her that first copy of The Immortals.
She held it in her hands like it was a new baby, and then she had a real new baby and called her Natasha.
“It’s so heavy,” she marveled over the book.
“It’s so... It’s so real,” she said. “Not just something in our heads. Not just... something we’re thinking about doing. We’ve done it.”
Natasha began crying, and Melanie went back to get her. Dancing the baby up and down, Melanie said, “Frey, do you think we could do a little cross country thing with the books?”
“Just leave them around?”
“Yeah,” Melanie said. “I know it sounds strange. But... What if we did?”
That first copy of The Immortals was thick and white covered with a black and white image of Monserrat College in the autumn.
“Almost a decade,” he murmured. And then he said, “Yes. Yes, we should do it.”
 
Excellent portion! It was nice to read some more of Rob's past. I am glad he found Frey. This trip of Frey and Melanie's sounds interesting. I look forward to reading what happens with that. Great writing and I look forward to more soon! :)
 
That's sort of my favorite part too, learning his whole sexual journey, and how it's not just Pat. A lot sure happened before he got to Frey.
 
CHAPTER SIX
CONTINUED


LIFE WAS IN that place where things are thriving. Looking back, Frey realizes that often when things are thriving, when you are most free it is because you have taken the big chance and absolutely nothing is certain any longer. So you are afraid, half terrified, and nothing is fully formed. How they would continue to pay for this apartment, what would become of their children or of their love lives, and certainly of their hole-ridden education, Frey could not say. He was writing love poems. He was sending them to Adam. They weren’t poems about how in love with Adam he was, not exactly. But they were poems about the love he was experiencing with him. Since that visit where the two of them had slept together for three nights, they found a language to discuss desire. It wasn’t embarrassing anymore or inappropriate to write in the midst of talking of other things, “I want to taste you again.” Or even, “I still remember eating your ass.”

He wrote:

I am still remembering the white geography,
the porcelain country of your skin.
I never saw such milk before,
poured out all across my bed,
poured out in the form of long limbs
lain across me, stretched over comforter and pillow,
hot with life and desire and the place,
black as the pit,
where you stored your sex,
red sex,
pink sex,
rising out of vulcan blackness,
out of hair darker,
curlier than mine and
your mouth on mine, and your rough hands, unlotioned,
forgotten, untendered
calloused with music running
over me, a ragged softness, the softness of mouths,
demanded the softness
of the surprise entry into me.
Surely that was the strangest country,
surely your coming into me, my coming
into you, the gasp, the pour, the heat,
the liquid heat, the honey of a man was the miracle.
You know I journeyed through monasteries
and all the way to lourdes for a miracle,
good lord, I found it here with you,
in you, pulsing.


And he wrote:


red beard
I feared never
to touch something as soft as that roughness,
as cool as the heat of your breath,
as eagle eyes through glasses looking
down on me when I begged you to ride me
and you did it like the Mississippi you
did it just like jesus walking on water,
sailing on waters of come and leave and
stay and good-god and goddamnment in our bed,
the bed that will always be ours after
you stained it with the knowledge of you
after you cracked yourself like a paradise
fruit all over it, and I cannot get the stain out.
In every fiber, every little thread,
you are still there,
erasing old lovers and making
way for newer loves


In the midst of all this life, not exactly knowing what he would do next year—because he knew he wasn’t going to continue in the graduate program—he received this letter.


“Dear Mr. Frey, My name is Robert Dwyer. I am a Freshmen in college this year. I just read your book, and it gives me hope. I mean, I know that sounds pretentious, but my life has been not so good, and I didn’t think anyone understood me. And then I read about you, and your friends and the writing club, the Immortal Livers, and about how you all stayed friends and about what college was like for you. And I realized I wasn’t alone, and that there are good people in the world. See, I am gay too. My life isn’t as exciting as yours and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with it. But now I do know. I want to form friendships and be involved in all sorts of things, like art maybe, and make a difference. Thank you. I’m not saying everything I mean to say. I’m really not a very good letter writer. But this is
Yours, respectfully,

Robert A. Dwyer


P.S. If you could please tell me, sir, do you have any more books and where can I get them?


In the “book hang”, or whatever Melanie wanted to call it, someone, no, this specific someone, this Robert Dwyer, had gotten his book, and it had done something to him. It was a part of him. Frey had pulled out something inside of him and placed it into someone else. This was what he’d always wanted to do. This was writing. This was the real magic! He had a public now. Even if it was only a public of one.
He wrote back. Frey did not hear from Rob though, and this was a great disappointment because he was hoping that something new had begun, that this was the beginning of the life to which he was called. He was twenty-eight by now which was knocking at the door of thirty, and he was sure that though he was a writer for many reasons, the chief of them was that he couldn’t possibly be anything else.



“I want McDonalds,” Frey said.
“Sometimes you do,” said Rob.
“There’s one right across the street from back home.”
“Speaking of back home. Do you plan to go back?”
“Eventually,” Frey said. “But what I was going to say was that I used to talk shit about the food and now I don’t want to. I just want the food. I would like a salty burger right now with just the rigt amount of grease. The fries… Yeah,” Frey said putting his shoes on. “Let’s do that.”
“So,” Rob’s eyebrow was raised as he started to get off the couch. “No cooking, and all McDonalds.”
“And shakes.”
“But are you ever going to tell me about back home? About everything?”
“What? I live in Calverton. It isn’t glamorous. Not even a little bit, and beside. You tell so little. You ask a lot. I tell a lot, but getting a story out of you is one hell of a challenge.”
“Well, just ask,” Rob said, reaching for Frey’s keys and handing them over.
“Whaddo you want to know?”
Damn,” Frey said.
“What?”
“Now that you’ve said just ask, I don’t know what to ask.
Rob grinned and then Frey said, “I do!
“The Black guy. You said I wasn’t the first.’
Rob grinned. “Really, that’s what you care about?”
“No,” Frey shook his head. “Not really. Not at all. But it’s a beginning place.”
Rob smiled and said, “There could have been lots of Black guys,”
“No,” Frey shook his head, “there couldn’t have been. Who was he?”
“He was….” Rob looked thoughtful, he touched the little red beard budding at his chin. “I wouldn’t know you if I didn’t know him. And he was a lot like you, to tell you the truth.”
Then Rob said said, “Was your redhead like me?”
“No one’s like you. Tell me about him.”
Rob shrugged.
“I’ll tell you about Alex in the car.”
 
A great new portion! I like Frey's poetry. It's great that Frey and Rob can be so open with each other. I look forward to hearing about Alex. Great writing and I look forward to more soon! I hope you are having a nice night.
 
Thank you, and I hope you have a great afternoon. I wanted to post a little more and get into Alex, but thought this was enough for tonight.
 
CHAPTER SIX
CONTINUED

ONE DAY, AFTER HE had been hired at the Mermaid, the grand old apartment building off the lake, Rob was laying out a white tarp and spray painting the walls of a corridor when Alex came walking down the hall and he apologized, “You can come around. Just let me move this right out your way.”
“It isn’t necessary,” Alex said, “I’ll just walk downstairs and come back the other way.”
“Are you sure?”
Rob did not know that Alex had stopped, because he knew the boy. He had to think a while and get up close to him and then he realized he had seen him naked, on Adam4Adam with the screenname: Red Thread and the tagline: When you see me, say you know what the Red Thread is for.
“Absolutely,” Alex said, and when he came back around, Rob said, “I’m Rob,” and Alex said, “Alex. Pleased to meet you,” and doffed his fedora.
He wasn’t going to bring up orange hats today.

When Max was fixing the drain, Alex came into the kitchen with its black and white check pattern and saw Max’s legs hanging out of the sink.
“Rob not here?”
“Rob’s downstairs,” Max said, his voice echoing from under the sink.
It had been a month since Alex met Rob, and he had hoped to see him again.
“Um,” Alex said. “Well, that’s too bad. Tell him I saw him the other night.”
“Where?”
“Just tell him, Alex said, “I know what Red Thread means.”






By the end of the day there was a knock at the door and Alex wasn’t surprised when Rob was standing there looking jumpy and amazingly hot.
“Whaddid you mean by…. Red Thread?”
“I mean I saw you on the net. I saw your—”
Rob put a finger to his lips and pressed inside the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“You can’t say shit like that.”
Alex raised his eyebrow.
“Were you trying to make me feel weird? Or embarrassed?”
“No,” Alex said. “I was trying to tell you I want you.”

The first time Alex and Rob had sex, they were sitting on the couch and Rob said, “So whaddo you wanna do?” and Alex put his hand on Rob’s thigh, and then Rob put his hand on Alex’s and Alex moved closer. He began to massage Rob’s thigh, and then he opened up the boy’s shorts, and started to stroke his dick through his underwear. Rob made a moan like a cat purr and leaned his beautiful head against Alex’s shoulder, opening his mouth a little, his green eyes closing into slits. His mouth reached up for Alex’s the same time Alex squeezed his dick, and when Rob turned and thrust his tongue in Alex’s mouth, the flat of Alex’s hand held Rob’s balls, hot and hanging.
Alex went to his knees because he knew Rob couldn’t ask, ahd he pulled down his shorts and his briefs, and pulled Rob into his mouth. He was firm and heavy, large and growing larger.
“Alex,” he moaned, stroking Alex’s hair. “Alex.”
They were both naked and pulling out the bed, then on the bed, twisting together. Rob pulled Alex’s face up. It wasn’t just head he wanted. He wanted eyes and arms and lips and tongues and kindness. He wanted to look up at Alex in love and pull his face down and kiss him, press his body up into a man who wasn’t Thomas Frushour, and wasn’t the others, quickly forgotten, who slaked the need.
In the end he asked Alex to fuck him, but this was easier said than done. They’d never done it before and so it was just fumbling around, but happy fumbling. Rob was so hard and Alex had already come all over his stomach. They had stopped to relax and hold each other after this. Now Alex, in a pinch, took Vaseline and oil and rubbed it over Rob’s swollen cock. Rob knew just what to do, He fitted himself tightly between Alex’s thighs and they glided together, each time Rob moaning in the shock of his pleasure.
“Caress my ass?” Rob begged.
He didn’t have to beg. Thin as Rob looked, he was well built with healthy thighs and buttocks that longed to be stroked, caressed massaged. Alex had already eaten him out. He thrust his finger in the boy’s ass and massaged his asshole.
“Ohhh, fuck!” Rob cried, his dick jumping when Alex did that.
So Alex kept doing it, rubbing his hands up and down Rob’s back, caressing his shoulders, running his hands through his hair, pulling his face down to kiss him, running his hands back down.
“I’m about to…” he began, his voice shallow.
“It’s okay,” Alex said, putting his hand on Rob’s cheek.
“But I’m about to…”
“Do it.”
With a relieved groan, Rob came, and Alex felt the load, hot and thick between his thighs. He kept pressing his dick between Alex’s thighs until everything was spilled out, and Rob came out, the length of his cock red and wet.
They lay side by side, chests heaving, bodies slick, and Rob grinned and looked up at Alex in friendship. The two of them laughed, and suddenly Rob lay on his side and pressed his mouth to Alex’s.
“Do you think we can do this again?” he asked.
“We can do this whenever you want,” Alex told him.


He caught Rob’s hair in his hands and pulled the boy’s face into his chest, wrapping his thighs around him while, on the side of the bed, he fucked Alex harder and harder.
“Almost,” Rob panted, thrusting again, “there.”
Alex ran his hands down the boy’s sweating back, and pulled Rob in. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth feeling Rob fuck him, feeling Rob deep inside of him.
“I’m gonna come…” Rob warned him.
Alex had already come against his belly a few minutes earlier and now, with the last few thrusts, Rob made a staggering noise and moaned, “Oh—fuck—” as, pulling back from Alex, he came, and then finished coming ,his damp head in Alex’s arms.
Rob rolled over and the two of them lay side by side on the bed, gasping.
When Rob had finally caught his breath, he turned on his side and took the wet cloth from the little table at the end of the bed, wiping his chest, wiping the semen from his stomach while Alex got up and went into the bathroom. Rob waited for the water to finish running and said, “Do you think I should go to college?”
Alex came out and lay on the bed beside him.
“It’s not for everyone. But you could give it a try.”
Alex turned on his side and Rob ran a hand over his chest.
“I love looking at you,” he said.
“I don’t know why,” Alex said.
“You’re amazing.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“That’s not that old.”
“I know it’s not,” Alex said, brow furrowed. “But it is…. I was your age almost when you were born.”
“Wow,” Rob sat up. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Try not to think about it again.”
Rob made a vacant face and made a rewinding gesture with one finger.
“Already forgotten.”
“You should go to college,” Alex said. “For at least a semester.”
Rob squatted on his hams, and because he was beautiful and well built, cream colored with a broad back that went to a firm bottom, Alex got up and wrapped his arms around him as Rob looked over Alex’s books.
“This man looks like you.”
Rob passed the book to Alex.
“That is…” Alex said. “Kind. I met him once.”
Between them they held a large black and white volume called The Immortals.
“He was free. He was the most free man I’d ever known.”
Alex opened the book and they both observed, in sober appreciation, Isaiah Frey, nude in black and white, kneeling before an open refrigerator.
Alex pressed the book to Rob.
“You take it.”
“What?”
“Take it. Go to school. Don’t go to school. I think you should, however. But be free?”
“Will this make me free?” Rob held up the book, offering a half smile.
“Only you can make yourself free,” Alex said. “I think. But… that might help. It’s good to read, sometimes, just so you know that you aren’t the first person feeling all these things. Living this life.”
“This life,” Rob repeated, sounding a little tired.
“Yes,” Alex said, taking the book and placing it beside Rob’s jeans, on the floor.
“Take it with you.
“And now,” Alex said, placing a hand on Rob’s thigh, “there are other ways to be cured of the stresses in this life.”
Alex kissed him and Rob closed his eyes to the warmth of his lips, the firmness of his touch. Slowly, Rob lowered himself over Alex, straddled him.
“And now…” Alex began, “What are you going to do?”
Rob reached under him and took Alex in his hands, stroking him.
“Maybe ride the hell out of you?” Rob said, and looking up at the twenty something year old who looked twenty three with the scruffy partial beard on his jaw and the greenish blue eyes, the red brown curling hair, he immediately went hard.
And then his mouth opened into a small o and his eyes went round as he pulled Alex in. Alex was quiet, his mouth open too.
“That’s,” Rob began as he began to move with Alex in him, “It!”
Rob fucked him like that, pressing his hands against Alex’s chest, and he made them both come together.
 
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