EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter One
“Heiko, come inside,” Tom called. “Your bare ass is gonna get us thrown out of here.”
Heiko came in and slid the balcony door half way shut. “I like looking at the bay in the early morning. I think some of the pelicans are getting to know me. They squawk as they fly by.”
“They're asking each other who's that weird naked bird on the balcony. Get back into bed.” It wasn't an order, it was an invitation.
Heiko paused to let Tom enjoyed a look at his body and then slid under the covers and into the embrace of his lover of past six months. “Do you still love me?”
“Since last night? Yeah, I think so. Weren't you cold out there?”
“I love you very much,” Heiko answered. “... since last December,” he added. “You were like a Christmas present. The best ever. Are my hands too cold?” Tom had flinched when Heiko took hold of his cock.
“No.” It was all Tom got to say. Kisses, caresses, and the down comforter soon had Heiko's hands warm and Tom's cock aching.
The months in Alameda had been like a long but intermittent honeymoon. Heiko spent four nights a week with Tom and three in Palo Alto at a primitive crash pad he shared with a couple other guys near school. The arrangement let Tom and Heiko get used to each other without fear of suffocation and also allowed Heiko to finish his last required courses. The Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday separation made Thursday night the best of the week. But that easy routine was over. This lovemaking session finished it.
Heiko relaxed after his peak of pleasure slowly melted away. “Now you, Tomi. You fuck me.” Heiko's pronunciation of 'Tommy' had over the months migrated slowly eastward and turned into his native, German-accented 'Tomi'. The difference, the syllables in Tomi were more equally accented and the 'o' was a little rounder, was hard for anyone other than Tom to detect, but to Tom it made 'Tomi' his own. Tom liked it; the nickname melted his heart when he heard it; that morning, however, he sighed..
“I'm not going to make you late for your graduation, Heiko. It's already eight. Your parents are going to be there.”
“We have time. If I'm late, the school can mail me the diploma.” Heiko kissed his lover expectantly and watched as Tom first checked the clock and then mentally recalculated their schedule. “See, Tomi. We have time.”
It started as a continuation of their slow and easy, boy-friend fuck and then changed. Heiko wanted more. He lay on his back with his legs splayed. “Yes,” he urged. “Harder. Don't hold back.”
Soon after returning from England, they had discussed the issue of holding back. It was Heiko's theory that Tom was reluctant to use the full length of his cock for fear of causing pain, while Tom insisted that wasn't so. Heiko was right and they both knew it.
“I love you, Tomi. Give it all to me,” Heiko insisted.
Tom had failed to learn how to say no to Heiko. Heiko didn't ask for much, but this failure accounted for the growing collection of beer steins that Heiko was picking up at the Alameda weekend swap meets and that Tom felt looked at odds with the basic funky-modern look he was going for in their condo. But he couldn't say no. His pelvis slapped against Heiko's ass. Tom winced in sympathetic reaction to the pain he saw on Heiko's face as he fucked him deeply.
“Don't stop. Fuck me … fuck me ...” Heiko pulled Tom closer without interfering with the pistoning power that drove Tom's cock deeper. “I want to feel how much you love me.” Soon Heiko let out an explosion of breath and relaxed as Tom came in him.
After they showered, Tom asked, “What brought that on?”
“My father and I are going to argue about my future and I want to be able to feel your cock in me when we do.” Heiko smiled. “I'm gonna feel your cock in me for days, I think.”
“The porn business sucks, you know?” Andrew said to Seth. They hadn't had sex in months. Except for memories, their relationship had become almost completely professional. So it was a surprise to Seth when Andrew asked if he could suck his cock.
“No! Of course not.”
“Just asking … we have nothing to do until the thing at Istanbulla's tonight.”
“The thing, as you call it, is iced. Everything is arranged. Plus, we've already done the hard parts, the sex scenes.”
“You don't think it needs more of a back story? Are you sure we can sell what's basically a thirty minute orgy?”
“It's presold. Andrew, the porn business sucks because you keep wanting to go after an Academy Award. In our stuff, the production values are measured in inches of cock and ounces of cum. If you pare it to its essentials, it's fast, fun, and profitable.”
“I guess … You sure you don't want to get sucked off?”
“My dick isn't made for blow jobs. You know that.” Seth was sensitive about the size of his cock.
“Not for porn blow jobs, maybe. It's fine for my blow jobs.” Andrew smiled at his business partner. “Remember the times you, Tom, and I used to ….”
“Ancient history, Andrew. You were the one who broke it up.”
“I wonder what Tom is up to these days,” Andrew mused.
“He has a great new friend and he deserves it after putting up with you.”
“He does, does he?” Andrew came up behind Seth and gave him a little squeeze.
Seth shoved him away and answered the phone. “Sandy Shoes Productions. Sandy speaking.” Andrew had decided that 'Sandy' was the name of the boss and whoever answered the phone was Sandy.
“Seth? That you? It's Chris. We need to reshoot the ending, I think. I was watching the raw scenes and I got nothing. No lead in the pencil. Not even a hint. It's all there. Every kind of sex possible for men to have, but it's just not exciting.”
“Maybe your watching too much porn. You're just numb to it all. I'm putting you on the speaker. Andrew's here.”
“Chrissie-poo ... How's it hangin'?” Andrew said in a curt greeting. Their temperamental cinematographer was another of his problems.
“That's just it, Andrew. It's hanging. We need some spice in the final scene. Maybe we need an observer … someone outside the action to react in ways that lead the audience.”
“Woody Allen has already made Zelig.” Andrew made a scowl to Seth, signaling his lack of enthusiasm for Chris's idea.
“Not some impotent old pervert. A couple of young innocents who watch our flick and get involved with each other while they watch.”
“A movie within a movie. It's been done, Chris. It's been done a lot and it's expensive.” Andrew didn't want to spend money on changes.
“We don't need gimmicks. We just need some hotter talent. Is that what you're saying?” Seth asked.
“We need something to make my dick hard. What we have isn't doing it.”
“I thought you and that guy with the Virgin Mary tattoo ...” Andrew practically snarled.
“He wasn't any better in real life than he is on video,” Chris answered with equal push-back. “I didn't recruit these guys; I just fucked a few of them.” The comment was aimed directly at Andrew, who had done the casting.
“You mean you got fucked.”
“No, I mean you did. They're no-talent meat and you paid 'em top dollar.”
“Guys ...” Seth intervened. “This isn't helping; and we can't ship a shit product even if it is presold.”
“It's on the server. Watch it. You'll see I'm right.” Chris clicked off.
Andrew pulled the shades and closed the curtains. “We want the right atmosphere … If this thing sucks, Istanbulla won't be happy either.” Their bar-owner friend had invested in the video.
Seth started the video. It was obvious the editing wasn't complete, but the story was in place. It was watchable. Andrew snuggled up to him and felt his cock. “I just want to see if it gets hard while we watch.”
Seth moved as far away from his partner as the three-cushion sofa allowed. “It's porn, Andrew. It's pretty much solitary masturbation material. I'll let you know how I like it.”
“At least take it out and stroke it,” Andrew proposed as he pulled down his own zipper.
Seth did his best to concentrate on the tedious video. Seeing Andrew's cock had always had an arousing affect on him. It made him want to get fucked. He had to admit Andrew had a great cock. He also had to admit Chris's criticism of the video was accurate. The orgy did nothing for him. Worse than that, it was annoyingly frustrating, watching a dozen good-looking guys go through the motions of mechanical sex. Seth felt a growing, tense impatience with the video. He couldn't blame himself for shifting his attention to Andrew's cock. It was so inviting as Andrew slowly teased himself. Andrew had always been a good fuck. A glistening in the dim light told Seth that the rigid cock was dripping wet. Seth slipped his pants down as a signal. Asking Andrew for a fuck would have been too embarrassing an admission.
Andrew helped him get the pants off and gave Seth's cock a nuzzle. Seth's legs spread for the welcome attention and they fucked almost like the old days. But in the old days, Seth had usually been bent over a kitchen counter. This time he had to watch how the dim light gave Andrew's face an unattractive expression of sexual greed. It almost killed his enjoyment. He closed his eyes unltl they came.
It was over. “Chris is right, Andrew. We gotta fix the vid.”
Andrew was still panting as he carefully pulled his cock out of Seth's ass. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I don't know how to put this, Cal.” The athletic awards dinner had just ended with a long round of applause for Cal Rockridge, Alameda High's winningest football coach in a generation. Eleven and one. And the single loss had been in overtime. The Alameda Hornets, now called the Killer Bees by people who thought it was original, saw their logo emblazoned on a record number of sweats sold in the past year, shirts and hoodies that were now worn with pride by students and alumni even across the estuary in Oakland.
Arnold Sinclair, head of the parents' booster club, stumbled over his words. “It's hard to even think of the words ...”
“Spit it out, Arnold,” Cal suggested. “Just say it.”
“There have been some complaints … that … “ Arnold looked to Cal, hoping Cal could read his mind; but Cal just stared back at him. “...that you … your life-style … is a bad influence on the boys.”
“I live with a man. Larry. Who you know. Everybody knows him. It's never been a secret.”
“But with all the news lately about … you know … it's become a concern.” Arnold looked down at his shoes. “To a few people. People with loud mouths. Not to me, Cal. To others.”
“Has any student complained? Has there been a hint ... the tiniest hint of inappropriate behavior by myself or Larry?”
“No, no. Of course not. The team … the students all love you. It's just ...”
“Just what?” Cal did his best to stay calm. Arnold wasn't his problem, not directly anyway. He needed to know who was doing the complaining.
“It's the potential … what if … I mean, you could … I'm sorry, Cal. I can't believe you would ever betray … I don't know what to say. Ev Dorrance is behind it.”
Evinrude “Speedboat” Dorrance was the father of Ted Dorrance, a pathetic druggie drop-out from life, a former Alameda High student who had died over a year ago under circumstances that were never fully explained. Speedboat Dorrance felt his son had been spiritually kidnapped by homosexuals, corrupted, and killed. He was looking for vengeance. Cal's visible success had made him an available and vulnerable target.
Cal went home and slammed the house's front door in his frustration.
“Is that you, Cal?” Larry called from the den at the rear of the house.
“Lawrence Haas, you are the love of my life. Nothing will ever change that.” Cal lifted Larry out of his chair and embraced him. Larry was not a small man, he was nearly Cal's size; but Cal held him tenderly, effortlessly off the ground. He held Larry for a minute and then put him down. Larry looked at him questioningly. “I'm gonna take a shower and in about fifteen minutes you will find me in bed, waiting for you.”
Larry smiled in puzzlement. He saved his draft fire safety project proposal, turned off his computer, and went to the kitchen. The beginnings of late night snack for two went back into the fridge. He poured two bulbous glasses of a slightly sweet aperitif wine and took them upstairs.
Cal was already in their bed. Never good at sipping, he knocked back the wine with one swallow. “What took you so long?” and then “God, you're slow getting undressed.” He finally smiled when he saw Larry's ready erection. “Fuck me.”
Larry saw the need in his lover's eyes and heard it in his voice. He was used to Cal's eagerness, the need of an athlete for action. The hug downstairs was their only preliminary. Cal pulled at him urgently until his cock was buried deep and sighed only after Larry had begun thrusting. “Fuck me, baby. Love me. I need you so much.” Cal pulled Larry into a long kiss.
It was the kind of fuck Larry loved. Long deep strokes, slow and then faster, then slower again, merging their bodies, feeling every touch. Sex had become more than a penis and a hole, it was a merger that added onto both of them and made boundaries vanish. They loved as one. The foreplay always came afterward, the gentle kisses followed the act, the words of love completed the night.
Finally as they relaxed, feeling the radiance of each other's glow, Larry asked, ”A good dinner tonight?”
Cal kissed him one more time and said, “I'm probably gonna get fired.”
Darren felt the physical reward and Spartan sense of virtue that normally resulted from strenuous physical exertion. His body sang to him of taut youth and lean strength. It was never the reaction he expected from an epistemology lecture and yet it happened every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night at St. Mary's College in Moraga. He left the class with a spring in his step and tried to suppress his urge to smile at nothing.
Nicky was becoming more and more a pleasant memory; the painful rent in Darren's heart caused by his departure was mending itself. Their honest love had been satisfying both physically and spiritually; it had stirred them both in ways they had never known before; it gave them lessons in living a relationship twenty-four hours a day; and it looked great to outsiders. They were just about the most fabulous looking couple in the Bay Area. It was everything two young men could hope for except for one thing. It lacked depth. They were in love with love, which is a fantastic but not stable state of existence.
Darren's first real heartbreak alarmed his brother who felt the pain almost as much as Darren did. Z's relationship with Darren was partly paternal. As the older brother of a runaway, he felt a real responsibility tempered by the fact that Darren hadn't run very far. The distance was only miles you could count on your fingers, but those few miles were defining to the teenager Darren had been. Darren initially felt Z was too motherly, almost as smothering as their real mother had been, but his views changed, particularly as Z's reins grew longer and looser.
Consequently, it was comforting to both brothers that after Nicky left Darren had moved back into the house next door to Z. Two aging single women were his landladies; and they kept their distance unless Darren invited them to meddle, which he did from time to time. And his brother was literally a few dozen feet away, where the door was always open. The combined circumstances cushioned his heartbreak.
His three minders all breathed a sigh of relief when Darren soon began looking outside himself. He decided to take “a few courses” at St. Mary's. His guardians thought school would take Darren's mind off Nicky and to some extent it did, but the fun of driving to St. Mary's on the back roads through the Oakland Hills in his Audi was the first reward for Darren. The fascinating pull of philosophy just sort of crept up on him, almost in the way his ambitious logic professor hoped to.
In your dreams, Darren chuckled, when he first noticed the professor's attentions. He wasn't the only one who noticed. “Dude, you got a guaranteed ace from Dormeyer, if you wink back at him.”
“Huh?” Darren came out of his epistemological trance. “What do you mean?”
A young couple smiled back at him. “Has he written you a love letter yet? He addresses his whole lecture to you.”
“Uh … yeah, it's kinda creepy,” Darren acknowledged.
“Easy ace,” the boy repeated. “Don't knock it.”
“You look familiar,” the girl said. “Why do I think that? Where have I seen you?”
“No idea,” Darren answered. He never liked to talk about his modeling gigs. “I live in Alameda,” he added.
“If Dormeyer wants a threesome, let me know,” she answered as they came to the parking lot. Darren couldn't tell how serious she was.
“Me, too,” said her boyfriend, who winked and smiled.
Darren walked halfway to his car and then turned back, unsure if he had heard right. There was no sign of the couple.
“Heiko, come inside,” Tom called. “Your bare ass is gonna get us thrown out of here.”
Heiko came in and slid the balcony door half way shut. “I like looking at the bay in the early morning. I think some of the pelicans are getting to know me. They squawk as they fly by.”
“They're asking each other who's that weird naked bird on the balcony. Get back into bed.” It wasn't an order, it was an invitation.
Heiko paused to let Tom enjoyed a look at his body and then slid under the covers and into the embrace of his lover of past six months. “Do you still love me?”
“Since last night? Yeah, I think so. Weren't you cold out there?”
“I love you very much,” Heiko answered. “... since last December,” he added. “You were like a Christmas present. The best ever. Are my hands too cold?” Tom had flinched when Heiko took hold of his cock.
“No.” It was all Tom got to say. Kisses, caresses, and the down comforter soon had Heiko's hands warm and Tom's cock aching.
The months in Alameda had been like a long but intermittent honeymoon. Heiko spent four nights a week with Tom and three in Palo Alto at a primitive crash pad he shared with a couple other guys near school. The arrangement let Tom and Heiko get used to each other without fear of suffocation and also allowed Heiko to finish his last required courses. The Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday separation made Thursday night the best of the week. But that easy routine was over. This lovemaking session finished it.
Heiko relaxed after his peak of pleasure slowly melted away. “Now you, Tomi. You fuck me.” Heiko's pronunciation of 'Tommy' had over the months migrated slowly eastward and turned into his native, German-accented 'Tomi'. The difference, the syllables in Tomi were more equally accented and the 'o' was a little rounder, was hard for anyone other than Tom to detect, but to Tom it made 'Tomi' his own. Tom liked it; the nickname melted his heart when he heard it; that morning, however, he sighed..
“I'm not going to make you late for your graduation, Heiko. It's already eight. Your parents are going to be there.”
“We have time. If I'm late, the school can mail me the diploma.” Heiko kissed his lover expectantly and watched as Tom first checked the clock and then mentally recalculated their schedule. “See, Tomi. We have time.”
It started as a continuation of their slow and easy, boy-friend fuck and then changed. Heiko wanted more. He lay on his back with his legs splayed. “Yes,” he urged. “Harder. Don't hold back.”
Soon after returning from England, they had discussed the issue of holding back. It was Heiko's theory that Tom was reluctant to use the full length of his cock for fear of causing pain, while Tom insisted that wasn't so. Heiko was right and they both knew it.
“I love you, Tomi. Give it all to me,” Heiko insisted.
Tom had failed to learn how to say no to Heiko. Heiko didn't ask for much, but this failure accounted for the growing collection of beer steins that Heiko was picking up at the Alameda weekend swap meets and that Tom felt looked at odds with the basic funky-modern look he was going for in their condo. But he couldn't say no. His pelvis slapped against Heiko's ass. Tom winced in sympathetic reaction to the pain he saw on Heiko's face as he fucked him deeply.
“Don't stop. Fuck me … fuck me ...” Heiko pulled Tom closer without interfering with the pistoning power that drove Tom's cock deeper. “I want to feel how much you love me.” Soon Heiko let out an explosion of breath and relaxed as Tom came in him.
After they showered, Tom asked, “What brought that on?”
“My father and I are going to argue about my future and I want to be able to feel your cock in me when we do.” Heiko smiled. “I'm gonna feel your cock in me for days, I think.”
“The porn business sucks, you know?” Andrew said to Seth. They hadn't had sex in months. Except for memories, their relationship had become almost completely professional. So it was a surprise to Seth when Andrew asked if he could suck his cock.
“No! Of course not.”
“Just asking … we have nothing to do until the thing at Istanbulla's tonight.”
“The thing, as you call it, is iced. Everything is arranged. Plus, we've already done the hard parts, the sex scenes.”
“You don't think it needs more of a back story? Are you sure we can sell what's basically a thirty minute orgy?”
“It's presold. Andrew, the porn business sucks because you keep wanting to go after an Academy Award. In our stuff, the production values are measured in inches of cock and ounces of cum. If you pare it to its essentials, it's fast, fun, and profitable.”
“I guess … You sure you don't want to get sucked off?”
“My dick isn't made for blow jobs. You know that.” Seth was sensitive about the size of his cock.
“Not for porn blow jobs, maybe. It's fine for my blow jobs.” Andrew smiled at his business partner. “Remember the times you, Tom, and I used to ….”
“Ancient history, Andrew. You were the one who broke it up.”
“I wonder what Tom is up to these days,” Andrew mused.
“He has a great new friend and he deserves it after putting up with you.”
“He does, does he?” Andrew came up behind Seth and gave him a little squeeze.
Seth shoved him away and answered the phone. “Sandy Shoes Productions. Sandy speaking.” Andrew had decided that 'Sandy' was the name of the boss and whoever answered the phone was Sandy.
“Seth? That you? It's Chris. We need to reshoot the ending, I think. I was watching the raw scenes and I got nothing. No lead in the pencil. Not even a hint. It's all there. Every kind of sex possible for men to have, but it's just not exciting.”
“Maybe your watching too much porn. You're just numb to it all. I'm putting you on the speaker. Andrew's here.”
“Chrissie-poo ... How's it hangin'?” Andrew said in a curt greeting. Their temperamental cinematographer was another of his problems.
“That's just it, Andrew. It's hanging. We need some spice in the final scene. Maybe we need an observer … someone outside the action to react in ways that lead the audience.”
“Woody Allen has already made Zelig.” Andrew made a scowl to Seth, signaling his lack of enthusiasm for Chris's idea.
“Not some impotent old pervert. A couple of young innocents who watch our flick and get involved with each other while they watch.”
“A movie within a movie. It's been done, Chris. It's been done a lot and it's expensive.” Andrew didn't want to spend money on changes.
“We don't need gimmicks. We just need some hotter talent. Is that what you're saying?” Seth asked.
“We need something to make my dick hard. What we have isn't doing it.”
“I thought you and that guy with the Virgin Mary tattoo ...” Andrew practically snarled.
“He wasn't any better in real life than he is on video,” Chris answered with equal push-back. “I didn't recruit these guys; I just fucked a few of them.” The comment was aimed directly at Andrew, who had done the casting.
“You mean you got fucked.”
“No, I mean you did. They're no-talent meat and you paid 'em top dollar.”
“Guys ...” Seth intervened. “This isn't helping; and we can't ship a shit product even if it is presold.”
“It's on the server. Watch it. You'll see I'm right.” Chris clicked off.
Andrew pulled the shades and closed the curtains. “We want the right atmosphere … If this thing sucks, Istanbulla won't be happy either.” Their bar-owner friend had invested in the video.
Seth started the video. It was obvious the editing wasn't complete, but the story was in place. It was watchable. Andrew snuggled up to him and felt his cock. “I just want to see if it gets hard while we watch.”
Seth moved as far away from his partner as the three-cushion sofa allowed. “It's porn, Andrew. It's pretty much solitary masturbation material. I'll let you know how I like it.”
“At least take it out and stroke it,” Andrew proposed as he pulled down his own zipper.
Seth did his best to concentrate on the tedious video. Seeing Andrew's cock had always had an arousing affect on him. It made him want to get fucked. He had to admit Andrew had a great cock. He also had to admit Chris's criticism of the video was accurate. The orgy did nothing for him. Worse than that, it was annoyingly frustrating, watching a dozen good-looking guys go through the motions of mechanical sex. Seth felt a growing, tense impatience with the video. He couldn't blame himself for shifting his attention to Andrew's cock. It was so inviting as Andrew slowly teased himself. Andrew had always been a good fuck. A glistening in the dim light told Seth that the rigid cock was dripping wet. Seth slipped his pants down as a signal. Asking Andrew for a fuck would have been too embarrassing an admission.
Andrew helped him get the pants off and gave Seth's cock a nuzzle. Seth's legs spread for the welcome attention and they fucked almost like the old days. But in the old days, Seth had usually been bent over a kitchen counter. This time he had to watch how the dim light gave Andrew's face an unattractive expression of sexual greed. It almost killed his enjoyment. He closed his eyes unltl they came.
It was over. “Chris is right, Andrew. We gotta fix the vid.”
Andrew was still panting as he carefully pulled his cock out of Seth's ass. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I don't know how to put this, Cal.” The athletic awards dinner had just ended with a long round of applause for Cal Rockridge, Alameda High's winningest football coach in a generation. Eleven and one. And the single loss had been in overtime. The Alameda Hornets, now called the Killer Bees by people who thought it was original, saw their logo emblazoned on a record number of sweats sold in the past year, shirts and hoodies that were now worn with pride by students and alumni even across the estuary in Oakland.
Arnold Sinclair, head of the parents' booster club, stumbled over his words. “It's hard to even think of the words ...”
“Spit it out, Arnold,” Cal suggested. “Just say it.”
“There have been some complaints … that … “ Arnold looked to Cal, hoping Cal could read his mind; but Cal just stared back at him. “...that you … your life-style … is a bad influence on the boys.”
“I live with a man. Larry. Who you know. Everybody knows him. It's never been a secret.”
“But with all the news lately about … you know … it's become a concern.” Arnold looked down at his shoes. “To a few people. People with loud mouths. Not to me, Cal. To others.”
“Has any student complained? Has there been a hint ... the tiniest hint of inappropriate behavior by myself or Larry?”
“No, no. Of course not. The team … the students all love you. It's just ...”
“Just what?” Cal did his best to stay calm. Arnold wasn't his problem, not directly anyway. He needed to know who was doing the complaining.
“It's the potential … what if … I mean, you could … I'm sorry, Cal. I can't believe you would ever betray … I don't know what to say. Ev Dorrance is behind it.”
Evinrude “Speedboat” Dorrance was the father of Ted Dorrance, a pathetic druggie drop-out from life, a former Alameda High student who had died over a year ago under circumstances that were never fully explained. Speedboat Dorrance felt his son had been spiritually kidnapped by homosexuals, corrupted, and killed. He was looking for vengeance. Cal's visible success had made him an available and vulnerable target.
Cal went home and slammed the house's front door in his frustration.
“Is that you, Cal?” Larry called from the den at the rear of the house.
“Lawrence Haas, you are the love of my life. Nothing will ever change that.” Cal lifted Larry out of his chair and embraced him. Larry was not a small man, he was nearly Cal's size; but Cal held him tenderly, effortlessly off the ground. He held Larry for a minute and then put him down. Larry looked at him questioningly. “I'm gonna take a shower and in about fifteen minutes you will find me in bed, waiting for you.”
Larry smiled in puzzlement. He saved his draft fire safety project proposal, turned off his computer, and went to the kitchen. The beginnings of late night snack for two went back into the fridge. He poured two bulbous glasses of a slightly sweet aperitif wine and took them upstairs.
Cal was already in their bed. Never good at sipping, he knocked back the wine with one swallow. “What took you so long?” and then “God, you're slow getting undressed.” He finally smiled when he saw Larry's ready erection. “Fuck me.”
Larry saw the need in his lover's eyes and heard it in his voice. He was used to Cal's eagerness, the need of an athlete for action. The hug downstairs was their only preliminary. Cal pulled at him urgently until his cock was buried deep and sighed only after Larry had begun thrusting. “Fuck me, baby. Love me. I need you so much.” Cal pulled Larry into a long kiss.
It was the kind of fuck Larry loved. Long deep strokes, slow and then faster, then slower again, merging their bodies, feeling every touch. Sex had become more than a penis and a hole, it was a merger that added onto both of them and made boundaries vanish. They loved as one. The foreplay always came afterward, the gentle kisses followed the act, the words of love completed the night.
Finally as they relaxed, feeling the radiance of each other's glow, Larry asked, ”A good dinner tonight?”
Cal kissed him one more time and said, “I'm probably gonna get fired.”
Darren felt the physical reward and Spartan sense of virtue that normally resulted from strenuous physical exertion. His body sang to him of taut youth and lean strength. It was never the reaction he expected from an epistemology lecture and yet it happened every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night at St. Mary's College in Moraga. He left the class with a spring in his step and tried to suppress his urge to smile at nothing.
Nicky was becoming more and more a pleasant memory; the painful rent in Darren's heart caused by his departure was mending itself. Their honest love had been satisfying both physically and spiritually; it had stirred them both in ways they had never known before; it gave them lessons in living a relationship twenty-four hours a day; and it looked great to outsiders. They were just about the most fabulous looking couple in the Bay Area. It was everything two young men could hope for except for one thing. It lacked depth. They were in love with love, which is a fantastic but not stable state of existence.
Darren's first real heartbreak alarmed his brother who felt the pain almost as much as Darren did. Z's relationship with Darren was partly paternal. As the older brother of a runaway, he felt a real responsibility tempered by the fact that Darren hadn't run very far. The distance was only miles you could count on your fingers, but those few miles were defining to the teenager Darren had been. Darren initially felt Z was too motherly, almost as smothering as their real mother had been, but his views changed, particularly as Z's reins grew longer and looser.
Consequently, it was comforting to both brothers that after Nicky left Darren had moved back into the house next door to Z. Two aging single women were his landladies; and they kept their distance unless Darren invited them to meddle, which he did from time to time. And his brother was literally a few dozen feet away, where the door was always open. The combined circumstances cushioned his heartbreak.
His three minders all breathed a sigh of relief when Darren soon began looking outside himself. He decided to take “a few courses” at St. Mary's. His guardians thought school would take Darren's mind off Nicky and to some extent it did, but the fun of driving to St. Mary's on the back roads through the Oakland Hills in his Audi was the first reward for Darren. The fascinating pull of philosophy just sort of crept up on him, almost in the way his ambitious logic professor hoped to.
In your dreams, Darren chuckled, when he first noticed the professor's attentions. He wasn't the only one who noticed. “Dude, you got a guaranteed ace from Dormeyer, if you wink back at him.”
“Huh?” Darren came out of his epistemological trance. “What do you mean?”
A young couple smiled back at him. “Has he written you a love letter yet? He addresses his whole lecture to you.”
“Uh … yeah, it's kinda creepy,” Darren acknowledged.
“Easy ace,” the boy repeated. “Don't knock it.”
“You look familiar,” the girl said. “Why do I think that? Where have I seen you?”
“No idea,” Darren answered. He never liked to talk about his modeling gigs. “I live in Alameda,” he added.
“If Dormeyer wants a threesome, let me know,” she answered as they came to the parking lot. Darren couldn't tell how serious she was.
“Me, too,” said her boyfriend, who winked and smiled.
Darren walked halfway to his car and then turned back, unsure if he had heard right. There was no sign of the couple.
