Date: Sun, 03 Feb 2002 16:40:53 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 58

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with
Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and
tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.

That said, back to the show.

***Justin***

"Why?" Josh sobbed, repeating it over and over as he rocked back and forth,
clutching his knees. "Why? Why?"

He wasn't just crying. He was shaking, struggling to breathe, the kind of
crying that little kids have, the full out abandonment to emotion that
adults rarely ever show.  Tears were streaming down his face, which was
red, his eyes squeezed shut above his running nose.  Every time he sucked
in a breath it was a raw, stuttering inhale, and he immediately shrieked it
all out again. I knelt next to him, pulling him against me, but he remained
huddled in a tight little ball, holding onto himself, not opening up to me.
I kept my arms around his shoulders.

"Josh, maybe, I don't know, maybe this is some kind of a joke," I began,
trying to comprehend this.

Jack wouldn't leave Josh. He wouldn't, especially not without a
reason. Even if they did break up, it wouldn't be this way. Jack was too
big of a drama queen, too into having everything always be this huge face
to face confrontation, to ever just walk away. And even if he did somehow
convince himself to just go, to just walk out of a club and out of Josh's
life, would he really come back to the hotel room to drop off the ring but
leave his suitcases lined up by the door? This couldn't be right, couldn't
be happening. Jack wasn't capable of this kind of cruelty, was he? No
matter what Josh did, or whatever Jack thought, he just wouldn't leave in a
way that he knew would hurt Josh more than anything else.

"Josh, Jack wouldn't do this," I said, shaking my head. "This has to be
something else.  This couldn't be him."

Shaking his head, either to negate what I was saying or just to negate all
of this, Josh scooped up the ring from the floor and pressed it into my
hand.

"Look," he sobbed. I glanced down, but didn't really get what he was
saying.  Anyone could have dropped off a plain silver ring. It didn't prove
anything. Josh must have read my face, even through his tears, because he
shoved my hand toward my face.  "Look!"

I looked down at the ring again, really looked, and then I saw what Josh
was trying to tell me, what he was trying to show me. The ring in my hand
had a nick on one side, a dent, small but noticeable. Two weeks ago Jack
had slammed his hand in Josh's car door somehow. His hand had been ok, a
little sore for a day or two, but otherwise unhurt. His ring, though, had
received a nick on one side, a tiny dent that Josh kept wanting him to take
in to get smoothed out. Jack wouldn't take the ring in because he didn't
want to take it off, didn't want to be separated from it, because for him,
being separated from that ring was the same as being separated from Josh.

Or, at least, that's what he told us.

Right then, holding that ring as I knelt on the floor, holding Josh,
everything in my heart, everything I felt toward Jack, hardened and died. I
felt cold rage sweep over me as I pictured him coming in and just dropping
this off. He hadn't even signed the damned note, just typed it out, dropped
it on the table, and walked away, leaving Josh behind, broken and
alone. Everything they had gone through, all the fighting and struggling
and tears, all the pain and heartache, and Jack had just walked away. Was
everything he'd ever said a lie? All the times he said he'd never hurt
Josh, always love Josh, never leave Josh, had it all been lies?

"Why, Justin?" Josh sobbed, still holding himself tightly as I held onto
him. He relaxed a little, turning his head to press his face against my
chest while I held onto him. I felt his tears wetting my thin beater, and I
kept my arms locked around him, rocking back and forth in time with his,
listening to his keening wail of grief as he sobbed.  "I love him. I love
him more than anything. Why did he leave? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, Josh," I said softly, his hair brushing my chin as
I lowered my head down, trying to get closer to his ear. "You didn't do
anything, none of this is your fault. I don't know what's going on, why
Jack did this, but I'm right here, Josh. I'm here."

Josh continued to sob against me, fighting for air, choking out every
breath. Josh looked up at me, his wet eyes bulging with panic, and he
turned, pulling away from me, dropping to his hands as if he was going to
start doing pushups. Before I could react he retched, vomiting onto the
floor. I felt my own gorge rising, and I fought it down as I grabbed his
shoulders, holding him up to keep him from collapsing into it. Beneath me,
Josh heaved, still sobbing, and spewed out another stream of foul-smelling
liquid. The cleaning bill on the suite was really going to suck. The
vomiting seemed to take a lot out of him, and I scooped him up in my arms,
hooking one under his legs. He grabbed my shoulder, and pressed his face to
my chest again, but otherwise he just lay limply in my arms, still crying,
his body still shaking, as I carried him into the bathroom and set him on
the counter. I leaned him back against the mirror, and ran a washcloth
under cold water.

"Josh?" I asked, wiping around his mouth. I filled a glass with cold water,
and handed it to him, and he rinsed his mouth and spit, still
sobbing. "Josh?"

He didn't answer, or at least not understandably. I'd never seen anyone cry
like this, not this hard, and I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to
help him get through this. I felt frustration boiling up inside of me
again, felt like hitting out at something again. If Jack had walked through
the door right at that moment I might have killed him without even giving
it a second thought. I picked Josh up again, my bruised shoulder straining
painfully, and I carried him into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed,
putting his head on a pillow. I pulled the sheet up over him, and turned to
walk out of the bedroom.  Josh's hand whipped out, his fingers digging
painfully into my wrist. Damn it, between my shoulder and my hand, that was
the last part of that arm that didn't hurt.

"Don't leave me," Josh whispered, his voice barely a squeak. "Please don't
leave me alone."

"I'm not, Josh, I promise," I said, kneeling down so he could see my face,
see how serious I was in my eyes. "I want you to stay here, and just
rest. Don't think about this, just stay here and calm down. I want to go
out into the suite room and make some calls, ok?"

"Just don't leave me alone," Josh whispered, and then began sobbing again,
turning away from me to bury his head in a pillow.

"I won't, Josh," I said, stroking his smooth shoulder. "I won't leave you.
I'll be right back. I promise."

I closed the bedroom door behind me as I walked into the suite room,
picking up my phone from off of the table. Trying to ignore the smell of
vomit, I began to open the windows as I dialed Chris.

"Justin? What's going on?" Chris asked, snapping awake. I looked at the
clock again, and realized I kept calling Chris at times that were
dreadfully early, at least for him. God only knew what I was doing to the
modeling industry with this kind of sleep deprivation. Then again, God only
knew what Chris was doing to the modeling industry. "Did you find Jack?"

"Not exactly," I answered, sitting down on the couch. I closed my eyes so I
wouldn't have to look at where Josh had thrown up. "He found us."

"Then everything's ok?" Chris asked. I heard a door closing behind him and
realized he was having some more naked cigarette time. We all knew each
other so well, but I'd also thought we knew Jack pretty well, too. Maybe
none of us really knew each other like we thought we did.

"No, no it's not ok," I answered flatly, wondering how many times Josh
would have to tell people this same thing, and how much it would hurt
him. "Jack left Josh."

"What?" Chris yelped, loud enough that I had to hold the phone away from my
ear. "He what? Why?"

"I don't know!" I answered. "I don't understand any of this, and Josh is in
crying, and he threw up all over the floor. Jack came in while we were
sleeping, and just left this note, and his ring, and didn't even say
anything."

"What?" Chris asked again. I could tell he was having problems putting it
all together.  "What's this note, Justin?"

I picked up the typed note from the table, uncrumpling it, and began to
read it to Chris.  While I was reading it, I felt a little twinge of
something, some idea in my head that didn't quite form, and then Chris
spoke, and I lost the thought.

"Shit," Chris said softly. "Where's Josh now?"

"I put him in bed," I explained. "I'm gonna let him rest, and then when he
wakes up I think we're coming home."

Chris sighed.

"Call me when you guys know what you're doing, ok?" he said, inhaling
loudly. "Joey's in New York, but I'll make sure me or Lance or Howie picks
you guys up, ok?"

"OK," I said. "Bye, Chris. I'll call when we know what we're doing."

I heard Josh behind me as I hung up the phone.

"We're leaving," he said quietly. I turned toward the door, and saw him
standing with one hand on the doorframe. He still looked pale, and shaken,
and his eyes were red, but he had finally stopped crying. "I don't want to
stay here, Justin. I want to go home."

"Josh," I began, standing. I walked over to him and put a hand on his
shoulder. He lay his head down on mine, and I heard his breath still
quivering unsteadily, as if he was fighting to keep it even. "Are you sure
you just want to, you know, to give up?"

"Jack did!" he said sharply, looking up at me. His eyes filled with tears
again, one rolling down his cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb, holding
the side of his face with my hand. "He says not to try to find him. Justin,
please, I just want to go.  Please."

"OK," I said, hugging him. He pressed back against me, and then I let him
go, stepping back. "Jump in the shower, and I will, too. When you're all
set, come over to my suite, and I'll call and have someone bring our bags
down, ok? Then we'll go to the airport, and catch the first plane we can
get, ok?"

"Yeah, ok," Josh said, turning away. He wiped at his eyes with the back of
his hand, and I felt my heart sinking again. His shoulders were slumped,
and he was barely lifting his feet as he walked away from me.

When I finished with my shower I wrapped the towel around my waist and
peeked out the bedroom door. Josh was sitting on the couch in my suite
room, in a tight black long sleeved t-shirt and a glistening pair of
beige-ish snakeskin pants. He wasn't watching the television, or
reading. He was just sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, maybe
staring inside himself, and he glanced up at me as I opened the door,
standing wet in my towel, but his face didn't change at all.

"Hey," I said, smiling. "Are those snakeskin?"

"Imitation," he answered. It was a weak attempt at conversation, I know,
but I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Are you almost ready?"

"Twenty minutes," I answered. "Are you ok?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Please get dressed. I don't want to stay
here."

I called the front desk while I was getting dressed, and asked for someone
to come to Josh's room to start bringing the bags down, and then to come to
my room when they had finished. I also arranged for a car to take us, and
then I started getting dressed. It wasn't until I was almost done that I
realized that Josh's hands, sitting folded in his lap, had been bare. His
ring was gone. When I finished getting dressed, I walked out into the suite
room, and Josh looked up at me again with that same blank expression, as if
he was just holding everything inside. He stood, looking at the floor, and
we walked to the elevator, not saying anything.

Josh didn't talk while we waited in the back of the car for our bags to be
loaded, and he didn't say anything for the entire ride to the airport, just
staring out the window. I wasn't sure if he was really seeing anything, and
I didn't want to ask what he was thinking about, because I was afraid that
he'd start crying again. I heard him sniffle, once, as we started turning
in to the airport, and I reached out for him. He grabbed my hand, squeezing
it hard, and I let him, even though it was the hand I'd punched the
bathroom wall with yesterday, but he didn't look at me. He wiped at his
eyes with his other hand, and neither of us spoke.

Josh didn't speak for the entire plane ride, either, except to ask the
flight attendant for water. I asked him several times if he was ok, and he
just kept nodding, and I asked once if he needed to talk about anything,
but he just shook his head. Eventually he fell asleep, and the flight
attendant tried to hand me a pillow for him, but he seemed so comfortable
with his head resting on my shoulder that I didn't want to disturb him. I
called Chris, but he must have been in a meeting or something, because he
didn't pick up, so I left him a message letting him know what time our
plane would be landing. After I hung up, I stared down at Josh, watching
his eyes dart behind his eyelids, feeling his breath flutter over the top
of my arm, thanks to the short sleeved shirt I was wearing. His hair was
right below my head, and smelled kind of like apples, and I thought about
how peaceful he looked, and how nice it felt to have him resting there
against me.

I must have fallen asleep, too, because the next thing I remember is the
flight attendant gently tapping my shoulder, telling me that the plane had
landed. I looked around and realized that everyone else had already
disembarked, and I thanked her as I carefully shook Josh awake. He blinked
at me sleepily, his sky blue eyes sparkling.

"Justin?" he asked, looking around.

"Come on, it's time to go home," I said, stretching.

Lance was waiting for us at the end of the ramp, a bodyguard waiting
unobtrusively off to the side, casually scanning everyone else and trying
to stay more or less unnoticed. Lance smiled when he saw us, but it was a
faltering smile, as if he didn't know quite how to react. I knew how he
felt. It was a happy reunion, but the circumstances sucked. Lance wrapped
Josh up in a quick hug, and Josh hugged him back, tightly, before stepping
away. Lance turned to me, and shook my hand, gripping it tightly. Sometimes
Lance and I hugged, and sometimes we just shook hands. I always let him
decide. We were getting close again, treating each other like friends
again, but it was always tentative. We were always careful around each
other, me not to hurt and him not to be hurt.

"Welcome back, guys," Lance said quietly. His green eyes looked sad as he
looked at Josh.

"Thanks for picking us up," I said. "No Howie?"

"He's out with the Boys today," Lance said, frowning. "His publicist said
we were spending too much time together in public, so we can't go anywhere
together for a while."

"That sucks," I said, as we began walking toward the baggage claim area.

Josh fell into step with us, but didn't say anything. He just kept walking
along at that slow shuffling pace, head down. Lance looked over at him, and
then looked at me with an unspoken question in his eyes. I didn't know how
to answer, so I just shrugged and shook my head sadly. When we began
pulling our many bags off of the belts, Lance left for a second to go get
someone to bring a cart over. As we unloaded them, I realized that the
hotel had loaded Jack's bags in with ours, too, and I pulled them off. If
all the rest of Jack's stuff was in storage here, these might as well join
it. Maybe he'd come back for them, and then, he'd be mine, regardless of
what Josh had to say.

Lance dropped us off at Josh's house first, inviting us to come over to his
place later for dinner with him and Howie if we wanted. Josh hugged him
goodbye, and we began hauling our bags through the front door, leaving mine
out at the driveway, because Josh was going to drive me over to my place,
which was only a few streets over.  When he walked through the door, I
heard him inhale sharply, and looking around, I realized why.  The front
room of Josh's house, usually a wide open space, was full of boxes, and I
kicked myself realizing that I should have thought of this. All the stuff
that didn't go into storage had been shipped here, because it was stuff
Jack wanted. All of these boxes, cluttering up Josh's home, were full of
Jack's stuff, and looking at them, Josh's eyes began to water again.

I grabbed him and turned him away from them, back to the door.

"Come on," I said, taking his suitcase from him.

"Where are we going?" Josh asked, blinking at me, his bottom lip quivering.
He was about to lose it again, but I thought I knew a way to cut this one
off.

"Sleepover!" I said, smiling brightly. I was hoping my enthusiasm might be
infectious.  "You're gonna come stay at my house, just like we used to! You
can sleep over, and we'll stay up really late watching TV, and then in the
morning, I'll make us waffles!"

"Justin," Josh began, looking away as tears trickled down his cheeks. I
grabbed his face, gently but firmly, and turned him toward me.

"Nope, no arguing," I said, smiling. "We're gonna have a slumber party, and
look, you're already all packed. Do you have your car keys?"

Josh fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his keys. I don't know how I could
have not noticed them, as those pants were so tight I could practically
read his underwear label through the scales, but he pressed them into my
hand as he wiped at his eyes again. I walked him down the driveway to where
my suitcases sat.

"Wait right here, ok?" I said. He nodded, and I hugged him. Running back
into the house, I grabbed Josh's suitcases, not even glancing at Jack's. I
locked the front door, and exited through the garage, backing the Jag down
the driveway. I could have taken the Viper, but there was barely room for
us in there, much less for luggage. I hopped out, and began loading bags
into the trunk. "Get in, Josh."

"Justin?" Josh asked quietly. I rushed over to him, and he wrapped his arms
around me again, squeezing tightly. I felt his chest through his thin
shirt, pressing against mine, and watched the way his arms pushed at the
fabric of his sleeves. "Thank you."

"That's what friends are for," I said, hugging him back.

We rode over to my house, me driving Josh's car, in silence again. I could
see Josh shutting down, see him pulling inside himself, and I didn't know
what to do.  Josh, by nature, was a sort of private person. He had definite
hermit tendencies sometimes, locking himself away for days at a time while
he worked on a song, or just kept to himself. I was worried that now, with
him so upset, and so deeply hurt, if I didn't keep at him that he would
just fade away somehow, that he would lock himself in his house and not
come out. I watched him looking out the window and realized that his eyes
weren't moving, weren't tracking the scenery. Whatever he was looking at
wasn't outside.

When we pulled in at my house, he helped me carry my suitcases in, and then
we went back out to the car for his. While I was carrying his up the
stairs, I turned my sore arm the wrong way somehow. I didn't make a noise,
but he must have seen me wince, because suddenly he was right next to me,
his face filled with concern.

"Justin? What's wrong?" Josh asked, pulling his suitcase out of my hand.

"Nothing," I answered, shrugging. Josh put a hand on my other shoulder.

"Justin, please don't lie to me," he said quietly. "Just tell me what's
wrong, please."

"It's nothing," I said, smiling. "I hurt my arm a little yesterday, and
it's kind of sore, that's all."

"Let me see," he said, staring into my eyes. I could see myself reflected
in his eyes, and watched myself raise my hands in protest. "No, Justin, let
me see."

Josh took the bottom of my shirt and carefully pulled it over my head,
leaving me standing in my beater in the hallway. The whole side of my
shoulder was one big bruise, a purple blotch surrounded by yellow on the
rounded muscle that looked a lot worse than it felt. I saw Josh wince, and
he gently took my forearm, raising my arm a little and watching me wince as
my arm flexed.

"Justin, why didn't you say something?" Josh asked, the corners of his
mouth turning down as his eyes widened. "Does it hurt to move your arm?"

"I thought you had enough problems," I said, nodding to answer his other
question.

"Maybe a massage would help," Josh said.

"Josh, you don't have to do that," I said, holding up my hands in protest.
"Josh, go get unpacked and settle in. You don't have to give me a massage."

"I know I don't have to, but it might make you feel better," he said. "Go
lay down on your bed, on your stomach, and take your shirt off, ok?"

"OK," I said, shrugging. I peeled off my beater and climbed up onto my bed,
resting my head on my folded arms as I listened to Josh rummage around in
my bathroom.  Eventually he walked in with a bottle of baby oil, pushing up
his sleeves.  He climbed up onto the bed, straddling me, and I felt his
butt settle onto mine as he folded his legs.  Snapping open the bottle, he
squirted some onto my back, right in between my shoulder blades, and I
jumped. "That's cold!"

"Sorry," he said, running his hands up my spine, pressing the base of both
palms hard into my back. The oil started to warm up a little as his hands
slid through it, working it across the top of my back. "Is that better?"

"That's great," I sighed, sinking into the mattress as I felt him move my
arms down. Josh started working at my neck, kneading my traps, and I felt
the tension of the past few days start releasing. Josh's hands were warm,
and soft, and they slid over me with surprising skill. "That feels really
good, Josh. Where did you learn how to do this?"

Josh had rubbed my shoulders every once in a while, after a rehearsal or
just absently while we were watching a movie, and I remember thinking that
he was good at it, but I'd never realized he had this kind of skill. I'd
had professional massages that weren't this good.

"Remember that trainer we had on our first tour? Dillon?" Josh asked, and I
nodded, letting out a soft groan as he worked firmly down my back. "He was
really good at this, and I asked him one day. It turned out that he was a
licensed massage therapist, and for the rest of the tour I paid him to give
me lessons."

"You must have learned a lot," I sighed, lolling helplessly on the bed as
Josh worked my good arm, and then carefully worked over the other one,
doing his best to avoid the bruised area. He paused, having done my entire
back down to my waist, my neck, and my arms, so I assumed he was
done. "Thanks, Josh. That was great."

"Roll over, and I'll do your front, too," he said, climbing off of me.

I looked up at him, and wasn't sure of what I should say. I might be
completely relaxed, but part of me definitely wasn't. Pressed against the
mattress, my cock was throbbing hard, having climbed to attention while
Josh had straddled me and worked his hands all over me. I wasn't thinking
anything sexual, but just the feeling of him touching me, of his warm,
strong hands sliding through all that oil, kneading and pressing, had
turned me on.  I didn't think he would notice, since I was on my stomach,
but now he wanted me to roll over, and my state would be rather obvious. I
don't know why it embarrassed me, since Josh and I had seen each other with
hardons before, but I just didn't feel right about getting one while he was
giving me a rubdown, not now, not when he'd just broken up with his
boyfriend. I didn't want him to think that I'd taken his innocent favor and
turned it into something sexual.

"No, that's ok," I said quickly, not moving. "Really, I feel great, Josh."

"Justin, I can't give you half of a massage," he said, smiling and shaking
his head.  "What's gotten into you? Just roll over, and let me finish up."

Reluctantly I rolled over, keeping my eyes locked on his. If he noticed my
condition, he didn't say anything, and his face didn't show it. Josh
climbed back on, straddling me, and squirted the oil onto his hands this
time. He brought his palms down to my chest, and I inhaled involuntarily,
my pecs pressing up against them. Josh smiled, a small, tight smile, and
began to very professionally work at my neck, the front of my shoulders,
and my chest. I kept my eyes locked on his, and neither of us spoke as Josh
worked over the front of my body as skillfully as he had down the back. He
continued to stare down at me, not really smiling anymore, his face kind of
set in this look of determined concentration. At least if he was
concentrating on me he wasn't thinking about Jack.

Even though I was trying to stay calm, trying not to think anything even
remotely sexual as my handsome, well built gay best friend rubbed his hands
all over me, I felt myself responding to him, my nipples hardening as his
hands slipped over them, my cock throbbing painfully hard now, aching in my
pants, but at least he couldn't feel it. Rather than sitting all the way
down on me, like he had on my back, Josh was keeping himself raised a
little above me, so I could hope that he still hadn't noticed what he was
doing to me. As his hands slid down my abs, pressing them, I let out
another involuntary groan, and Josh's fingers dipped toward my waistband. I
found myself torn, wanting him to stop, but suddenly also wanting him to
drop his hands down to my crotch, to keep massaging where I really needed
it. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, swallowing and finally breaking eye
contact as he glanced away.

"Um, there," he said quickly, hopping off of me. His ass slid briefly over
my hard cock, and he must have noticed it, but he didn't say anything. "I
hope you feel better. I'm going to go, um, unpack a little."

"Thanks, Josh," I said, swallowing uncomfortably. He nodded and hurried
from the room, but not before I noticed that the front of his pants looked
a little full, as well.

What was I thinking? What was wrong with me? Josh was my friend. I hadn't
invited him over here to put moves on him. I had invited him to help him,
to take his mind off of Jack and his problems. I shouldn't be one of them,
shouldn't be adding to them. And then there was Brit, too. I couldn't think
about Josh's significant other, or former one, without thinking of mine. I
loved Brit, I did, but could I also love Josh? I loved him as a brother, as
a best friend, as the guy in the world who was the closest to me, ever, but
did I love him that way? And why was I worried about being the one to put
moves on him?  I wasn't the one who had half-stripped my best friend and
then thrown him on a bed and rubbed baby oil all over him.

I didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning. I heard Josh get up
and go to the bathroom several times, and heard him go down to the kitchen
once for water, but I didn't want to bother him, didn't want to get too
close until I could figure out how I felt, and what was going on inside
me. If Josh needed me, I was sure he'd knock on my door, but I didn't want
to be the one needing him, not when I was supposed to be a friend. When I
got up in the morning, I found Josh in my music room, curled up on the
couch, barefoot in silk Calvin Klein pajamas, staring at the piano, which I
have to confess that I don't actually know how to play, and blotting at his
eyes with a tissue. There was a pile of crumpled tissues on the table
beside him.

"Josh?" I asked, staying in the doorframe. "Are you ok?"

"Justin, hi," he said, blinking. His face was pale. "I was just, you know,
thinking."

"Do you want me to get us some breakfast?" I asked, not sure of what I
should do. Did he want a hug? Did I only think he might want a hug because
really I wanted to hug him?

Before Josh could answer, we heard my doorbell chiming. I walked over,
figuring it would be one of the guys, and Josh followed slowly behind
me. Whatever had come over him last night, whatever had caused him to pull
out of his shell and give me that massage, was gone, and he had folded back
into himself again. His shoulders were slumped again, and his eyes were
flat. He might have been smiling last night, but today the light was gone
again, and I realized that this was going to be a struggle for Josh, and
that maybe the whole thing hadn't even hit him yet. I had to be here for
him, and couldn't let my own selfish wants, the weakness of my hormone
driven body, get in the way of that.

Thinking that, resolving to keep myself under control, and to keep any
thoughts to the contrary out of my head, I pulled open the door, and found
Britney on my doorstep, waving at a cab that was pulling away. I had just
talked to her on the phone last night, and she hadn't mentioned coming to
visit. She grabbed me, wrapping me in a hug, and jammed her tongue into my
mouth as she kissed me wetly hello.

"Hey baby!" she shrieked, pressing her breast implants against me. "Aren't
you happy to see me?"

"Sure, babe," I answered, surprised. Britney let go of me and ran into my
house, throwing herself against Josh. His eyes bulged as she hugged him
tightly, his mouth dropping open as if she'd just slipped ice cubes down
his back.

"Oh, Josh, I feel so bad for you," she sighed, hugging him again.

I stood in my doorway, staring at the two of them, letting my eyes tick
back and forth between them. On the left, Britney, the woman I loved. On
the right, Josh, the man I, well, what, exactly?

***

More to come soon.

Also, just a response to the people who have written to say that they hate
me, hate the story, and hate all of this, feel free not to read it. Or, on
the other hand, feel free to trust me enough as an author to think I might
actually know what I'm doing. It's your choice.