Date: Sun, 14 Aug 2005 12:12:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: worldblows@yahoo.com
Subject: Don 't Dig Me Any Deeper- A New Beginning

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Love to hear from you all.  This excerpt is from a copyrighted novel.  You
can not use without the express consent of the author.

 By lopez sands

 Don't Dig me Any Deeper: A NEW BEGINNING

  I wake up with a new zest for life on the day I am to start work.  I am
actually looking forward to going to work for BROTHER, one of the new
magazines targeting black men.  I am looking forward to the challenges that
await me.  It has been over a year since, Aries died and I haven't looked
forward to waking up in a long time.  Even my work has begun to suffer.
Nothing seems quite important to me.  I still sometimes hear his voice
calling me in the morning asking me if I want coffee or juice, or I wake up
feeling his breath on my neck, only turning and opening my eyes to realize
that he isn't there.  Then grabbing the pillow and pushing my face into it
to fight off the tears.  It's hard for most people to understand what it's
like for a person to watch the person that they love more then life itself,
die right before their eyes and there isn't a damn thing you can do about
it.  Death is a cruel beast.  It takes more then that person, it takes a
part of your soul and no matter what, and you know that you'll never get
that part of you back.  No matter how hard you try or no matter how much
you plead.

 As I walk into the office, I scout the room for all signs of intelligent
life.  I want to determine right away, who friends are and who foes are.
But most importantly I want to see how I would fit in.  The office is very
motherland.  From the colors that line the room down to the music playing
over the sound system, none of the urban contemporary stuff but the kind of
music that speaks slowly to your soul.  I look around and I did not see a
familiar face to be found, when this deep baritone voice comes from behind
me.

	"Well I'll be damn, Gabe, what's up nigger"

 I turn to a face that I haven't seen in a while but one that helps get me
the job.  It is Wilson Wright.  We went to college together at Columbia; he
is two years ahead of me, three years older.  He stands, smiling at me,
with his white teeth glowing and his six-foot frame all worked up.  He was
thinner back in the day but that voice and that smile haven't changed.

	"I'm glad you could make it"

	Well so am I, I reply, as I look him over.  Wilson has always been
into doing what felt good, so in college we never are an item but a few
times we did do what felt good.  At the time, well the first time, I have a
little guilt attached to the sex.  I knew his girlfriend but it wasn't
about that it was about what happen inside the bed for us.  He did get me
through a few lonely nights when I was without a significant other.  Wilson
problem he was never without a significant other and I think I liked that
about him.  Wilson is a very nice looking guy.  He has very ethnic
features.  He still has those nice, massive thighs that are enhanced by the
jeans he's wearing.  His broad shoulders stand out just as I remember from
our many fervent nights together in college.

	"Well let me introduce you to a few of the fellows, we have a staff
development meeting in a hour, so we'll go get a bite to eat next door and
catch up."

	All right, that's cool with me.

	"Good, it's good to have you back among the living instead of that
tired ass town you just comes from."

	Atlanta isn't that bad.

	"To visit maybe but I wouldn't want to live there"

 His smile has always been so genuine, probably the only genuine thing
about him when we first met.  Wilson is a nice guy but we are friends.  I
have seen him use people up, in a quest to get what he wanted.  At
Columbia, he would use who ever are necessary. When I met him, I kind of
was an ass to him.  Ignored the hell out of him but one night we got high
together at a party and we end up talking then I gave him a lift home.  A
week later we are fucking and he never tried to get anything from me
besides my ass.  I tried to figure out what he wanted but I never come up
with anything.  He backed off when he saw me with someone else.  He once
says that we are friends because we both have a drive.  I think it is
because we both would just let go in bed.  The sex was good and all but he
did come with his hang-ups.

	"Gabe, this is Reggie, this is my boy, Gabe.  He just comes back
home from the south, Atlanta."

	"Nice to meet you."  These are the first words that I heard from
lips of Reginald Hicks.  "So you're joining our staff, I've read some of
your stuff, pretty good."

	Thanks.  What did he mean pretty good?

	"Listen, I have to go make a few phone calls but we'll talk again."

	All right.  And with that Reggie walks to the other side of the
room.  I watch with my ears and not with my eyes for a few seconds and when
I look over, Reggie is looking back.  Reggie is just a little taller then I
am.  Muscular body, not overly done, not perfect but extremely sexy.  He
has curly hair, natural; at least it appeared to be.  He wears those nice
frame glasses, the kind that let you know, I think I'm intelligent and I
have everything going.  They cover his slightly bushy eyebrows and magnify
his dimples on his copper cheeks.  His eyes crinkle around the edges when
he smiles, and his perfect white teeth glisten to increase the attraction
to his oversized lower lip.  When he reaches his hand out to shake my hand,
I noticed his long fingers, as they seem to massage the inside of my hand.
They are beautiful hands, which are attached to slightly hairy arms.
Everything about him seems to go together, except for his ears.  They stand
out, slightly larger then one would expect.  This doesn't take away from
his attractiveness, I don't think much could.  He has a self-assured
presence about him, one that I enjoy very much, from this brief meeting.

 Next door at the little diner, which is filled almost to capacity, we sit
in the booth, Wilson and I, smile at each other.  It is good to have a
familiar face to look at.  It makes things a lot easier.  The food smells
so bad but I decide to order anyway.  The waitress, some white girl with a
little too make up that still haven't manage to hide her acne is being
impatient with me.  The more she huffs, the more I decide I need more time.
I can't stand service people who don't like to serve.  Her dingy white
apron over her too tight black dress just accentuated her tacky nature.
She must have left a watering job in Texas to do better things in the city,
at least that's what I imagine from the southern drawl she manages
throughout every "Have you decided yet sir?"  Finally I decide on a chef
salad with blue cheese and a cup of coffee.  She gladly takes our menus and
walk off to a less then stellar kitchen.

 As I am calling her a bitch in my mind, I look over to see Wilson staring
at me, with this stupid little grin on his face.

	What, I ask.

	"I am just remembering the first time we met."

	It wasn't exactly, a nice meting.

	"You're right, you were a real dick"

	I know, did I ever say sorry?

	"Many of times, many times."

	You're still so damn silly.  I meant that in the nicest way.  He is
right.  He has been only one of the three people in my life that I had some
continuous form of sexual contact.  With the other two, I was making love.
With Wilson we were fucking.  Not that there is much difference besides the
feeling.  Both have their purpose and Wilson sure has a lot of purpose.

	"Do you remember the first time we had sex."

	Sure I do.  Why do you ask?

	"Just curious."

	So how is that wife of yours?

	"She's fine.  We have two kids, two girls"

	How old are they?

	"Four and six.  They are beautiful girls."  He says as he removes
his wallet to show me a picture of his family.

	So what's up man?

	"Nothing much.  When you called about the job, it just brought up
so old feelings.  I wasn't sure how I would react to you"

	And now?

	"For now, it's just memories."

	You know something's are better left memories.

	"Don't get me wrong man; I love my wife and my two little girls.  I
would never do anything to put that at jeopardy.  I never think about who I
was back then.  I haven't had sex with another man since our last time and
I didn't think about it, until I heard your voice over the phone."

	So what now?

	"Like you say, it's a memory and I can't share every memory with my
wife.  She would never understand that at one time in my life, I loved
another man", Wilson says.  I'm sitting here for what seems an eternity.
I'm confused.  What had I missed?  I thought I totally understood my
relationship with Wilson.  Now he says loved.  I try to search my database
for some sign.  I am little taken back.  I stare at him.  I cared for
Wilson, but I never thought it was love.  We served a purpose for each
other; he comforted me at a time in my life when I need it.  Love?  How
could he have loved me, the only time there was any kind of connection was
when we are in bed, outside of bed, our relationship, seems almost cold
when it comes to intimacy.  Sure we talked but not the way you do with
someone you love, but the way friends talked.  If he meant it that way,
sure, I could see that form of love but not true love, not between us.  I
wanted to love him, I really did, but I never felt that was an option.  I
never felt that we could love one another that was not our role in life.

	"Listen, I don't think a man could love another man, so that's why
I just say it was sex but every time you would cool off, I would be hurt
but I can't let you see that.  I can't let you think I was weak or
something.  I wanted to tell you and I know its safer now to say I loved
you then because things are different, but I truly did love you."

	You are special to me too.  All I want is your happiness.

	"I hope we can become good friends again."

	I would like that.

 The food arrives at our table exactly at the moment that he put his hand
over mine.  People do grow.  It's just it takes time.  Time has done
wonders for Wilson.  He isn't the person, I remember but neither am I.  As
I eat, I did begin to think about the last time that I saw Wilson.  He
comes over to my apartment.  I was leaving for Atlanta, in two days.  He
says he wanted to stop by to wish me well.  We haven't has sex in about six
months. We sit around talking about what is ahead of me.  There is
something different in him but I had just assumed I was being overly
sensitive because I am leaving town.

Wilson and I lay in my bed watching, a football game.  Then he kisses me.
Not in the same way he can done so many times before, this is a kiss with
such intensity as I look back on it.  The way he stares in my eyes and he
undresses me.  Running his tongue over my body.  Sex has always been one of
his strong points.  It was not as uncontrolled as all the other times; the
passion is not as raw.  I remember his lips moistening the inside of my
thighs as his hand run up and down my body.  As I lay there waiting for him
to lift me, to enter me, it was a closeness that was not there before.  His
knee s l owly parts my inner thighs as he pulled me toward his erection.
With a couple of tiny thrusts and one passionate one, he is inside me and
we just sit there still for a second as the pleasurable pain shoot through
my entire body.  Then he looks at me, as if asking me if I am all right.
I'm fine.  He then lowers his head down to my lips and parts my mouth with
his tongue. We kiss for what appeared to be hours.  He then ran his tongue
over my nipples and down to my belly button where he flicked his tongue in
and out moistening me, then down the rest of stomach, where my dick stands
patiently waiting.  As his mouth covered me, I feel my body open up and him
push deeper inside of me.  He rose up and began to rock, gently laying me
back onto the pillow as he plows my ass.  My hand ran over his fur cover
chest.  Feeling his sculpture with the very tips of my claws.  It is so
potent, this night, so striking, so powerful.  I rose up to him, his hands
on my back, making it easier for me to ascend to his body.  I wrapped my
hands around him and he places his hands on my waist.

	"Gabe, Gabe, its time to go."

	Huh, what, I'm sorry.

	"The meeting, we can to get going."

	All right.

	"You can to tell me someday where your mind was at."  But I'm sure
he knows.  He was there.  He created those memories for me.  He reminded me
of things that I had long ago put at the back of mind.  Is that his
purpose, to remind me of that last time?  It is true, whenever I thought of
Wilson, I always though of that last night.

It's a funny thing, that no matter how many days or years you spend with a
person the thing you remember most is the last night you spend with them.
You try to remember it all, the good times, the bad times, especially the
good times, but when it is summed up the last time is always the most
vivid.  It takes a lot to hold on to all the memories but the final
encounter, isn't that hard; it is the one that lingers, no matter how
painful.

 The meeting goes pretty well.  Besides being the new guy everyone treated
me with a lot of love.  They say this doesn't happen in black communities,
that it has somehow been lost.  As a journalist I can tell you, the truth
is that happens a lot more then we read or see but this isn't sellable and
only crime, greed and corruption sell pap e rs or bring in viewers.  My
first assignment is to interview, Congressman Jesse Johnson Jr.  They
wanted me to profile him as the next great sensation since JFK.  Of course
I agreed but having not cared for his father very much, Jesse Jr. would not
get the white glove treatment, at least from me.  I would wear my dirty
gloves and see if he could clean them.  The managing editor and owner Eric
Reynolds, a man in his early fifties but could easily pass ten years
younger, calls me into his office to talk.  I walk into many offices before
and I am not the least bit intimidated by these people, but with
Mr. Reynolds, you could smell the fragrance of intimidation coming from my
pores.

 As I enter the room, lined with awards and numerous journalism degrees
from T emple and other fine institutions, I stand in awe of this man.  He
smiles and asks me to sit down.  I oblige and sit in the first chair I can
find.  He takes off his dark navy suit jacket and makes his way to his
desk, taking his seat. He begins to stare at me without saying a word.
Finally a warm grin passes over his face and you could tell he is using
caution with his words.

	"There's no need to be up tight, we're friends and family here."
Family I wonder if he really knows what this word actually mean to me.  It
is the great word politicians so causally toss off as sound bites in
campaigns.  Besides Michael, and more recently Aries, family is the last
thing I would think of says pleasantly.

	"I enjoyed your work, Bill spoke very highly of you, and you know
we are brothers at Temple."  It is hard to imagine the two of them being
the same age.  Bill is a thick balding man, who's idea of a work out is
scoffing down a whole chicken in one sitting, using a couple of slices of
cherry pie to do dumb bell lifts and washing it down with glasses of
bourbon.  Eric is the opposite, elegant, attractive and took care of
himself.  He is just the kind of man most women and men for that matter
says no longer exist.

	Thank you, I reply.

	"Your piece on that serial killer, really caught my eye, how did
you ever put the story together?"

	Should I tell him?  When I can decided that I would live as an
openly, proud gay man, I know that I would live my entire life repeatedly
coming out to people.  It's not the most exciting moment but it is
rewarding for me.  I just never could tell how one might react.  I've been
through people rejecting me and blowing me off but over time, I chalked it
up to ignorance but in work settings, I found an added pressure.  I
remember the first time after I started college, I told my best friend at
the time because I don't want him to hear it for someone else.  He don't
blow up in front me, he just cut me out his life, that hurt but what hurt
more was that he begin to tell everyone that I was friends with him because
I wanted him.  Most kids that we went to school with don't take him
seriously; they laughed because they had always assumed that he was in love
with me.  They can't understand why I was his friend.  My close female
friends asked me had I rejected him.  I told them no, I just told him I was
gay.

 I heard rumors, I told him, after doing some initial research, I figured
there was something there, so I went for it.

	"Bill says you have good instincts, and that I should trust them,"
he says, a s his eyes begin to intensify.  "I want to change this magazine
from a fluff piece that I brought three years ago. Wilson told me about
your looking to move back here I gave Bill a call and he just went on and
on about you."

	Really, I never thought Bill went on and on about anything.  I look
at him while he shakes his head in agreement.

	"Let me just make it clear, the reason, I brought you here is not
to soften you up, but just the opposite, I need you to go after the story,
while always reporting the facts."

	I never make up anything, I just dig until there's nothing left to
uncover.

	"Good", he says with a smirk, "then you've heard of Jesse
Jr. little bribery rumors?"

	Yes I have.  Believe me if there is anything there, he'll be put on
the hot seat.  I meant that but what I wouldn't hang our politicians out to
dry like the mainstream white press has done for years, by overlooking the
little white boys club and going after our leaders.

 Eric goes on to talk about the way every time you turn on the television,
there are two black politicians caught up in some scandal to every one
white politician.  When the numbers sitting on capital hill are, well
reversed.  He seem to be upset with this sort of deliberate targeting but
he make it very clear that it did not mean we should ignore a crime just
because it is one of own.  I remember my father sitting in his big rocking
chair talking about some of our leaders selling out as a child.  Reading
from the paper how someone took a bribe.  He used to say, we have to play
their game but they don't allow us to play by their rules.  We can invent
our own rules and play their game better, he use to say.

 The rest of day went without a hitch, settling in, meeting a few more
people and talking to them about my work in Atlanta.

  The office would be a nice change from the battles I use to face at the
Constitutional.  Everyone wanted the front page and when I went full time
because of my serial murder case, I was not welcome at the place and when
my sexual orientation becomes office gossip because of my relationship with
Aries, I thought I could not stand another minute at that place.  Bill was
there and he defended me.  At first I thought it was because I was selling
papers and breaking records with the coverage and even thought of taking a
position with one of the local gay rags but Aries was there, he even
offered to be less public.  His love got me through a lot of tough times; I
just hope he knows how much I loved him.  He once joked before we becomes
office gossip, that we attended so many benefits together and always seems
to be the picture in articles, that we are being place out as the faces of
the black gay community.  At the time no one even know my face, at least
not more then as the guy on the arm of Atlanta's gay men's health project
director.  That changed when the story went national.  The things I could
tell you.  People can be so vindictive when they feel the spotlight isn't
on them.

 As I step out of my shower the doorbell rang and I grab my thick white
towel, I have a fetish for cotton towels.  I go to the door and there
stands Simon, holding a bottle of wine.  I haven't seen him or talked to
him for two days.  I am happy to see him and tell him to come in and make
his self-comfortable, while I slip on some clothes.

	"You don't have to, I actually like you just the way you are", he
says with this naughty little grin on his face.

	Just get a couple of glasses out of the kitchen and I'll be right
back.

 He really doesn't know how I have imagined the two of us together again.
When we are younger it is kind of awkward to begin with.  I was so nervous
it kind of make the first time pretty uneventful, but when I look back on
it, I think he set it all up.  Actually I kind of know he did.

 Looking back at the way he just happened to show up at my house that
Sunday morning, my parents are at church, gone to some revival, they has
told me and Michael that they wouldn't be back until that night.  Michael
has left with his flavor of the week; it's hard to remember all their
names, since he went through so many of them.  Simon comes into the house,
teasing me in that way he always did.  We sit on the couch, and begin to
watch the Bulls and the Knicks in a classic game.  This is the year before
Jordan comes to the Bulls and the destiny was just a stone throw away.

	"You've become an attractive young man, Michael tells me you've
been going to the 'Y'", he says looking at me with this concentrated glare.

	Well, I have to look good, I say jokingly.

	"Well you look good", he says sarcastically.

 I hit him because I know he is making fun of me, he grab me and we begin
to wrestle, he has always been taller then myself and stronger, not that at
that moment, I put up any fight.  Here I am on my living room floor with
the body of my crush of the last three years on top me.  I stopped fighting
and look up at him and our breathing is heavy and intense.  I don't
remember whether it was him or me but one of us kissed first and the other
one made no effort to move.  The next thing I know he is lifting me up and
removing my clothes.  I rose while he removed my gray gym shorts.  He
expelled his own shirt as I unbuckled his pants and removed them off along
with his fruit of looms.  He begins to suck on my neck then on my chest.
He never goes below my waist with his mouth.  We kisses some more and I
rolled him over and begin to lick on him like he is some bowl of left over
pudding that I wanted to clean.  He grabs the top of my head and pushed it
to his lower self and I open my mouth while he thrusts up ward inside of
me.  I begin to savor every taste and he quickly shot in my mouth that was
the first time I have ever tasted cum.  After he shot he rolled me over,
and he begin to kiss me again, I feel his hand cover the middle of my dick,
I wanted his mouth there so bad but I was afraid to mention that to him.
He began to jack me off and I feel him again against my thigh.

 We continued kissing and grinding but I think we both are afraid to go any
farther then that. Afterwards he told me it couldn't happen again.  It did
and we progressed and Simon learned a lot.  At least that's what I wanted
to believe but I know the truth is that he already knew a lot.  After
another one of nights after he finally can given me oral sex, he told me
has never done that to a guy before but by the time our affair ended, he
did a lot of things that he never has done with other men.  I make love to
Simon and I thought he was making love to me but I realize with my
experiences, that at that age, the only thing either is doing is getting
your rocks off.  Yes I did love him but Simon was not capable of returning
that love.  I knew I could love men but for some men the idea scares them
and it takes a lot longer to realize that's it OK for them to feel that
way.  I am brought back to the present by Cassandra Wilson coming from my
living room, I quickly button my shirt and make my way down to see what
would be rekindle and what the night has planned for me.

 As I make my way down the stairs, I stop for a moment to watch as Simon
stares out of the window.  I want to know what he is thinking.  What are we
doing?  Is he nervous, I sure in the hell am.  He stands in my window
staring out with the streets shining back on him.  Dressed in a pair of
blue dress pants, with his white dress shirt and the mufti-colored tie on,
his face appears so faultless.  I seem somehow to be underdressed, in my
white shirt and blue shorts.  I straighten out my clothes and he turns
around and gives me such an exquisite smile, showing all his pearly whites.

	"I like your previous outfit a hell of a lot better," he says still
glowing. I make my way down the rest of the flight of stairs and he
approaches me.  We meet at the center of my living room and he takes me in
his arms.  I am sweep away with such rapid emotions, I feel, as I would
faint at any second. It is if I'm transported back to the first time.  All
the awkwardness of my youth and my first experience is reborn with an
approach into his arms.  It is all so real, so familiar, so breathe taking,
yet it lacks an air of authenticity.  I stand there in my living room,
looking up into his eyes.  Something begins to awaken in me, I haven't felt
it this vividly before, this is new, and this has no connection to our
past.  It is deeper then a teenage folly.  It frightens me.  It increases
in its pain; it is rushing to my heart.  This is a dangerous place, so I
have always thought.

	I'm glad you came by.

	"Me too."  He grabs me by the hand lead me to my couch, hands me a
glass of wine as I sit, staring up, watching him make his way beside me.

	"So how was your first day at the office?"

	Just fine, I think I'm going to enjoy being back in Chicago.

	"I hope I can make your return more pleasant."

	You're off to a good start, I tell him as I ease into his chest and
he put his arm around me.  I could stay like this forever.  We talk about
the office and he begins to tell me about his day.  We seem to be going
right into a familiar place.  As often as I look up at him, it is no wonder
that he doesn't get nervous, but he just keep touching my head and
caressing my shoulder.  He looks at me with such grace.  It is if he can
read my entire life in some great novel and now he is comforting me.  He is
telling me with every touch that he wants me.  Maybe it is what I need, but
I know it is what I want.

 Cassandra continues to play on the CD player and we drink the entire
bottle of wine and talk.  We talk about our lives and for the first time, I
feel like I would not just fall apart.  I finally ask him about his
ex-wife.  He tells me her name is Sara and they met a year after I left
town.  So much of him has become a man that year he explains, but he still
denied who he is out of fear.  He tells about the most important day of his
life when his son was born.  He says, for years his son has been the only
bright spot in his life.

	"Until, now", he says looking me in my eyes.  I think he is trying
to read my soul but no one could do that no matter how much he reads
through my eyes, not just yet.  He kisses me and I kiss back.  I make my
way onto his lap and he take my glass and sit it down and then sit his
down, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me closer, and closer, until I
feel as if I'm going to fall into him.  Then I stop.

	"What's wrong", he asks.

	Nothing.  Nothing is wrong; I am a little frightened, not because I
feel guilty but because I feel no guilt.  Where is the guilt?  I lean back
into him and begin to kiss him, his tongue and mine are getting to know
every inch and section our mouths.  I stand up and lead him to my bedroom.

 That night, after Simon falls asleep, I stand and watch a lone woman come
up the street, her tight black leather jacket, with the collar up,
protecting her neck.  Looking back every so often as though she is
frightened that she is being followed.  Then a police car comes up the
street, like an out of control brainless mutant.  She watches the police
car whizzing by, shaking her head in disbelief.  Then it is empty, silent,
and no one.  The stillness that is growing powerful, soon resonant sounds
of alarm clocks would begin to sound and the houses would evacuate the
morning people.  Then a thought crosses my head, a scene would now be
occurring between the boy and a girl in some room, that they would be
making love as I have spent the night doing.  Is it love?  I don't know,
neither would they, it just sounds nicer to call it that.  I head back to
the comfort of my bed.

 The next morning, I awake with this man beside me.  He sleeps soundly at
six in the morning and I sit on the bed, learning his body by sight, which
I learned so well that night by touch and taste.  He has this tiny little
scar right under his belly button.  His legs are slightly hairy but seem so
powerful.  It is hard to imagine this is the man, I wrapped my legs around
that night and whose legs can been wrapped around me.  His arms, those
puissant and statuesque limbs that holds me and blown me into such an
enormous height are laid, stretched out on my bed. He is so peaceful.  The
slight beard he is beginning to grow give his face a since of masculinity
and soft beauty all at once.  I lay back down onto those arms and he
immediately wraps them around me.

 I can't fall back to sleep.  I have too much energy to sleep.  My arm seem
to move on it's own between his legs, grabbing for it and finding it and
feeling it come alive in my hands.  I look up at him and his eyes slowly
open.  I met them with a kiss and reach over into my drawer for the box of
condoms I purchased at the local store after my brothers' party.  I tore it
open and put it on him as he watches, gently caressing my head.  He lowers
himself on me and takes his time.  Kissing my neck and letting his tongue
linger on my shoulder blade so profoundly.  His head lowers, I know where
he is by each kiss and I feel moisture as he engulfs me in his mouth.
Feeling his tongue flicker on me as he enjoys me as I enjoy his mouth, I
lower my head grabbing a hold of his, I pull him and he spreads my thighs
with his knees and raises my body as his grandness enters me.  The passion
is there, the sex is also but not the love but that would come with time.
After years of dining on love, you can not settle for anything less.  I
have loved him once and I feel that I could love him again.  So as we rock
back and forth, my mind goes away from the future for the present is good.

 We shower together and we do not say much.  After we dress, I watch him
wondering again what is on his mind.  He turns to me and pulls me on top of
him.  Looking lovingly into my eyes he says to me, "don't hurt me", those
words "don't hurt me", I know what he means, he is going to try and not
hurt me.  He is reading my soul because the previous night with ever
thrust; I repeated them silently into his soul.  I lean down and kiss him
and say what I know what he wants to hear, but I know my reply is his, he
wouldn't try but people do hurt you, whether they're straight or gay, lover
or family, they always hurt you in the end.