Date: Wed, 12 Apr 2006 15:24:56 -0700 (PDT)
From: Eddie Wells
Subject: Give Me Love

There is this man I know, his name is Ramshid, we call him Ram.  He is
another of my friends imported from the principality ruled by my prolific
and entertaining older brother.  While Ram is gay, my brother and I
are both married with children.  Ram is a friend from my brother's days
as a PhD student in Dallas, TX, which was over twenty years ago. My
brother does not live there anymore, but Ram still does.  For my
brother's 50th birthday party a few years ago we, my brother, myself, and
a good friend of my brother's went to have a boys long weekend in
Dallas.

When we arrived Ram met us at the airport.  Ram and I exchanged a glance
that distracts me to this day.  There had never been anything between us
but the occasional encounter coincident with one of our mutual visits
with my brother. Though we've had similar career experiences and have
shared that interest.

The moment our plane left one airspace and approached his airspace we all
got that beautiful, anticipatory signal that a brief and lasting moment
was upon us. Ram is slight, shorter than me, wickedly smart, carries
himself like a beautiful, gentlemanly host at all times. His smile is
permanent.  It seems his words always have a tone of perfect suggestion
for a better life.

He took us on a half hour drive to his condo, which he'd been sharing
with his lover Walter for 10 years. On the way he surprised us and said
they'd recently broken up and Walter was vacationing elsewhere in Key
West.  Walter is a lawyer, Ram is a highly paid engineer. Their home was
solid Stirling red oak comfort, erupting in plushness and quietude earned
by years of the efforts of nature and man. I was in love with all that I
saw and touched, and Ram was the handle on which my consuming happiness
rested. I was not in the range of my loud wife, my demanding children, my
rickety home, the standardness of my life.  I let everything about my
mind transcend its principal occupations; I traveled into Virginia
Woolf's simile: Illusion is to the Soul as atmosphere is to the Earth,
and thus became something confident and youthful and undisturbed, like a
spring willow sapling in a valley of nourishing fluids.

The first night I tossed with the most erotic dreams, half awake, half
complete. Early that morning I went, dressed in only underwear, careful
to not waken anyone with my screaming erection, and found explosive
pleasures standing with the tall mirror images watching  me splatter and
splash all over his gorgeous marble. My mind became a harbor of the good
chemicals, the ones enlivening my memory, my logic, my hope, my senses. I
washed away the evidence, recalling the immediate beauty of my midnight
fantasy joust with Ram.

The next day I grew a bit more bold, and a bit more seeking of some kind
of real connection with Ram, so that my fantasy bore something like love,
instead of just a dog doing it on these legs of luxury.

Ram and I wallowed privately in an outdoor hot tub, wilting together,
talking, playing with the palm shadows, holding court in bubbles and
foam.  His presence was sort of magical, beyond the sensual pleasures of
his lifestyle.  He smiled all the time, he rose with my resurrections and
patted affectionately the minor depths of my thoughtfulness.  He told me
about his experiences with a guy just like me.  He told me he loved a guy
just like me.  A guy who, by all appearances is heterosexual.  A guy with
sport t-shirts and unaffected charm.  I told him I once  fell in love
with a man who chopped me in half.  I told him about my Ignacio.  I told
him about the unending universe of his presence, which grew from the
greatest moment, the big bang.  I told him all of it.  I told him I want
to love a man because I can understand men, because I can please men,
because men are me.  I told him I was not lonely, just a traveler forever
on the quay watching the unknown come and go. I also told him that even
though the best of the best is the best with a man, I am so trained to
avoid that difficulty that the backlash of such encounters is sometimes
impossible to live with. I told him it is like being pierced very deeply
then having something try to rip the knife out, because if it is left in
it will bring a life threatening infection.  Somehow, with Ram, this was
just another minor depth and I was salved by the cleansing penetration of
his salubrious affiliation.

He was so understanding and his connection seemed to be without threat
and without plan.  It made me look at him less through a lens of fantasy
and more through a lens of desire.  His body started to glow.  His eyes
brightened.  I became shy and could only look at him while he looked
another way. Once he caught me studying him.  He was proud to be an
object of my stare.  He knew that it was our conversation which changed
me, and that I was looking at his heart with desire more than at his
body. After this he looked right back into my eyes with a sweet, glazed
invitation and I didn't turn away time, but instead let myself become a
guest of his world.  He smiled and my cock rose up, wanting every part of
this kind of love.  The jacuzzi bubbles hid my affliction while my mind
played with our roles as awestruck interlopers among a wilderness of
desire.

That night he suggested, since my snoring kept the other guest in the
room awake, that I take his bed and he'll take the very comfortable
couch. In a carefully inebriated position I accepted gratefully.  Our
time was spent seeing sights, passing drugs, reading books (I read Graham
Green's "The Power and The Glory" that weekend). And finally, the sharp
delicious night arrived. I was mildly suspicious of Ram's motive for
giving me his bed, but honestly didn't really believe things would go
that far.

Bed time arrived and I crawled into the giant comfort of crisp down and
sea-foam rectangle pillows, and the coolness of his sheets kept begging
me to take all my clothes off.  And so I did. And once naked, in his bed,
with his images and the niceness of his voice and the nearness of his
heat, my body began to demand more erotic fulfillment.  I spent two hours
pretending to be his, to call out for him to join me, to smile at him, to
display my excitement, to accept the force of his love filling me, to be
in a happy place, forever and ever.

As you can imagine, sometime in the moments after I fell lightly asleep,
his breath fell across my naked shoulder.  He whispered to me. He touched
my cheek.  I got nervous.  I was a bundle of brilliant agitation, making
my cock erect, and making my heart beat furiously.  He was here.  He was
here because he wanted me.  He was here because I wanted to be his. He
wanted to show me how men love.  He wanted to express himself in the
worst way. I could feel him all over me, pushing me onto my stomach,
holding me down. I could feel his tap of steel, dripping little drops of
hot oil released near the frightened entrance of my deep, deep hope. He
pushed the tip of his cock into my ass and the locomotive train of
unmatched ecstasy rolled back into my brain...Oh God...and then, without
a single rational thought, I resisted.

I guess it must have felt a little like rape.  I wanted him to make me
beg, because I wanted him to want me to want him. I was ready for it, but
it had to be loved out of me, like teasing open a trap. His midnight mind
turned me on and off at the same time.  I wanted to be used, but that was
just my body speaking.  I wanted to have his heart where I could make it
feel good, where my heart could touch it. It didn't happen that way.  My
signals were all lust and they weren't right.  I was oozing desire, but I
anticipated hating myself when he would walk away. I told him no. I said
my heart feels lonely and I don't like that. He got mad and I grew sad,
asking myself what is so important about something so simple between men?
Tomorrow will be tomorrow, full of itself just like today, with nothing
but today's worries...doubt coursed through me. I had done more to ruin
things, and now not even the fantasy worked anymore.

The moments disquieted and bore a feeling of midterm failure, when
suddenly he grabbed my hair, pulled my head up, and said gruffly at the
back of my ear:

"I love you."

"Oh God Ram..." My back instinctively arched and my ass opened just a
little.  He held my hips and lifted my ass. His iron cock entered me
slowly, steadily, like a jaguar enters the jungle at dusk.  I pushed my
hands up into the pillows, seeking a lever to hold on to. I found the bed
post and, instead of pulling away, I braced my body under his strength.
He gew faster and faster, pumping deep into my ass in a relentless
exorcism of my doubt. The groans of a rapist filtered over me.  I gave
up.   His fierce rythym sent my cock into the bed over and over until I
was sliding around in a happy pool of my own cum.

He pulled out and growled at me.

"Turn over, QUICK!" He aimed his beautiful cock at my face and pulled my
head up to take it into my mouth. His cock was rugged, a swollen mountain
of pleasure. I opened as wide as I could and he shot his cum deep into my
mouth.  I felt it flowing down my thoat, sending yet more orgasmic
aftershocks up and down my body.

"Oh Ram, I love you. I love you. I love you." I muttered, out of body.

"I should have known, this is how your brother likes it."