Date: Thu, 13 Dec 2012 15:52:20 -0800 (PST)
From: Boris Chen <borischen@rocketmail.com>
Subject: Playing With Fire, Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Playing With Fire, the Conclusion.        by Boris Chen


Lately I noticed Patrick has been acting different. Not speaking as much at
home and being a little bit quick to get upset about things he normally
tolerates well. I tried a couple times to talk to him about it but his lips
were tightly shut about what was bothering him.


His appetite for sex was way down and he just seemed angry all the time
towards everyone and everything. I honestly had no idea what was going on
in his head.


I did have a couple of tricks that I thought would make him loosen up to
talk and after about the third week of a nearly silent and rigid Patrick I
tried one of them. We went for a late evening walk down by the lake front.


I got him to go with me down to Dog Beach on the lakefront by Sheridan
Road. We can't have a dog in our apartment, something he really wants. So
this is the closest we can get, we play with other people's dogs in the
park. Other dog owners really like having volunteers play with their
doggies.


He did smile and chase a couple labradors for a while but he still remained
mostly silent. I took him by the hand so we could walk the path near the
water and sit at a bench near the water so we could stare off into the sky
over the lake, like he did at Fort Jefferson.


I pulled a joint from my pocket, lit it, took a hit and handed it to
Patrick. He took two deep hits but never asked why we were getting high,
which was something we only did like once a year on January 1st. I told him
someone gave it to me at work, a patient that felt he could no longer smoke
any more pot so I told him I'd toss it in the trash but I kept it instead.


His breathing got faster and I thought he might start to tell me what was
bugging him all these weeks.


His head lowered and started bouncing up and down, he usually cries
silently, never a boo hoo hoo type display but the tears flow and his nose
gets runny. I could hear him sniffling then he started rubbing his eyes.


I put my hand on his thigh and asked what was wrong.


P: "Okay, you really wanna hear about it Brad?"  B: "Yes I do, like do I
ever tell you I don't want to hear your stuff?"  P: "You see, you're
already taking a tone with me!" He said loudly as he got to his feet, hands
on his hips facing me with the waves breaking on the seawall just behind
him. It was getting dark fast now and the streetlights came on.


B: "Go on, say it!"  P: "Okay then. I'm getting harassed at work by the
boss and there ain't nobody to stick up for me, and last time I brought it
up, you seemed to think it was funny. That really pissed me off man!" He
said in a loud voice with tears on his cheeks and a real look of anger in
his eyes.  B: "So are you mad at him or me?"  P: "You're both assholes!"
B: "Patrick, I never said harassing at work is funny or even okay. I just
said you had about no choice but to accept it or get another job is all,
but I never said it was okay."  P: "Yeah, well when I needed your support
you turned all management like and never showed me any signs of caring or
offered any ideas or anything, I took it badly and it still burns me
knowing you did that."


B: "Patrick, you're stoned. You know that always makes things seem worse
than they really are."


P: "Oh yeah? You think so?" He stepped one large step towards me putting
his face inches from mine, then shoved me back onto the park bench then
punched me in the side of the head right by my left ear. I never saw it
coming.


Things went black as I fell to the ground.


Next thing I knew there was a dog sniffing at my face, I opened my eyes to
see a black and tan German Shepherd sniffing in my face with it's owner at
the far end of the leash asking me if I needed an ambulance.


I turned up to sit on my legs on the damp cold ground trying to figure out
what happened. I thanked the dog for waking me up but said to the owner
that I really was fine I just got in a fight with a friend of mine and
fainted and would be alright. Again he offered to call 911 for me, but I
declined.


Now I pushed myself to sitting on the bench again to get my bearings trying
to figure out what happened. It was now dark outside I had no idea how long
I laid on the grass, but I was cold as hell and my pant legs were wet and I
needed to head for home. Patrick was no where to be seen.


I stood up and at first staggered like a drunk for home about seven blocks
to the west of here. I went slowly feeling my face for signs of blood. I
wasn't bleeding but there was a lump on the side of my head in front of my
ear and I had a horrible headache. Still no sign of Patrick.


It took a while but before I got home I could remember most of what
happened, the joint, him getting upset, and Patrick getting out of control,
which was my fault. His behaviors on pot usually get exaggerated when he's
stoned, I thought it would make him talkative but all it did was make his
anger boil over. Now he seemed more like his brother than I ever saw
before.


He never called or came home that night or the next one. I had this huge
bruise on the side of my face so I took emergency personal leave from work
and took off my three nights. I slept that first night on the sofa just in
case he came home.


I did something I've never done before, I called my mother to talk with her
about what happened. She was worried about my safety and wanted me to come
home for a few days, so I agreed it might be a good idea until I had the
chance to talk to Patrick by phone first.


Up till now, his phone was going right to voice mail meaning it was shut
off.


I went to the basement garage to get my car out, something I rarely did. I
hoped the battery wasn't dead. I pushed the button on the keyring, the
lights blinked and the doors unlocked so I knew it was still alive. I got
in the front seat noticing the musty smell from sitting for weeks on end
not being used.


I idled the motor for a few moments then put it in reverse to slowly creep
out of my tiny parking space in the corner of the lower level of our
garage. As I turned around I caught a glimpse of something large and dark
in the back seat which scared the crap out of me, so I slammed the car into
park, jumped out the door and stared at the car for a few seconds, then
stepped up to the window and saw what looked like a body in the back seat
curled up. I could see gym shoes and black jeans.


I reached for the door, pulled it open but the body didn't move. So I
reached in grabbed the leg just above the foot and yanked the body out onto
the parking garage floor, it landed with a thud, it hit it's head on the
lower door frame on the way down.


I could smell alcohol and feet. I saw several empty booze bottles on the
floor of the back seat. I used my foot to push the body over and I'll be
damned but it was Patrick! He was breathing but not responsive, he smelled
of liquor and feet and looked like he'd been homeless for days, which
accounts for the days he didn't come home.


I reached down to check his pulse, it was 110 and irregular. His eyes were
sunken and his face was pale. He had dried puke in his hair.


I pulled him further away from the car, drove it back into my spot, locked
it up then walked over to the body on the garage floor.


It took a bit of struggling but I got him moved and sitting up then raised
to sort of standing then walked him over to the concrete garage wall near
the elevator, I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder and made my
way back to the apartment door, got the door unlocked with one hand then
carried him inside, closed and locked the door then carried him to the
bathroom where I gently laid him out on the tile floor.


I was certain he was totally smashed, passed out drunk. Otherwise he looked
very much alive. So I started to undress him. His feet stunk like a high
school gym locker room. Off came his shoes, socks, then his jacket and his
sweat shirt underneath.


Next I lifted the bottom of his t-shirt eyeing his belly button wishing I
could tongue fuck it instead of what I was about to do. I un-did his jeans
and pulled them down along with his underwear in one yank. He stunk like
butt and piss. It was nasty.


Then his t-shirt came off over his head but he still never woke up.


I pulled off my clothes and pulled him by the arm pits into the shower,
started it off rather hot then let it run on his body in a pile in the
bottom of the shower. Patrick looked like death warmed over in a fetal
position on the floor of our shower but he was starting to show signs of
life. I stared at his womanly nipple on the left side of his chest while
his breathing picked up, then he moved his hand over his eyes.


Within a few minutes his eyes started to open as he hid his face under his
hands while I stood over him, also nude in our shower.


Then it started.


He began jerking and out from his mouth came a blast of the nastiest puke
smelling like rotten booze and pure shit. He hit his head on the shower
wall. I had to move one foot to keep from being puked on. His vomit slowly
ran down the shower drain, luckily it was all fluid and no chunks. I doubt
he had anything to eat for a couple of days now.


Finally the puking stopped. He laid on the shower floor quietly with his
hand over his eyes but I could tell he was crying watching his ribs and his
breathing.


I finally slipped out of the shower and set a large bath towel on the
toilet seat for him. I took a bottle of Naproxen to the kitchen table and
made a pot of coffee. I read the newspaper after sending my mom a note
saying I found Patrick, he was drunk but alive, that I probably would not
be needing to come up there today but I would write again and let her know.


About thirty minutes later I heard the shower water shut off and movement
in that room. The bathroom door opened, I had my back facing the door, but
I heard bare feet walking on our hardwood floors heading for the kitchen.


Patrick walked over next to me but I never took my eyes off the paper. He
put his hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze. I took a sip of my coffee
and pretty much ignored him. I'm sure he could see the bruise on the side
of my face too since he was on that side of me.


I could see his bare legs and feet out of the corner of my eye. Patrick was
standing right next to me nude and still a little wet.


Finally he raised his hand to the side of my face and gently rubbed the
lump on my cheek with the backs of the fingers of his right hand very
gently, just barely touching it.


He lowered his hand and slowly settled down to sitting on the floor right
next to my kitchen chair, I turned to the next page in the Tribune.


Patrick leaned over laying his cheek on my left thigh, his hair towards my
stomach and his breathing blowing out his nose onto my knee. I lowered my
hand running my fingers into his hair then down onto his ear then to his
upper back and shoulders. There were still some drops of water on his back,
I knew he must be really cold.


I started to get up from the chair, he lifted his head off my thigh and
looked up in my eyes. I walked to the sink to set my coffee mug, turned
around and looked him in the eye. His cheeks were wet with tears, his eyes
were red as can be. He looked sickly and weak. His upper body still had
those weight lifter arms and his chest still called my dick by it's first
name. His belly button appeared like a round dark hole in a nearly flat
stomach. His legs slightly hairy and I could see the top of his pubes but
his dick was hiding between his legs. He was nude and somewhat still wet.


He got to his feet walking up to me silently still grabbing my hand pulling
me to the living room and slowly laying me down on the sofa. He walked nude
back to the kitchen. I heard cabinets open and close then the freezer door
too.


I laid on my side on the sofa just watching.


He returned with a ziplok bag full of ice cubes, returned to the sofa and
gently placed the ice on my face, then took the blanket from the back of
the sofa and laid across me. Then he squeezed between my head and the sofa
arm so he could sit and put my head on his nude lap. He re-adjusted the
blanket, then repositioned the ice bag then put his hand on my shoulder and
gently played with the hair on my head with the other but never spoke a
word.


Then he started to cry again. Eventually I felt tear drops on the back of
my head as they ran down his cheeks to his chest then his stomach and then
my head and his thighs and groin.


There was sunlight coming in the windows of the kitchen and the living room
but everything else was off since I had the place ready to be left empty, I
had been heading for my parents place in Wilmette.


After about a half hour the ice was mostly melted and my head was wet from
the ice bag. I turned over on the sofa pressing my nose into Patrick's
belly, I was basically staring right into his belly button. I got a few
ideas of things I could do to it right now but we needed to talk about some
pretty important stuff before I would welcome him into my heart again. But
this silent time was helping lots. My anger was slowly melting away, just
like the ice.


I imagine he was still pretty much intoxicated, so after some time we both
fell asleep right there on the sofa, Patrick still nude, me laying on my
side with my head on his thighs under a blanket.


I think I dozed off for a while, he never moved really but I could hear his
stomach growling loudly.


After a while, must have been a couple hours later we both woke up, I asked
him to lay down with me, which we did on the sofa under the blanket. He was
pressed into the back cushions, I was on the outside. I put my arm over his
upper body sliding it under his right arm to play with his nipples for a
while, eventually we fell asleep again with my face pressed into the back
of his head.


I think it was late in the afternoon judging by the traffic and the lack of
sunlight in the one living room window that catches the sun late in the day
this time of year. I slid my hand over his arm and his side down to his
waist. Then I slipped it forward towards his stomach then up to his chest
and his tits then back down to his belly button where I pressed my index
finger tip all the way to the bottom.


We stayed like this for a while not speaking much, I think we both fell
asleep because the next thing I knew it was totally dark outside, a glance
at the clock said it was around 8pm. We had about a three hour nap. I hoped
he was a bit more sober than earlier.


B: "You there?" I whispered into the back of his head.  P: "Yeah, I'm
here."  B: "What we gonna do about this?"  P: "You mean what I did to you
or your finger stuck in my belly button?"


At first I chuckled a little.


B: "I mean about you hitting me."  P: "Well I can't take it back, I can
apologize but that's about it really."


Silence


P: "Okay, I guess..."  Patrick rolled onto his back. Even with our large
sofa it almost pushed me off the side of the sofa onto the floor but I hung
on to him with my right arm and now with one leg laying over his.


He was still nude but under the blanket with me, the light from the
bathroom was the only light on in our apartment but there is still some
that comes in from outside.


P: "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm not normally that way, but I was stoned and
not thinking right. It was my fault and it was wrong. I should have known
better. I'm very sorry Brad." He turned his head to look me in the eye as
he spoke those words. He sounded sincere. I was already over it but he
didn't know that.


B: "I accept your apology and offer mine for my part in that. I'm sorry for
not being a better listener when you tried to talk to me. And I'm sorry for
bringing the pot to the park. It'll never happen again, the pot part. I'm
sure I'll be an ass from time to time, that's just me, but I am trying."


We laid there looking in each others eyes. We weren't crying because I
think we both felt like jerks. I had something else to say.


B: "Look Patrick, I'm a nurse. We are specially trained to deal with and be
on the lookout for domestic violence. So I gotta say this one thing, don't
take this the wrong way, but if you ever hit me again I'm gonna call the
cops."


He laid there staring into my eyes but kept his mouth shut. Then he nodded
yes but remained quiet. It seemed he did not take my statement as any kind
of a threat.


We moved our foreheads to press together gently, he rolled up onto his side
facing me. We both kept our eyes closed. I was startled when he leaned his
lips into mine for a gentle lip-tip kiss, then another. Our noses were
touching, we were breathing each other's air.


B: "How you feel?"


P: "Not too bad really, aside from being super hungry and thirsty I don't
feel too bad."


B: "Wanna go to that Greek place we always say we're gonna go to some day?"


P: "I'm broke."


B: "That's not what I asked."


P: "Okay, sure. Let's go."


With that I rolled off the sofa to the floor then pushed up to standing
offering Patrick my hand, pulling him to his feet. We took turns showering,
shaving, and getting dressed. He got out clothes he wanted me to wear,
which was the first time he ever did that. He got me a sweater and slacks,
he got a long sleeve shirt, tie, and shoes. We walked down the hallway
holding hands, into the elevator, out onto the sidewalk towards the Greek
restaurant near Orrington and Davis streets. We held hands the whole way,
which is uncommon for us to do outside of Boys Town.


One thing I gotta say right here is what is this thing the Greeks have with
food? They seem to own all the best restaurants and I'm not talking about
just Greek restaurants. If I was Greek I'd probably weigh 300lbs by
now. That was like one of the best restaurant meals I've ever had. Patrick
had an appetite like a shark eating everything they brought to the table
and some of mine too. Luckily the place wasn't too busy. We got the giggles
over something we heard a drunk at the bar yell at the bartender, got us
both laughing and we just couldn't stop. We made fools of ourselves. I left
a $25 tip because Patrick was such a dork and had the waitress running
constantly.


We walked home holding hands the whole way. Back in the elevator and in the
front door. There was another yellow pages sitting on the floor by our door
that wasn't there when we left. I noticed others had the same
book. Apparently the publisher doesn't know that his business model is
dying and obsolete. Or maybe they're just trying to sucker as many
remaining companies that pay for yellow pages ads as they can, who like
them never heard of that thing called The Internet.


Inside the kitchen he sat at our tiny table watching me for any clue about
what I had in mind for the rest of the night. I didn't have much on my mind
to say so I did a few dishes and walked the apartment watering our
plants. Patrick walked into the bedroom and closed the door.


I shut off the lights and followed. The room was very dark, since I
modified the window for a day-sleeper. I dropped my clothes in the hamper
then slipped into bed. Patrick was there already, on his side, back facing
me.


He rolled onto his back and grabbed my right hand placing it on his tummy
over his belly button. I pushed my finger all the way to the bottom. After
a while I slid my hand to his chest to gently fondle his womanly nipples
one at a time. I felt him start to move slightly, he must be jerking off.


I moved my hand down to his boner where our hands collided. He was
seriously stroking himself so I nestled his balls in my hand. They were
dangling between his legs, I think he was no where near coming.


I climbed out of bed to grab the lube and greased up my back side then back
on top of his thighs sliding him slowly deep inside me. Then I started to
slowly slide up and down on his waist while Patrick ran his fingers all
over my stomach and chest. To rest my legs I leaned over to suck face with
him for a few minutes then sat back up and started to work his rod like
before. I really love the feeling of him deep inside me. I can move front
or back to push him into all my favorite inside places.  His boner is
mostly straight so I can steer it any direction I want to go and sometimes
I can press on my prostate if I want to. I came close to orgasm and stopped
twice. I pulled off Patrick as I felt his head clear me, I could hear his
dick slap back to his stomach. I got up, pushed him over onto his stomach,
got between his legs and ran my face into his crack and started to rim
him. First I ran my tongue over his rosebud. I found the spot on the side
closest to his nuts and worked it over and over. He moaned about as loud as
I ever heard him before.


Patrick tried to slide his hand to his boner under his belly while I worked
him from behind. After a few minutes of working him he suddenly pulled away
from me, dick in his hand and had an orgasm right on his stomach. He did
this without stroking his dick, mostly from me working his ass. He laid
there panting shortly with me on my knees by his legs watching his chest
rise and fall, tits aiming at the ceiling.


I moved up to lay on him pressing his cum all over my chest so I could
nurse on his tits for a time, then slid back up to suck face for maybe
fifteen minutes. We got up to head for the shower. But we didn't quite make
it there.


Out the bedroom door across the living room Patrick pulled me to the living
room floor into our fake oriental carpet.


He was now on top of me, I was on my back. Patrick lowered to my chest to
take my tits one at a time into his lips, pulling up to stretch them until
it hurt then releasing me. He ran his face all over my chest then down to
my belly button and tongue fucked me right there on the floor.


Then he moved a little bit lower taking my rock hard dick into his mouth
all the way until his nose tip pressed into my pubes. He worked my head
against the roof of his mouth and his tongue, it didn't take long for me to
shoot my seed literally down his throat. He had nothing to swallow since it
was already halfway there. So this time we couldn't share it.


I laid on my back exhausted and sweaty, he moved up to lay by my side
moving his hand all over my chest and stomach. Eventually we made it to the
shower. I wished we had a bathtub.


We washed each other then returned to the bedroom. He didn't see but I
grabbed several drops of lube so when he laid on his back facing the wall I
slipped in behind him and gently slid my boner back inside him from
behind. He never moved or said anything.


I humped him a few times just for fun but I doubted I could come again
anyway, so we fell asleep with my boner inside him. During the night I
slipped back out but we spent most of the night on our sides, him in front,
me behind. My right arm over his side. My face into the hair on the back of
his head.


The next morning my bruise looked lots better but you could still see it.


This morning Patrick cooked us breakfast in his underwear. He looks super
sexy in his tiny whities. I had a hard time keeping my eyes on my plate
with him almost nude walking around the kitchen making us pancakes, eggs,
sausages, and toast. He wouldn't let me help, but I did the dishes when we
were finished.


While I was eating he walked over with the fry pan still half full of
scrambled eggs, leaning the pan towards me to see if I wanted more or maybe
the rest of the eggs. I still had lots on my plate and one more pancake
too. I saw he looked semi-hard with his dick head right below the waistband
of his undies, so I reached over pulling down his shorts letting his dick
aim straight out.


I pulled it towards the table, he inched closer until his thighs were
against the edge of the table. I slid my plate over and laid his dick on my
plate next to my eggs while he stood there still holding the fry pan
watching what I was doing.


I ate my breakfast slowly with his six incher laying along side and
partially on top of my scrambled eggs with the head of his dick touching
the side of my 3rd pancake. He had syrup on the bottom side of his dick by
now, so I set down my fork, gently finger tip grabbed his boner and licked
the maple syrup off his dick then returned it to it's place on my plate. I
worked my way around him, finished my pancake, then the rest of my eggs
being careful not to stab him with the fork tip. Finally I was done, so I
rotated the plate to try to get as much syrup onto him as possible, then
took him into my mouth to clean it off. By now he had set the fry pan down
by his plate on the other side of the table.


By the time he thought I was done he turned to walk to the bathroom.


B: "Hey, where'ya goin?"  P: "Bathroom to clean him off before it's
permanently glued to my leg hairs." He said with a relaxed smile.


B: "Hang on a sec, I got one more thing I wanted to do." I said mustering
up a sinister grin.


He smiled and returned to the table. I stood up taking him by the hand over
by the sink then had him hop up and sit on the counter. I walked back to
our tiny table, took the syrup bottle and poured another ounce on my empty
plate with the dick drag marks all over it.


I carried the plate setting it next to Patrick sitting almost nude on the
counter, body fully exposed.


Took my finger and smeared some syrup on the tip then stuck it in his belly
button turning it side to side, then re-loaded my finger and wiped it
across both of his nipples.


Now for some real fun. I leaned over and began licking the syrup out of his
belly button while he straightened out his posture to sit as tall as he
could. I was leaking more saliva down his belly then I was cleaning several
drops of Log Cabin from his tummy. Next I went to his chest carefully
suckling the sugary mess from his tits. One at a time I dragged my tongue
slowly from side to side, bottom to top, then lip lock and pull it out to
stretch them like a baby would, then over to the other side of his smooth
hairless chest pressing my nose the entire way.


Then just because I couldn't help myself I went down on his dick briefly
just because I like his natural flavor and scent but I wasn't there long
enough to make him cum, I just like the feel of his dick in my mouth.


Now I helped him down to his feet and we both went to the shower.


By the end of summer he was enrolled in school for his last semester at the
community college. I considered working towards my masters in nursing but
never signed anywhere out of fear what all those extra hours would do to
our relationship.


In December we went camping at Fort Jefferson for three nights. We never
went to my parents condo again.


I continue to get guys making passes at me in the burn unit. I think the
one thing that they all have in common is hand burns making it so they
can't do it themselves. I probably get three or four a year on average,
sometimes more, seldom less.


He knows I still provide advanced nursing procedures at work like I did for
him, but it's limited to jerking off patients and nothing more. He's fine
with that.


So far it still isn't legal for gays to marry anywhere in the USA but I
think sometime before we die of old age we will be able to.


Patrick eventually graduated from college, even his brother attended our
party, now Matthew knows where we live and he stops by about five times a
year for dinner. There were never any more incidents of violence between
the brothers.


I have the photo of the two brothers, bare chested in the gym framed in our
bathroom. It's one of my most common fantasies when I do it alone. Too bad
Matt isn't gay.


Patrick and I never had any more episodes of violence. He heeded my
warning, plus I never handed him any pot ever again.


Turns out he liked the Log Cabin on his body so much we now keep a tiny
bottle by the bed for special occasions. We started a weekly belly button
cleaning ritual on our first night off together. Now he thinks it's hot and
lots of fun. Once a month we shave each other hairless below the waist,
front and back, and our pits too.




On halloween I always dress up in a naughty nurse costume so we can go to a
party at the house of someone he works with. Patrick is now a manager at
the cinema near the Chicago/Evanston border by that famous old hot dog
place.


Tuesday September 11, 2001 was another day off for both of us. We had the
TV on in the living room with the sound off. We were sucking face on the
sofa then got into 69 position and worked each other to orgasm. When I got
up first to take us to the shower is when we saw the live coverage just as
the first building collapsed. We never made it to the shower that day and
eventually got dressed.


We walked that afternoon to the dog park to that one park bench where our
fight started last year. We sat there in silence, the park was empty except
for one person with a large grey haired dog, a wolfhound I think. He said
it was named `Ace'. We petted him for a while but the place was a ghost
town otherwise.


Lives of Americans would never be the same. But one thing remained like
before 9/11, we still loved each other, I still lusted badly after his
body, couldn't ever get enough to make that go away. And that's the way I
want it to stay for a good long time.


I love you Patrick and always will.




The End


By Boris Chen


comments to: borischen at rocketmail dot com