Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2006 19:28:26 -0700
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: 'Wesley' - Chapter 4 - Adult Relationships section

Wesley

Chapter four

by Roy Reinikainen


Wesley rolled over and propped himself up with his elbows and watched
Clifford who was lying on his back with his hands behind his head,
seemingly lost in thought.  He tilted his head slightly and grinned when he
saw Wesley watching him.

"Happy," Wes asked, slowly running a hand over Clifford's chest.  Cliff
nodded slightly, wearing a crooked grin.

"Yes, I'm happy.  None of this," he looked around the room with its slowly
turning ceiling fan, and then through the open doors to the balcony and a
lazily swaying palm beyond.  Blossoms from a nearby tree littered the
balcony and the polished wood floor of the apartment's bedroom.  "None of
this," he repeated himself, "seems quite real."  Wesley raised his eyebrows
in query.

"Even *you* don't seem real to me, Wes.  I keep thinking that you and all
this is like one long wet dream and I'm about to wake up."  He sighed and
took Wesley's hand, linking their fingers.  "I've had a wonderful time."
He ran a forefinger down the length of Wesley's nose and then over his
lips.

"I especially enjoyed our walk on the beach the night I arrived."  He got a
mischievous look.  "I'll never figure out how you were able to order-up a
foggy night for the occasion."  Wes chuckled, trying to snuggle closer,
lying his head on Clifford's chest.  Wes smiled when Clifford absently
began running his fingers through his hair.

"You're a special man, Mr. Atkins.  You are going to make someone very
happy."  Wesley's smile of contentment slowly faded.

"Are you any closer to finding what you were looking for when you arrived?"
Wesley hoped Clifford wouldn't detect the waver in his voice as he asked
the question, chiding himself that he couldn't bring himself to directly
ask how Clifford felt about *him.*

'It's flattering to be told you're the star of a wet dream, but that's not
enough,' he silently shouted.  'Tell me you love me, Clifford!'  He sighed
as Clifford, unaware of the argument going on in Wesley's mind, continued
stroking his hair.

'Why am I shouting at *him?* I can't bring myself to say the same words to
*him*.'  He abruptly rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Are you okay, Wes?"

'How can he sound so concerned, and not feel *something?* Wes bit his lip
and nodded, still not moving his arm from his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay.  I'm just angry at myself, that's all."  He moved his arm
and glanced at Clifford who was watching him with a concerned expression.
"I'll be fine."

Clifford rolled onto his side and pulled Wesley close to him.  "You sure?"
Wesley slowly nodded and tried to smile, but it was difficult to hide his
disappointment in Clifford, *and* in his own inability to communicate.

"I'm looking forward to how you're going to conclude your 'Big Rock'
story."  Wesley propped himself up on his elbows.  Clifford tilted his head
forward and winked.  "Here I am, lying in bed with the story's author and
he hasn't given me a hint of how things will play out."

"Have any ideas?"  Wesley nibbled on one of Cliff's nipples causing a
tremor to pass through Cliff's body.

Clifford chuckled, "about the story, or about what I'd like to do with
you?"  He pulled Wesley close and kissed his cheek, then his chin, and
finally his lips, pleased when Wesley opened his mouth for his tongue.
When they broke their kiss, Wesley answered.

"Ideas about how the story should end.  I'm going to assume the kiss you
just gave me says something about what you'd like the two of us to do."
Clifford grinned with a slow nod.

"I've got an idea about how *I'd* like to see the story end, but I don't
want to interfere with the artist's creative process."  He ended the
sentence with a teasing note in his voice.  "If you get stumped for an
ending, let me know and I'll tell you what *I* think should happen After
all, I feel as if I know both of the characters pretty well."  He grinned
when glanced at him.

"Would my characters be pleased with what you're thinking," Wes asked.
Clifford nodded with a pleased expression.

"I know for a fact that at least *one* of them would be pleased.  I'd like
to believe that they both would."  Wesley's eyebrows rose, but it didn't
appear that Clifford would elaborate, other than to say how much he enjoyed
happy endings.  They silently laid at one another's side for a few long
moments.  Wesley was beginning to think that perhaps Clifford had fallen
asleep when he suddenly slapped the surface of the bed and sat up.

"I should get up and shower.  I have a plane to catch."  He moved to his
knees and leaned forward to kiss Wesley once again and then paused, looking
into Wesley's eyes.  "You are so handsome, Wes."  He winked.  "Thank you
again for a wonderful weekend.  I've loved . . . everything."

With that, he scrambled from the bed and headed toward the shower, not
looking back.

-----

Clifford inched down the narrow aisle of the airplane, stowed his carry-on
bag, and scooted past the two people already seated with a look of apology,
and sat down with a sigh.  He fastened his seatbelt and absently returned
the grin of the young lady sitting next to him before he turned toward the
window, looking out to the airport building.

He was surprised how difficult it had been to say goodbye to Wesley.
Neither had shed a tear but he had come close when he heard Wes sniff as
they were hugging.  He had swallowed past a lump in his throat and had
blinked back the moisture in his eyes, determined to not cry in front of
everyone.

Now, sitting in the plane he began to examine his feelings.  He lay his
head against the headrest and thought a moment while the flight attendant
went through the requisite safety procedures, not paying attention to what
was being said.

The plane began to move away from the terminal and he once again turned.
'Wesley's in there,' he thought.  'No doubt watching the plane leave.'
Clifford sighed.  Earlier in the day Wesley had asked if he was happy.

'Am I,' he wondered, sniffing once and wiping his eyes with an immaculately
pressed handkerchief.  'Can I really be happy without Wes?  Do I really
know what I want?'  The young lady in the seat next to his had apparently
been watching him struggle with his thoughts.

"Are you having to leave a loved one behind," she asked, nodding slightly
toward the handkerchief.  He gave her a crooked grin and nodded, blinking
once again, slightly embarrassed for her to see him struggling with his
emotions.

"Are you leaving for good?"  She paused, continuing to look concerned.
"You look so sad, it almost makes me want to cry."  It was her turn to give
him a crooked grin.  "I'm sorry if I'm intruding, it's just that saying
goodbye is so tough for me."  Clifford swallowed once with difficulty and
paused a moment before he could respond.

"I . . . don't know if I'm leaving for good."  He hesitated.  "I . . . I
hope not."  He paused a moment and then sighed, looking at the young lady
with an apologetic expression.  "I've never found saying goodbye to be
rough, until today."  He glanced through the window at the now-distant
airport terminal building.  "This is the first time I ever felt this way."
The plane trundled toward the runway with little bumps and jolts.  "I guess
it's the first time I've had to leave someone special behind."  The plane
came to a momentary halt while the engines roared, as if the plane were
anxious to be away.  A moment later it began to accelerate down the runway.
Clifford once again glanced out the window as the landscape rushed past and
the terminal disappeared from sight.  He turned back to his traveling
companion who continued to watch him with a sympathetic expression.  "I
think I've only now realized *how* special he is."

She put on a determined expression and patted his hand once and spoke in a
matter of fact tone.  "Then you'll just need to find a way to come back.
Now that you've realized how special your friend is, you should be
together.  Life's too short to know where happiness lies and be unwilling
to do whatever is necessary to get there."  She blushed.

"Listen to me.  All of a sudden I'm a philosopher, telling someone how to
run their life."  She blushed as she continued speaking.  "My boyfriend is
always telling me I should keep my nose out of other people's business."
She gave him a diffident grin.

"Well, you can tell your boyfriend, you met someone today who appreciates
your philosophizing.  You've made me feel very much better."  He smiled a
genuine smile.  She beamed at him.

"I'm glad."

-----

Wesley took the long way home, reluctant to enter the apartment where he
and Clifford had so recently made love.

He could barely think of anything *but* Clifford . . . the way he tried not
to act self conscious when they were hugging at the airport; the way he
tried to act macho and not show any emotions.  Wesley snorted.  'Who am *I*
to talk about trying to act macho?  I'm just as guilty.'  He jerked when a
car behind him tooted its horn urging him to pay attention.  He slowly
accelerated through the intersection ignoring the irritated expression of
the driver who passed him as soon as it was possible.

'If things weren't so awful, I would laugh,' he thought, not paying
attention to the sailboats visible from the road.  'I couldn't bring myself
to tell Cliff how I feel.'  He paused a moment and then sighed in
frustration.  'Even when it was dark, I couldn't do it.'  He recalled the
times he had opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to speak for fear
of . . . what?  Nothing Clifford could possibly have said would have made
him feel any more dejected than he did at the moment.

'I wasn't alone in being unable to communicate,' he thought, shaking his
head as he recalled how Clifford seemed comfortable to talk about anything
*but* how he felt.  'We're quite the pair.'

He continued to drive through the flickering shadows cast by the passing
palms.  'We're both lonely,' he thought.  'Why couldn't either of us let
down his guard?  Is it because we've built up a wall to protect ourselves
from . . . from . . . everything and everyone?  That has *got* to be it.
We're afraid of being hurt.'  He slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

"Damn," he said aloud.  'I have difficulty admitting, even to myself, that
as much as I long for another relationship, I'm afraid.'  He continued to
try and sort out his thoughts.  'I'm afraid of being hurt and I'm afraid of
saying something that might hurt someone else.'  He bowed his head while he
waited for another traffic light.

'When I was twenty, I wouldn't have had this fear.'  He silently barked a
laugh.  'When I was twenty, I wouldn't be feeling old, and undesirable.  I
wouldn't be feeling as if this were my last chance at finding happiness.'
He slowly pulled away from the intersection.  'I wouldn't be feeling like I
do now.  Maybe this weekend was the last chance for both Clifford *and* me,
and look how we bungled it!'

Wes turned down a shady residential street.  'If only he'd said something
to let me know how he *felt*!'  He shook his head, realizing he had once
again shifted the responsibility of taking the initiative to Clifford.

It was near dark when Wesley arrived back at his apartment.  He rushed
through the living room, grabbing his laptop, and stepped onto his balcony
prepared to continue his story.  He looked into the distance for a moment
with his fingers poised, ready to type.  'Maybe Howard, the character in my
story, will know what to say since he faced a similar situation.'  Wes
paused a moment.  'Maybe by writing, I'll be able to sort out my thoughts.'
He looked at his computer display and began typing.

-----

'The Big Rock' ~continued~

Howard propped himself up on his elbows and watched the man next to him
with the short tousled grey hair and straight nose.  The mouth which could
seem so serious when he was awake, was now turned up in a slight smile as
he slept.

One of Charles' strong hands rested on his chest, the other at his side.
Howard shivered, recalling the pleasure those hands could bring.  Charles'
long blunt-tipped fingers had driven him crazy as they probed him,
massaging his prostate at the same time he deep throated Howard's penis.

He recalled sucking Charles' sperm off of those long fingers.  He closed
his eyes and sighed as he recalled the feeling of Charles sliding his cock
free and then probing his hole with his fingers which he then offered to
Charles with a wicked look in his eyes.

"You want to taste my sperm, don't you," he asked, holding his fingers
close to Howard's mouth, but not close enough for Howard to lick them.
"You like the idea that a moment ago I shot this up your butt hole, don't
you?"  He had groaned as Charles continued to tease him.

Howard cupped his own erection as he recalled how some of Charles' cum had
dripped onto his chin as Charles finally allowed him to lick his fingers
clean.

He ran his fingertips down the length of his penis as he watched Charles
sleep, teasing it, just as Charles had earlier teased it with his tongue.

Charles shifted and moaned slightly.  The gentle curve of his lips, and the
stiffness of his nipples hinted at the pleasure he was taking in his dream.
Howard smiled, shifting his gaze to his bed-mate's erection, straining at
the fabric of the bed sheets.  Once again there was a barely audible moan
of pleasure.  Charles shifted position and the sheet slipped lower on the
bed exposing his erection, lying stiff against his stomach.  Howard watched
as the thick penis twitched and the testicles shifted in their hairy sac.

He reached out and gathered a glistening bead of precum from the end of
Charles' erection and brought it to his mouth, tasting the evidence of
Charles' dream.  Charles sighed at the touch and rolled his head to the
side, beginning to take deeper breaths as he rhythmically thrust his hips.

The sight was too much for Howard.  He leaned forward and licked the length
of Charles' penis, pausing at the tip and teasing the sensitive underside
causing Charles to tighten his buttocks, pushing his hips forward, a silent
demand for release.  Howard licked the length of the penis once again, only
this time instead of pausing at the end, he engulfed the widely flaring
head and held it in his mouth.

"Ohhhhh, Howard," Charles breathed in his sleep, forcing more of himself
into Howard's mouth.  He thrust once and then paused.  He thrust a second
time and Howard felt the cock thicken a moment before sperm covered his
tongue.  Charles shuddered as his orgasm faded but didn't seem to awaken.
He muttered something and lovingly ran his fingers over Howard's hair as he
shifted position, pulling his softening erection from Howard's mouth.

Later, Howard gingerly moved into a position where he could snuggle close
to Charles.  Before drifting off to sleep with the taste of Charles still
on his tongue he whispered into Charles' ear.

"I love you," he murmured once more, and then gently kissed Charles' cheek,
pleased to see a hint of a smile.  'I love you, Charles, whether I can say
it to your face or not . . .  I *do* love you.'

He snuggled closer to Charles as the heavy scent of the tree blossoms
outside the open balcony window wafted into the room.  'I love you,' he
thought to himself, lying an arm over Charles' chest.  He sighed as sleep
engulfed him.  'If only you could love me.'

-----

Wesley posted his shorter than normal chapter and shut down his laptop,
sitting quietly on his apartment balcony.  'If only you could love me,
Cliff,' he repeated to himself.  The sea breeze ruffled his hair causing a
few fragrant blossoms from the nearby tree to land nearby, but otherwise
the night was still.

'I thought I was lonely before I met Cliff.'  He silently snorted.  'Now
that he's gone, I know what lonely means.'  He sighed and then stood and
wandered into the apartment, closing the doors to the balcony behind him,
resigned to sleeping alone.

He turned off the lights to the apartment and walked across the bedroom.
He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment before he leaned over and
picked up the pillow Clifford had used the night before and buried his face
in it while he hugged it to his chest all the while wondering what Clifford
was doing.

-----

Clifford stepped into his darkened home, shutting out the wind-whipped snow
but not quite closing out the wavering drone of the wind.  It had been a
tough drive from the airport, taking all his concentration to stay on the
slippery roadway.  In one sense, he was thankful for the difficult drive.
It had allowed him to concentrate on something other than his feelings for
Wesley.  When he pulled into the garage he sat for a few long moments,
leaning against the headrest and closing his eyes.  Thoughts of Wesley
returned, along with a longing to be sleeping at his side.

'It's not just sex I'm going to miss,' Clifford thought.  'The
companionship, the touching and the laughter are more important.  The sex
is quickly over; the companionship continues.'

The moment the door closed he heard Beulah's none-to-dainty footsteps
thudding down the stairs.  A moment later, she launched herself at his
chest confident he would catch her.  Clifford automatically held out his
hands, welcoming the return to normalcy."

"Are you pleased to see me, girl?"  He ruffled the fur at her neck and
scratched her chin as she purred, happily drooling on his hand.  He grinned
and laid her on the chair as he hefted his bag and headed up the stairs.
The howling wind vied with Beulah for attention, one with a deep growl, the
other with a constant series of mewling cat sounds, most of which
translated to, "feed me, quick."

Clifford emptied a fresh can of food onto her dinner plate and left her
contentedly eating as he stepped into his office and fired-up his computer.

-----

From: Clifford Grayson Subject: Thank you Date: November 14, 2005 To:
Wesley Atkins

Dear Wesley,

Well . . . I'm home.  Beulah greeted me with her usual enthusiasm.  I
really think she was pleased to see me only because she knows I'm a sucker
and will feed her whenever she asks.  The house is empty, the weather is
awful, and I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself.  In other words, nothing
here has changed.

I realized on the way home today how bad I was at expressing myself during
my visit.  I wanted so much for you to like me, and yet I didn't know what
to do . . . or how to act.  I've never *tried* to be liked before.  I've
never much cared what people thought.  Since I didn't know how to behave, I
was left being myself, which I fear may have scared you away.

I guess you're not the only one to have difficulty in these personal
relationship situations.  In my case it may mean that I am not relationship
material . . . that I'm too set in my ways.  I thought for a while that I
was making a lot of progress.  Imagine . . . me having sex outside!  Yet,
here I sit in a darkened room in front of a glowing computer display
wondering if that behavior was an anomaly, and my current situation is the
*real* me.  <deep sigh>

You are so kind and gentle, Wes.  I expect you're sitting back in that big
leather chair in your living room wondering just *what* happened during my
visit.  As for me, I guess I expected some sort of miracle to occur,
transforming me into . . . what?  Someone else?  I wonder what you were
expecting . . . and if you feel any more satisfied in how our time together
turned out than I am.  I find myself wondering what you're thinking right
now, what you thought of our time together, and what you thought of me.
Neither of us have very good communication skills, do we?

As far as what I think of *you* . . . I am caught between my hopes and my
fears.  You are wonderful.  You are kind, and intelligent, and fun to be
with.  You are also sexy as hell . . . and I'm afraid of you.  I'm afraid
of you because of the feelings I have for you and what they could mean to
the Clifford I've been so comfortable with.  I want to be the man who
enjoyed walking hand-in-hand with you down the beach.  I want to be the man
who was thrilled beyond words to have sex with you on that same beach.
Never mind that it was foggy . . . or dark.  It was outstanding sex
. . . and I was overcome with the belief that I *could* change, if only
. . .

I am afraid, Wes.  I'm fearful of letting go of the life I've always led.
I want you.  I want change, and yet I am afraid.

I don't know what to think.  Truly, I don't.

I *do* know I want to thank you for an absolutely fantastic vacation.  I
don't know what else to say at the moment.  I'm sitting here feeling like
crap, and I don't even know *why!*

What a wonderful way to end what was intended to be a thank you note!  I
hope you'll accept this email message in the spirit in which it was
intended.

I know my bed is going to feel empty tonight.  :o( I tell you, Beulah is no
substitute to having *you* at my side.  Don't you ever tell her I said so.
I'll swear on a stack of bibles I never said such a thing.

G'night, Wes.  Thank you.

Cliff

PS: It's too bad that you're not ready to end your 'Big Rock' story yet.  I
know how *I* would end it.  Hmm.  Speaking of your story.  I wonder if you
might have posted another chapter.  I am curious how your characters are
relating to one another.  I hope they're doing better than the two of us.

Once again, g'night, handsome.

Cliff

-----

Clifford sent the email and leaned back in his office chair with his hands
behind his head, listening to the droning of the wind and feeling a chill
that had nothing to do with the temperature of his office.

After a few moments he leaned forward and called up the website hosting
Wes' story.  He smiled when he saw Wes had indeed posted a new chapter.
'He must have worked on it the moment he got home from taking me to the
airport,' Clifford thought as he leaned forward and called up the story.

Beulah's rubbing against his legs went ignored as Clifford read the
chapter.  By the end he was silently shaking his head in wonder.

'He loves me,' he thought to himself, rubbing the moistness out of his
eyes.  'He loves me?'  He leaned back in his chair and then spun around and
stood causing the cat to scramble out of the way.

"He *loves* me," he shouted, stretching out his arms to his sides and
smiling into the darkened room.  "He loves me!"  He flopped back onto his
chair and leaned forward bowing his head.

"I love you too, Wes," he murmured aloud.  He took a shuddering breath and
then once again wiped at his eyes.  'I've just now realized it.  Ohhh, how
I love you.'

He didn't notice Beulah watching him from across the room, as he absently
rotated his office chair from side to side, the computer display
illuminating his smile.

-----

From: Clifford Grayson Subject: 'The Big Rock' Date: November 14, 2005 To:
Wesley Atkins

Dear Wesley,

I won't be able to go to sleep unless I tell you how *I* believe 'The Big
Rock' story should end.  I know it's presumptuous of me to butt in on your
story, but you know me. . .

I *know* Charles is not happy to be away from Howard.  Not at all.  I think
he should tell Howard how much he loves him, but that wouldn't be like
Charles, would it?  What he *can* do is to tell Howard that he should take
a walk along the beach to his favorite rock on Thanksgiving Day, just as
the sun is setting.

I'm sure you'll be able to describe a beautiful sunset.  Didn't you tell me
that you were convinced Charles loves beautiful sunsets?  I'm sure you must
have, but in case you didn't, I'm *positive* he does.  You know, I believe
Charles is finally discovering his romantic side.  It's about time, don't
you think?  Ah, a beautiful sunset and the two men meeting at the big rock.
If *I* have anything to say about it, I'm sure Charles will no longer be
unable to tell Howard how important he is, and how he can't imagine living
without Howard being at his side every night.

Doesn't that sound like the perfect setting for the end of your story?

Now, that I've butted in, I'm happy.  Beulah's nagging at me to climb into
bed.  Women . . . <sigh>

Love,

Cliff

-----

The sunset was all he could have wished for.  A low bank of clouds hovered
on the horizon, purple against the orange and mauve sky.  The calm water
took on the hues of the sky as it lapped gently at the beach, teasing the
ever-present small sea birds scampering about at the edge of the water
searching for morsels of food in the sand.

Clifford walked to the edge of the wooden boardwalk and stooped to take off
his sandals.  He stuffed them in the back pocket of his pale yellow shorts
and stood for a moment looking out to the setting sun.  He unfastened the
buttons of his light short sleeve linen shirt, allowing the breeze to catch
the shirt tails, thinking how closely they resembled the sheer draperies in
Wes' bedroom.  He smiled as a breeze ruffled his hair and looked to his
right, smiling and nodding a greeting to a passing couple.

He was almost giddy with the new found sense of freedom he was
experiencing.  It was as if he had shed an old worn-out way of looking at
things.  He felt like a new man . . . the man he hoped to become when he
first visited Wesley.

The sand was warm between his toes as he put his hands in his pockets and
casually strolled to the water's edge, scattering the small birds and
welcoming the caress of the warm water about his ankles.

He stopped from time to time to glance out over the ocean as the
kaleidoscopic sky continued its show, or to chat briefly with other people
who were enjoying the evening.  All the while though, he headed toward the
big rock.  He could see his goal in the distance, a black smudge set back
from the water's edge.

He was suddenly shy, knowing Wesley waited for him.  He thought for a
moment that it still wasn't too late to turn back and resume his old life.
That's all it was though, a thought.  He had come so far since his first
communication with Wesley.  He was a different person from the one who had
to be encouraged to take his shoes off, and knew that no matter what, he
would never be able to go back to what he had always been.  He stood for a
moment looking out to the horizon with his hands hanging limply at his
sides.  The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the twilight lingered as
the sky changed from a lavender to a dark purple.  He ran his fingers
through his hair and then took a deep breath and continued walking.
Suddenly he had reached his goal.  He stepped around a clump of palms and
there it was.

Wesley was sitting atop the big rock, his back straight and his arms
wrapped around his knees which were drawn close to his chest.  The breeze
caught his hair as well as his shirt tails as he stared out over the water.

Clifford quietly approached and stood at the base of the rock, slightly
behind Wesley, watching the last of the light play over his arms and legs.

"Hello, handsome," Clifford said, trying to speak without betraying the
emotions which were threatening to overwhelm him.  Wesley quickly turned,
and his expression of pure joy was almost enough to make Clifford lose
control of his emotions.

"I'm here to tell the most handsome man I've ever met how much I love him,"
Clifford said, no longer trying to control the shaking of his voice.  "I
also want to tell him that I've been a fool for not telling him earlier how
I feel."  Wesley slid down the side of the rock and into Clifford's
embrace, wrapping his arms around Clifford's waist and burying his face
against Cliff's shoulder.

"I *do* love you," he murmured as he held Wesley close, ignoring the tears
coursing down his cheeks.  "And now that I've found you, I'm never letting
you go."  Wesley sniffed and moved back slightly, tenderly rubbing his
fingers over Clifford's cheeks, wiping away the tears.

"That better be a promise, Mr. Grayson," he said, trying to be stern,
smile, and not cry at the same time.  He sniffed once more as he melted
into Clifford's embrace.

"I love you too, Cliff.  I have since the moment you held me that night in
the fog.  I knew you were the man I wanted to spend my life with."  He
leaned close and they kissed.  It was a long lingering, gentle kiss, not a
kiss of passion but of love.

"Wow," Wesley breathed through a smile as their lips parted.  "You do that
so well."  Clifford chuckled.

"Was my suggestion a good way for your story to end," he asked.  Wes nodded
against Clifford's cheek, and swallowed once before he could speak.

"It's good enough for the end of my *story*, but it's only the beginning of
*our* story."  The two men held one another in a tight embrace as the
purple twilight transformed into a star-filled sky.


~ the end ~


Thank you for reading 'Wesley.'  If you would like to read more of my work,
the stories may be found in Nifty's Gay College section, and are entitled,
'Phalen,' 'Leith,' and 'Chris.'

I invite comments or observations.  Your email is welcomed, and will always
be answered.  I may be reached at:

roynm@mac.com
or
suomalainen_abq@mac.com