Date: Fri, 25 Oct 2002 23:57:23 -0400
From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com>
Subject: In Memory of Steve - Chapter 5, A/Y,  interracial, incest

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This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If
this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This
material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters,
locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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In Memory of Steve
By Tom Cup
Chapter 5
Brotherly Love

I woke after eight at night.  The day's skiing was shot but I didn't care.
The first thing I saw, when I opened my eyes, was Steve smiling down at me.
I smiled back.  We were still nude; his left leg was resting comfortably
between my legs, near my groin, the warmth of his body blanketing me.  We
were like newlyweds on our honeymoon. I didn't want to get out of bed. There
was a teasing soreness in my rectum that made me want to make love again.
When I held Steve around the neck, my hands clasping my own forearms, and
whispered my desire he laughed and said we should get something to eat, to
keep our strength up.

"And then..." he teased with a full smile.

We got dressed in between hugs and kisses. Steve had to peel me off of him
more than a few times. I guess when you're eleven being horny is a state of
being, rather than an occasional stirring. I had never seen Steve happier.
He was free in his conversation and affections toward me. I fancied us
running away, never returning to the pretense of existence where we once
resided. All thoughts of the outside world were lost to me. I had escaped to
a new world with my lover; the future lay out before us harboring new
possibilities, new hope rising, dreams forming, and faith stirring. I was
alive -- a new life lay forever before me.

I told Steve that I didn't mind going to McDonald's for dinner but he said,
"No fucking way. This might be the only chance we get to do this. I'm going
to enjoy this."  The way he looked at me at that moment, the tension in the
room, excited me to the point of orgasm.  I mean it! I felt faint. I was
fully aroused. I really thought that I was about to cum.

We dined at the Swiss Chalet. I was scared the moment we entered the place.
I pulled on Steve's arm trying to signal that we didn't belong in such a
setting. No one was as young as we were. The patrons stared at us. The women
were wearing minks and the men were in suits that were obviously more
expensive than I dared to guess.  They had extra suit jackets that the
Maitre'd politely asked us to wear -- he also inquired how we would be paying
for our meal to which Steve replied in an equally snobbish voice, "But with
cash, of course." I snickered a bit and Steve's easy manner soon relaxed me;
he just didn't seem to care what anyone else in the restaurant was thinking.
He leaned forward over the table and whispered, "Do you know how much I love
you?" His smile was as open and dazzling as his eyes. He reached over and
squeezed my hand. I wanted to kiss him. I glanced quickly around the room
and saw the disapproving eyes scanning us; with lips moving in whispered
images of condemnation. Hate for them filled my heart but Steve again
squeezed my hand reminding me of -- and filling my heart again with -- the
love we shared.

The Maitre'd suggested the Steak Au Poivre, with Duchess Potatoes and
Haricot Vert; looking over the menu we decided to go with his suggestion not
because we really didn't know what anything else was -- though that was
certainly a factor -- but because he made it sound so good.  Steve ordered
the glass of wine that the Maitre'd suggested. I told his raised eyebrow
that I was fine with water; of course Steve let me have a sip of the wine
when we thought no one was looking. The bread they served was warm, with a
flaky yet chewy crust but the inside melted in your mouth.  It was so good
that I would have been satisfied with the bread alone. Steve said that he
wanted to feed me like you see royalty being fed grapes in the movies. We
laughed about that but I wanted him to reach over the table and place a
piece of that bread in my mouth. I wanted to be fed from his hands and lick
the crumbs from his fingers. I was overcome by the ambience of the evening;
the low lighting and candlelight combining to transform our shadows into
pixies dancing hypnotically to chamber music, the aromas coming from the
kitchen pampering us, teasing us, hinting of pleasures yet unknown, and
Steve looking at me as if I was all that mattered in the world. My senses
were ablaze! The salad arrived and Steve joked that they went out back and
raked the yard to which I laughed out loud and received another raised
eyebrow from the frowning Maitre'd. It did look that way; the baby oak
leaves, chicory, escarole, dandelion and other young greens gave a natural,
earthy, look to the salad but the tangy sweetness of the light raspberry
vinaigrette stunned us to silence and by the time the plates were removed we
were humbled into admitting how wonderful it tasted. We didn't talk much as
we ate the main course -- the filet mignon with its creamy brandy sauce
heightened with green peppercorns -- all I could think of as I savored the
taste was how much I wanted to please Steve. How I wanted to make him feel
as wonderful as the meal I was eating was making me feel. They say that
chocolate is the next best thing to sex. The Tiramisu that we enjoyed after
the meal was excellent but nothing compared to when we finally lay in each
other's arms, lifting the remains of the evening's meal from one another's
lips, having made love for the second time that day.

*****

I woke the following morning to find Steve staring out of the window. His
silhouette framed like an Ethiopian warrior guarding the main gate of a
royal palace. I lay nude on the bed studying the outlines of his trim,
angular, form. I was becoming aroused as I admired his firm muscular
structure. I was filled with a sense of pride. I was in love and had been
fulfilled by the love of my life. It was then I noticed his slumped head and
bowed head.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He didn't turned to face me. He simply shook his head and said, "We have to
stop this."

I stared at him, no longer seeing him, trying to dissect the meaning and
reason for the words.  When I didn't respond he turned slowly towards me,
the tears evident in his eyes. I couldn't believe, couldn't understand, what
I had heard. My mind raced over the events of the day before, the night we
had spent together. It had been perfect. Nothing, nothing, would have been
worth changing. Nothing that had happened would have made me want to stop.

"Don't you see, Mikey," he said, "If we don't stop this now we never will.
We've got to stop, now."

I shook my head. "No. No, I don't want it to stop, ever."

"I'm married to your sister. Somebody's going to get hurt."

"So... better me?"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Why are you doing this? Everything was perfect?  Everything!"

"It's not perfect Mikey. I'm married with a son of my own. If we get
caught..."

"We're not going to get caught Steve. I swear. Please don't do this.
Please."

"I love you Mikey."

"I know. I love you too."

"No, you don't understand. I love you more than anyone I have ever loved in
my life."

"So what's wrong with that? I love you like that too."

"But don't you see that that's the problem? Do you know that the last time I
slept with your sister all I could think about was how much I wished it were
you? And now that we have slept together I wonder if I will ever want her
again. I wonder if I'll be able to stand her touch while I long so much to
be with you."

"It'll be OK," I said moving into his arms. We hugged each other, "I get
jealous of Angie sometimes," I confessed, "She gets to go home with you. She
can have nights like this with you all the time. She can kiss you anytime
she wants and nobody cares. I want that. I want to be with you all the time
but I know we can't so I just want to have `sometimes'."

"I know but `sometimes' isn't working out to be enough. I want you all the
time too. Somebody is going to notice and when they do it will be over, for
good. Angie'll take Christopher. I won't be able to see you anymore. It'll
all be over."

"We won't get caught Steve," I began to cry, "I promise. We won't get
caught."

I could feel Steve shaking his head even though my head was buried in his
chest. "People don't plan to get caught Mikey, they just do. If I can't make
love to Angie, or if I am hesitant with her, but free with my affection for
you don't you think people will start to wonder? I'm wondering why they
aren't suspicious already. Coming here alone may have been a mistake."

I stepped away from him and wiped my face. My sadness had suddenly turned to
anger. "Don't say that," I commanded glaring at him.  I could tell the force
I projected into the words shocked him. It hurt to hear what he was saying,
but it made sense. It hurt but I couldn't bear it. I knew that he was the
one that would lose the most if we were discovered.  I had always known
that. It had been his fear as well as my own. But I couldn't bear his saying
that what we had shared together was a mistake. "If this is the last time
we're going to be together then you don't say it's a mistake, cause it's not
to me and I know you don't really feel that way either. It's OK to say we
got to think about Chris and Angie. OK, I understand, it hurts like hell but
I understand, but don't go saying that this was all a mistake."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean it like that. Honest. I just meant
... I don't fucking know."

Steve sat on the bed, head in his hands and cried. I knew he was crying for
Angie and Christopher. I knew he was crying for himself and me. I knew he
was crying because even though he wanted to stop he knew that we wouldn't.
It was too late. We had become a part of one another.  It was a strange
moment for me having heard the arguments out loud that I had thought he
would one day use to tell me it was over and to realize that expressing the
arguments out loud had not empowered Steve but deflated him. There was
nothing else for him to say. We both understood the risk. He loved Angie, he
loved Christopher, but what he felt for me over-powered those feelings.
Maybe there is no word for the feeling that aches at the bottom of your
being, warning you of impending doom, and yet fills your head with such
resolve that you are willing to face the impossible. Whatever it's called, I
knew what Steve was feeling. I was feeling it too.

*****

We only skied for a few hours. Ours hearts weren't into it. There were
things that we needed to say to one another before we got back home.  We
both knew it and we both avoided it. I wanted to promise that I would be
less demanding of Steve spending time with me. I wanted to promise but I
couldn't. I knew that when I saw him with Angie I would be jealous. I knew
we would have a hard time hiding our feelings. All I could hope was that
everyone would count our feelings as an affectionate brotherly love; that
was what I resigned to tell people, that I loved Steve like he was my own
brother. When I told Steve he nodded and said, "I'm sorry if I ruined the
weekend." I punched him and we both laughed.

We didn't say much on the way home. I held Steve's hand until we were
stopped in front of the house. We sat in the car, spending one final moment
together before we would have to again begin the pretense of being only
familiar. My mind was on how I would explain the trip to everyone. I had to
become the eleven-year-old Theodore Cleaver that Mom and Dad wished me to
be; giving the modern day version of, "Gee Mom it was swell." We both sighed
deeply and looked at each other.

"You ready?" Steve asked.

I nodded and we exited the car to reenter our lives of normalcy.

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