Date: Sat, 9 Jul 2005 19:29:52 -0700
From: Kevin Harness <kevroc54321@tns.net>
Subject: The Love Of My Life 5

The Love of My Life
Chapter 5

This story contains descriptions of gay people in real life situations,
both of legal age and below 18.  These people engage in consensual sex in
this story, however your government, local laws, statutes, etc may not
allow you to read this story.  You are not supposed to be reading this
story if you are not 18 years of age.  I write this story, as I have all my
stories, for true boylovers and the boys that love to be loved by them,
everywhere, anywhere.

Additionally, this story really happened to me and the character James was
a real, live person.  Other characters in the story may have their name
changed.

This will be a hard story to tell, but I'll do my best.  Those of you that
have read a few of my other stories (Hands On My Heart, Save The Boy, A Boy
To Remember, The Education of Joshua) know that these aren't your regular
"fuck stories".  That being said, read on....

==================================================================

I never moved in with James, and he never moved in with me.  We visited
each other several times a week, and were exclusively seeing only each
other.  Sometimes we would just hang or have a meal or watch a movie,
sometimes I'd stay overnight at his condo, or he at my house.

I don't know why, but we both agreed that it was better that way.  In
retrospect, James needed a lot of space to come to terms with his worsening
condition and figure out what he wanted to do - about it, and about
whatever was left of his life.

I went to the doctor with him from very early on in our relationship, and
James told his doctor that he was authorized to talk to me about anything,
anytime.

Despite his physical deterioration, James had many, many good day and
weeks.

Sex with him was absolutely unbelievable.  Our most memorable time was on a
beach just south of Sunset Cliffs.  It was a hotter than hell day, but was
only pleasantly warm at dusk.  We park my car and headed down to the sandy
beach and shed our clothes at once.

No, it wasn't a nude beach but looking back on it we just didn't care.  The
setting was perfect, James was perfect with a slight breeze rustling his
hair, and we were both as giddy and silly as we'd ever been.

We set out our blanket and then laid down on our backs and looked at the
sky.  It was a beautiful sunset, reddish clouds hues and purples against a
darkening blue sky.

James rolled over and kissed me all over, running my temperature up past
the boiling point in seconds.  He drew it out forever and went slowly,
almost excruciatingly so.  I was panting and out of control as he engulfed
me in his mouth and went up and down so fast I thought I was going to
explode.

Suddenly he quit, and pulled my legs up, quicking donning protection.  He
pressed fingers into me and made circular motions with his hand as he
applied lube, making me bounce up and down on the blanket.

Sliding his boyhood in slowing and quickly ascertaining where exaclty
inside I needed to be rubbed, he began.  His lean and well-defined chest
and abdominal muscles rippling with each thrust, he made it last a long,
long time.  Finally, when he could hold back no more and sweat was dripping
erotically from the blonde hair surrounding his face, he pummeled my
prostate in a rapid, short burst of strokes.

I am glad we were on a beach, because my exclamatory sounds as I jettisoned
sperm over my head was way too loud for civilization.  The true joy,
however - and you who've been there know what I mean - was the exquisite
ecstasy on my young love's face and his eyes rolling back in his head as he
came, his whole body tensing with each spurt.

After regaining some semblence of composure, we took a quick dip in the
water and put our shorts back on.  We held hands and walked along the tide
line, the water tickling our feet as it came in and went back out.  It was
the summer of 2000, probably August.

A couple of months later, in early October, it seemed that James was more
tired than usual and just didn't feel well much of the time.  It was
considerably off-cycle for him to have such a sag so soon after his doctor
had changed up his meds, so we talked it over and decided to ride it out
and see what developed.

Every night for nearly two weeks, I came over after work and sat with
James, his head in my lap as he slept.  He loved it when I told him stories
of things that'd happened in my life, and so it became kind of a routine.
Sometimes he would want a scary story, or a funny one, or one where I had
an epiphany due to whatever happened.  He really, really loved hearing
about my life.  It was way, way cool.

One day I teased him, "You're going to owe me back a lot of stories
someday, you know."

He smiled, "I only have two stories.  One you already know, and the other
is you."

I laughed, "Oh no, Mr. Sneaky.  You don't e-v-e-n get off that easy and I'm
n-o-t falling for that one."

"Dammit!" and he laughed at being caught.

He sat up and gave me a kiss, and without being all serious about it, said,
"Hey Kev, I need to go see my doc."

"Ok, babes.  Just call tomorrow morn and see when they can get you in and
I'll come pick you up and take ya."

"Thanks," he said shyly, and comically batted his eyes at me.

We saw his doctor the next day, who of course promptly ordered more lab
tests that we could believe.  The part that was a bit unnerving was that he
had us go out for some coffee while he got the lab results back in an hour.

Um, ok.

He looked at James and said he'd be straight-forward, and to ask any
questions as he went along.  He then asked, for the first time since I'd
been coming with James, if it was ok that I was in the room for this
consultation and lab results.

James looked at me and I nodded, and he told the doc sure, no problem.

The doctor was going to try a very different combination of drugs, but from
what he could tell, James' body was just shutting down.  The immune system
which had normally been holding its own would degenerate rapidly, leaving
James susceptible to everything.  I'm not a doctor, so I asked a helluva a
lot of questions at this point.

I was behind James and had my arms around him.  He was trembling.  A lot.

"James, is it ok it if speak and ask a fairly, point-blank question here?"
I asked.

Scared as hell, he nodded.

"First of all, thanks for all you've done for James.  I mean it.  Thanks.
Ok, help me our here.  Boil this all down, tell us what to expect, and I
guess what the options are."

James smiled at me, like I'd done ok.

The doctor explained that unless the next barrage of meds made a
significant impact on arresting the decline of James' immune system, it was
not good.  And the next meds would almost for sure make him feel like shit,
so there would be no way to tell 'shit that was helping' from 'shit that
was bad' until we ran lab tests again at 6 weeks and 12 weeks.

He went on to explain that if the meds failed, they could of course try
different combo's and keep on firing away at the condition, but the failure
of the new cocktail at this point would have marked a serious enough
decline in James' system to nearly make him bed-ridden.

James turned 21 about a month later on Nov 10th, and we spent the eve with
a bottle of champagne and watching TV.  It was a blast, with both of us
just getting tipsy enough to not be impacted by the seriousness of recent
developments, and enjoying each others' company.

I'd given him a card and a gift card for The Rack, a clothing store not too
far from where he lived.  Still, I asked him if he'd like to do anything
else on his birthday.

"Just be with you, Kev," he smiled.

"Well, I know that, silly boy, and that's a done deal 'cuz here I am."

He gave me his best Cheshire cat grin, followed by a James-hug that always
melted my heart completely.

At the end of November we did lab tests again, and the results showed the
decline we were hoping to avert.  James, although chipper and alert, was
taking hit-points that would crunch an Army tank.

The tests in January were equally conclusive - the meds were having no
effect whatsoever.

The doctor wanted to try one more round of meds, some of which were very
new to the market and had good promise (although the trials on the meds
hadn't proven out well for such an advanced case as James').

Ok, James agreed, one more round.

In my own mind, I had to ask myself the questions: Why only one more round?
What then if it turned out badly?  What would James do?

I didn't have long to wait for those questions to be answered.

The lab tests after twelve weeks, which ended in April of 2001, were
tragic.  James was beginning to mirror the virus' effect - losing weight,
nearly always tired, not hungry, and weak.

At the end of April, we talked for a long time and he let me know he had to
go back home.  He couldn't stay here as there was no one to watch over him
during the daytimes, and he forsaw he'd be fairly bedridden within a couple
of months or so.  I argued long and hard that I could visit him at lunch
and dinner and stay with him overnights as much as he needed or wanted, but
we both knew it wouldn't be enough.

His mom was home most of the time, and could effectively care for James.
I'd talked with her several times, and she was indeed a very, very nice mom
and loved James a lot.  She had already offered James a place 'to rest', as
she called it, and didn't mind helping him out 'until he got better'.

I prepared to quit my job and move, and James would have no part of it.  We
then had one of those reality talks you never ever want to go through, but
which was likewise inevitable.

"Kev, you can't come with me."

"Yes I can."

"No, you can't, and even though you already know, I'll tell you why."

I listened, not wanting to hear what he was going to say.

He came around behind me and put his arms around me and his head against my
back, and then I turned so he could be against my chest.

"Kev, we both know how this is probably going to turn out.  No, we don't
want it that way, but we've both seen the writing on the wall here.  Am I
right?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

"You can't go for however many months, you'll lose your job.  And then when
it's all over you'll come back to California with no job, no money, and
nowhere to live.  I can't let you do that, I love you too much to inflict
that much hurt."

"James, you know my view," I managed through increasing tears.  "I'd do
anything for you and nothing else matters."

"I know Kev.  But it does matter.  You know that, too.  We obviously can't
change what is about to happen, heaven knows we've tried.  And you.  You've
stood beside me no matter what, encouraged me, helped me, made love to me,
and truly made me feel so wanted and loved that there's no way to explain
it."

"I know, but....."

"No buts, Kev.  You wouldn't let me be hurt or injured, right?"

"Right."

"Ok, Kev.  Same with me to you.  I can't let you hurt yourself because of
me.  I can't.  I have to ask you...."

"Please don't...."

"I have to ask you to not follow me home.  I know you want to, Kev, and
part of me wants you to.  But you can't."

I knew why, he knew why.  We'd both mentally covered this ground a thousand
times before this conversation.

He was his strongest when he was helping me, correcting me, making me see
the right way to do something or view something.  I knew I couldn't go with
him.

"Kev, did I ever let you take me around and sorta 'show me off'?"

"No.  Well one, cuz you're shy, and two, cuz you're very not all about
yourself."

He smiled, and nodded his thanks.

"But Kev, hear me.  I don't want the last images you have of me to be a
wasted-away shell of my former self.  I'm a little proud that way.  So, all
those things together sort of add up to why I said you can't follow me."

"I know," I sobbed, "I just don't want to lose you."

"I know, Kev, I know.  Me too, more than I'll ever be able to tell you.  I
wouldn't even have made it this far without you."

I nodded.

We laid down on the couch and decompressed for a long time through kisses
and lessening tears.

After quite a while, he spoke, sounding like the little boy inside that
made James who and what he was.

"Kev?" he said giggling.

"Yeah?"

"Make love to me?"

"You sure?"

"Oh fuck yeah," he grinned.

That usually meant he was hard as a rock, and yup, sure enough he was.

"How?"

"Um, you lay flat, face-up and I'll sit?"

"Yeah!" I grinned, and he was up in a flash grabbing all the necessary
stuff.

As he sat down on me, the look on his face as I entered him to my full
length was written like a picture on his face.

Matching every bounce he did one me, I used a lubed hand to keep pace on
his considerable boyhood.  I'll always remember the bounce of his blonde
hair shimmering, and the look on his face as he was ravished by someone he
truly loved.  It had been a while so we both came in considerable volumes,
watching the face of the other.

James laid forward with me still in him and whispered to me.

"I love you, Kev.  I really, really love you."

"I love you too, babes.  Thanks for being you."

He laughed out loud and said, "Ya silly goof, who else would I be?" and we
both howled like it was the funniest thing we'd ever heard.

Showering later, James broke down a bit, and began to apologize for putting
me through all of this.

It was one of the very few times I showed any anger.

"No, don't you do that!" I said in a measured, controlled voice.  "You know
how it is with us.  If it was me, you'd have done the same thing if not
more.  There is no sorry, ever.  OK?"

He nodded.

"Good," I replied.  "No, it hasn't been easy, and yes some parts of it have
been hard, but James, it's been with you so it's all good babes.  Period.
End of story.  I wouldn't have done it any other way."

He nodded again, and smiled.  He started to speak, and I sssh'd him
quietly, and kissed his head.

"I love it when you do that," he cooed.

"I know babes.  Me too," and I laughed a little.

We slept on our favorite couch, with our favorite person, in our favorite
configuration.

James left for home in May of 2001, and we talked several days each week.

I talked to his mom constantly, who was an amazing woman.  She thanked me
immensely for all my support, and I could only reply, "Ma'am, it's no
problem.  It's James.  He's my boy and I love him."

As the summer months edged on, it was evident that James was weakening both
from what his mom would tell me, and from the duration and content of his
conversations with me.

Curiously enough, his birthday was Nov 10th, and mine's Nov 11th.

Not previously explained, however, is that I am an avid amateur rocket guy,
and my group and I go to the desert once a month to launch rockets.  Lots
of fun.

So, in Nov of 2001 I went to the event, which was a Sat Nov 10 & Sun Nov
11.  I'd left on Friday and had called James wishing him a happy birthday,
which his mom relayed to him because he was napping.

Saturday was his birthday, Sunday was mine.

My friends all gave me a nice party at the rocket launch, and everyone
signed a huge rocket that a friend of mine had built for me.  I had a great
time and it was lots of fun, but I couldn't help but thinking that James
had just turned 22 the day before.  I couldn't wait to get back home so I
could call him (my cell phone didn't work when I went to the desert).

I came back to my home on Sunday to a message recording from James' mom for
me to call her right away.

Early Saturday a.m. James and his mom had talked for a long time, with
James expounding on how much I meant to him, and how he'd hurt me by
leaving and not letting me follow.  He told him mom to be sure to tell me
several things after he was gone, and his mom promised.

Later that day same day James took an over-dose of sleeping pills and took
his own life.

He'd told his mom earlier that he not only didn't want to become some
shadow of his former self, he didn't want to be a burden to everyone and
drag them through the horrible ending that was coming.

So, he exited as cleanly as he could.

His mom and I talked a long time on Sunday, and she said that James had
told her to tell me thank you so much for being his love, and that I had
made his life for him.  I told her that was pretty funny, as that was my
view of James on my life.  She said that despite his illness, she'd never
seen James so happy, especially when he talked about he and I.  She told me
all the things that James had told her to tell me, one of which was that I
could still talk to him anytime I wanted.  That made me smile, because it
was so James to say that.

I still talk with his mom now and again, and she sent me two poems that
James had written as an early teen.  They were soooo cute, and I could hear
a younger James' voice reading the lines.

To be truthful, yes, the sadness was very overwhelming and the weight of
the loss was the most crushing thing imaginable that someone could
experience and still sort of live through.

I don't know the exact line, but you'll know what I'm talking about when I
describe the question - "...whether it's better to have loved and lost,
than to never have loved at all."

I now know the answer to that question, at least for me.  I'm happy I'm a
boylover, and consider myself the luckiest guy on Earth to have been
privileged enough to spend four years of James' life with him.