Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 15:12:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matthew Lake <matthew_lake@yahoo.com>
Subject: intolerable-cruelty-10

Hiya!  Sorry for the months of waiting . . . has the
heart grown fonder, by any chance?  If you have
comments, don't hesitate to email me at
matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AIM me at matthewlake309.
Also, for those of you who are a little more visual, I
have pictures of Lake, Jamie and Anthony that I have
used in imagining them.  Let me know if you want any
of those returned to you.  There it is . . . I hope
you enjoy!  I lost a bunch of email about the last
time I posted a story, so if you sent me a note and
didn't get a reply . . . that's likely why.  My
apologies if this is the case; I hate to appear rude.

BTW, the author holds a copyright for this and all
previous chapters of Intolerable Cruelty.  It is not
to be distributed for profit or hosted, without
permission, on profit-making websites.

Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty...

It was completely inspiring to eat cereal naked in the
family room watching any damn show I wanted.  Within
seconds, the Gilmore Girls filled the screen before
me.  I let everything go and just gave myself over to
Lorelai and Rory.  When credits rolled on the third
episode, I decided I'd had enough.  Tossing the towel
over my shoulder, I turned off the big screen and
dropped my bowl and spoon in the kitchen as I made my
way to my room.  Tired as hell, I cast off the towel
and dropped into my bed.  There would be no dreams
tonight.

* * * * *

Monday came quickly.  I woke up late on Sunday and
spent most of the day catching up on homework, then
most of the evening catching up with the 'rents.  The
highlight of my day was seeing that Mark had accepted
my friend request and scratched "Thanks for knocking
before you barged in on my facebook, BiOtCh!" on my
wall.  I smiled at his wall post.  It captured his
sense of humor, the same sort of shit that he would
deal out to any other guy, but it also referred back
lightly to the previous day's encounter.  I just had
time to poke him and log off before my mom was
harassing me to get the lights turned out.

When I filed into trigonometry a few minutes before
the bell rang, Rutland was sitting at his desk in the
classroom, looking over his lesson plan book.  About
half the class had arrived before me, and as I stepped
past him to my desk, I offered my typical, "Hey,
Coach!"

He looked up momentarily, nodding in response, and
finished writing a note in the book.  He was almost
expressionless and seemed a bit distracted as he stood
up, walked to the front chalkboard and erased some
figures as more of the class poured in.  I couldn't
help but admire the way the fabric of his Dockers
stretched across his tight globes, but I tried to push
the thought from my mind.  Still holding the eraser,
he proceeded to the side chalkboard adjacent to my
desk, finishing the job of clearing the boards.  I
waved to a few friends who were walking into class,
and as Rutland turned to walk back towards his desk,
he tapped me on the shoulder, recapturing my
attention.  "Hang back for a few minutes after class.
I want to talk with you, Lake."

It wasn't a request, really, but it wasn't spoken
authoritatively, either.  It was a statement of what
was to be, and although he didn't wait for me to
respond before continuing on to the front of the
classroom, I found myself nodding my head
affirmatively, nonetheless.  The bell rang, and the
door to the classroom swung closed, as Rutland, now
smiling, asked for the homework due today to be passed
forward.  Kids groaned, zippers tore open, books and
notebooks slammed on desks, papers ripped and shuffled
together, and my mind raced.  Why did Coach want me to
stay after class?  And yet I knew.  Like the image was
burned on the back of my retinas, I could see the
crumpled pile of nylon and cotton on my bedroom floor,
the evidence of my theft and betrayal right where I
had left it.  I had been unable to touch Rutland's
briefs or my own shorts tangled within them after
kicking them off together.

Not that they had been forgotten.  Hardly.  There
wasn't a moment that went by on Sunday when I hadn't
wanted to hide them, bury them, burn them, destroy
them.  Except for those moments when I wanted to feel
them, smell them, taste them and wear them.  I was at
war with myself, and while the battle was raging in my
mind and my gut, I found that I couldn't get within
arms reach of the whole cast off lot.  Rutland's
request that I see him at the end of class could very
well be a reaction to finding his shorts missing, and
his intention to ask me what I knew of their
disappearance.  I couldn't find any other conclusion
for him to make than to see me as guilty, a truth I
would try to deny.  I began to practice in my mind the
look of shock that I would express when confronted
with the truth of my theft.  I began to try to feel
surprise, to somehow believe within myself that I
wasn't already tried, convicted and awaiting my
sentence.

By the time the class bell rang fifty minutes later, I
half expected to see our principal standing in the
hallway outside, ready to help Rutland with my
interrogation, or to simply render punishment.  But no
words would come to me when the door swung shut behind
the final student.  I didn't move, I didn't pack up my
things, I didn't breathe as Rutland walked down the
aisle, passing the first, the second, the third desk
in the row.  Placing a foot on the chair of the
fourth, directly in front of me, he casually lowered
himself to the surface of the desk, putting us face to
face, sort of.  My face was actually more directly
parallel to his bulge, and for once I wished that he
had chosen the pleated front trouser so as to distract
me from trying to map the terrain of his cock and
balls from the rolls and grooves that his fly fronts
had settled into.

"I think you know why I wanted you to stay after for a
minute."  My eyes finally, reluctantly, climbed the
stripes on his polo up over his torso until they met
his.  His face was not hard.  His eyes were soft blue
pools.  I felt time slowing down, and my gaze fell on
his soft, full red lips, revealing perfect white teeth
as he spoke again.  I tried to concentrate on anything
but what he was saying.  "I think I know what happened
this weekend, but," he paused.  I couldn't tell if he
was nervous, reluctant or just trying to find the
right language, "well, I want to hear it from you."

I couldn't speak; my mouth was too dry.  Alternately,
I felt my eyes welling up with tears.  One snaked down
my left cheek, followed by a twin on my right.  Two
more followed in quick succession, and when I finally
opened my mouth to breathe, I could taste the salt on
my lips.  My arms curled around my head as I huddled
on the desk, deep sobs racking my body.  The shame
that I had felt for my betrayal and my disappointment
in myself came flooding out as my body heaved with
emotion.  I felt a hand on my shoulders making gentle
circles.  "Go ahead, let it out," I heard Rutland,
soft now, soothing.  His tenderness towards me was
unexpected given the topic at hand.  It felt like I
cried for hours, but I finally regained control,
holding back my tears and looked up from the desk.
Rutland was in a squat next to me, looking at the
floor as he showed me comfort.  At the turn of my
head, he turned towards me and smiled.

"Feel better?" Rutland asked.  I wasn't sure why he
hadn't dropped the boom, made the accusation and
initiated the next step in, I couldn't even articulate
in my mind what the next step would be, but I couldn't
believe we weren't there yet.  If my breakdown hadn't
been an admission of guilt, I wasn't sure what would
qualify.

Moving his hand away from my shoulders, he gripped the
desk next to me and shifted himself into the seat.  My
palms found my cheeks as I pawed at my eyes, trying to
erase the tears that wrote my confession.  "You know,
guys on the team think that the Coach is oblivious,
that he can't hear anything.  They forget where they
are and what they are saying to whom, or maybe they
just don't care."  Rutland seemed to turn
introspective for a moment.  "I've heard guys make
comments to you and about you, and I don't want you to
pretend this time you don't know what I'm talking
about."  He paused.  I nodded, hesitantly, not
entirely sure what I was affirming or what was
happening.

"I heard enough this weekend to surmise, well, enough
to guess that you might be gay."  He looked at me, and
I looked back.  I wasn't sure if my eyes were
reflecting the internal mental whiplash I was feeling
at this turn of events, but I still couldn't produce
speech.  I nodded again.  His eyes were on me.  I felt
a mix of relief and apprehension.  Relief from the
momentary release of my emotions, and a new
apprehension at what Rutland's insight about me meant.

"That nod," he continued once I hadn't picked up the
conversation.  "It means I'm right, doesn't it."
Another pause.  "You like guys; you're gay."  I
swallowed.  Moisture was beginning to come back to my
mouth.  "You can talk to me, Lake.  It's critical that
you talk to me."  The bell rang, startling us both,
and intruding on the moment.  Another wave of panic
struck me.

"Shit.  I'm late for composition."  I started for my
bag, I wanted to run, not to my next class, but away,
far away.  From Rutland, from school, from my life.  I
wanted to stuff the genie back into the bottle,
because I realized that in this moment everything was
going to change.  As soon as I confirmed Rutland's
suspicions, my role on the track team was over.  In
fact, Rutland might tell the guys to stay away from
me, tell them that I was dangerous or mental or
degenerate.  I felt his hand on my arm.

"I'll write you a pass."  His eyes captivated yet
again.  Pools of blue and I was drowning in them.
"It's okay, Lake."  We both breathed.  "There's
nothing wrong with being gay.  I told you Saturday
that I felt I could trust you with anything, and I
meant it.  I want you to feel the same way.  To know
that you can tell me what's going on in your life, and
I'm going to try to be supportive and helpful.  You're
a good kid and you're great for our team, and you
deserve that support and validation."  I smiled, and I
could feel the muscles in my face, so tense, resist
the natural impulse.

"Thanks, Coach," I finally croaked, pausing to collect
myself.  "I mean, I didn't expect that you'd be cool
with, well, with having a gay kid on the team, and
being in the lockerroom, and being around you and the
guys and stuff."  The dam broke, and words spilled out
with tension and catharsis.  "I mean a few of the guys
I know better know, and mostly they don't care.  I
mean nobody's been a real shit about it or anything.
Sometimes guys say some things, but they don't bug me
too much, I mean, it is the truth, I suppose."  I
laughed.  "It bugs me more when they say shit like
that to my friends, like to Jamie, because he's not.
He's just a really cool guy, and like my best friend,
and when guys say stuff to him, well, it's just not
the same because it's a lie."

"Well, I think you're right on some level."  Rutland
was smiling too, now.  A soft smile.  "A guy calls a
teammate faggot or cocksucker, or says 'blow me' or
whatever, sometimes it doesn't mean anything, just two
straight guys trash talking.  Or sometimes, a gay guy
and a straight guy, they're mature enough to see past
what makes them different, like you and Jamie, maybe,
and those words get thrown around as a tease or a
friendly taunt, a way of showing closeness while
affirming in-group and out-group status.  But then
there are other times, Lake.  Times when guys aren't
just being guys, they're being assholes, you know.
Times when things can get rough and get out of hand.
And you've gotta be careful, Lake, because sometimes
guys will do things, just to be cruel, or just to
prove their manhood to themselves and to their
friends.  And you've gotta be able to stand up for
yourself.  You've got to have the confidence and the
physical presence to back that up."  Rutland paused,
reflectively.  "Now Jamie, for instance, someone calls
him a fag or says 'suck my dick', he can kick their
ass."  Rutland paused.  "Right?"

I nodded.  "I've seen guys back down with just a look
from him.  Even in his year, he's got more power in
his arms and legs than most of them.  You can tell
just by looking at him."

Rutland continued, "Exactly.  But you?  Guys don't
back down the same with you."

"Well, it's just because of what I am.  And they know.
 And I can't deny it.  I am those things, I do those
things."  I realized the depth of my admission as the
same look of realization crossed Rutland's face.  "I
mean, gay guys do those things.  Generally.  I guess,
or they wouldn't say it.  Plus, what am I going to do
about it anyway?"

Rutland saved me.  "Whatever they do, whatever you do,
it doesn't give anyone the right to say those
demeaning, degrading things to you."  I just looked at
him.  "That's why I have a plan for you, Lake.  We're
going to give you some tools to work with, get you
into a little weight training, and we're going to
start today.  Sixth period.  You have study hall,
right?"

"Yea," I affirmed, and Rutland stood up now, and
stepped to his desk.  He pulled open the drawer,
grabbed a pad, and started to write quickly.  "I'm
giving you a hall pass to check out of study hall.  I
want you to check out and then meet me in my athletic
office."  I started to put my books away, zipped up my
bag and stood.  "Here's a hall pass to get you into
your next class, too."  I took them, and he looked up
at me as I stood in front of his desk.  "You're okay?"


"Yeah, Coach.  It's just a lot of stuff at once, you
know."

He smiled and I mirrored him.  "You're a good guy,
Lake.  Go splash some water on your face, get to
class, and I'll see you in a few hours."  I opened the
door to the hallway, and looked back for a second.

"Thanks, Coach.  Thanks a lot."  He smiled, and turned
back to his desk, and then I was out the door, hearing
the soft woosh of the closer easing it back into the
frame behind me.  I didn't look back.

* * * * *

Ten minutes after the bell rang to make the beginning
of sixth period, I was standing outside Rutland's
office.  It had taken that long to check into study
hall, then to check back out and make my way to the
gym, even though I had hurried.  I was a mix of
emotions.  Excited to see what Rutland had planned,
relieved that my transgression hadn't irreparably
harmed our relationship, worried that the truth of my
theft might still come to light, shocked that he felt
that even gay that I was still worth investing in, and
honored that he cared enough about me to see me as a
person beyond my role as track equipment manager.

Coach had left a note on his doorframe instructing me
to change clothes and meet him in the weight room.  I
shucked my clothes and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt,
barely slamming the locker door shut behind me, as I
made my way from the concrete and cinder block locker
area past the tile of the showers and through a
hallway of glass brick that led to the pool on one
side and the weights on the other.  Pushing open the
door, I was amazed, as always, at the optical
illusions that the mirrors on each wall created,
shifting and duplicating people and machines, making
the room look much larger and much more populated than
it was.

I took a moment to steady myself and get my bearings,
picking out the real Rutland from his reflected
doppelgangers.  He was standing beside a bench press,
carefully monitoring the activity before him.  He
nodded at me upon my entrance, and I started over to
him, though his focus remained on his task.  I could
hear his encouragement, "Just three more, Zac.  Two
more.  Come on," and then the machinery rose up slowly
and tentatively, an extension of powerful brown arms,
and accompanied by an extended groan, before settling
onto itself with a clank of metal on metal.

"Hey, Lake."  Zac nodded towards me as he sat and then
stood up.  I hadn't seen him in a while, and I was
again taken by his strong features, high cheekbones
framed brown eyes, a determined jaw set above a thick
neck.  The cocoa skin of his arms stretched over
thick, mounded biceps, veins bulged out of forearms
and meandered into masculine hands that could easily
palm a basketball.

"Hey." I replied.  His face and arms glistened with
sweat under the room's bright lights, and he pulled
off his clingy wifebeater, mopping his brow, then
running it across his chest and stomach, casually
catching his pits and arms before tucking it into the
waistband of his basketball shorts, hanging loose on
his hips, revealing the white band of a jockstrap
hidden underneath.  The baggy shorts gave no hint of
the treasure I knew to be hidden inside, and I was
immediately transported back to the drive-in, to the
moment when Zac had caught me brazenly checking out
his dick while we stood pissing next to one another.
I honestly hoped his recollection of the night wasn't
as vivid as mine.

"Well, great.  I didn't know you were friends,"
Rutland said, looking first at Zac, then to me.

"Not friends, exactly," clarified Zac.

I felt prompted, and so I added, "Yeah.  Zac's a
friend of Jamie's; we've hung out a couple of times,
together.  Played video games.  You know the drill."

"Cool," said Rutland.  "It's good that you guys know
each other a bit, at least.  It'll make things much
smoother.  As you can see, Lake, Zac is well into a
strength-training program, as he prepares for the
upcoming baseball season."

"I'm gonna make captain," he boasted.

"Maybe," I interjected quietly, without thinking.
Jamie was always saying the same thing.  Zac's eyes
drilled into mine, and I tried to soften what I had
said.  "I just mean that Jamie wants to be captain,
too."  Silence.

"Well, no one has been chosen to be captain yet,
guys."  He turned to Zac.  "Plus, you keep training
and showing leadership, and let the decision about
captain work itself out."  He turned more to me as he
continued.  "Zac is taking human physiology this term,
and had talked to me about overseeing an independent
study that incorporated his strength training planning
and progress.  While I think that's valuable, I think
a much better opportunity is for Zac to continue his
own program, but to mentor you, Lake, at the same
time.  Essentially, I've asked Zac to work with you,
craft a strength program for you, teach you proper
form, how to use the equipment, and basically act as
your personal trainer.  I'll check in from time to
time to supervise, of course.  Zac will get additional
course credit, and, Lake, you'll get the physical
benefits and experience that you need to address the
circumstance we discussed this morning.  It's win-win,
gentleman.  What do you think?"

I was astonished.  This was so much more and so much
less than what I had expected.  I had thought I would
be working more closely with Rutland, and was looking
forward to the opportunity.  In that respect I was
disappointed by what I had just heard.  But I also
knew that, realistically, Rutland couldn't devote the
amount of time to my progress that Zac could.  And Zac
was basically a good guy; even Jamie had said so,
although not so much recently.  And just looking at
him gave me all the evidence I needed to know that he
knew about strength training.  Even though things were
rocky for the moment between Zac and Jamie, I thought
I could at least give it a try.  I mean, if we avoided
talking about baseball and Jamie and just focused on
our work, what could go wrong?  "That sounds, awesome,
Coach!"  My enthusiasm was real.

"Yea," Zac said at almost the same time.  His
excitement level did not seem to match my own, but
Rutland barely noticed.

"I'll make the permanent arrangement for you to be
excused from study hall, and to be here Monday,
Wednesday and Friday, Lake, as you work out
side-by-side with Zac."  Rutland was all smiles, but
Zac was a bit harder to read.

"Sounds good, Coach." he said and I agreed.  Rutland
looked at his watch.

"Well, we have just enough time, I think, to highlight
some of the major muscle groups for Lake, especially
the ones that will form the focus and framework for
your future work together."  He paused, thinking.
"Zac, would you mind modeling for us?"

Zac smiled wide at that, pulling his arm into a bicep
flex.  "I'm always happy to show off these guns."

Coach continued enthusiastically, "There you go!  And
we'll make this exercise into a quiz for you, Zac, to
see if you can name the muscle groups I'm
highlighting.  This should be child's play, but pay
attention, Lake; you may be quizzed next.  Now let's
all face the mirror so that we can see."  Rutland
positioned Zac out front, standing a bit behind and to
the side of him.  I stood at his other side until
Rutland told me I could have a seat on the weight
bench just behind me.

Rutland began by using his hands to trace along the
tops of Zac's upper arms.  "We'll start easy . . ."

"Biceps," Zac interrupted.  He turned to smile at me.
"They can never be too big, Lake."  Flexing again, his
muscle strained.  "The ladies love to hang on these,
dude."

"Charming commentary, Zac," Rutland responded with a
raised eyebrow.  "But maybe you can hold those tidbits
of knowledge until it's just the two of you."  An
almost undetectable blush creeped up Zac's chest until
it reached his face, but it didn't wipe away his goofy
grin.

"Will do, sir," he responded; our eyes met in the
reflection, and Zac winked mischievously.  "I got a
lot more I can school this youngster with where that
came from."  He laughed, and Coach couldn't help
smiling, as well.

"For now, maybe identify how you isolate and work the
biceps."  Zac responded with nothing short of a
concise textbook description for the proper course of
training one might use to target the upper arms.
Impressed with the response, Rutland's barely tan
hands traced across the flesh of Zac's dark triceps,
and the process repeated with Zac naming the muscle
group and talking about training it.

I was mesmorized by the ballet of man-on-man.  Strong
peaches and cream hands methodically tracing tight
brown-sugar lats and pecs, abdominals and obliques.
Attack and parry, question and answer, hand and glove.
 Rutland and Zac pushed back and forth.  Time passed
and with barely a pause until a necessary moment when
Zac dropped his shorts, as Rutland's hands highlighted
glutes and thighs and calves, Zac responding precisely
to each challenge, oblivious to the artful contrast of
the pure white jockstrap on his firm brown skin.  The
student-teacher exchange was entirely non-sexual and
one of the most erotic things I had ever seen.  I took
in as much of the information as I could, and recorded
the experience for playback again at a later time.

I was brought back to reality when Rutland finally
stepped away, Zac reclaiming his shorts.  "Now it's
your turn, Lake.  Step up here where Zac was."  He
pointed and I began to move.  "Zac, I want you to
assess Lake's physique as it relates to the muscle
groups we just highlighted."

"No problem, Coach," Zac said as he positioned himself
behind me, tugging at my shirt.  He was eager to
continue showing off his knowledge as Rutland took the
seat I had vacated.  I pulled it off and the ballet
began again, this time intensely personal, this time
in reverse.  I watched in the mirror as dark hands
traced my flesh, Zac's deep voice behind me.  As
fingertips traced pecs, I felt my nipples harden, and
as they drew near obliques and abdominals, another
hardness became like steel.  This was agony for me,
erotic torture, and Zac was an entirely unwitting
accomplice.  In the mirror's reflection, I could see
that Coach could tell some of the physical impact that
Zac was having.  My jockstrap was barely able to keep
the evidence of my arousal contained.  When Zac tugged
at my shorts the way he had at my shirt, I saw panic
flood my eyes in my mirrored reflection.  If I dropped
them, the evidence of Zac's impact on me would be
obvious.

Rutland must have seen my panic, as well, because he
stood up, checking his watch again.  "Actually, Zac,
it looks like our time is almost up.  We better let
Lake get changed back into street clothes and get
checked back into study hall.  I don't want to have to
write another hall pass."

"Thanks, Coach!" I said, retrieving my shirt.  "And
thank you, Zac!  I really appreciate what the two of
you are doing to help me."

"No problem, Lake."  "See you on Wednesday, dude."
Coach and Lake's responses overlapped, and I stepped
back, beginning to trace a path towards the door.
Coach continued to talk with Zac, "Wednesday, you can
just teach the basics of each machine.  Focus on form,
and I want your written training plan in my email
before the two of you get started on Friday.  Got it?"

"Got it.  No problem, Coach."  Zac responded.

That was the last of their conversation I heard before
the door shut behind me.  After throwing my t-shirt
into my gym bag and shucking my shorts, I wasn't
surprised to see I was still hard.  I checked the
time, and realized there wasn't enough to take care of
my boner, so I pulled my pants on over the jock.
"Better safe than sorry," I heard myself advise.  It
was a new strategy, one I hadn't employed in some
time, and I mentally committed to practicing it more
often.  I raced to my locker and back to study hall,
beating the bell by just two minutes.

* * * * *

Carrying the bag of starter blocks out to the track, I
had started to place them when I heard Jamie's voice
behind me.  He was facing away from me, though close
enough that I could hear what was being said as he,
Ryan and Joe talked and stretched.

"Well, then she asked me to flex for her, so that she
could see my muscles.  She said it was so hot it made
her wet.  I told her I didn't believe her, so she let
me see her pussy.  My face was like inches away."
Ryan and Joe were rapt with attention, "and she
smelled like perfection.  And then I played with it,
and I went down on her for like ten minutes, dudes."
Jamie's voice continued.  "I bet if you wanted, you
could still smell her on these fingers."  Jamie held
up his extended index and fuck fingers, and used them
to faux-fuck a hole he made with his other hand.

"You're a sick perv," Ryan laughed and shook his head,
and while Joe's face initially screwed up in disgust,
he was soon laughing, too, at Jamie's gross-out humor.
 My reaction was decidedly different.  My usually
efficient set-up slowed to a crawl as I felt despair
wash over me.  My physical reaction was even more
confusing, as I felt like my body cavity was entirely
hollowed out, empty, void, but I could also feel blood
pumping into my cock, not giving a full-hard on, but I
could feel my dick rising.  Despite it all, I wanted
to hear more.

"So did she suck your dick?" Ryan asked.

Jamie gave an affirmative "Ah-ha."

"Did you cum in her mouth?" Joe was insistent.

Jamie shook his head, "No.  But she totally polished
my knob.  Dudes, her lipstick was all over my piece.
After she sucked me, I was really close, and she said
she wanted to see it shoot, so she gave me a few
strokes and I just blew everywhere.  It was like I
hadn't shot in months."  His boasting was prideful,
and the guys he was sitting with seemed impressed,
even Joe, despite his earlier demeanor.

"Did you fuck her?" Joe interjected, challengingly.

"Not yet," replied Jamie, a hint of disappointment
creeping in his voice, "but we've only been seeing
each other a few weeks."

"No shit, dumbass."  Ryan directed his comment to Joe.
 "Like you've ever touched a pussy, let alone got your
dick in anyone's mouth."  He shook his head
dismissively.  "With a hot girl like Mandy, you take
what you can get when you can get it, you know what I
mean?"  He and Jamie exchanged fist love.

"Seriously, dude.  I'm willing to give it some time.
Knowing that in a couple of months, weeks if I'm
lucky, that I could be tapping that cherry pussy.
Well, it's worth the effort."  The three of them stood
up, and started to walk to the track.

"I have, too, seen a pussy. . ." Joe began, but Ryan
cut him off.

"Yeah you have.  Your momma's.  When you came out of
it."  Ryan and Jamie broke down laughing as Joe turned
bright red.

"Fuck you," Joe was not used to being the negative
center of attention.  "Fuck you both."  He took off
running, and Jamie and Ryan had another good laugh
before they took to the track and started their
warm-up lap.  As Jamie rounded the first curve, we
made eye contact, but I broke it almost immediately.
I was sick; I was fuming, and I couldn't deny or
understand my anger and resentment towards Mandy and
Jamie.  Rather than thinking too hard, I channeled my
distress into swing after swing of the mallet as I
pounded the blocks into the track.  Harder and harder
I hit with each set until my intensity left my arm
hurting.  Jamie passed my general location several
times as he warmed up, and I wondered if he could see
that inside I was at a full boil.  Before I blew up or
destroyed equipment, I decided to head inside to try
and cool down.

* * * * *

Jamie found me in the equipment cage after his shower,
beads of water submitting to gravity and trailing down
the contours of his chest and shoulders.  My cock,
which had never fully flagged after I got a halfie
earlier, instantly hardened.  No matter my confused
emotional state, my body still responded to Jamie's
body in the same way.

"Want to grab a bite?  I'm famished."  He was casual
in his request, just a pal asking another to hang out,
but he was also tentative, as if he was feeling me
out.  I couldn't help the feelings of abandonment and
anger that washed over me.  "She asked me to flex for
her.  My face was inches from her pussy. You could
still smell her on these fingers.  Her lipstick was
all over my piece."  Four sentences played over and
over in my head.  My rational mind certainly
understood that, as a friend with benefits, I was a
lower priority than a budding relationship.  And yet,
I still personalized his choice to go with, to be
with, Mandy as rejection.  Allowing her to do the
things for him that I had been doing, that I loved
doing, and that I wanted to continue doing, felt so
threatening.  He just stood looking at me, his eyes
like saucers above a half-smile, his head cocked just
a bit to the side.

A thousand caustic responses almost crossed my lips
before I heard myself say, "Sure," surrendering to the
fact that, even as hurt as I was feeling, I could not
refuse those beautiful eyes.  I felt my own stomach
rumble once the thought of food moved to
consciousness.

"Meet me outside; 10 minutes, dude," and then he was
gone.  I hurried to secure the equipment that I'd
dragged in.  I did a pass of the locker room,
collecting an armful of towels, and tossing them in
the cart where I would find them later in the week
when I stayed late to do laundry.

I grabbed my backpack, locked the cage and headed out
the door.  A few minutes later, Jamie and I sat next
to each other on high stools at a little homegrown
tacqueria a few blocks from school.  The stools sat up
against a counter that overlooked the busy street in
front of us, and mine was tilted just slightly towards
him.  We had ordered up front, grabbed these seats and
now waited for our food.  In his truck on the ride
over, Jamie had shared a few lighthearted anecdotes
about his day, and he asked a few questions to elicit
a response, but I was brief in my responses.  In fact,
our exchange was entirely superficial.

Now, sitting together, we were quiet, and as I shifted
on my stool, our knees touched, and I swear I sensed
Jamie jump as he turned a bit away, just enough to
break our contact.  I searched for something to say,
but everything that crossed my mind felt forced.  This
was not how it was with Jamie; we had never had
trouble finding words or comfortable silence.  What we
had in this moment was neither.  What stood between us
now was entirely foreign, at least to me.  The
closeness that I had felt to Jamie just days ago, both
physically and emotionally, seemed to have evaporated.


"You were really hammering at those blocks, today."
He cast me a glance, smiling.  "I thought you were
making them permanent."  His voice was light, but I
could tell he was uncomfortable.  I still didn't know
what to say, and I was scared that if I opened my
mouth, I might regret what came out.

"Is it because you overheard what I was saying to Ryan
and Joe?"  He was searching now.  "I mean, Ryan said
he thought you might have heard."

"Yeah.  I heard."  My voice wavered just a bit, and I
thought he might not have noticed.  "I mean, I wasn't
trying to listen, believe me, but you were right
there.  And it was, well, it was just hard to ignore."

"You know that Mandy and I have been going out,
right?"  I nodded.  "You didn't expect?  I mean, you
didn't think it would happen?  You've heard me talk
about her right, about how hot she is?  I know that
you've at least been around when Zac and I were
shooting the shit about her, and that was months ago."
 He was calm and there was a hint of disbelief in his
voice.

"Well, I thought you'd only gone out a few times."  I
searched for words.  "I thought it was just a few
dates.  I didn't think things would move so quickly."


"What am I supposed to say?" he ventured, finally.  He
was looking straight ahead, out the window at
strangers walking past on the sidewalk, cars crossing
in both directions.  I couldn't tell if there was a
defensive tone to his question or my own belief that
he had something to be defensive about.  I imagined
that right now felt much like beginning a game of
Frogger from the frog's vantage point.  Danger lurked
from every direction, and I was entirely unsure how to
find my way to safety, but I knew my goal was not to
end up squashed in the way that I had Saturday night.


"What do you mean?"  It was a passive-aggressive
response; I knew what he meant, but I didn't care.  In
that moment, I wished I could just retreat.

"Well, you're not talking, and so I'm not talking, and
so I expect that you think there's something I should
say. . ."  His speech was rushed, like word vomit,
like once he started he had no control, or that if he
slowed down, he might forget what he was going to say
or lose his nerve to say it.  ". . . and I think you
probably think I should be saying 'I'm sorry,' I guess
for whatever reason, probably because I decided to
hang with Mandy after the meet or because I've gotten
more involved with her."

I did think he should be apologizing, that he owed me
that, but I didn't have a chance to say it because as
soon as he paused for a breath, the server was setting
a tray of food down between us, and asking if we
needed anything else.  Jamie said we were fine as I
reached for an open bottle of Jarritos.  The glass was
cool and frosty on my hand and the bubbles burned at
my tongue, as I swished and swallowed the fruit punch
soda.

"A guy friend would get it."  He shook his head; he
still hadn't touched his food or drink.  "A guy friend
knows that plans sometimes change unexpectedly when
your girl enters the picture.  Girls take some
maintenance.  You gotta take 'em out, show 'em a good
time, pay 'em some attention.  If you don't make those
investments, you're never gonna get the payoff."  He
reached for a taco and peeled the paper back, forming
a cuff.  "A guy friend would be happy that I was
getting some pussy.  You saw how Ryan was; even an
asshole like Joe can appreciate that when a friend
gets some tail, it's something to celebrate."  He bit
into his taco, chewed, swallowed.  I took another sip
of my soda.  "I just feel like you're acting more like
a girl friend, getting all jealous and stuff.  A guy
friend would know that what I did Saturday or a week
ago or a month ago or with any girl has nothing to do
with him, that it doesn't change anything.  But I can
tell, well, just from how we are now I can tell that
it's changed everything."  He took another bite, still
not looking at me.

I felt tears in my eyes, and I didn't want to respond.
 I reached for a soft taco, distracting myself.

"Well?"  I could hear the frustration in his voice.

"I know I'm not your girl friend," I said.  This time,
my voice was defensive.  Avoiding, I picked at the
edge of the taco, freeing a piece of flour tortilla,
tasting nothing.  I knew Jamie had a point.  What he
said, I knew intuitively.  I had known it in the
moment it was happening.  I had known it as I observed
my own reaction.

Not literally, of course, dude."  He looked at me
finally.  "There's no mistaking you're a guy.  But if
you're gonna be one of the guys, if you're gonna be
one of my guy friends, we've got to figure something
out."  He finished his taco and wiped his hands on a
napkin.  "Sometimes I think maybe it was a mistake.  I
mean, I love getting off with you, and that you get
off on making me feel good.  And I really like that we
can hang out, too, and just be like regular friends.
But I've been honest from the beginning that I like
girls, and as much as I like getting head pretty much
whenever I want it, I'm not giving up girls.  So it's
either, I date girls and we have this friends with
benefits thing, or I date girls and we don't have this
friends with benefits thing.  But either way, girls
are going to be a major part of my life.  I just need
to know how much you want to be a part of it, too."

I tried to imagine a life without Jamie.  Not just
without him sexually, but without him altogether,
without the feeling of friendship and closeness that I
had come to value in the past few months.  Jamie had
become one of my best friends, whatever I was to him,
and his assessment was so stark, I think I finally saw
that the choice he was giving me was not a choice at
all. I did start to cry then.  Silently, and just a
few tears.  Of course, I would take what he was
willing to give.  Perhaps more clearly than he had
ever done before, he had laid out the terrain he was
willing to cross, and those boundaries which he never
would.  I could never say that I had moved forward in
this relationship without knowing exactly what I could
expect from him.

"Sorry."  It came from somewhere deep within me, and I
could barely hear it myself.  Not because it wasn't
true, but because it was so hard to admit to myself
that I needed to be willing to share Jamie or I would
lose him altogether.  "I'm really sorry."  Louder this
time.  I set down my taco.  "I'm sorry I reacted the
way I did, and that I've been a shit today.  I just
didn't realize, I mean I guess I was so focused on
myself, I wasn't really paying attention to what was
going on with you."

"So this is it, Matt."  He was still serious, and I
couldn't recall the last time he had called my by my
first name.  "You're gonna need to be okay when I talk
about Mandy or any other girl.  I don't want to have
to censor myself all the time because you're being
sensitive.  I mean, I need you to be where I go when I
just need to relieve stress, not to be a source of
it."

"I know.  I'm sorry."  I didn't know how else to say
it or what else to say, but tension began to dissipate
between us.

"I got head from her first last week, you know," he
looked over to me, to gauge my reaction.  I wondered
if this was a test.  It hurt less to hear him say it
this time, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was
telling me directly himself or if it was our preceding
conversation, or just my inevitable habituation to
hearing him talk about sex with others, "just a couple
of days before the meet.  She had rubbed one out for
me a couple of times before that, but last week was
third base."  His smile was so broad it looked to be
stretching his face.

"It was awesome?"  I didn't want to ask; I didn't want
to know.  But I needed to ask for his sake.

"Of course, dude."  Jamie punched me in the shoulder.
"I mean, she was right there, doing me.  It was a
trip."  I think I could see him reliving it in his
mind.  He leaned in to me just a bit, and I followed
suit.  "Truth be told, Lake, you're better with the
technical details; there's a lot you could teach Mandy
about going down.  But to see myself in her like that,
fucking her mouth."  Inhale.  Exhale.  "It was beyond
incredible."  Jamie picked up the second of his tacos
and tore into it.  I finally comprehended the
back-handed compliment that he had given me in his
telling.  I give better head than Mandy.  I busted out
in a full grin, my spirit renewed a bit.

"Sweet."  The word hardly described the lascivious
image that was painted for me, and I again found
myself unexpectedly aroused at the thought of Jamie
with Mandy.  But at this point, I didn't find myself
fighting jealousy as he shared a few intimate details.

"Even still, it's not like you won't get your fill of
me."  He turned toward me a bit, opening up his body
language.  "You know I need more than a blowjob once a
week.  I mean, how many times did I unload in you this
weekend?"

"Three."  It's not that I kept a running mental tally
of Jamie's orgasms, but I could remember each time
vividly, and I had relived the weekend already several
times in my mind.

He busted out laughing at my response.  "You're right,
I suppose," he confirmed.  "And that was in just 36
hours."  His eyes were smiling, and things were
beginning to feel right between us again.  "I think
I've got enough mojo . . .," he cupped his package to
emphasize the word, ". . . to keep up with demand."
He was smiling at me now, flirting.  He reached
towards me, his fingers tracing my arm, and then he
gave my left nipple a pinch and a twist.  It caught me
totally off-guard, and as I jerked back and slapped at
his hand, we found ourselves laughing together and
just enjoying the moment.

"Plus, Lake, you know what I haven't been able to get
out of my mind?"  He smiled coyly.  I hoped that he
was referring to the same thing I couldn't get out of
mine--the moment in the hotel when time slowed, and my
mouth found Jamie's sweet, tender hole.  The way that
I held onto him, sucking and licking and tasting the
very center of him.  That thought alone made my dick
drool.

"I think I do."  I was coy in return.

"I never expected that, Lake.  At first I was freaked,
I mean, I had never even considered that could happen.
 But when it did, holy shit, it was beyond awesome.
It preceded maybe the most intense cum of my life.
And the last few days, it's what I think about all the
time."

"Um, it worked for me, too," I was intentionally
understating, but my delivery conveyed the truth of my
excitement.  Seeing Jamie's enthusiasm mirror mine was
an incredible turn-on.  I could feel myself leaking
more in my briefs.  "I mean, just being with you in
that way made me shoot."

"A lot," he emphasized, "as I recall," and we both
broke up laughing.

We both sat for a moment, taking it all in.  A lot had
happened between us in the past thirty minutes, and
that came at the end of a very stressful three days.
My world was changing faster than I could comprehend,
and it felt good to take a moment and just be near
Jamie, to know that he would continue to be an anchor
for me, even in the midst of that change, even as he
was a part of it.

I felt his hand against my side above the hip and it
slid a few inches up my body and towards my back.  It
was a gentle touch, kind and affirming, and it snapped
me back to reality.  I looked over at him, looking at
me, and we both smiled.

"Well, maybe, if you're ready to head out, we could
both stop just thinking about it, and give it another
go.  Make sure it wasn't just the surprise of it, and
that we both liked it as much as we thought we did."
My eyes flashed down his body, and I could see that he
was aroused, though maybe not as much as I was.

"Yeah.  That sounds like a great idea.  Let's go."  I
gathered up the remains of our food and slid out of my
seat.  Tossing our waste and dropping off the tray, I
followed Jamie out the door, my eyes glued to the
clingy jeans that molded themselves to his tight ass,
an inch of boxers rising above the band.  I couldn't
wait to peel down those jeans and bury myself once
again in that ass.

* * * * *

Jamie was steel hard in the front seat of his truck;
he pulled my hand over to feel the hard ridge snaking
across his right thigh as soon as my door was closed.
Feeling his hard-on gave me one of my own, and I
continued to run my fingers back and forth on his
shaft as he pulled out into traffic.  He moaned and
looked over at me, smirking.

"Dude, I'm so fucking horned up."  He winked at me,
his voice soft.  I assumed we were headed to his house
by the general direction he seemed to be driving.

"How much farther is it?"  I didn't know why, but I
was almost breathing in pants as we came to a red
light.

"Too fucking far, Lake."  His hands left the steering
wheel and came to rest on his waistband for a moment
before he popped the closure and pulled the two front
panels apart, my hand slipping to the seat beside him.
 I could see printed cotton boxers, his thumb hooked
into the wide waistband.  And then, he was lifting a
bit off the seat as he tugged them down, revealing
bush and root, and finally working his hard shaft
free.  "I can't wait, dude.  Get your mouth over
here."

"God damn you're hot, Jamie," I said as I released my
seatbelt and leaned over the seat towards him.

My left hand settled against his abs, thumb and
forefinger curling through his thick pubes and around
the base of his shaft.  My right fingers snaked into
the band of his boxers, pulling them back just a bit
as my mouth covered Jamie's familiar cockhead, my
tongue swirling around the spongy flesh before
flicking at the slick juice that was already leaking
out of the piss slit.  Breathing in the scent of
Jamie's masculinity, my tongue continued to tease the
head, returning often to the source of his seed until
I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing down
as his hips bucked up to insure as deep a penetration
as possible.

"Holy fuck it feels awesome when you take it deep."  I
wasn't expecting the intrusion into my throat; the
angle was odd, and I hadn't braced myself for it, so
my initial physical reaction was to squirm as I gagged
around his shaft.  He let me up, and I got a breath,
before I felt him, again insistently, pushing my head
down.  His cock, now lubed with whatever it found deep
in my throat, found an easier entrance this second
time, and I was able to hold myself steady, arching my
back a bit uncomfortably.  His hand, fingers firmly
tracing the back of my head, was somehow comforting,
and I held him deeply inside of me long enough to
wonder if he could feel the hot tears flooding my eyes
and dampening his pubes where they fell.

Jamie's hand left the back of my head, and I felt my
body pull away from his a bit as the truck cornered
until just three or four inches remained inside my
mouth.  I slipped my right hand forward to begin
jacking the other half, already slick with my spit,
and it followed my head up and down as I formed a
vacuum and initiated a series of quick strokes.

I heard and felt Jamie's moan, and I pulled up to work
intensely on his cockhead again for a moment,
lavishing attention on the glans with my tongue and
working the piss slit like an addict in search of a
fix.  I was so intent on sucking and licking that I
didn't notice that the truck had stopped, been placed
in park, and turned off until I felt his hand again on
the back of my head.  I immediately steadied myself to
take him deep, and was surprised to feel him ruffle my
hair.

"Hey, dude, we're home."  My comprehension dawned
slowly, and I sealed my lips around his dick as I
pulled up and off, sitting up next to him.  The back
of my hand swiped at my mouth as I swallowed the mix
of saliva and pre that immediately pooled together
around my tongue.  "While I'm tempted to just let you,
um, finish me here," Jamie smiled at me as he reached
down, shifting his hips as he maneuvered his tool back
into boxers and pants, "and I'm pretty fucking close,"
his voice was lower and it seemed an aside and more of
a simple personal observation made out loud as he
zipped and fastened them, "I think I'd rather go
inside and let you take a crack at my," he smiled
sheepishly, "well . . . crack."

I exaggeratedly rolled my eyes, shook my head, smiled,
and opened the passenger door, climbing out with a
groan.

"What?  What did I say?" Jamie asked with cloying
innocence.

"That was such a bad pun, I don't even think I want to
anymore."  I laughed and stepped quickly towards the
door as I heard the driver side door slam and his
steps speed up in my direction.

"Maybe you won't have a choice once I get my hands on
you."  He was laughing now, and so was I as we tore
through the house towards his rooms.  He almost caught
me before we hit the stairs, and my decision to take
them two at a time gave me a slight edge as I kept,
but did not increase my lead.  I wasn't sure if Jamie
was throwing the race, and I didn't care as I threw
open the door to Jamie's room just as he overtook me,
grabbing me in a bear hug and pulling both of us down
onto the sofa there.  I could hardly catch my breath
between the physical exertion of the race and the
laughter that was rocking my body, and I could tell
that Jamie was in a similar state.  Our limbs remained
entangled together as we slowly regained ourselves.

"I won't let you up until you say you're gonna do it,"
there was still laughter in his voice, and it was
clear he was still playing with me.  I began to
struggle against him, pulling at his arm and twisting
in his grip.  We wrestled like that for a few minutes
before my hand, looking for leverage, slipped down his
abs and settled on his still erect dick.

"You haven't calmed down, any, have you?" I teased.

"That's why I need it, dude."  He was theatrical,
exaggerated.  "If you leave me like this, I could,
well, I could die."  Suddenly, he stiffened, then fell
back, releasing me, his body entirely limp except for
the throbbing mound in my hand.

"I can still feel your pulse, you goof," I said,
giving his dick a good squeeze and rolling off him
onto the floor.  That made him giggle, and he gave up
his act, his eyes opening.  I reached across the floor
and pushed the door closed.  I pulled my knees up to
my chest and wrapped my arms around them, and we
looked at one another for a minute across the room,
resting pleasantly.

After a moment, Jamie twisted around, his knees on the
edge of the couch, his hands on the back, leaving him
in a bit of a squat.  Balancing upright, he reached
down with both hands to pull off his polo in one fluid
motion.  Slowly, he tossed his head to look at me over
his right shoulder, making a serious sexy come-hither
model face that made one corner of my mind wonder if
he wasn't getting private lessons from Tyra.  Putting
weight again on the couch back with his left hand, I
saw the waistband of his worn jeans loosen as his
right hand popped the clasp.  Tossing his head and
intensifying his gaze, his hand slowly tracked around
his torso to his back where it slowly trailed
downwards across his oblique to his hip, pulling the
material of the low-rise down a bit, as well.  I felt
myself leaning forward, rolling up onto my knees as I
watched this sexy-as-hell teen god display the altar
of his body.

"Resistance is futile, bitch.  I know you can't say no
to this."  His voice was sultry, and he punctuated the
statement with a wink.  His hand pulled the bands of
jeans and boxers down revealing just the source of his
deepening crevice before his hips began to gyrate side
to side, his hand tracking back to the front along
with his gaze.  I could barely see fingertips curling
around the inside of his leg, and I expected he was
cupping his turgid shaft through the denim as his hips
began to roll forward and back, into a slow hump,
accentuating the curve of his full mounds with each
backstroke.

I began to crawl across the floor towards Jamie on
hands and knees, enjoying the show.  In my mind, I
heard Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze, "How do you
call your loverboy?"  "Come here loverboy!"  There was
no need to ask, "and if he doesn't come."  Just the
feeling of my own jeans against my cock as I crawled
made me realize I was already hard as a rock and
nearly ready to myself.

Jamie's intimate moves were even hotter up close than
they were from across the room.  His half-squat
positioned his ass perfectly at face level once I was
on my knees behind him.  My hands came to rest gently
on his bare skin, just above the commingled bands of
jeans and boxers, as my body matched his body and
motion.  He slowed, and I could hear him draw breath
as my lips kissed the exposed origin of his cheeks, my
hands tugging at his trousers, pulling them down
slowly.

My lips and tongue traced the path revealed by the
surrendering garments, and as I smelled and tasted and
kissed my way south, I could recall having seen
Jamie's ass from many vantages.  At a distance, his
ass was powerful and strong, smooth, clean lines and
curves forming a glorious valley.  In greater
proximity, the crevice yields a curl of brown hair
occasionally escaping the depth with ever-greater
frequency as the line wends towards the apex of the
legs.  In more intimate moments, kneeling between his
spread legs and working over his magnificent cock or
balls, I had seen the hole, the most private part of
him, peek out shyly, but only for moments.  And just a
once or twice, consumed by lust as his hips had
pounded my mouth like a twat, his ass had spread
obscenely just within my sightlines.  In all of these
remembrances, the object of my attention had been
something other than that which consumed my field of
vision and my desire in this moment.  In this moment,
I wanted nothing more than to commune again with this
singularly beautiful part of Jamie, to become fully
aware of it in the same way as I had with every other
part of his body.  Jamie made it easier for me as he
leaned forward, pushing this precious part of him
towards me, the motion opening him slightly like a
tulip at dawn.

As my tongue crossed over the ridges of his hole,
tightly closed, I felt and heard him take breath, and
I circled, digging in for a moment, my hands slipping
up to draw his cheeks farther apart, allowing me more
access and greater depth.  I rested there, sucking and
licking at him, tasting soap and sweat, working from
cheek to cheek, pausing to circle and zero-in on the
hole itself, before moving away, teasing and tasting a
new path.

I finally, intentionally, drew myself back, to get a
first fresh look at this part of Jamie that he was
sharing with me in a way that he had never with
another person.  It occurred to me that it was in a
way that he might never again.  Certainly not with
Mandy, and that made me smile.  The expanse before me
was just as I expected from my earlier experiences and
so much more perfect than I ever could.  A few details
had escaped my earlier distracted gaze, such as the
darker pigment of the skin in the deepest recesses of
his valley and the way that the short, curly hairs,
now pasted to his flesh with my saliva, were dark and
thick around his hole, and seemed to thin and lighten
as they worked their way up and out.

"Oh my god, Lake.  Don't stop."  Jamie was leaning his
chest on the back of the couch now, and I could see
his arm moving in the familiar motions of
cock-stroking.  His words were delivered in a pant,
and I dove right back into his sweet spot, licking and
sucking some more as I tried to give him what he
wanted--which was, in this instance, the very same
thing I wanted.  As I attacked his muscle with my
rigid tongue, I thought I could hear him whimpering,
and I redoubled my efforts, scraping my teeth across
his left cheek in a faux bite and then sucking at his
right cheek like a Dyson.  And then, as I zeroed in
once again on his hole, I felt my whole body quake as
an unexpected orgasm shook me.  I grabbed onto Jamie's
hips, never denying my tongue its pleasure as I pumped
volley after volley of my semen into my briefs.

Just as quickly, Jamie turned to face me, his right
hand coming to rest in my hair, holding my head
steady, his other hand stroking quickly.  Seconds
later, I felt the first shot of his load splash hot
against my cheek, it's thick consistency running
slowly down my face.  I opened wide, and caught the
next two shots in my mouth, one on the center of my
tongue, and then Jamie was wiping the last few
dribbles onto my chin and across my lips.

Spent, he released my head and flopped back onto the
couch, his red cock slowly deflating.  I reached up to
my face, using a finger to collect the semen that had
missed my mouth before it dripped onto my school
clothes.  Jamie watched as I shoveled sticky finger
after sticky finger into my mouth, willingly taking
his jizz--all of it--into myself.

He smiled as I swallowed.  "I love that you're so
fucking twisted, dude."  He pulled one knee up to his
chest, and his dick and balls shifted.  "That was
better than I expected, Lake, better than I
remembered."  I could tell he was enthusiastic, even
though he channeled exhaustion.  "Could you go warm up
the shower for me?  I don't think I can get up yet."
His flirty smile was something I realized I couldn't
deny.  I climbed up off the floor and headed to the
bathroom to do his bidding.

* * * * *

If you'd like another installment, please let me know
at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at
matthewlake309.  If you're looking for romance, drop
me a line.  I'm in the market :).  Thanks again for
reading!