Date: Thu, 25 Sep 2003 22:39:47 -0700
From: Derek Weiser <mercutio3000@comcast.net>
Subject: By the Sea

I live in my house by the sea.  I have lived there since I was eight.  My
grandfather took me in and gave me the love and support I needed after my
parents died.  I was shy and timid.  I always have been.  Eventually I grew
up.  I became six-six and weighed 250 pounds.  I grew fur all over my chest
and belly, the same golden color as on my head.  But I was always easier,
more comfortable, working in the garden or cooking in the kitchen.  My
grandfather had many friends that he was close to during World War II.  I
spent many a Wednesday afternoon listening to their stories and cooking for
their lunch.  When I graduated from high school, I enrolled in a cooking
school in New York.  I graduated after two years and my grandfather wanted
me to go to Paris to continue my studies.  I loved my time in New York, but
I never really felt comfortable.  I was good at what I did, winning many
awards, but I just wanted to return to my home by the sea.

I decided to spend a few weeks at home before going to Paris.  When I got
there I realized that the time away had not been kind to the old man.  He
was frail and looked sickly.  I knew I wasn't going to go to Paris and
leave him.  Just before my twenty-first birthday he passed away.  I sat
inside my house by the sea and grieved, but not forever.  All of my
grandfather's friends came by on Wednesday as usual and had me sit with
them and tell stories and then listen to theirs'.  It helped and somehow
they have always understood how shy and quiet I am.  Shortly after, I found
out that the house and everything in it was left to me as well as a trust
fund from my parents.  I decided I didn't want to go to Paris and decided
to turn my home into a bed and breakfast so I could cook for others and
still stay at home.

I spent weeks going over all that I would need to convert the house.  I
looked at furniture and fixtures, talked with contractors, and even an
architect.  When all was said and done, I hired a contractor from out of
state to oversee the project.  Since where I live is fairly secluded along
the Oregon coast, within sight of the majestic haystack rocks near Cannon
Beach, I let the man stay with me.  His crew was made up of local
craftsmen, but he needed a place to stay.  Over the next couple of weeks, I
started to decorate as soon as each new room was completed.  I decided to
use large, sturdy, comfortable furnishings and bright, warm colors.  I
wanted people who came to my home to be comfortable and relaxed.  The
contractor, who's name was Robert, and I became friends.  He was a tall
man, but a little shorter than my towering height.  He was big and strong
and often worked without his shirt.  I found myself becoming tongue-tied
around him.  I blushed a lot and stammered when he talked to me.  In truth,
I was attracted, extremely attracted to him.  He would smile at me and
wink.  About two weeks into his stay, he came to my room one night.

He told me that he had seen me watching him.  He told me he wanted to see
how far things could go.  With that he was kissing me.  I was shocked, it
was my first kiss, first everything.  He took off my shirt and sifted his
fingers through the hair on my chest.  Then he took off his shirt and
pressed me to him, pulling me, melding with me.  His chest was covered in
coarse, dark hair, such a sensual contrast to my soft, downy fur.  He was
fast and a little rough.  He pulled and pawed at our clothes until we were
both naked, standing by my big bed.  He pushed me down and pulled my face
to his lap, feeding me his hard shaft.  He wasn't all that long or that
thick, but it was my first time and I gagged a bit.  But soon I became
accustomed to his invasion.  He held my face and started pounding his hips
into me.  His cock wasn't long enough to go beyond my tonsils and my nose
kept being bumped into his pubic bush.  He then pulled away and tried to
catch his breath, telling me he didn't want to cum so soon.

Robert took my face in his hands and started kissing me again.  Then he
pushed me back on the bed, forcing his hips between mine, pressing forward
and begging for entry into my body.  But when he pushed forward, he
realized real quickly that this was brand new to me.  He immediately slowed
and gentled.  His forceful, pushing manner eased and he became sweet and
loving.  I realized that I had probably given him signals that led him to
believe I was more experienced.  The change in his attack was so different.
Where before he was forceful, now he was gentle and coaxing.  He started
kissing me again, but slowly, teasingly with his tongue, coaxing me to play
with him.  Where his hands had pawed at me, now they stroked, stoking my
pleasure, petting and relaxing me.  I felt my nervousness leave and I
started to return Robert's ministrations.  I tasted and delved my hands
over his body, skimming against his back, reveling in the contented purr he
let out.  He continued to stroke my body, but his hands moved lower,
skimming over my ass, bunching and kneading the muscular globes.  Then he
was stroking my hole with his fingers, brushing against the bundle of
ultra-sensitive nerves.  Then he was inside me, buried to the knuckle of
his middle finger.  He searched and prodded inside me, looking for
admittance, for acceptance.  I opened for him and he pressed his advantage.
In seconds he was buried inside.  He waited; he coaxed and crooned, telling
me with gentle words to relax.  He continued to pet me, stroke my body,
willing me to relax.  I did.  And he began to move.  He rocked into me
quickly and in mere moments was clenching and spurting, making noises like
a braying mule.  Then he collapsed against me.  All I could think was: this
is it?

Then Robert rose for round two.  This time I understood what it was all
about.  He stroked and built me, having taken the edge of his own needs; he
spent the time and energy finessing a response from me.  When it was over,
he was marveling at me, telling me how responsive I was and how good I was.
It made me feel special.  Our routine continued for the next few weeks
while the last of the work on my house was being done.  What we did in bed
was mostly the same: kissing me, me sucking and him fucking me.  But the
night before he was to leave, he came to me and he was different.  He was
kissing me, but he let me lead.  He didn't take control.  After a bit of
rolling around, kissing and petting, he pulled me on top of him and wrapped
his legs around my back.  Robert just looked at me and said please before I
sank into him.  I felt him close around me, feeling him stretch around me.
I pumped and thrust into him, amazed at the turn of events.  I felt him
build because he kept squeezing me, crying out and pawing his fingers into
my shoulders.  Then I felt him release, jetting against my belly.  I kept
thrusting into him, keeping from orgasm by the slightest margin.  Shortly
after, he came again and this time I couldn't help but follow.  My
breathing slowed, and I slipped out of Robert while he cuddled to me.

I knew he was leaving tomorrow.  I was okay with it.  I was attracted to
him and I will never forget the time we shared together.  But it was just
sex.  If he were to stay, it probably could develop into more.  But he was
leaving.  I was lying with him, watching the colors of the sunset change
through the curtains of my bedroom window when I fell asleep.  The next
morning, he was gone.  He was my first.  But this story is about my second
and last.

The next few years were lonely ones.  I was crippled behind walls of
intense shyness.  It wasn't too bad during the long summers.  My house was
full of guests.  But the winters were long and lonely, with nary a guest
for up to three months.  Those were the times when I felt it the most, an
almost bone-crushing sense of loss and loneliness.  I had turned
twenty-five the previous summer.  I was gearing up for the lonely period
after Christmas when my only real contact would be the Wednesday meetings
with my grandfather's friends.  I received a call from a secretary for a
literary agent.  She asked to book a room in my little bed and breakfast
for an indefinite time, starting the second week in January.  A writer
wanted to stay in my house to write and do research of the surrounding
area.  When I asked for the author's name, I almost fell through the floor.
It was one of my favorites, Toby Hunter.  He writes mostly murder mysteries
with a big dash of the supernatural thrown in.  I was so excited.  I had
read all of his books.  I couldn't wait for the next few weeks to go by.

He showed up on the 10th of January during a huge wind and rainstorm.  It
was dark and close to 11PM.  I was expecting him tomorrow.  I answered the
door to him and helped him grab his things from the car.  We were both
soaked.  He stood in my front entrance while I went to get some towels.
When I came back I skidded to a stop.  He had stripped down to his boxers.
He took one of the towels from my now dead fingers and started to dry
himself off.  It wasn't supposed to be erotic, but my body didn't care.  He
was a few inches shorter than me, but I would say we weighed the same.  His
shorter frame carried his weight in his chest and shoulders, perfectly
sculpted and bulging with raw sinew.  His dark hair was short and tamed
against the wild curl evident.  His eyes were a piercing blue.  His nose
straight and perfectly complimented the rest of his features.  His lips
were full and sensuous.  His chin hard and strong and covered in dark
stubble.  Then I looked down to his chest.  Some people don't like hairy
chests.  But I find them extremely sexy.  His pectorals were covered in
long, straight, thick dark hair, to the point where you couldn't see the
skin underneath.  The hair was in interesting whorls all along the muscular
plane.  The hair trailed thickly between his abdominal muscles and hid his
belly button.  You would only know it was there because of the swirl of
hair that deepened at that point.  His legs were also incredibly muscled
and covered in dark whorls of the same straight, thick hair.  In a word:
gorgeous.

I was afraid I had started drooling.  I know I lost the ability to speak
rationally.  So I ducked back down the hall to change my clothes, hoping I
could make the erection go away.  When I was dry and had everything tucked
away, hopefully not so noticeably, I went back to see to my guest.  He had
opened a suitcase and pulled a shirt over his head and was pulling up a
pair of jeans.  I offered him some food and when he declined, I helped
carry his bags to his room.  It was in the tower, directly over my room.
It was the best I had, and considering how long he was going to be spending
here, figured he needed the extra comfort and space.  When he was settled,
I went back to my room and crawled into bed.  I was still hard, but I
didn't do anything about it.  I drifted off to sleep and indulged in some
incredible dreams.

The next day, Toby sat with me in the kitchen while I got ready for my
Wednesday lunch.  He talked to me and told me what he was hoping to find in
the area.  I asked if he always worked by not working and he laughed and
told me that he wanted to take a couple of days and unwind, he had been on
a book tour.  He actually joined my grandfather's friends for lunch.  I was
absolutely mortified when one of them whipped out a scrapbook and showed
Toby.  I was embarrassed and escaped to the kitchen.  I didn't realize that
they had kept such records of me.  Every single picture and article from
cooking school was there.  I had volunteered my free time at a women's
shelter in New York, but I kept it private.  The school didn't know until
someone from the paper came and did an article on what I did.  I just
hadn't realized that my grandfather knew.  It brought the pain of his death
back to me.  God I missed that old man.  I carried dessert back into the
dining room.  One of the group told Toby that they were so proud that I did
so much for so many people and all without a hint of recognition.  Then he
told him how I spent Fridays donating my cooking talent at the shelter down
the coast a bit.  It was true, but I was still embarrassed.  Another member
of the group wondered why I didn't ask for something or do anything to get
recognition.  Toby piped up and said that some people had so much love to
give that they just wanted to share it and the sharing was its own reward.
I actually fell in love with him right then and there.  I had been fiercely
attracted to him, but having him so easily define why I was motivated to
help others was the last thing needed to have my feelings bloom.  I
actually smiled at him, full wattage, without ducking away in shyness when
he returned it.

The next day I spent driving Toby around the area.  I showed him a great
lookout for viewing the haystacks of Cannon Beach.  Then I showed him the
lighthouse that the movie 'The Goonies' was filmed at.  Then we drove to
Tillamook to tour the cheese factory.  While sitting in the café, eating
some of their heavenly ice cream, I watched him watch the passing ladies.
That kind of calmed my hope of a returned attraction.  I know it's foolish,
but I was kind of hoping he would be the one to see me for the worthwhile
person I really am.  That his words at lunch yesterday would actually lead
to something else.  But I guess not.  I could still be his friend.  After
all, it was probably just hero worship; kind of like the silly crushes
teenagers have for movie and rock stars.  Though I knew it wasn't.

That night Toby sat in my kitchen while I did my baking and prep work for
tomorrow's trip to the shelter.  He was amazed at how much food I was
preparing and I told him about my time in New York in which I would cook
for a couple hundred people a day.  What was nice was that he offered to go
with me the next day.  We actually had a good time.  Then Saturday morning,
he was shut in his room, pounding away at his laptop.  I had never seen
anyone work so diligently at something before.  He was in total
concentration.  I was in awe at the raw energy that went in to his creative
process.  Just watching him aroused me.  He was truly beautiful.  While he
worked, he had steel framed glasses that he kept pushing up his nose from
time to time.  The total concentration seemed to make his face more
angular.  It was a breath-taking sight.  But I stayed away, letting him
work, bringing sandwiches and coffee every few hours.  I would just leave
it by his side and collect the used plates later.  He did come up for air
every couple of days or so and I would help him with a tour of the area or
a description of the seasonal changes.  He even asked what kind of paving
the road crews used.  And I gladly helped as much as I could, all the while
fearing that my feelings were growing deeper and stronger, to never be
returned.

Toby had been working and writing for over six weeks.  He seemed happy with
the progress on the book.  He would spend most days with me in the kitchen,
saying that hearing me work added a bit of homey comfort that aided his
writing.  On Thursday nights, when I did the majority of my baking and
preparing for the shelter, he would actually help me box up things and keep
me company for the five or six hours I would spend cooking.  It was a truly
happy time for me.  I had companionship and a caring body to share my time.
It didn't surprise me when I so easily fell deeper in love with him.  I
would watch him concentrate on his writing, be so into his
characterizations that he would forget to eat.  I would simply make a
sandwich or something in which temperature didn't matter.  He always had
something to drink close at hand, whether a thermal carafe of coffee or a
pitcher of his favorite cool drink of half iced tea and half lemonade.
Each time I would put something in front of him or remove used plates and
glasses; I would usually get a smile.  One Saturday, while I watched him
work while baking an apple crisp, he caught me staring and we shared a
smile that shot straight through me.  I couldn't catch my breath and I was
so hard just watching his lips curve and the dimples in his cheeks form.  I
had it bad.  But I knew he had no idea.  I just enjoyed watching him.  But
I kept quiet about my feelings.  Too shy, too scared to share them,
positive that he wouldn't feel comfortable with them.  Just as I pulled my
crisp out of the oven, there was a pounding at the door.  I didn't have any
guests scheduled for at least two more weeks.  It was late and figured it
was a stranded traveler looking for a place for the night.  It happens
sometimes.

But when I got to the door, there was a woman standing outside.  She
breezed in and handed me her bags and told me to place them in Toby's room.
Her attitude had me concerned, so I asked why I should place her bags in
his room and she told me she was Toby's fiancée.  I knew he was
straight.  I knew he wasn't going to be interested in me.  But it still
hurt.  So I took her to the kitchen, which she was loath to do.  But I led
her to Toby.  She squealed when she saw him and launched herself into his
lap.  I could tell he was annoyed at being interrupted, but he grasped her
and hugged her anyway.

"Becca, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh darling, I just had to see you.  I've missed you so much."

"Becca, I would like to introduce you to Jack.  He owns and runs this place
and has taken really excellent care of me."

She didn't even turn her head to me.  She just sort of made a little 'how
are you' sound and then started kissing Toby.  I turned from them and
carried her bags to his room.  I straightened up the bedding and made sure
the bathroom had fresh towels.  I also grabbed a stray plate off his desk
and emptied the trash.  I went downstairs and went into my office to make a
list of chores for tomorrow.  I heard Toby and Becca head out of the
kitchen and go up the stairs.  I decided to turn in and crawled beneath the
covers.  But sleep eluded me.  After a few minutes, I heard the bed creak
through the floorboards above me.  I had heard the sound before from other
guests, but I always tuned it out.  This time I couldn't stop from
listening.  I was absolutely green with envy, furiously jealous of Becca
and her luck at being with someone so incredibly sexy and wonderful.  I was
also incredibly aroused by it.  I listened for several minutes, the gentle
quaking of the ceiling and the incessant squeak of the box springs.  I
could just imagine the two of them, writhing and rolling on the bed.  Then
I could picture myself writhing and rolling on the bed with Toby.  I felt
myself tighten and quiver with repressed desire.  I felt myself tingling
with impending release.  I wanted so badly to grasp my heated flesh in my
fist and bring myself relief.  But I didn't.  I tortured myself, listening
to the two of them.  After several heated moments, the pace of the
squeaking sped up.  So did my desire.  Then I heard a loud bounce and the
rumble of Toby's voice as he found his release.  Not that I could hear any
words, just the timbre of his deep voice as he called out in pleasure.  It
was too much and I found myself clenching and spurting in my own heated
release.  I closed my eyes and felt each pulse leave my body and drench my
tight briefs.  The moment the last spasm left me; I opened my eyes and felt
a deep shame.  I had listened in on something so very private and personal.
Even worse, I got off on it.  I felt horrible.  I got out of bed and went
to my kitchen after throwing on a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt.  I
decided to work off my guilt by starting on my baking early.

I had baked three types of cookies, a cake, muffins for Wednesday's lunch,
cinnamon rolls for tomorrow's breakfast, and was working on kneading the
week's bread, which I usually do on Sunday afternoons.  But I needed to
stay out of my bedroom in case they were going for seconds.  And what made
me truly sad: what if they went for thirds?  Or fourths?  I've learned to
hide how I feel, I always have.  But I have never felt more alone then I
did that night, stupidly doing unimportant work.  Since Toby had come into
my home, my freezer was filled with extra dishes, made while being close to
him working in the kitchen, and I delivered more things then ever to the
shelter.  Is this all that life has in store for me?  Can no one see how
alone I am?  Can no one find it in his heart to see me for who I am and
realize how much I need someone to love me?  I placed the bread in a large
bowl to rise by the oven and cleaned off my counters and washed my hands
furiously, beating myself up for being pathetic and frustrated because I
don't know how to change how I feel or make my own life better.  I escaped
outside to my greenhouse, tending the flowers that would fill my planters
and baskets and beds in the spring and summer.  I always loved it in here.
But tonight it was just one more reminder of how pathetically alone I am.

I went back inside, washing up again, needing to check on my bread dough.
I was just putting the dough into loaf pans and putting them in the oven
when Toby walked in.  He was dressed in boxers, his hair was mussed and he
was slightly sweaty.  I could smell her cloying perfume and the raw, basic
essence of sex on him.  He had come downstairs looking for a snack.  Ever
the dutiful host, I packed a tray for him with sandwiches and fresh cookies
and milk.  He thanked me with one of his warm smiles and headed back to his
room.  When the bread had finished baking and I had resorted all the items
in my refrigerator, I went back to bed, stripping off my clothes and
putting headphones and music on to drown out whatever round the squeaking
bed springs above me happened to announce.  For the first time since my
grandfather's funeral, I cried myself to sleep.

The next day I didn't exactly feel better, but I felt more in control.  I
served Toby and Becca in the dining room.  Just coffee and cinnamon rolls,
but it was the first time I actually gave a meal to Toby in the formal room
except for Wednesday lunches when he would share in the weekly meeting of
my grandfather's cronies.  I took advantage of the opportunity to go up and
clean their room.  It was the only time I actually wished I had someone
else to clean for me.  Not that they trashed it, but the evidence of the
night they had shared was plentiful.  But I opened a window to air it out
and changed the bedding.  I even dumped the trash again to get rid of the
tissue wrapped bundles of used condoms.  Then I tackled the bathroom.  Toby
always kept it simple: one towel and no crap all over the place.  I don't
think Becca could use one towel if she tried and she had lotions and
make-up and junk from one end of the counter to another.  But I cleaned up
around it then went downstairs to see if they needed anything else.

The next night, Toby was down working in the kitchen again as I prepared
for the next day.  It was as if Becca wasn't even there.  And boy did she
pout.  She was absolutely incensed that he didn't stop working and come to
her when she snapped her fingers.  Hell, even I understood what
concentration he put in to every word and sentence.  I never chatted with
him or made him do anything.  I just quietly took care of him so he could
work.  It was all I could do for him when I would have gladly done so much
more.  I was cleaning up the last of the dinner dishes and had made a pot
of coffee for him.  I had filled his carafe and put it in front of him when
he smiled at me.  I just leaned back against the counter and watched him
work for a few minutes, letting the usual flush of arousal wash over me,
feeling myself plump a little.  But after a couple of minutes, I felt a
presence behind me.  I turned to see Becca looking at me.  I could tell by
the predatory gleam she got in her eye that she had my number.  She knew
that I was at least attracted to Toby if not head over heels in love.  She
gave me a smug look and sauntered over to him, wrapping her arms around his
neck and kissing under his ear.  I turned away from it and collected the
kitchen towels, deciding on one more load of laundry.  When I turned
around, Toby was pushing Becca away, telling her 'not now.'  I couldn't
help the slight grin.  You don't bother the man while he's working.  But
she caught it and I could feel the claws come out.  She was pissed.  So I
decided to retreat to the living room and a good book.  She followed.  She
sat across from me, thumbing through a magazine, glaring at me from time to
time.  When the clothes washer was done, I got up to transfer the clothes
to the dryer.  When I headed back into the living room, I noticed my cat
was curling itself around Becca's legs.  Now my cat is used to kids playing
with it and pulling on its tail.  She doesn't mind.  She keeps her claws in
and is a very sweet natured creature.

I saw Becca try to brush the cat away.  When it didn't work, she pulled her
foot back and kicked my cat, hard enough that she lifted off the ground and
flew a few feet.  She landed and scurried off.  I don't like to lose my
temper.  It happens so rarely that when I do lose it, it scares me in its
ferocity.  I walked right up to Becca; I know fire was shooting from my
eyes.  I don't like to use my height or muscular frame to intimidate, but I
did then.  I stood over her and pushed forward and watched her retreat in
fear.

"You are no longer welcome.  Get out of my house."  I was shaking with
rage.  How dare she attack a simple animal, a sweet, gentle cat?  But
inside her was a backbone of steel.  She got right in my face and started
yelling back.

"Who do you think you are?  I don't give a fuck about what you want.  This
is a pretty lame excuse to get me out of here."

"Get out of my house.  I will call the police.  You have ten minutes to get
your things and leave.  NOW!"  My usually soft voice rose to a roar on the
last word and she actually jumped.  She was momentarily cowed, but didn't
stay that way.

"Just because you want him, doesn't mean he will stay if you kick me out.
He will go with me."

"I don't care.  Get out."

"You are so transparent and pathetic.  Don't even bother.  He loves me.
You won't win."

"Becca?"  Toby's voice was very distinct because of its deep baritone.  He
came up to us and I sat down, my fury ebbing and now that the adrenaline
was wearing down, I started to shake.  I hate when I lose control like
that.  I never know how far I will go.  Toby knelt down in front of me.

"Jack, what happened?"

"Toby, he's trying to kick us out."

"Shut up Becca."

"Jack?"

"No one kicks my cat.  I hate losing my temper."

Toby turned from me and towered over Becca.  He told her to go pack her
things.  When she left after a few sputtered arguments, Toby turned to me
and asked if he had to go too.

"I like working here Jack.  I've gotten a lot done.  But I will leave if
you need me too."

I felt myself weaken.  I looked into his eyes and saw the pleading in them.
He really wanted to stay.  And like the lovesick fool I am, I couldn't deny
him anything.  "You don't have to go."  Then I looked away from him.  "If
it would help you work, Becca can stay too."

With that he went upstairs and I went to the kitchen to fold the laundry.
I heard them come down the stairs and out the front door.  After a couple
of minutes, Toby came back inside and sat back down at the kitchen table in
front of his laptop.  I waited for him to say something, anything.

"Toby?"

"Yeah Jack?"

"Where is Becca?"

"On her way back to New York."

"I told you she could stay if you wanted."

He looked up and smiled at me.  "I didn't want her to stay.  She knows I
hate it when she interrupts me.  I can't stand it when she shows up in the
middle of writing."

"But she is your fiancée.  She probably will expect you-"

"Who said she was my fiancée?"

"She did."

"No wonder she was so pissed when I sent her away.  She has been trying to
get me to ask her for a couple of months now.  I told her it was just
casual."

I actually smiled at that.  I left Toby alone at the table to continue
working, refilling his carafe with fresh coffee and leaving a plate of
cookies within reach.  I turned in and actually slept better than I had in
a good long time.

His work progressed over the next few weeks as spring arrived.  I started
getting more and more guests and Toby actually would talk with them and
joke around, signing copies of his books and generally enjoying meeting a
wide variety of people.  He told me it was what helped him create
characters, the social interaction.  One night I was babysitting for some
of my guests when Toby joined me in playing and entertaining the
three-year-old.  I actually had a lot of fun.  The next day I was planting
flowers in the bed lining my driveway and walkways.  Toby helped me.  We
worked for a couple of hours in companionable silence.  I really was going
to miss him when he finished his book.

One of my regulars, Mrs. Stein, came for her yearly visit during the first
week of April.  After dinner one night, I served her a cup of tea in the
study across the hall from Toby's room and she asked that I join her for a
minute.  We were sitting, talking about the weather and other generalities
when she asked me a question that just floored me.

"How long have you been in love with Toby?"

I stammered for a minute then answered truthfully.  "From the first day."

"Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Probably not."

Just then, I saw Toby standing in his doorway, looking shocked.  Mrs. Stein
stood up and kissed my cheek before walking past Toby to her room.  I just
sat there, knowing my face was on fire.  I couldn't meet his eyes.  But I
saw his feet as he moved closer.  He knelt in front of me.

"Why didn't you say anything Jack?"

I still couldn't look at him.  "After the few days with Becca, I knew you
weren't interested.  Sometimes it's better to never know.  You know?"

"No, Jack, I don't know."

I looked up at him then, his answer was curious.  There was actually
something interesting in his eyes.  My limited experience not withstanding,
I could have sworn it was desire.  Just that simple, fiery look had me
trembling and hard.  Hope flared up inside me.  And it burst out all
through me when he lowered his lips to mine and brushed against them for a
minute.  Then he deepened his kiss, begging me to join his motions.  And I
did.  I moved my tongue against his, playing and dodging, enjoying this
simple contact more than all my other previous experiences combined.  Then
he was pulling me up, taking me by the hand into his room, shutting and
locking his door.  He pulled me to his bed and pushed me down, removing my
shirt as he went.  He paused and grinned at me.

"You look like a teddy bear Jack."  It was probably true; my chest was
covered in a thick pelt of downy, curly golden hair.  Then he reached out
and touched it, running his fingers through it, sifting and tugging gently
at it.  I was so hard I cried out from the pleasure/pain of it.  He ripped
off his shirt and shucked his pants, standing before me in tented knit
boxers.  He was hard and he was hard for me.  He reached down and undid the
snaps of my jeans, pulling them off me with a quick tug.  Then he grabbed
the hem of my briefs and I lost those as well.  Then his mouth engulfed me.
His tongue laved me.  And his lips made love to my swollen shaft.  I was in
heaven.  But it had been so long that three or four bobs of his head had me
exploding in release, filling his mouth with my semen.  He pulled back and
smacked his lips and grinned.

"You taste good Jack.  It's been a while since I did it.  Didn't know if I
would remember how."

"You've been with a guy before?"

"Sure.  A couple of them."

"Oh.  I've been with one."

"How long ago?"

I was ashamed, but I wasn't about to lie.  "Four years."

"It has been a long time for you.  But I expect a fully equal partnership."

"What do you mean?"

"I hate the roles.  Top, bottom, it doesn't matter to me.  I want it all
and I won't accept less.  If you like one more than the other, that's fine,
but I want to play both from time to time."

I actually grinned.  "So which do you want to play now?"

With that he dropped his boxers and I saw all of him.  His shaft was so
thick.  He didn't have a drop of fat on him, except for that beautiful
cock.  It was a truly fat piece of meat.  Long, but not as long as mine,
and straight, and so hard it pointed to the ceiling.  He started kissing me
again.  Then he lay completely on top of me, pressing his chest to mine and
rubbing his aroused cock into my belly gently.  Every move he made from
that point forward was gentle and kind.  He seemed to sense that I needed
him to be slow, that I wanted to savor each moment.  He didn't disappoint.
He rolled with me, gently rocking his body into mine.  Then he started
kissing and biting at my nipples, nipping the sensitive skin at the hollow
of my throat.  He reached over to the table by the bed and fumbled for a
tube of lubricant.  Then he smeared some on his fingers and touched me.  I
arched my back and moaned.  It had been so long.  Then he swirled around my
flesh, teasing and testing the give of the sensitive ring.  After a couple
of minutes, he pushed into me with one finger which was followed quickly by
a second, then third.  After a few minutes of his ministrations, he pulled
back and added some lube to his cock before spreading my knees wide and
testing me with his shaft, pushing in slightly, testing the waters.  I
parted for him, willing my body to accept all of him.  He rocked into me, a
few shallow thrusts taking him deeper and deeper until he was completely
inside me.  He waited like a patient groom with his virgin bride, willing
me to gentle and calm before ravishing me.  It didn't take long for me to
adjust, feeling myself accept him, open to him, grip him in eager passion.
Then he began to move.  Long, slow strokes had me feeling each divine
millimeter of that fat cock against my ring, feeling the divine pressure
against my prostate, and feeling more full than I had ever felt before.
The pleasure had me pulling, meeting, and writhing in joy.  I met each of
his lunges and moved towards my own pleasure, trying to wring his from him.
I felt Toby thicken, the pressure increased and I felt my own orgasm
approach.  Just a few more thrusts and I would be there, releasing in
ecstatic spasms.  Three, four, five thrusts and I spurt against him,
calling out his name.  In the heated moments that followed, as he found his
own pleasure, I murmured the words of my heart and told him I loved him.
His answer was a long, slow kiss.

We traded back and forth that night, forgetting roles and switching back
and forth with ease.  We must have made love ten times that first night and
each time got better and better as we learned the triggers that brought on
the extra pleasures.  Toby loved to have his back scratched lightly, he
actually moaned when I rubbed between his shoulder blades.  He loved to
have his nipples pinched.  He found extreme sensation when I would take him
in my mouth when I had an ice cube in it.  All the little things that you
find in that first heated rush of aroused desire we learned those first few
days.  It was heaven.  I still helped him when he needed it for his book.
We would go on day trips to a museum or a shop, perhaps the boardwalk in
Seaside.  Then we would go home and retire to bed for a few hours.  In the
morning, in the evening, and sometimes in the middle of the day, when the
passion arose in either of us, we dropped everything and appeased it.  I
would have been embarrassed, but I was having too much fun.

After a couple of weeks, Toby hunkered down when he figured out a scene
that he got really into.  During that time, I was sort of ignored and I
reverted back to the caregiver role that I had played from the start.  I
didn't mind.  He worked almost non-stop for three days, only pausing to eat
when I put food before him and sleep for a couple of hours when he was too
tired to continue.  But when he saved the file and closed the laptop at the
end of the third day, he lifted his eyes to me and gave me a truly wicked
grin.

I decided since I had been ignored, I would get to play with him that
evening and set the rules.  I led him to my room where I had made a couple
of preparations.  I had Toby remove his clothes and lie back on the bed.  I
took a red silk scarf and used it as a blindfold for him.  I had him raise
his arms above his head and lock his hands together.  Then I went out to
the kitchen to heat some massage oil.  When I came back, I had to catch my
breath.  He was lying with his arms raised and the sight of him in nothing
but that red blindfold nearly had me undone.  He was beautiful and the deep
red of the sash matched his dark hair and complexion perfectly.  He was
fully aroused and pointing to the ceiling as I sat on the bed beside him.
I trailed my hand over his legs then belly, watching as goose bumps erupted
wherever my hand had trailed.  Then I poured a dollop of the massage oil in
my palm and rubbed my hands together, spreading the oil evenly.  I moved to
his foot and started a slow, sensual massage of his body.  My goal was to
relax and arouse Toby to the point of madness.  I rubbed his arch and
between his toes, cupped and pressed into his heel before moving up to his
calf, knee, and thigh.  Then I did the other foot and leg.  Then I moved on
to one arm, then the other.  Then I ground oil into his chest, pinching and
tweaking each nipple.  Toby lay before me, panting and writhing in
pleasure, letting out gasps and slight moans, indicating his approval.
When I got to his belly, he had a slight pool of clear essence that had
dribbled from him.  I rubbed and stroked his belly, finding yet another
secret erogenous place on his body.  He was begging by this time, his cock
a deep, angry purple.  I took him in my hand and stroked three times before
he spurted.  I watched his cum shoot up his chest, across his chin, and
then drool onto his belly.  When he had calmed, he moved to remove the
blindfold, but I stayed his hands.  I lifted his legs to drape over my
thighs as I poured more of the massage oil on my swollen cock before
sliding deep within him.  I kept moving with great speed, lost in the
sensations of Toby surrounding me.  Overwhelmed by the love I felt for him
and the joy of the trust he had placed in my hands by remaining
blindfolded, it didn't take me long to find my own release, pushing deep
within him for my final plunge.  I hit something inside Toby and he grunted
with a second release, scant minutes after his first.

It had been an ideal couple of months.  We spent a great many hours lying
in bed, loving each other, holding each other.  We have made love in my
room and in his.  We even made love one time against my kitchen counter and
even in the dune grass by the gazebo at the edge of my property.  I told
him I loved him and often.  But he never returned the feelings.  He was
affectionate and very caring.  But he never said those three simple words.
Then one day he told me his book was done and he asked me to read it.

I sat in my room and tried to go slow, wanting to draw out and savor each
word, knowing that when I was done, Toby would soon leave.  But his book
was too good.  I finished in just over five hours, devouring each and every
word.  I was moved and touched by what he wrote.  It was almost the end of
the book before I realized that he had turned me into one of the
characters.  The female detective, one of the minor characters from his
last book, had come to Oregon to heal from her injuries.  She stayed at a
little inn along the coast and was nursed and loved back to health by a
kind, warm, gentle man.  It filled my heart to know that Toby really saw
me, the person I feel I really am.  I put down the last page, thrilled by
the whole experience and went to find him.

I found him lying in his bed, asleep, facing away from me.  I slipped off
my clothes and slipped into bed with him.  I pulled his warm body flush
with mine.  His back rested fully against my chest and I wrapped my arm
around him, squeezing him to me.  Then I started kissing his neck and
nibbling on his ear.  I was hard and thrusting lightly into his crack,
gently masturbating myself into his willing flesh.  I ran my arm down his
furry belly and felt him standing hard and leaking against his belly
button.  I grasped him and stroked him slowly but hard.  I nudged a leg
between his thighs, lifting and separating his ass just enough that I could
find him with my cock.  I pushed into him slightly and rocked slowly into
him fully, all the while kissing and biting at his neck and shoulder.
Toby's arm came up and he cupped my face as I continued to rock gently into
him.  I shifted slightly and pushed hard into him and felt his entire body
shudder, his moan loud and low and deep.  I kept moving into him, deep and
hard, pulsing with pleasure, throbbing deep inside him with every beat of
my heart.  As I had noticed before, our hearts beat at the same rate and I
could feel them sync up, pulsing through us at the same time.  Each tense
of my body had him shiver and groan.  Each thrust had me gasping in
ecstasy.  Then I felt him thicken and get harder in my hand.  I moved my
fist up and explored the flared ridge of his head and sense the slit open,
readying to expel his essence.  Then he cried out and I felt the muscles
deep inside pulse and then his cock twitched in time to the jetting of his
semen.  Six, seven, eight heavy pulses and then he relaxed, limp from the
pleasure.  I sped up, giving myself the added tempo in order to trip and
join him in sated bliss.  When I came, I knew it would probably be the last
time I was going to be with him and it made the strong, intense spasms
poignant as well as earth shattering.  As I felt my body calm, relax and
soften from my efforts, I slipped out of him and pulled him even tighter to
my body, hoping for just a few more hours of having my love sleep in my
arms, before they became empty forever.

The next day I knew our time was drawing to a close.  He spent a long time
on the phone with his editor, discussing his new book and the book signing
for his latest, just published opus.  I steeled myself for the coming few
days, willing myself to put up as good a front as I could.  Wanting Toby to
only look back on our time together with pleasure and never regret or
guilt, I vowed to smile when I sent him off, back to his world.  He found
me in the kitchen and told me he would leave the following morning for New
York.  I don't know how I kept from crumpling to the ground in pain, but I
stayed standing, with a slight smile on my face.  I just nodded and then
thanked the stars for the sound of my oven timer going off.  After I had
pulled out my latest batch of cookies, I turned back to Toby.

"You could come with me, Jack."

I smiled though it hurt so much.  "I can't during the summer.  Maybe for a
few months in the winter, or a week or two in October, but I can't get away
now."

I wanted to ask him to stay, offering him a safe harbor to work, a
companion to travel with for research during the long, lonely winters.  I
didn't make the offer though.  Perhaps I had too much pride.  Perhaps I was
too afraid that the answer would be no.  I do have some sense of
self-preservation.  Twenty-six years of shyness does provide a few defenses
for my psyche.

We spent the night together in my room.  Our frenzied coupling was almost
desperate in our need to be together.  I used every touch and caress, every
kiss and moan as a beacon to remember him by, knowing that I would probably
need the memories to survive the cold of winter.  Eventually we slept,
holding almost fiercely to each other, as if we were both loath to let the
other go.  I awoke before the dawn, watching the sky lighten and define the
features of his face, using the last opportunity to see him, knowing that
the moment he left would probably kill me.

His flight was scheduled to leave Portland at three.  It takes an hour to
get to the airport.  He left just before lunch.  I helped him pack; looking
in the drawers and shelves of his armoire for any last items he might have
missed.  When the last of his suitcases were locked, I helped him carry
them to his car.  He kissed my cheek before heading to his door.  But I
couldn't end it like this.

"If you ever happen to be back in the area.  You are always welcome, Toby."

"Even in your bed?"  It stung a little, to swallow my pride.  But I looked
down for a second before looking him straight in the eyes then nodded.
After a few seconds, he was gone.

I walked back inside, feeling hollow and brittle.  I had a feeling I would
break at any moment.  But I didn't.  I spent the rest of the day cleaning
rooms, doing laundry, cooking up the usual storm for the shelter, talking
with and helping the guests: anything to put the gaping hole in my heart
out of my mind or at least to the back of it.  I didn't sleep that night,
didn't even try.  The next day I worked in the garden.  I planted every
plant I had.  Every pot and planter I had for the entire house was filled
to overflowing with flowers and herbs.  The house was covered in a
profusion of color and scents.  I put flowers in each room and draped the
dining room in colorful blooms.  And that night I didn't sleep.  The next
day I knew I had put it off long enough.  I needed to clean his room.  I
needed to change the bedding and do what was necessary to let someone else
use the room.  It took a good hour before I could garner the courage to go
upstairs.  But I did.  I opened the door and saw the rumpled sheets on the
bed and the used towel lying on the bathroom floor.  I sank down on the bed
and pulled his pillow into my lap, hugging it to me, sniffing it lightly,
and breathing in his scent.  I don't know how long I sat there, feeling my
chest tighten with the loss and pain I was feeling.  I hadn't cried since
he left and I vowed not to now.  I lost focus in my eyes and held on
tighter to the pillow, letting its slight fragrance brush through me.

"You fake!"  I looked up to catch a vision of Toby standing in the door.
All my resolve to not cry fled as my vision blurred with the welling tears.

"Sending me away, letting me think everything was fine.  You big fake!"
His voice washed over me, making the pain even greater.  "You made me think
that you didn't care, Jack.  Letting me believe that your heart wasn't
breaking.  That you weren't dying inside slowly.  That your chest hurt so
bad it hurt to even breath."  His voice broke.  "Just like mine did, from
the moment I drove away."

I blinked hard and Toby came into focus.  He had tears streaming down his
face.  He dropped to his knees in front of me and grabbed me hard before
kissing me.  It was a wet, sloppy kiss, filled with taste and texture, love
and hurt, tears and moans.  We continued to kiss as he pulled me down to
the floor with him.  He rolled me to my back and wedged his leg between
mine, thrusting his hips hard into me, letting me feel how hard he was.  He
kept rubbing into me, and I could do nothing but meet him.  We were too
desperate to remove our clothes.  We kept kissing and writhing against each
other, moaning deep in our chests as first he, then I found release.  We
kept kissing and crying for a few minutes.  Then he pulled up and looked in
my face.

"Don't ever send me away again.  It damn near killed me."

"Never.  I never wanted you to go."

"I love you Jack."

"I love you too, Toby."

I look back on that afternoon in the upstairs bedroom and smile.  And as I
lie here, holding Toby, looking out the curtains at the lightening dawn I
can look back and wonder.  It's not that he takes me places to research his
books.  It's not that he spends the summer writing and helping me care for
my guests.  It's not that he is starting to get a little bald spot at the
crown of his head (which he fiercely denies).  It's not that he wears his
glasses all the time now.  It's not that he is starting to silver at the
temples or that his chest is more salt and pepper then pepper now.  It's
not that he dedicates every new book to me.  It's not that he has put on
ten pounds and blames my cooking on it.  It's not that he makes love to me
every night and each morning, sometimes even in the middle of the day.
It's not his smile even though it causes my heart to race when it is sent
my way.  It's not his eyes or his hands or his caring, wonderful nature.
It's not any one thing.  I just love him.  And it's true.  I do.  For
twenty-two summers and twenty-two winters.  For each heartache and every
triumph I love him.

So as the dawn purples, then grays, I pull him closer against my chest.  I
lift his leg over my own and part him, sliding in easily, feeling the
remnants of last night's lovemaking, knowing that if our position were
reversed, he would find the same in me.  So I slid home, pushing into him,
feeling him waken and grip me.  As I moved, he kept gripping and squeezing
me, murmuring words of love and encouragement.  And I kept moving, feeling
his chest and belly, the smattering of hair, the smooth, warm skin, and the
hard, muscular planes.  I kept moving as the sky lightened as if waiting
for us to find our pleasure before the sun broke out over the horizon.  As
the time progressed and Toby got closer and closer to his release, his
words of encouragement became filthy, raw suggestions that pushed me
higher, causing me to teeter over the edge, taking him with me just as the
sun pierced the horizon, bathing us in its warm, heavenly glow.  As our
bodies calmed, I just wondered at nature's beauty spread out before us.  I
knew that we had many more years ahead of us, knowing we had countless
mornings that we would wake each other with passion.  But each time felt
like the first, the most important, and the best.