Date: Tue, 19 Oct 2004 19:58:11 -0400
From: jaylovenj@comcast.net
Subject: FOUR BECOMES TWO CHAPS 12 - 14

This is the ultimate story of two men, Dave and Greg. Two men who
discover a passion for each other, despite their current heterosexual
relationships. If you find a story involving same sex partners not to
your liking, or if you are not of legal age in the area in which you
reside, please leave now. If this is what you're looking for in
entertainment, please enjoy. Remember, the characters and situations are
alive only in my imagination, and any resemblance to any person, living
or dead, is totally coincidental.

As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better
writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to
hearing from you.

Four Become Two: Chapter 12

"I can't believe you're a fucking faggot, too!"

            "Huh?" I say, turning as I approached my car. Suddenly,
there is a deafening noise and searing pain as my head explodes. My
stomach lurches as I feel nausea overtaking me. Before the bile could
rise in my throat, another contact is made as the perpetrator assaults my
body. I struggle to see who is my attacker, but my head is reeling from
the first hit.

            I'm thrown back against my car, my fall causing me to break
my wrist as I feel the snap. I holler again with pain, but even the
shrill of my cry is muffled to my ears. I roll in a ball, hoping to
protect myself with the car.

            "I hope you die, faggot," my perpetrator says, before he
kicks me in the kidneys and runs off.

            "Dave!" Pounding footsteps coming towards me is the last I
hear as I slip into unconsciousness.

            I regained consciousness for a short while as I was wheeled
into the emergency room. I could sense that I was in a hospital by the
smell, and the sterile appearance of the ceiling above.

            "What do we have here," I hear someone say. I am trying
desperately to focus, as everything in my head seems to have shut down.

            "Beating victim, apparent broken wrist, multiple contusions,
seems to have taken a severe blow to the head. BP 60 over 80, shallow
breaths." What are they doing? Oh, shit! Do they know this is a two
thousand dollar Armani suit they're cutting?

            "Incubate. Start an IV drip, 0.5 saline solutions. Cross and
match, hang two bottles O-Negative. And get x-ray down here, now! Stay
that! Let's get a CAT on him." I feel myself being wheeled down a
corridor. Someone briefly grabs at my hand. Why can't I speak?

            My body feels cold as I am placed on the bed for the CAT
scan. I can feel goose pimples forming. I try to signal to someone that I
am cold, but I can't make a sound.

            "All right," a voice says, "let's get him prepped for
surgery."

            Prepped for surgery? How long was I out?

            My head is throbbing.


****************************************************************************

            "Greg, what happened?" Shelia and Annette came bounding
into the waiting room. I called Annette to tell her what had happened.
She must have called Shelia.

            "Dave was beat up. He's in surgery now. He looked awful,
Shelia," I begin to sob.

            "Hey, now. Calm down. He's going to be alright," Annette
interjects.

            "Who? Why?" Shelia asks.

            "I don't know. We were in the bar, down the street from
where he works. I--he--left! We sort of had an argument, and he stormed
out. I took care of the check, and ran after him. When I got to him, he
was all balled up, bleeding, his face and head all cut up and
bloody...moaning, in deep pain."

            "What were you arguing about, Greg?" Shelia asks.

            "What do you think, Shelia? I told him he was being a jerk
treating you this way, and he told me to fuck off!"

            "Oh!"

            "Can I get anybody any coffee?" Annette wants to know.

            Two uniformed officers approach the waiting area. "Mr.
Jefferson? Gregory Jefferson?" one of them calls.

            "Here I am, Officer. What can I do for you?"

            "We understand that you were with Mr. Welsh when he was
attacked. We'd like to ask you a few questions for our report. These are
only preliminary; the detectives will be by later."

            "Sure Officers. I don't know how much information I can
give you. Everything was pretty much over by the time I arrived."

            "Are you acquainted with the victim, David Welsh?"

            "Yes. I've known the victim--Dave--for about six months
now. He was dating a mutual friend of my lady friend, and we became
friends through their association."

            "Do you know his occupation?"

            "Yes, he's an attorney."

            "Oh? Did he mention any problems that he was having at
work?"

            "He wasn't a criminal attorney. He works on Third Avenue,
near 59th Street. He's with Mason, Goldberg, & Wilson, Esq. I'm sure
this wasn't related to his job, or any case that he may have been
working."

            "Did he live here in the city?"

            "Yes, on East 92nd Street."

            "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

            "Well, I don't know what happened, but I'll tell you what
I do know." I began to relate to the officers what information I did
have, answering questions as they were presented. They made some notes,
and seemed satisfied. They said once again that some detectives will be
calling upon me to continue with the investigation. Then they left.

            By this time, Annette had returned with the coffee. "It's
as if someone was lying in wait for him," she considers aloud.

            It had been painful for me to remember the conversation that
Dave and I had regarding Shelia, especially when Shelia was there. Of
course, I didn't give the police officers all of the details. I very
well couldn't tell them that Dave and I had been sleeping together.
Therefore, I let Shelia hear the harsh reality of their existence.

            "I'm going home."

            "Shelia, don't leave," Annette says.

            "Annette, there's no reason for me to be here. You stay.
Stay here with Greg, if you want. Apparently, Dave has decided that we
were a mistake, and he doesn't want me anymore. I'm sure not going to
stay here and be humiliated any further."

            "I'm sure he didn't mean any of that. I saw the way he
looked at you. That man loves you. Tell her honey," Shelia say,
addressing the last statement to me.

            "Annette, I think that you and I should stay out of this.
Look at what happened already. I kept Dave in that neighborhood, instead
of letting him leave, and he ended up here. Interfering never helps."

            "Greg that's ridiculous!" Annette retorts. "This--this
might have happened even if you had not stopped to speak with Greg.
Don't go blaming yourself for this."

            "She's right, Greg. This is not your fault. But just the
same, I'm leaving. Annette, call me, if anything changes."

            "Annette, honey, go with Shelia. Make sure she's all right.
I'll call when he gets out of surgery, or if there's any news before
then."

            "Okay. Call when you know something."

            "I will." I give her a quick peck on the cheek as she grabs
her gear, and scurries after Shelia.

*******************************************************************************
**********

            "I don't know what it is, Annette." The girls are sitting
on the sofa in Shelia's apartment. "I've tried to figure this out.
Greg and I were so happy. I was hoping he was going to ask me to marry
him, but you know how that turned out. What did I do wrong?"

            "You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie. Dave is just going
through something right now. Greg doesn't even have a clue. We just have
to give him time. You have invested too much time in this relationship to
give up on him now. He'll come around, you'll see."

            "I hope you're right. I still love him." She begins to
sob.

            "Aw, come here."

*******************************************************************************
**********

            "Are you here for Mr. Welsh?" a scrub-clad doctor asks,
waking me from the nap I was taking.

            "Yes. Yes Doctor. I'm sorry. I must have dozed off. How's
Dave?"

            "Understandable. Mr. Welsh sustained multiple bruising and
contusions, along with a broken wrist and two broken ribs. We had to
remove his spleen, and repair a nick in his esophagus. There is some
swelling on the left side of his brain, and his kidneys are bruised. He
is in serious condition right now, and frankly, the next twenty-four
hours are critical. Our main concern is the head injury. We've given him
something for the swelling--a new drug that has had some great results.

            If he awakens within the next few hours, we'll be happy.

            Right now, he's being moved to ICU. Does he have any
family?"

            "Not here--in the city, I mean."

            "Well, I suggest that you contact them, if you can."

            "May I see him?"

            "You're not family, are you?"

            "No, but I'm his best friend. I have to see him," I say,
becoming somewhat hysterical.

            "Alright," the doctor says. "This is highly irregular, but
a friendly voice sometimes works wonders. He looks worse than he is.
There are a lot of tubes and monitors hooked up to him. The worse is the
bruising, so brace yourself."

            "Thank you, Doctor."

            "He's on the fifth floor. I'll alert the charge nurse that
you'll be coming. But, sit here and pull yourself together before you go
in. He doesn't need to feel the anguish that you're exhibiting."



            The beep of the monitors and the wheezing sound of the
respirator assaulted my hearing as I stepped into the cubicle that was
Dave's area. There were only two other patients in the ward, and their
lifeline instruments were playing a symphony with his.

            He looked so pale lying there, IVs hooked up to his arm, a
tube going down his throat. His head was bandaged, as was his ribs, and
you could see the swelling and the discoloration of the skin.

            There was swelling around the eye, giving him one of the
biggest shiners that I had seen in a long time. Wires were draped all
over him, sending readings to this monitor and that monitor.

            A tear fell from my eye as I surveyed him. "Who would do
this?" I said aloud. I moved closer to the bed, and looking around, I
placed a kiss upon his lips.

            "Dave? Dave? It's me baby, Greg. Please wake up. Please.
I'm so sorry. I should have been with you. Why? Why would anyone want to
do this to you? You are so sweet, so gentle. So loving. Why? You've got
to get better. Fight, Dave. You've got to fight. You've got to come
back--to me. I love you Dave. Don't leave me--not like this. Please."

            I begin to softly sob, pain and guilt wracking my body as I
look at him.

            "You love him, don't you?" a voice asks.

            I turn to look, and there is this older woman sitting quietly
in a chair that I had not noticed before.

            "I don't mean to intrude, but it's quite obvious the way
you feel for him."

            I jump up, startled by the voice. "I--uh--I--he's a
friend."

            "I'm sorry for surprising you, and you don't have to
apologize. It's just that when you see someone who's suffering..."

            "No. I'm the one that's sorry. It's that obvious? We
had--broken up--and now he's here, and I said some things and he said
some things, and now I might not get the chance to say I'm sorry, and
those were the last words..."

            "You don't have anything to be sorry about. My name is Amy
Carlton, and I'm here with my son. He was in a car accident. Pretty bad,
but he's going to make it; I know it!"

            I smile at her enthusiasm. "And I know your friend will
too."

            "Sir, you'll have to leave now," the charge nurse
whispers. "You can come back tomorrow. Maybe his condition will have
improved by then."

            "But he doesn't have anyone here for him," I counter.

            "Sir, if there's any change, we'll call. Now why don't
you go home and get cleaned up and get some rest. We'll take good care
of Mr. Wilkes. I promise."

            "She's right, young man. Go on home, and get some rest.
Your friend is going to need all the strength you have in the next few
weeks and months."

            "I will be back as soon as I can, Dave. You are not alone in
this, know that. I--I love you."





Four Become Two: Chapter 13

Greg is the narrator:

            "Hi ya, Doc," I say, getting off the elevator. "How's our
boy doing today?"

            "Oh, hi Mr. Jefferson...Greg. Mr. Walsh is coming along
nicely. I've just upgraded his condition once again. I can now say that
he is in stable condition."

            "That's real good news, Doc. Real good. Has he awakened?"

            "No! We still have him in the drug-induced coma. His body
needs the rest. But I am going to start bringing him out. I want him to
wake up naturally, so, he'll still be slipping in and out for the next
couple of days. He'll have more periods of sleep than he will be awake.
Why don't you go in and keep him company."

            I enter Dave's room. He's been flooded once again with
teddy bears, cards, and flowers from his friends and colleagues. I make a
mental note to get the nurses to distribute a goodly portion to others on
the floor.

            "Hi ya, Big Guy. You're looking a lot better tonight. As a
matter-of-fact, you're looking better everyday. If you keep this up,
you'll be going home soon.

            They're finally starting to clear the streets from that last
snowstorm we had. I can't believe this city sometimes. Live in
Manhattan, and you can get around. Live in the Boros, and you get shit. I
hope you don't mind, but I've been staying at your place for the last
couple of weeks. It didn't make sense for me to leave here, go by there,
and then head out to Queens.

            Annette came by this afternoon. She told me that you were
looking better, but I had to check for myself. She and Shelia have
another big case. They are going to be representing Travis Hewlett. He's
that guy from Malestrom that was indicted on 45-counts of mail fraud.
Annette says that Shelia has really thrown herself into this one. She is
still trying to get over you. I can understand that.

            The Doc said that you would be waking up soon. I sure hope
so. It's been over a month now since I've seen your beautiful green
eyes.

I was so scared for you...I was so scared for me, too. I thought that I
had lost you--forever!" Greg begins to softly sob. "I don't know what
I'm doing anymore. I feel so guilty. If I had just let you go. I didn't
come to talk to you about Shelia, I, I wanted...to see you again.

I've got to go now. I'll be back tomorrow. You have a good night."

I leave the room, drying my eyes before someone sees me. I move to the
elevator, and am just about to step on when Shelia emerges.

"Greg?"

"Oh, hi Shelia. You here to visit Greg? That's a dumb question. What
else would you be doing here?"

"How's he doing?"

"He's coming along. I saw his doctor. He said that he was upgrading his
condition to stable, and he is going to start bringing him around. He
should be awake in a couple of days."

"That's real good news..." she says, pausing in thought.

"What's up with you, Shelia?"

"Greg, can we go for a cup of coffee and talk?"

"Sure."

"OK. Just let me peep in on him for a couple of minutes. I'll be right
back."



"I can't do this anymore, Greg. I--I don't think I'm coming back."

"Shelia, what are you talking about?"

"I--I am going to leave Dave alone. You know that Annette and I got the
Malestrom case," she rushes on. "Well, it's gonna require that one of
us be in Texas for a while, doing the research, repping the clients,
doing a little investigating; you know the drill. Well, it's going to be
me. I've decided that I am going to go."

"But what about Dave? He really needs all of us."

"Face it! He had dumped me. He didn't want me anymore. The funny thing
is my mother...my mother always said that I was playing with fire by not
marrying him earlier when he asked. Maybe I pushed him away one too many
times."

There is such sadness in her voice. It's really breaking my heart to see
her so sad and knowing the real reason behind Dave's decision.

"He didn't really mean it," I weakly offer.

"Yes. Yes he did. I saw it in his eyes. He doesn't love me--anymore.
Maybe he never did. Maybe we were just fooling ourselves. I realize, now,
that he was just being honest, with me, and with himself."

"Shelia..." I say, the words choking in my throat.

"It's okay, Greg. I'm okay," she chuckles. "I just had to get over
myself. That was a little hard to do, but I did it, and I'll survive."

I look at her long and hard. "You are alright, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. That's what I had to tell Dave tonight. Doctors say that
comatose patients understand their surroundings. I hope so. I think Dave
understood what I was saying. He seemed so much more peaceful when I
left. I just wanted you to know. Thanks for listening. You've been a
good friend, especially through all this." She stands, bends down and
kisses my forehead, and walks away.





"Doc! Hey Doc!" I yell, seeing Dr. Wetzel in the parking lot a couple
days later.

"Mr....Greg," he says as Annette and I catch up to him.

"Dr. Wetzel, my friend, Annette Golden. Annette, this is Dr. Wetzel,
Dave's attending physician."

They exchange pleasantries.

"I have some good news for the two of you. Your friend has been moved to
his own room. He regained consciousness very early this morning, and has
been showing major improvements all day. He's even gained some mobility
with his upper limbs. Barring any complications within the next couple of
days, he will be moved to a rehab center the beginning of next week."

"Don't you think that's a little soon?" I ask.

"On the contrary. He hasn't been up and about now for six weeks, so the
sooner he is in a rehab facility the better."

"I see what you mean. Well, thanks Doc. Are you out of here for the
evening?

"No, I'm just going out for a little while. I'll be back."

"Okay, maybe I'll see you before you leave."

"Oh, just want to warn you. Mr. Walsh can't speak--yet. His throat is
sore. You know, the respirator." We nod our understanding, and make our
way inside.



"Hello, Dave," Annette says, as we enter his room. "How are you
feeling?" Annette continues with her rambling. I haven't spoke yet, and
I can feel Dave staring at me. "You're looking a lot better. You really
gave us a scare."

"Yeah, Dave, you are looking better. We were so scared that we were
going to lose you. I know you can't speak right now, we saw your doctor
in the parking lot. He says they are going to be moving you to a rehab
center next week. That's real good news. You'll be up and around before
you know it."

"Dave, just nod your head," Shelia begins. "Do you know who did this
to you? Do you have any idea why?"

Dave nods his head no.

"Well, I'm sure the detectives will be in to see you soon, now that
you're awake." She rambles on for a few more minutes. "Well, I'm
gonna go now, but Greg is gonna stay. I'm working on a brief that I have
to have by next Monday. Being a lawyer, I know you understand. I'm just
so happy that you are awake. I'll be sure to tell Shelia when I speak
with her. She's in Dallas."

"Annette, honey, why don't you get going. You have so much to do. Are
you sure you don't want to take my car?"

"Ill just take the subway. I'll be okay. It'll probably be faster than
driving, anyhow." She places a kiss on Dave's cheek, and then one on
mine.

"I'll see you guys later." And she was gone.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask, coming up beside his bed. How about
some water?" I pour him a glass, and place the straw between his lips.
"You're probably somewhat dehydrated...Take your time...Oh, you were
thirsty...More?"

I sit down in the chair at his bedside. I notice his hands and arms are a
little dry, so I get the bottle of lotion, and pour some in my hand. I
begin to rub it into his skin.

"Why?" a weak, raspy voice asks.

I stop cold what I'm doing. "Your skin is a little dry, and pale too, I
might add. Can't wait to get you out in the sun." I'm clearly avoiding
answering the question.

"Why?" once again Dave asks, with great difficulty.

I sit back down in the chair, taking his right hand in mine. I can feel
him trying to pull away, but I hold on.

"I thought I'd never see you again. I was so scared, Dave. When I saw
you lying on that parking lot floor..." I begin to sob.

"It's been hell, Dave. I've been living in hell. I'm not as strong as
you. I don't know how to end it with Annette. You'll be happy to know
that I haven't slept with her, not since this has happened.

I thought I was going to lose you, that I'd never have another chance.
I've been such an ass," he sobs.

"Greg,,,Don't..."

Attention all guests. It is now 8 p.m. Visiting hours are now over. The
announcement over the speaker interrupts.

"Look, I've got to go. We don't have the same luxury that we had when
you were in ICU. You have a good nights rest. I'll see you tomorrow
after work." I give his hand an affectionate squeeze and head for the
door.





Four Become Two: Chapter 14

Dave is once again narrating:

    It had been a long difficult three months at the nursing home. I had
to relearn just about everything. I was still having difficulty with my
speech. That why it's been very difficult to tell Greg that things
aren't great between us. I have such a difficult time forming the words.

    It's very frustrating because I can form the words and phrases in my
mind, but I can't seem to get them to the surface.

    I must admit Greg has been wonderful to me. He has been my constant
companion since I've been allowed to come home. He's even started to
work from here so that he can be at my beck and call. I try not to take
advantage of him, since I don't want to become dependent upon him. I'm
trying not to lead him on, since I know that there is no chance for us to
have a relationship. Not that that is what I want, but his earlier
actions have made it very clear.

    "What are you doing out of bed?" he asks, as I come into my living
room where he has set up a corner workstation.

    "Thought I'd...change...scenery," I say in broken English.
"Room...getting...claus-...claus-...small."

    "How about some lunch? Some crème of broccoli soup?" My jaw will
still be wired for another week.

    "Really could go for Ro' Beef," I smile.

    He heads off towards the kitchen as the doorbell chimes. "I got
it," he says. Turning, he opens the door. "Yes, may I help you?"

    "I'm Jeffrey Welsh...."

    "Dave's brother? Come on in. I'm Greg. Greg Jefferson. I'm
staying with Greg while he recoups."

    "Jeffy!" I say, as my younger brother comes into the room.

    "Damn, Bro!" he exclaims, "What the fuck happened to you?"

    "He was attacked...seven months ago," Greg answers.

    "Attacked? Why didn't someone contact me?"

    "No one knew how," Greg answers. "From what we could learn, you
were in Europe."

    "I...here...you know!" I interject, as they talk around me.
"Talk...to...me!"

    "We're sorry, Dave," Greg apologizes.

    "Yeah, sorry, Dave. So, do you know who did this?"

     "Not yet. Police...looking. Not...yet."

    "I was just about to fix us some lunch. Can I get you something,
Jeff?"

    "Thanks, but I've eaten." Greg heads off into the kitchen.

    "How long you here?"

    "Couple days. Got to get back to school. Do Mom and Dad know?"

     "Yeah. Came when in hospital. Sent home. Mom pain in the..."

    "Tell me about it. But, she loves us. They both do. I bet she wanted
you to come back to Chicago."

    "Yeah, but pur...suad...ed to go home. Thanks...Greg. Where your
bags?"

     "I'm staying with a friend of mine in Brooklyn." He looks
nervous.

    "What is it?"

    "Nothing!"

    "Jeffy...can read like book. Tell me."

    He looks at me, considering what he's going to say. "Maybe later,"
he says, as Greg comes back into the room.

    "Here we go," he says, placing my lunch on a tray-table near me.
Conversation continues throughout lunch.

    "Jeff," Greg says, after placing the dishes in the dishwasher and
returning to the room. "Would you mind staying with Dave for about an
hour. I just have to run this over to Kinko's."

     "Nah, no need to ask. Go ahead!"

    "Thanks." Greg grabs a disc from the computer. "Be right back."

     "Okay. Now...talk!" I say, returning to our interrupted
conversation earlier.

     "Back to that again. Alright," he says, taking a deep breath,
"just promise to hear me out before you make a comment."

     I nod my head in assent.

     "Okay," he breathes again. "My friend...the one I'm staying with
in Brooklyn...I met while in Europe. One night...one night we got...close.
We slept together. I'm gay, Greg, and I love him. And he loves me. I
know it's not what you and the Rents want, but it's my life. I'm still
your brother, and I love you. I just hope that you don't feel any
different towards me. I mean, me being gay doesn't mean that I'm any
different." He looks at me expectantly.

      I begin to chuckle, then begin to laugh.

      "What's so damn funny?" Jeff asks.

     "It's just that...just that..."

     "What? What?" he demands.

     "Unless Sarah has them, Mom and Dad...no grandkids."

     "What are you talking about?"

     "Me. I gay too!"

     "What? You gay? What about your girlfriend? Shelia, isn't it?"

     "Just realized. Not with her anymore."

     "You and Greg?"

     "NO! No Greg..."

     "Why not? He's cute."

     "He doesn't trust me," Greg says, coming back into the room.
"I've really disappointed him, and now he doesn't trust me. No matter
what I've done these past few weeks, Dave has built up a wall against
me, and I haven't been able to overcome it...yet."

     "What happened?"

     "Greg, don't."

     "It's true confession time, Bro. Go on Greg."

    Greg sits down on the couch beside me, before he continues.

     "I...fucked up! Dave gave me his heart and soul, and I chewed it up
and spit it out. I didn't trust...in us. We had gone away, sort of last
minute, and for the good. While we were away, we suddenly discovered each
other.

    But, as we were getting ready to come back to the real world, I sort
of abandoned him. I wasn't ready to face what I am. A man, who happens
to be gay, whose found the love of his life. And I'm going to spend the
rest of my days trying to convince him of that, if he'll let me.

    That's what I told Annette, Dave, before I moved in here. I told her
that I was being unfair to her. I told her that I realize I cannot love
her, not the way that she needs to be loved. And, after we spent a couple
hours of her yelling, crying, and trying to persuade me to come to her
bed, she threw me out.

    I didn't tell her that it was you, but I think she figured it out.
Dave?" I raise my head and look into his tear-streaked face. "I love
you, and I want to be with you. Please, baby, please give US another
chance. I won't promise that I won't ever fuck up again. But I promise
I want to work on us together."

    "Greg..." I choke, my own tears caught in my throat. I get up, and
go into my bedroom. I can hear Jeff tell him to give it time.



    Two months have passed since Jeff was here, and Greg's undying
profession of love for me. Not a day has passed that he hasn't told me
that he loves me. I've had the brace removed from my mouth, and have
really worked to gain my speech. I'm walking better, with the help of a
cane, and the ribs have healed.

    Greg was patient in weaning me from the pain meds. His conversations
with me as I would go through some intense withdrawal pains, pain so
horrific that I would attempt to become physically abusive to him,
eventually got me drug free.

    We have just returned from the gym, where he has given me a complete
and exhausting workout. "Okay, get to the showers, and when you come
out, I'll give you a rubdown. You've got to be sore after that
workout."

    "Yes, ole taskmaster," I say.

    "Smart-ass," he retorts.

    I climb in the shower, soaking in the heat. It feels so good. The
first shower I was able to take when the cast came off, I stayed in for
almost an hour. Greg finally came in to check on me, fearing I had hurt
myself. I turn off the water, and step out. There stands Greg, towel in
hand, wearing just a pair of boxers.

    He motions for me to step out, and he envelops me with the towel,
gently patting away the moisture from my body. Being only human, and not
feeling this kind of contact in almost a year, my body begins to react.

    I see as we enter the room that Greg has spread some towels across
the bed. Candles are burning, and the harmonious jazz sounds of Amedeo
waft in the air. If I didn't know better, this room is designed for
seduction, and I don't know how I feel about it.

    "Lay down on your stomach, Dave. I'm going to give you a rubdown,
or you're going to be really sore tomorrow."

    "Greg, you don't..."

    "Yes I do. You're not going to be moaning and groaning around here
tomorrow. Besides, the way you feel in the morning will reflect
your...enthusiasm...for your next workout. Now, lay down!"

    I pull the towel tighter around me, and lay down on the bed. I can
feel Greg as he settles beside me. He rubs his palms together, letting
the friction warm them, then he begins to knead the flesh of my
shoulders.

    "You're so tight. Close your eyes and relax. I'm not going to do
anything that you don't want me to do."

    I look him in the eye, searching for some meaning, then settling back
onto the bed, finally relaxing.

    Greg's big hands feel so good on my body. I can't help but let a
moan escape from my lips. I can feel my dick swell as Greg's hands
travel down my body.

    He pours some eucalyptus oil in his hands, the flavor assaulting my
senses; the tingling sensation making my nipples hard.

    "I need to get to your thighs, babe," Greg whispers. This means
that I have to loosen up the towel. My dick pulses at the thought.
"Dave, did you hear me?"

    "Umm, okay," I purr. I raise my hips, and Greg removes my towel. A
gasp escapes from his lips.

    "You are so beautiful," he says, a thought he clearly doesn't mean
to be audible. He begins to massage my upper thigh, at first lightly
allowing his fingers to run through the hairs before he really molds the
flesh.

    Soon, he has traveled all over my body, rubbing oil all over my
backside.

    "Turn over," he asks.

    "Greg, I..." I respond. I can feel the heat of my embarrassment
flood my face. That fact was amazing, since all the blood in my body was
now concentrated in my throbbing cock. "That's okay." I'm obviously
transparent, and Greg doesn't let me get away.

    "There's no need to be embarrassed. I've seen you before. Besides,
if I don't complete this massage, you are going to be sore," he says,
emphasizing each of the last six words.

    I slowly turn over, completely exposing myself to Greg. I look into
his eyes, realizing it's the first time I've looked him in the eye
since that day. What I see in those liquid pools of blue is truth: Lust,
and love.

    They say that the eyes are the mirrors to the soul, and looking into
his eyes, In that fleeting second, I see the truth in the things that he
has been saying to me; the things that he conveyed to my brother. In that
second, my guard was down so that my raw feelings were once again
exposed. And I began to cry, silent tears at first, but then the dam
really opened, and all the pain, all the betrayal, all the berating I
given myself began to consume me.

"What's the matter, baby? Did you hurt yourself? Did I hurt you?
What?"

    I can't talk through the wracking of my body. Greg grabs me, pulling
me to his hairy chest, letting me hear his heartbeat, and I cry even
harder.

    "Shush," Greg soothes. "It's going to be alright. You'll see.
Everything will be alright."

    I sit up on the bed, and reach for a tissue on the nightstand. Greg
gets up and goes into the bathroom, bringing back a washcloth.

    "Now, you want to tell me what that was all about?" he gently asks.
"Please?" he adds when he notes my hesitation. "You know you can tell
me anything."

    "Jeff's gay, and in love," I say. He looks at me as if to say
`So?' "And I'm gay, and in love," I whisper. A smile appears on
Greg's face.

    "So, why were you crying?"

    "Because you hurt me, Greg. You really hurt me. Those two
weeks--those two weeks that we were together, I did something that I had
thought I'd done before, but I hadn't. I gave my heart away--to you!
And you trampled it. You didn't have the courage to even discuss it with
me. You just stole away in the darkness of the night. You didn't even
think about me. I was confused. I was scared. And when I awakened, you
know what? I was alone. Alone to sort out my confusion. Alone to sort out
my feelings.

    I felt used. I even felt that I was getting my just desserts. I had
been a bastard in the past. Using women to satisfy my own needs. Shelia
was the first woman that I had ever allowed to get close, and she didn't
get as close to me in five years as you did in just two months.

    So, I tried to put you out of my mind. But you wouldn't leave. I
imagined us in all types of scenarios. The only thing--the only thing I
had to divert my overactive imagination was my work. There, I was safe.
There I didn't have time to think of what might have been.

    The only positive thing I did during that period was to end it with
Shelia. I know it was not what she wanted to hear, but I couldn't
continue to lie to her, or too myself. I didn't tell her the truth. I
let her think me a bastard. Funny, I am."

    I see the tears that have replaced Greg's smile. "No, I am the
bastard--and I was a coward. I never felt the way that I felt those
couple of weeks that I was with you, and I didn't know how to handle it.

    I knew you weren't going to `out' me, or yourself. I was just
afraid--"

    "Afraid of what?"

    "Afraid--to live. To be. To not be so-called `normal'. And to feel
great while being abnormal."

    "But, baby, I've changed," Greg says, taking my hand in his. "I
don't know what to do to make you believe me. But, I'm not going
anywhere, not until you trust me again. Once you do, if you want me to
go, I will. Just tell me what I have to do."

    I look into his eyes again. I see the desperation, and the
exasperation. And I see the hope.

    "Greg. Just..."

    "Yeah, baby?"

    "Just kiss me," I blurt out.



Well, that's the end of Chapter 14. Things will finally start getting
back to normal between the two lovers. But there are still unresolved
issues that must be dealt with.

I want to thank those that have written and given their encouragement.
There have been times when I had wanted to go to a curt ending, but then
I read a letter, and I relent.

 I apologize that there has been several chapters without sex, but to
rush through the recovery would be an insult to those who live life in
real time.

Thank you for taking this ride with me.

Jay