Date: Sat, 30 Nov 2002 11:50:43 -0500
From: John Windham <vindskinke@hotmail.com>
Subject: Yes, Love is possible, a short story john windham

"Yes, Love is possible!" a short story by John
Windham

This is my second attempt at a story.  I would
like to again take the opportunity to exhort you
as readers of NIFTY to support this wonderful
site.  I am beginning to sound like a fund raiser
for National Public Radio always asking for your
financial support.  This is not a hollow request
because I am proud to say I put my money where my
mouth is and I do donate.  It is a completely
secure transaction through the convenient PayPal
site.
This effort unfortunately for you does not have
the benefit of Peter's editing so forgive my
errors.

This is dedicated to the memory of a dear sweet
boy who worked for me one summer many years ago.
He is remembered as a remarkable young man of
beauty and intellect who died from that horrible
scourge of our time, AIDS. He was lost at a time
before the discovery of the wonderful new
medicines.  It was his image in my memory when I
described Kurt in this story.  His loss even at
this moment brings tears to my eyes.

This is a story about two men, love and even a
smattering of sex.  If you find this abhorrent
please do not read any further.  How can I put
this more bluntly, well it's a homosexual, queer,
gay or faggot tale so put it aside if it offends.

Your comments will be appreciated:
vindskinke@hotmail.com

He was happy.  The trappings of travel with its
wide-ranging manifest no longer encumbered his
life. To his surprise its absence was a
comfortable cardigan for his routine.  An almost
lethal epiphany on a lofty plateau in Nepal had
altered his life.  Now the bit of land in the
country was all he needed.  Being 60 and alone was
not nearly as onerous as had been foretold.  Time
had never been at contretemps with him.  The
irrefutable testimony presented by a thousand
images traced the evidence. The witnesses were the
reflections from years of the ever-changing
expanses of airport windows.  Now when he shaved
or brushed his teeth his companion looking back
was of a man with fleeting remnants.  A man of
tarnished metaphors and diminished beauty
accepting his reduced status stared back at him in
resignation.   He had managed to convince himself
that he was reconciled as well as comfortable with
his lot in life.  He stood on the porch, their
porch, looking out over the trees into the
distance

He had achieved a nest protected by the strictures
of routine and resignation.  Happy?  Well maybe
that was just a bit of hyperbole, perhaps content
or even better resigned would be more accurate.
Yes, he was still missing them even after 3-1/2
years but what could you do?  Nothing but accept
and plough on.  He had managed to maintain the
continuity they had established over 4 decades
together.  First it was Craig and he for years to
be joined later by Ken, which seemed to complete
their lives.  The assumption that this memory
would be his protection and facilitator was the
comfort forming his stability.  A familiar routine
must be his barrier as well as insurance from
change.  Even these boundaries could not diminish
his view of the horizon.

The flush of bloody bronze that the full harvest
moon broadcast still challenged him.  It never
failed to trap his attention and stop all other
activity.  He was paralyzed not only by its
transforming beauty but its offer of deadly menace
and mayhem.  As long as they had lived here the
ritual rising of a harvest moon of this magnitude
always seemed to eclipse those from other seasons.
The veil of shadow deepened the ghostly
chiaroscuro as the moon inched upward.  Fields and
trees lost their edges engulfed by the absence of
light.  With this loss of light his sense of dread
swallowed what confidence he had managed to
husband for times like this.  He was loath to
admit this fear to himself much less others. He
thought acknowledgment might animate the amorphous
slowly shifting shadows. He stood up from the
chair on the porch.  Trembling from the quickening
night's chill and his dread of being alone he
tried to reestablish contact with reality. He
repeated his mantra, his resolution, he was happy.
He was happy.  He had long ago accepted that
escape was not an option. The wind's suspirations
surrounding the house mocked his mantra with their
own.  With a sharp intake of breath he backed into
the hollow refuge of an empty house unwilling to
turn his back on the sense of menace.

The toneless metallic ring of the antique
telephone providing him an escape that did not
recognize his growing fear broke the dampened
silence. He was shocked to see his hand trembling
so badly that it was difficult to grasp the phone.
His dour and impatient, yes, masked his relief.

The unbelievably enthusiastic voice of his nephew
was so unexpected it left him almost speechless.
His eyes glistened with brimming tears; unshed but
held in abeyance as they talked.  His precious boy
the veritable apple of his eye, the eldest of his
brother' children who despite his "several"
misadventures managed to parlay them enough to
advance was now on the phone chattering on and on.
His mind's eye portrayed him in an amalgam of his
father and their recently lost brother.

He reveled in these calls, though infrequent they
never lacked in enthusiasm and fervor. This boy
had come by his smoothness honestly in direct
succession of the many "fabricators" that preceded
him.  His father and grandfather were perfect
exemplars of this family tradition of
exaggeration, which sometimes shifted to out right
lying.  As his "apple" rattled on he thought of
the friends that had accompanied him on his
vacation visits.  The sundry `jocks' and
`achievers' who seemed to be always in orbit
around the star that was his nephew were the ones
who demanded the most attention.  He suddenly was
snapped back into reality when he heard that they
yes them, would be arriving day after tomorrow for
their 3-week fall break.  Had he been so
inattentive that he had missed his friend's name?
How could he ask without revealing his
unforgivable lapse of attention? He continued only
asking an occasional question as this bubbling
eruption of vigor continued with his tales of
school and work.  He affirmed his delight that
"they" would be arriving in a day or so.

Well, it had been worse; he had nearly plunged off
the side of a plateau in Nepal to his death 3,000
feet below.  Now he was faced with yet another
visit, not only from his perfect nephew, but a
stranger who was accorded the place of `best
friend', a position no other visitor had achieved.
He pondered this situation with some ambivalence.
The joy he would garner from the company of his
pet and the apprehension of meeting his "best
friend".  He mused how unfortunate that his nephew
was not gay because his looks and personality
would have ensured a splendid tenure.  At least
his companion would not be one of those mindless
overcooked meringues drooling over his every move.
That last one had pushed him over the edge.  The
ensuing "heart to heart talk" had not fazed his
nephew but instead had elicited giggles as he
agreed with every point.  Well, he was gratified
to see that it had been effective.  Wondering
again at what must it take to be his closest and
most trusted friend?  Damn but he regretted
missing this new boy's name.

He started cleaning, relieved to break his
preoccupation with his self-pity and doubts.  Not
just simple cleaning but the deep and serious
cleaning that involved his aunt's time honored
rituals.  He scrubbed, shook, swept and scoured
the house.  It was no small task when you think in
terms of the 13 rooms he no longer needed.  Even
though the rooms were excessive, they were his
hook and anchor.  He could not imagine himself
anywhere else.  He would not give up this one last
claim to his memories.  It was his lifeline to his
past, to his happiness.  To hell with his fears
and insecurities it was their house and always
would be.

He sat on the porch almost numb after finishing
the rituals of the welcoming cleansing that were
the tenants endemic to his southern nomenclature.
Now inured to the dark night's scene of shifting
mysteries he reflected on today's conflicting
events.  His Aunt, his Grandmother, their
cleanliness and order so inculcated into him were
now surfacing in such a way that he feared being a
prisoner to their dictates and prohibitions.  With
a start he realized it was now almost 4:30 AM, he
had been unaware of the time.   The apprehensions
that were integral to his being alone were
gradually subsiding assuaged by the happy
anticipation of the impending visit. He was
enjoying the luxury of relaxation rocking in his
grandmother's sturdy, venerable chair.  He sipped
the delicious warmth blooming in his mouth from
the single malt highland scotch whiskey he
husbanded so carefully. He had been alone so long
now hoping for amelioration from his loss but
instead it became more and more illusive.  He
smiled grimly during the deathly silence that
presaged the arrival of dawn.  The only time that
silence won its war with the chorus of nighttime
voices.  He realized so few appreciated these
moments of peace.   The significance of this
interlude was lost as the diurnal inhabitants
began to awaken and stretch sharpening their
senses as the nocturnal predators made their last
reconnaissance searching for that last morsel
afforded by some foolish unwary animal.  He could
not help but tighten his grip clenching the chair
when some plaintive cry was strangled off as the
claws or beak of a rapacious predator took its
due.  He had to accept this seemingly cruel
hegemony grudgingly recognizing the inevitability
of nature.  He allowed his mind to float to the
cadence of these cries and the bugling of predawn
songs.  He let the last drops of highland elixir
warm his throat as he slowly made his way into the
house and up to his aerie in the upper reaches of
his home.  He had cleaned well and when he woke he
would go into the town's general store to prepare
his larder for the boys' arrival.

The opening stanzas of another remarkable dawn's
birth bathed his room in the changing glory of
colors all thru its golden scrim.  It's arresting
effect never diminished or failed to make him
pause and appreciate its inimitable power. He
retreated into what had become his foremost
sanctuary, this private aerie, the part of the
house he guarded as theirs and theirs alone still
reserved and off limits to others.  His CD seemed
to be waiting his return and when he touched its
console the elegiac beauty of Strauss's Four Last
Songs slowly but completely flooded his room as he
sank into the comfort of his bed.  Alone and
loosing himself into the habit of routine he
unconsciously reached across the bed for the
comfort so long absent in his life.  He clutched
the plumped, unused pillows as he fell asleep.

The sheer luxury of indolence was a balm to his
loneliness as he lay in the bed looking out over
the fields and trees.  No longer draped in the
sinister cowls of night they were beginning to
shimmer with autumn's russet and gold.  The staid
but tenacious greens of the evergreens were a
fitting foil for their ephemeral deciduous
exhibitionist kin. He smiled remembering the
luxury of coffee being served to him in bed.  He
glanced at the clock and was startled to see that
it was past noon.  His excuse was that he was
usually getting up at the time he succumbed to
sleep last night.  Hell's Bells why was he making
excuses.  No one cared what time he awoke.  He was
awake and feeling wonderfully refreshed.  He
brushed his teeth and as he rinsed he glanced at
the person returning his scrutiny.  He was
startled by the incipient grin seldom present.  He
tried to curtail his enthusiasm as he quickly
turned away to get dressed.  He failed.  Happiness
and anticipation matched his every step and move.
A blush slowly suffused his face when he accepted
his excitement.  What time had they said they
would arrive?  He realized he had no idea.  Should
he fix lunch or prepare a country supper?  Damn,
why had he been so distracted and inattentive?  He
decided an evening of the best he could offer, not
the country cooking that was the routine usually
expected.  He smiled as he checked his inventory
sipping the Bokar coffee that was his staple.  He
always enjoyed a challenge and tonight's meal
would be an exceptional effort meant to welcome
his guests.

As he wound his way into town he drew comfort and
solace from the earnest and friendly nods and
waves from oncoming vehicles.  No one seemed
overly hurried and all had the time for a
leisurely smile and greeting.  The comfort he felt
from his friends and neighbors lessened but could
not erase last night's doubts and worries.  He
consciously forced these thoughts back refusing to
allow them to interfere.  He explained his ideas
and needs for the next 3 weeks visit and this
wonderful man, his butcher, green grocer, baker
and candle stick maker.....oops, he blushed when
he realized how far a field his unrestrained his
imagination had led him.  He was reassured when
his ideas were met with approval and a promise to
accommodate his ambitious plans.  Everyone in the
store seemed titillated by the challenge and the
idea that he would be happy once again.  The paper-
thin slices of pale veal were stacked with
dividers of waxed paper until a pound was securely
wrapped and ready.  He found wonderfully fresh
shiitake with their veils still intact, small firm
and perfect.  Tiny perfect asparagus spears to
combine with lithe slippers of new onions their
green glistening with tiny sparkles of moisture.
The unexpected joy of freshly harvested water
cress and thumb nail size ruby red radish from a
neighbor's cold frame seemed to contradict the
expectations of a country store as it produced the
finest any big city market could offer.  A rasher
of home cured bacon and bantam eggs gathered that
morning was topped by loaves of bread baked that
morning.  He could not resist freshly churned
sweet butter or a gallon of milk from the cow's
morning milking utterly pristine and untainted by
the strictures of homogenization.  He was bursting
with excitement when he headed home to start the
evening's preparations.  He decided the tart
apples from the tree behind the house would be his
dessert.  His mind was miles away as he returned
home.  He was gathering bags from the back seat
when he was unceremoniously grabbed from behind.
Paralyzed by the shock of the assault he shrieked
in a most unmanly manner.  Batting vainly against
his assailant he heard the unbridled laughter he
recognized as his recalcitrant nephew.  Utterly
chagrined by his unseemly reaction he whirled
around into a crushing embrace of affection he
could not possibly resist.  He dissolved into his
arms with the pent up emotions of months of
isolation.  Nothing but warmth, love and concern
enveloped him in a cocoon of protection and
welcome.  Gaining some semblance of control he
stepped back and looked into those eyes that were
such a joy.

"Uncle Johnny, I want you to meet my best friend
in the world.  This is Kurt.  I have told him so
much about you that an introduction seems silly.
On the way here he mentioned he felt like he was
coming back to see you not to meet you."

He stumbled back from Phillip's embrace,
embarrassed and self-conscious turning to shake
Kurt's hand in welcome.  He almost recoiled in
shock and disbelief when he faced Kurt.

The sheer intensity of Kurt's penetrating stare
left him stunned and speechless.  He haltingly
tried to cover his unfortunate lapse but it was
glaringly obvious.

"Kurt, I told you he was a piece of work, but this
reception even surprises me. I think that we were
not very nice to startle "Unc".  The least we can
do is unload his car for him."

Phillip could not resist smiling to himself as
Kurt and Uncle John took the other's measure.
Almost like gamecocks circling.  As he watched
them he could not help but wonder if this visit
might be a monumental blunder. Yet he had never
seen Uncle Johnny at such a loss and as for Kurt
it did his heart good to see the cocky bastard
taken down a notch or two.  He had known from day
one that this trip could be a wonderful event or a
lamentable mistake. He dearly loved them both.
His Uncle was perhaps the most important person in
his life, the only one he could always rely on to
understand and be completely supportive.  When
Craig and Ken had been killed their loss nearly
killed his uncle. Even for Phillip their loss had
been enough to wreck havoc in his life. Uncle
Johnny had been the fulcrum that balanced the
trio's lives.  This relationship had not only
intimidated their relatives but also scandalized
the ever so proper society of their prudish
university town. In simple terms, every queen in
town was fucking jealous of the menange's success.
Everywhere they went it was always the three.
They were courteous and pleasant with others but
it was inevitable that they always ended up
together. Even the most stalwart of hosts failed
to separate them for long. It was the three of
them being together that made them comfortable.
Growing up, he had not thought in terms of an
"Uncle Johnny", but rather Craig, Ken and Johnny.
He would never forget that summer afternoon when
he was 12.  He was out in the center of the pond
sunning watching the three stroll down from the
house toward the pond.  They were teasing each
other laughing, as always so close their shoulders
touched when they walked.  They called out to him.
He was in the process of answering when he started
blushing so furiously they noticed from the bank.
He could not give a coherent answer and to cover
his embarrassment dove into the water.  Uncle
Johnny... is queer, Craig and Ken, oh, they've
always been and I never noticed.  What on earth
should I do?  How do I act?  As he surfaced
coughing and sputtering still blushing a scarlet
red he was startled to find his uncle in the water
next to him with a worried look.  Are you ok
Phillip it's not like you to lose control in the
water?  Then it dawned on him that Johnny still
had his shirt on.  He had dived in clothes and all
when it seemed he was in distress.  He had
apologized profusely as his discomfiture
compounded exponentially.  As they stood in the
shallow water he was engulfed in a powerful hug.
Phillip I could not stand it if anything ever
happened to you I love you so much. Despite his
much vaunted and recently attained macho status he
had started to cry holding on to his uncle afraid
that he might lose him.  I love you, Uncle Johnny,
so much.  I am sorry to make such a commotion.  I
have made a fool of myself.  He had looked into
his eyes when he was asked, what is the matter
little man. You know that any topic is fine, so
shoot.

He was snapped back to reality when Kurt slammed
the trunk of the car, "you might help a little
Phillip; after all it was your idea to do this,"
trying hard to scowl as he wrested the last bag
from Phillip's arms he could not contain his
mirth.

"Golly, Kurt," he apologized when it dawned on him
that he had been daydreaming about that summer
day so long ago, "I had no idea that you had done
all the work.  I promise to make it up to you."

"Sure, I have heard that line before."

They both collapsed giggling like high school
kids.  John watched the two with a bemused smile
of indulgence.  He realized that this diversion
would be a welcome respite from the loneliness
that was his life now.  It was obvious that
Phillip was inordinately close to this striking
young man.  At first glance they seemed polar
opposites.  Phillip, tall, athletic with the
classic good looks that ran in their family was
the classic beauty seen in magazines.  Kurt short,
lithe with an almost predatory feline grace.  His
dark curly hair so changeable that it defied easy
definition was constantly changing as the light
varied.  His complexion was just light enough that
the sprinkling of freckles were all the more
vividly pronounced.  You would think that had
known each other for decades instead of their 3
years as college roommates.  John was relieved
that Kurt's attention and careful scrutiny had
been interrupted.  He had been shocked by Kurt's
resemblance to both Craig and Ken.  There were
aspects and facets of them both seemingly forged
from such dissimilar sources yet the amalgam was
so unexpected.  So like his two lost loves.  He
was incredulous that Phillip has been so blind as
to not see this resemblance. He stiffened, vowing
that it would not affect him or interfere with
their time together.  Both looked up at him in
guilty embarrassment as they regained control from
their unbridled mirth. Phillip wrapped his arms
around his uncle's neck giving him a warm and
generous kiss of affection and appreciation.  John
was startled when he noticed what could only be
described as envy in Kurt's eyes and expression.
He shook himself realizing it must have been his
imagination run amok.

"OK boys enough is enough if you want supper get
these groceries into the kitchen.  Phillip you and
Kurt can take the back two rooms looking out over
the pond or the other two facing the front, it's
entirely up to you.  I am going to start supper.
I hope you both are hungry if not I can fix the
meal tomorrow and have something light tonite."

"No, no, tonight please," came the chorus from
both.

"Phillip has not stopped talking about your
cooking and the excellent meals you serve.  Please
let me help I love to cook but I am a novice to
say the least.  I can be a good assistant, you
give the orders and I will obey."

"Only if you promise no insurrections and complete
fidelity.  What do you think Phillip?  Can he be
trusted?"

"Only if you do not turn your back on him, just
joking Kurt he tried pleading for forgiveness.  He
is the best cook other than you that I know, Unc."

"Well," harrumphed Kurt feigning deep hurt.

The three of them could not contain the shared joy
and happiness of being together as their banter
ricocheted from wall to wall. John was both
touched as well as unsettled by Kurt's unconscious
affection.  Phillip smiled to himself watching the
interaction between his two favorite people.  He
allowed himself a modicum of hope that they would
realize how well suited they were for each other.
He could not remember seeing his uncle this
relaxed and cheerful since that horrible day 3
years ago.

"Kurt, since you are the honored guest, why don't
you pick something to play?  Phillip show him the
CD's and set up in the library.  We have speakers
here in the kitchen so you do not have to set the
volume too high."

Kurt was a bit taken aback by the sound system and
extensive collection of CD's, cassettes and even
ancient vinyl records.  He was surprised to see
his favorite recordings and many he had always
wanted to hear.  The more he looked the bigger his
smile and the more difficult the decision with
such an enormous selection.  He noticed a CD that
had not been opened on the console.  Renee
Fleming's new recording of Bel Canto arias.  He
had been hoping to buy it when he had some extra
money.  He could not contain his Cheshire cat grin
when he returned to the kitchen as her gloriously
dulcet voice poured forth like liquid platinum.

John's arched eyebrow and startled half smile
spoke for itself, "this is one that I have been
saving for a special occasion.  And this is about
as special as it can get, I applaud your
selection.  You like vocal music?"

"Absolutely, my favorite genre above all else and
Fleming is one of if not the best singer these
days.  I have been dying to get this recording.  I
have heard an occasional aria on NPR when she has
been interviewed."

"If you two intellectual snobs are going to jabber
about opera I think I will go take a shower and
get settled."

Alone for the first time both became uneasy with
an awkward silence that at least allowed Il Pirata
full reign.

"I heard her Marschallin last year at the Met
opposite Susan Graham's Octavian.  I forget the
Sophie but those two one could never forget.  It
was sheer magic for me to sit there as that
glorious music engulfed me even in the Met's vast
space.  Their perfectly matched voices seem
created for each other.  The voluptuous perfection
created by the union of their voices and Strauss'
lush orchestration simply has to be experienced in
person.  Listen to me rattling on like the
doddering old man I have become. I apologize but I
just get so carried away that I forget myself."

"You have got to be kidding this is the most fun I
have had in years.  I have no friends with which
to share my love of opera, this is like manna from
heaven.  Phillip never objects to my selections
and now I know why but it certainly is not his
first choice."

Relaxed and no longer awkward John starts getting
ingredients out for their meal. Without being
asked Kurt finds the sieve and rinses the basmati
rice.  While it is rinsing he finds the rice
steamer and sets it all up to be cooked later.  He
takes the vegetables to the sink and lovingly
washes each piece careful to not bruise or damage
anything as he puts it on the rack to dry.

"Now I am beginning to get an idea what you are
going to prepare for our meal.  I don't think I
have ever seen more beautiful veal and the
shiitake mushrooms look like they have just been
harvested."

"Actually they were raised on some locally
harvested white oak logs.  Mr. Parker the owner of
our local market is a true renaissance man.  He
impregnates the logs about every 3 years so that
there is a continuous supply of perfect mushrooms
impossible to purchase anywhere else.  They are
always absolutely clean as well.  If you would
slice them about a 1/8 of an inch thick and use
the stems as well it will help me a lot. They are
so tender the stems are as delectable at the
caps."

"This is so sensual it gives me goose bumps,"
quivers Kurt with an infectious smile and dancing
eyes as he precisely slices the mushrooms.

"Well then you will not mind if I beat my meat,"
John queries with deadpan seriousness.  However he
could not contain his giggles at Kurt's shocked
incredulity.  When he started to pound the veal
into uniformly thin slices Kurt joined in laughing
at his own gullibility.

Blushing furiously Kurt holds his sides as the
tears of laughter course down his face.  Catching
his breath he mused that everything Phillip had
said about his uncle was true and if anything an
understatement. This wonderful gentle man, this
John Heyward, a veritable paragon for all his
aspirations and ambition he held dear to his
heart.   His blush deepened when he realized that
John was aware of his scrutiny and interest.  How
could he possibly explain his attraction to this
interesting man without seeming more like a
foolish child?  He admitted to himself that he had
nothing to offer this urbane and dynamic man. God,
look at his smile it could melt the shellac off
walls.  Phillip had not prepared him for this.

"Well the mushrooms are ready.  I am guessing the
watercress and radish will be the salad.  OK, but
I have not seen any bib lettuce."

"It's a bit of a surprise.  In mid to late summer
I start seeds in flats then the lettuce is ready
thru out the fall until we have a hard freeze and
I forget to bring it in.  Otherwise I have fresh
lettuce till Christmas.  Take these scissors and
cut off enough leaves to toss with the cress and
radishes.  I always use radish tops when they are
as small as these."

"Can I sign up for private cooking lessons?  I
will have to work doing chores to pay for them, I
don't have money for extras in my budget."

"I think we can work something out.  Kurt over
beneath that little sink you will find the bar.
Would you please fix me a vodka Gibson on the
rocks and help yourself to what ever you want.  I
think your roommate has either drowned or gone to
sleep.  If you make enough noise with the ice
cubes I am sure that will get his attention."

"Did I hear someone mention my name?"  Phillip
asked as he returned his hair still damp from the
shower. "I thought the two of you would have our
supper ready by now. What on earth have you been
doing?"

John and Kurt looked at each other raising their
glasses in a silent toast of complicit
understanding.  Phillip looked back and forth
between the two perplexed but pleased.
He smiled to himself thinking that real progress
was being made. The easy interchange just seemed
to flow naturally as John and Kurt continued with
the meal's preparation. Phillip was nonplussed by
their relaxed rapport.  He was almost forgotten on
the sidelines patiently waiting. He did know to
spring into action when John put two bottles of
red wine on the counter.  Wow, he thought the good
stuff tonite as he opened the Spottswoode '99
cabernet an elegant wine with a gorgeous aroma.
It dawned on him just how special this meal would
be.  He set the table in the alcove off from the
main kitchen.  Not the dining room, it just seemed
too formal for the camaraderie they had
established. Decades of polishing had given the
old round pine table a patina of warmth and
dignity.  It was nestled in the alcove surrounded
by bay windows looking out over the pond and
fields beyond.  The pale remnants of a shimmering
opalescent sunset still refused to yield to the
encroaching night's darkness.  As the platters of
food were laid out the heady aroma of the sauteed
shiitakes rose in spell binding patterns of steam
from the barely crisp scaloppini heaped on a bed
of fragrant rice.  Asparagus just warmed enough in
a bit of clarified butter to marry the flavors of
the new onions and summer savory from the yard.
The salad was lightly dressed with olive oil and a
few drops of fresh key lime. A loaf of coarse
country bread still warm from the oven with the
freshly churned butter was waiting to be sliced
and enjoyed. As they looked at this perfectly
presented meal John reached out clasping their
hands and they in turn completed the circle.

He smiled looking at each slowly and carefully
then with a shy half smile, "no prayer my boys but
a simple thank you.  My appreciation for the burst
of life you have returned to my moribund
existence.  I am really happy, even content, for
the first time since that awful day when Craig and
Ken were killed.  Phillip you were always the most
adept at `reading' my needs.  I think this may
well be the best coup of your young life."

He brought Phillip's hand to his lips with a
gentle kiss of gratitude.  He then turned to Kurt
bringing his hand to his cheek as his silent
nearly invisible tears dampened Kurt's hand.  They
looked into and beyond each other's eyes. He no
longer saw the ghost of Craig and Ken but instead
a fiercely attentive young man.  John leaned over
still with Kurt's hand touching his cheek yielding
his lips to the control of this mesmerizing young
man.  Neither closed their eyes as their lips
caressed in a kiss so tender and tentative it was
like the wisps of a wolf's breath on a winter
morning.  They both drew back in a measured
retreat to resume their places at the table.  It
felt like hours had passed but in truth it had
only been seconds not even a minute.  They blinked
as reality returned.  Phillip had the good grace
to not mention anything.

Raising his glass of the deep red wine, "here is
to the most important people in my life.  I have
long wanted the two of you to meet.  I even dared
to hope that against all the odds you would find
in each other the same comfort and affection that
makes you special to me."

No one wanted to break the enchanted spell as they
silently savored this perfectly cooked meal.
Phillip gloried in the reflected warmth generated
by the discreet but affectionate touches being
exchanged.  John was inordinately pleased as both
boys had seconds of everything.  He admitted to
himself that he was as bad as his grandmother and
aunt about his cooking.  If you didn't eat
heartily you would be branded with the stigmata of
not appreciating his food.  It was all a matter of
the genes and he was not responsible.  He ruefully
grinned to himself when he realized that they had
finished both bottles of wine.  He started to take
the dishes off the table only to be
unceremoniously but gently pushed back into his
chair.  The boys removed all the dishes loading
the dishwasher and putting away the few left over
items.

"Please allow me a few minutes to prepare our
dessert," he murmured not wanting to interrupt
their conversation.

In the kitchen he uncovered the sliced apples from
the back yard.  They had been marinating in dark
rum.  He drained them in a sieve over a saute pan
adding a bit of butter and reducing the juice
until it was the tacky consistency of syrup.  He
then dribbled this over the apple slices with a
few drops of lemon juice and light dusting of raw
sugar. He divided them between 3 bowls ladling a
generous helping of whipped cream topped with a
sprinkle of crystallized fresh ginger.  The
unchecked smiles and sighs were the best review
ever.  He surprised them with new glasses and a
beautiful bottle of old port.

"Let's go into the library and relax with some
port and music."

"You and Kurt go on, Unc, I will tend to these
last few dishes and join you in a jiffy," giggled
Phillip as he finished loading the dishwasher.

He found them comfortably settled on the couch
watching the flames listening to the quiet flow of
a piano concerto.  He guessed it might be Mozart
but he did not want to interrupt the discreet
sense of contentment ruling in the library.  He
lowered himself to the floor comforted by the
touch of Kurt and John's legs on his sides.  He
pulled their legs in closer reveling in the
closeness.  This contentment all the more
remarkable because it had been absent for the three
years since the fatal accident.  He was happy that
the three of them formed such a natural easy fit.
John gently disentangled himself going over to the
music station to play a new selection.  He had
decided that the last act of Ariadne would be
perfect for this evening's denouement.  Its theme
of the redemptive power found in love would let
everything end on a high note.  He returned to
kneel before his beautiful nephew the stalwart joy
of his life.  He gently took his face in both
hands kissing first the tip of his nose then both
cheeks.  Phillip reciprocated caressing his
uncle's face and drawing him close so that their
lips touched in a kiss of magic understanding.  In
an impulsive move that contradicted his life of
conformity he not only shocked himself but Phillip
as well.  He reached out taking Kurt's hand
pulling him gently up from the couch into the
shelter of his arms.  Kurt without a moment's
hesitation snuggled into the comfort of his
embrace laying his head against his shoulder and
neck.  Slowly recovering from his Uncles break
from the routine he could not contain his smiles
watching them.  He did not even realize his face
was lined with tears brimming from both eyes.
John nodded to Phillip recognizing the magnitude
of the moment.  He slowly guided the dazed
unbelieving Kurt out of the library up to the
stairway that was the path to John's sacrosanct
retreat off limits to everyone since the accident.
The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a
room of windows unfettered by curtains or shades
looking out over the distant hills and forest.
Only the faintly warm illumination of a single
incandescent lamp softened the colder rays of the
silver moon, which pervaded the view.  John gently
nudged him toward the acres of undulating covers
that invited you into the comfort and security of
its bounty.  Kurt closed his eyes barely daring to
breathe as John methodically unbuttoned his shirt
removing it from his trembling body.  John could
not move as he realized for the first time the
lovely grace and perfection of the shoulders and
neck before him.  His hand with its own volition
caressed the alabaster smoothness of this
remarkable sculpted torso.  He allowed himself to
be guided; eyes still closed as John sat him on
the edge of the bed.  John knelt at his feet
removing first his shoes then his socks.  With an
almost violent start Kurt flushed with warmth as
he felt John's lips on first this left foot then
the right.  The sensuous warmth of his tongue as
it explored each foots nook and cranny left him
faint almost unable to breath.  The idea of his
lips touching his foot was an anathema yet the
electricity could not be ignored.  John gently but
insistently pushed him back on the bed. The
intimate bathe he received from John's tongue left
him gasping for breathe unable to think his mind
swirling in sensations never imagined much less
experienced.  He felt the bed shift as John lifted
his legs up and more comfortably on the bed.  He
relaxed settling as his body resumed a more
natural composure rather than the stiffened
reaction to the foot massage.  He felt John's
gentle hands and fingers as they undid his belt
and jeans he lifted his hips to allow them to
slide off.  This undressing had never felt so
right allowing him to revel in a bath of both
tactile feelings and emotions so intense as to be
almost painful.  His minds eye saw flashes of deep
blood red with bolts of violet blue merging into
purple vividly excoriated by blasts of bight
yellow and burnished gold.  He dared not open his
eyes and loose his place in this world of Tiffany
constructs and Gaudi frames.  He sensed John
getting up from the bed his task of undressing now
completed.  The whispers of his clothing being
shed became gossamer fingers caressing not only
Kurt naked and recumbent on the bed but John
standing still his vision suffused with the forest
sprite before him.  A glowing alabaster specter of
such beauty he dared not move afraid to loose this
moment captured in the golden amber of time.
Emboldened his hand moved in slow motion to gently
brush back the burnished curls from his forehead.
His fingers encountered the lush fullness of youth
and the fine texture of spun silk.  Slowly Kurt
opened his eyes looking up into John's as they
gazed down on him.  He could not stop the smile of
unencumbered bliss his mind and soul begged to
express.  The rapturous pleasure he derived from
seeing this proud loving man standing naked before
him. John stood silently offering him-self without
apology but with an aching honesty replete with
caring and affection.   Kurt reached out taking
both of John's hands and inexorably guiding him to
lie next to and almost over his own body.  John
marveled at the curly dark adventure of lush hair
surrounding the presentation of his proudly erect
dick.  Smiling to him-self he gently molded his
hands around the velvet firmness of his tight
balls.  He had never seen a more beautiful dick so
straight and perfectly formed.  It was crowned
with a magnificent head glistening with the pearls
of his excitement and anticipation.  He was so
rapt in his concentration that he was unaware of
Kurt's movements.  This dick was an idol to be
worshipped and adored.  John's breathe sputtered
and he stiffened in shock as he felt the searing
heat of Kurt's mouth slowly engulfing first the
head then determinedly swallowing the entire
length of his marble hard dick.  He felt Kurt's
nose as it buried into the surrounding hair.  He
tried to control and restrain himself but the
years of isolation and deprivation took their toll
as he erupted into the heat of Kurt's mouth.  He
was shocked by the geyser force of Kurt's
simultaneous eruption which cascaded over both of
them.  He could not help him-self as he started
trembling unable to stop the tears.  Clinging to
Kurt he kept repeating his name over and over as
he buried his head in his arms.  He had seemingly
relinquished control to this youth who held him so
securely. He was shocked when after relaxing he
started to sit up but was restrained as Kurt
gently but deliberately laid him back on the bed.
He felt him get up but refused to open his eyes.
He had never been more relaxed but still
incredulous at this turn of events.  His mind was
in a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and fears.
It was a welcome interruption when he felt the
warmth of a moist towel gently wiping his body and
face.  The harder he tried the less able he was to
stem the flow of tears.  After he had been cared
for by Kurt's tender ministrations he was relieved
to feel him snuggle under the covers drawing him
into the release of a loving embrace. Kurt was an
angel of mercy never once telling him to stop
crying but instead offering compassion and solace.
Slowly his tears stopped and he dared to gaze at
Kurt.   He was surprised to find him looking
directly into his eyes.  The force of
determination he felt in his scrutiny both alarmed
and comforted him.  This bifurcated reaction
defied the seeming contradiction by yielding a
distillate forged into trust and nascent love.

Kurt's resolve was articulated quietly barely
louder than a whisper, "this night can never be
taken from me; I want to look at you and memorize
every nuance that makes you unique.  Your
extraordinary beauty with a smile that lights up
every place you go.  Our consummation tonight is
an event of singular and unique significance for
me.  I have never given or received love like we
have shared.  I gladly accept that I love you.
This may seem precipitous and without foundation
but the moment I saw you as you hugged Phillip was
the instant it happened.  I have not been able to
stop staring at you and touching you from then on.
As far as I am concerned I have found what I can
but hope will be my person, my partner or what
ever label needed but mine for life."

"Kurt I am at a loss as to what to say or how to
say it.  I am flabbergasted that at three times
your age you still reach out to me with your
commitment.  I fear seeming inauthentic in flights
of hyperbole with what I actually want and need to
express.  So simply speaking I am the luckiest man
alive.  I now believe that I have another chance
at happiness.   I also believe that we have the
opportunity to create a life together.  If you
will permit me to dissemble a bit I am more than a
little suspicious that we have been set up by your
room mate.  He has been altogether too smug and
satisfied with him-self this visit.  Do you think
I might be imagining this?"

"I swear he has given me no prior inkling or
warning but I do agree he has been awfully self-
satisfied tonight.  Phillip and I have never
discussed my sexual predilection but I have been
comfortable that he knew the score.  He has talked
about you from day one. It frightens me when I
think that Phillip and I are together only by the
serendipity of the registrar's random assignment.
We would not have found each other."

"We shall see what he has to say tomorrow or
should we confront him tonight.  That way he will
be easy prey and defenseless," John murmured with
conspiratorial glee.

Getting out of bed they stretched and could not
suppress the enjoyment of being together naked and
comfortable.  John grabbed two terry cloth robes
giving one to Kurt.  They did not bother with any
other clothes and very quietly tip toed down the
stairs.  First checking the library they crept
down the hall illuminated by the light coming from
the bottom of the door.  They listened at the door
and could only hear the quiet strains of kd Lang
and Tony Bennett's new recording.  With utmost
care and stealth they cracked the door just enough
to see that Phillip was propped up on his pillows,
asleep with a book still clutched in his hands.
They grinned at each other nodding as they
separated surrounding the peacefully sleeping
"innocent boy".  With the precision of a
choreographed duet they pounced with banshee like
screams on their unsuspecting prey each taking an
arm.  Phillip reacted as if jolted by a cattle
prod screaming trying to escape his mad
assailants. He made a grave mistake relaxing when
he realized their identity.  They seized upon the
moment tickling him with merciless abandon until
he was writhing inarticulately begging for
leniency thru the helpless giggling, tears and
shrieks.  John looked over at Kurt and they nodded
allowing the stunned victim freedom from their
attack.

"OK, Phillip we are giving you a reprieve so that
you can confess how long you have been
orchestrating tonight's scenario," queried John
valiantly trying to keep a straight face.

Pulling the covers up in a futile attempt to
regain a semblance of dignity, "what ever are you
two talking about?  What scenario?  Did something
happen I do not know about?"

"Alright," he shrieked pulling the covers over his
head, "the truth, I promise the truth just no more
tickling.  Please, no more!"

With the absolute biggest smile of his life he
opened his arms to both of his dearest friends.
They snuggled each on opposite sides as he held
them in a joyful embrace.

"Well, I just knew that, Yes love is
possible...."


This is my second story.  Writing about sex was
surprisingly difficult. Not that there is anything
wrong with the lusty combustion of raw passionate
sex but sometimes it can and must be more.  If you
have any comments please contact me:  John Windham
vindskinke@hotmail.com