Date: Thu, 15 Jul 2010 07:59:13 -0700 (PDT)
From: MJ L <mjl4716@yahoo.com>
Subject: Cupid's Big Weekend

Author's Note: This is my first submission to Nifty, though I've read the
stories here for years. It's a work of fiction, invented in a somewhat
bizarre rush of creative energy over the last 2 weeks or so. It involves
acts of both sex and romance between consenting adult males, so if that's
not allowed where you live then you should march in the streets. I'm
releasing this story under Creative Commons by-sa-nc license, which means
you can do pretty much whatever you want with it, as long as you give me
credit and don't use it for commercial purposes of any kind. If you enjoy
the story, I'd love to hear from you at mjl4716@yahoo.com. Thanks for
reading.

Cupid's Big Weekend
     By Xavier Mayne

Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. I'm a dead man.

He's looking right at me. He knows what I've been doing. Now he's going to
kill me. My stomach feels like his fist is already in it. All that's left
is for him to spit on my crumpled body. I can just imagine him doing it,
his lips forming into a sneering "O," his full, pouting lips, his gorgeous,
plump, soft, lips...

Fuck! I'm doing it again. I'm about to die and I'm still doing it. I am so
fucked.

I didn't come here to stare at him. I came here to get away from him,
actually. I didn't think he'd be here. In fact, given my previous
observations of his schedule, this is the time that he's normally at his
team meeting in the athletic office. The one where he looks serious and
engaged right up until he nods off, that cleft chin coming to rest softly
on his chest, his baggy sweats tenting up as his apparently ample privates
respond to something pleasant in his dreaming. At least that's the way it
looks through the window of the basement room where they have the meetings.

Not that I'm a stalker or anything.

It's just that he's so beautiful, so fucking beautiful, I can't help
myself. And now he's seen me gawking at him on the bench press, and he's
going to come over here and bash my fucking brains in. I didn't intend to
stare, you know. I just glanced over--glancing is fine, right? everyone
glances, happens all the time--and he was really pushing hard to thrust the
bar back up, really straining, and then his legs lurched a bit, the leg of
his shorts shifted a bit, and suddenly I could see straight up his leg to,
well, all the way up. I was stunned, and who wouldn't be? I think I can be
forgiven for gasping. And stepping a little to the side, off the belt of
the treadmill, just a touch. And sort of falling off. OK, I made a fucking
fool of myself. But at least no one noticed. Or so I thought, until I saw
him look over at me. Which is why I'm completely and utterly fucked.

Fuck.

He's looking right at me. And now he's getting up. And coming over.

You know how you learn in Biology class that humans have a "fight or
flight" instinct?  That when faced with imminent bodily harm we either lash
out or run away, without even thinking? Well, I 'm here to tell you that
that's bullshit. Complete bullshit. Here I am, lying on the floor of the
workout room in a pool of my own sweat and mortification, with the guy I've
practically been stalking coming right at me, having caught me staring up
his shorts, and ... nothing. No flight, no fight. Just lunch working its
way back up my throat, half-digested burrito closing off my air. Somewhere
in the distance I can hear Darwin laughing. Clearly I was not meant to
survive.

He's right here. Standing right next to me. I can only bring myself to look
up as high as his kneecap for fear that I will hose him down with the
remains of that ill-advised fiesta of a lunch. He's not moving. He's just
standing there. So, the last thing I see before I die is his kneecap. His
fucking beautiful kneecap. Who has beautiful kneecaps? He does, that's
who. And that is, apparently, what I will be able to tell only angels.

He's not moving.

I swallow back the burrito, try to fix my face with a winning expression of
contrition and supplication, and look up at him. I notice two things:

1. His face, which has every reason to be contorted in a grotesque mask of
hate, is in fact smiling down at me. Instead of a brow furrowed with rage,
I see eyebrows raised expectantly, as if waiting for me to say something.

2. From this angle, I can see directly up the leg of his shorts, which is
what landed me in this sorry state in the first place. In fact, I have an
even better view now of his balls, which are lightly covered with downy fur
and are busily churning up and down for reasons unbeknownst to me.

And then I realize I'm staring at his crotch again. Deathwish,
apparently. I look up again, to his angelic face. He's saying something,
but all I can hear is the sweet sound of his balls moving up and down in
the silken confines of his baggy shorts. I try to listen to his voice.

"I said, are you okay? You took a pretty bad spill there."

Well, yes I did. Mainly because you're so fucking gorgeous that I cannot
put one foot in front of the other when you are around.

I don't say this.

"I guess I did. No big deal though, I'm fine." I try to sound nonchalant,
as if tumbling off treadmills is something I do daily, just for fun.

"Let me help you up," he offers, extending a hand. Do I need to mention
that the last time such a beautiful hand was extended it was captured on
the Sistine ceiling? I reach up for it, take it. There is such strength in
his grip, and yet such softness to his touch. He pulls, and gravity is no
match for those biceps. I rise from the floor; how could I not?

"Thanks," I manage to wheeze as I return to a full upright position. I'm
now face-to-face with him, the one that I've seen in my every waking
daydream and quite frequently at night, especially those nights when my
roommate is banging away at his girlfriend and I'm trying to imagine that
I'm either over there with them or somewhere far away with He Who Raises
the Doomed from the Floor here. I usually awaken damp.

He's still holding my hand. I make a tentative shaking motion with it, as
if we had just been introduced, and he takes the cue. I would say I'll
never wash that hand again, but I know that that hand's getting wrapped
around my cock as soon as I'm alone tonight, where it will stay until
either my wrist or my nuts give out.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks. He's sincere. I was totally gawking at him,
and he's concerned for my health. What did I do to deserve this? If there's
a god responsible for watching over Wayward Voyeurs, I will light a candle
for him every night for the rest of my life.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just not terribly coordinated." Self-deprecation is my
preferred method for impressing guys I'm hot for. It usually doesn't result
in the casting off of clothing and the sweaty grappling of muscled
flesh. Not sure why.

"Well, then. I guess I'll see ya around." He returns to the bench press,
retrieves his workout towel, and heads off in the direction of the locker
room.

I know two things now: I am the luckiest bitch in the world, and I am
completely in love.  Now I just need to find out his name.

* * *

The masturbatory performance I gave that night was epic. Luckily, my
roommate was out, drilling his girlfriend into someone else's mattress, and
that left me the place to myself. I took full advantage, treating myself to
great gobs of vaseline and fantasy about my dream man, the one who held my
hand in the gym. The hand he held for that electric moment was, as I
predicted, called into service repeatedly that evening, coaxing load after
load out of my increasingly sore and purpling prick. I wasn't done until
well after 2am, when apparently I fell asleep in mid-wank. I know this
because that's how my roommate found me the next morning.

"Ugh. Can't you control yourself at all?" he demands as he walks into the
room, seeing me sprawled naked on my bed, my cock glistening with lube, my
chest crusted with dried spooge. "I swear to god, you fags..."

Now, my roommate isn't homophobic or anything. In fact, he's quite
tolerant. But he has certain ideas about The Gays that he shares with me
constantly, and his most frequent outbursts have to do with how we're all
oversexed. Of course, he's never seen me even touch another guy, but to him
we're always either doing it, about to do it, or basking in the glow of
having done it. Whatever.

"Sorry, dude. Guess I fell asleep thinking about you." I hadn't, of
course. Gross. But this approach always works with him. I don't know if it
freaks him out or flatters him, but all I need to do is insinuate that I'm
all into him, and he stops with the cracks about my being gay. It's a
little warped, but it works for us. Dorm life, right?

"Gonna catch a shower," I mumble as I slip on a pair of shorts and grab my
shower kit.  I'm out the door before he can say anything else I don't want
to hear.

I realize as I make my way down the hall that I have no idea what time it
is. There are a few people up and around, but there's no bustle. That means
it's either before 8 or after 11. If I had early classes today I'd be
worried about the time, but on Friday mornings I can coast--no class until
2:30. I reach the shower room and walk into the steam.

Many of the residence halls at this fine university have individual stalls
for showers, complete with a curtain for privacy. Mine doesn't. It's a
leftover from the olden times, back before privacy was invented,
apparently. Our shower room is a room, one big space with showerheads
sprouting from the walls and from a steel column in the middle. It has all
the charm and seclusion of a slaughterhouse. But, like a slaughterhouse,
the setting matters less than the meat. And there is often plenty of meat
on display in our shower.

Take this morning, for example. Already wet and soaping when I walk in are
two guys from the other end of the floor. They are roommates, best friends,
co-captains of the lacrosse team, and hung like Clydesdales. They always
take showerheads next to each other at the center column, and they only
have eyes for each other. Seriously, they never look anywhere else. I don't
think they're lovers or anything, but sometimes they get so into their
conversation that they don't notice when their cocks brush up against each
other. I've seen it. The one who always stands on the left has this floppy
enormous pole of a penis that rises or falls but never gets larger or
smaller, while the one on the right has a ruler-straight monster that grows
from a couple of inches to 7 or more when its owner is reminiscing about
how much pussy he got the night before (seriously, that's how they talk
about women--no names, just "pussy"). When they are both boned up a bit,
and they lean in close to make themselves heard over the splash and
chatter, I've seen their cocks touch.  Sometimes more than once. They never
seem to notice. I do.

Around the edges of the room are three or four more guys, none as muscley
and sexed-up as the BFFs in the center of the room, but all nice enough to
look at. Before coming to college I had no idea male bodies came in so many
wondrous varieties. Setting aside the cocks for a moment (there's something
I never thought I would say!), the differences even in the balls are
extensive. Some guys have a tight, tennis-ball-like scrotum, and some have
floppy low-hangers; some come into the shower with a tennis ball and leave
with floppers, while others remain somewhere in the middle regardless of
temperature. Some nuts move up and down like elevators in a busy
skyscraper, while others are almost completely hidden by thickets of hair.

I like the shower. It's educational.

Suddenly, though, I realize that I need to focus and get on my way. Friday
morning is when my dream man does stairs at the stadium. Up and down 20
times at a brisk jog; the view from under the bleachers is inspiring,
particularly when it's warm out and he's in his little shorts and nothing
else. Luckily the space under the bleachers is dark so he doesn't know I'm
there.

Now, you might be thinking at this point that I'm demented. Yes, I follow
this guy around campus like a puppy. A puppy trained by the KGB. Anyway, I
know it's a little off, but you haven't seen him. If you did, you would
understand. From the moment I first saw him at freshman orientation three
months ago I was obsessed. He's just so beautiful, and every time I see him
I see something more beautiful about him. He's like a present you unwrap
over and over again, and it just gets better each time. Or, more
truthfully, he's a present that you watch someone else unwrap and then you
go home and jack off thinking about how awesome it would be if you got to
unwrap it someday. Just once.

Okay, that's a little pathetic.

Off to the bleachers.

* * *

Poetry. The man is pure poetry in motion. He's made 17 trips up and down
the stadium steps, and now he's glistening in the morning sun. With every
stair his entire frame pops up, the heavy layer of muscle bounding skyward
as his foot lands lightly on the next.  Some mornings I can't decide where
to look: at the fluid half-moons of his pectorals as they rise and fall, at
the rock-steady 8-pack of his abs (there were 6 when I started watching
him--there are definitely 8 now that he's been training hard), or at the
puppet show in his shorts. I'm not sure why he doesn't wear a strap for
doing the stadium, as I can see all parts of his crotch in motion as up and
down he pounds, my heart beating in time to the rise and fall of his
tackle, struggling to be free from its whisper-thin prison of nylon. Oh,
how I wish for it to be free.

And that's 20. At the bottom of the bleachers he picks up his water bottle
and cools off by walking slowly up and down the lowest set of stairs as he
drinks. Sometimes I think this is the best part: his muscles flushed with
blood and oxygen, his ribs heaving--he pauses every few steps to shake out
his taut legs, sending sweat beads flying from the sandy brown hairs that
darken down toward his ankles. As he paces up and down the corded muscles
begin to relax to a softer fullness; it's at this point that, as he cools
down, his nipples perk up, responding to evaporation with a fetching
engorgement. I used to think that nipples on men were a pointless remnant
of some earlier evolutionary turn; I see now that his are points about
which the universe turns.

His cool down complete, he always does the same thing: picks up his shirt
and walks back to the locker room. Except that this morning he
doesn't. Instead, he walks back up the steps, up to the level of my eyes,
and then he turns and sits on the bleachers. He's never done this before.

"That's about the most disgusting thing I can think of," he says quietly.

Fuckity fuck fuck fucking fuckity fuck. I'm a dead man. Again.

I pretend I didn't hear him. How quickly can I make my way out of here? Did
he see my face clearly enough to describe me to the campus police?

"I mean, someone's got to do it, but still," he continues, then takes
another swig from his water bottle.

What? What does that mean? Does he really think that the universe requires
that somebody watch him work out? This is really strange. I start backing
away, retreating into the darkness of the under-bleachers, toward the loose
boards that allow me into this den of voyeurism.

"You know, it's funny," he chuckles. I disagree. "One time my grandpa
bought a Buick, and suddenly all I saw on the street were Buicks."

Oh my god, the man is insane. Instead of worrying about escape I start
wondering if I should call for help--mental help, for him.

"I saw you at the gym yesterday, and now you're here this morning. Funny."
I am still not laughing. "How much do they pay you?"

I'm rarely at a loss for words. Ask anyone. But I had no idea how to
respond to this query. Did he think I was in the employ of Campus Stalker
magazine, tasked with tracking him? I was completely at sea.

"Those Thursday night game crowds are the worst. I see the crap they throw
down there.  Last week, some girl drank too much vodka at halftime and
during the third quarter she horked up everything she'd eaten all
week. Then the chick next to her lost it, and then the next. I think all
six of them must have puked a gallon and a half, and it all ended up down
there. You must have pissed someone off pretty bad to draw that job,
cleaning up under the bleachers on Friday mornings." He had turned now, and
was looking sympathetically at me with eyes the color of a summer twilight.

"Uhhh, yeah," I struggled to grunt. "It's a disgusting job, but someone's
got to do it." Nice conversation, huh? All I can think to do is give him
back his own words while I try to think of some way out of this.

"Well, I gotta get cleaned up for class. You about done?"

Now, this is a tough one. If I tell him that I've still got cleaning to do,
I'll have to keep up this charade for a while--he'll pass by here again on
his way to class, and if I'm not here that will seem strange. But if I
leave now, he'll see that I don't have any cleaning supplies with me. And
why is he asking me if I'm done? Think! What am I going to say?

"Ummm, actually, I don't clean under the bleachers. I mean, anymore. I
mean, I got a new job. But I came back, this morning. To, uhhh, look for
something. My, uhhh, watch, yeah that's what I was looking for. I must have
dropped it down here last week." I point at my wrist without thinking, as
if this makes my lie more believable.

"Looks like you found it," he says, pointing at my watch. Which is on my
wrist. The wrist I just pointed at.

"Errr, yeah, I did! Got lucky. No one puked on it or anything!" Oh god why
can't I say something suave and winning instead of blurting toilet words
like a flustered eighth- grader?

"So, you gonna stay down there like the troll under the bridge, or what?"
he asks, as he tips his water bottle all the way up. My heart leaps--a
literary man! Okay, so "Three Billy Goats Gruff" isn't Hemingway, but it's
in a book. A literary allusion is a good sign.

"Yeah, I'm about done here." Duh. Maybe I should just grunt and
slobber. That would give a more intellectual tone to my small talk. He gets
up, and I bolt for the way out. If I'm quick about it I can make it out
before he sees me crawling through the boards.  Almost there, back into
daylight, and ...

The sound of clothes being ripped off is always exhilarating when you hear
it in movies.  It means that passion has overtaken the lovers on the
screen, and they cannot get to flesh- on-flesh quickly enough. However, the
sound of a shirt ripping because it has caught on a rough board as one
makes one's way out from a trash-filled bleacher cave where one has been
discovered lusting after a clueless athlete is far less erotic. It's
actually kind of a blow. Fuck. The collar of my shirt is now in two pieces,
and the split runs all the way down to the middle of my back, maybe
further--can't really tell. There goes $36 at Hollister--and my dignity.

But I make it out from under the bleachers before he comes around the side,
and so it isn't as bad as all that. Except that he notices the shirt, which
is now hanging off one shoulder in shreds. I try to put it back, but it's
no use. I look like an idiot. Like an idiot's idiot brother. Why can the
ground never swallow you up when you need it to?

"Dude, what happened to your shirt?" he asks, though it seems to me pretty
clear what happened. I ripped it.

"I ripped it. Coming out from under the bleachers. Sucks, huh? Oh well,
never really liked this one anyway." Which of course was a lie, since I had
bought it last month just so that I could wear it on Friday mornings under
the bleachers. I figured if I never wore it anywhere else it would be
harder to identify me if there was ever a complaint about a peeping tom
under the bleachers. Brilliant criminal mind.

"I've got one you can use. It might be a bit big on you, but..." Was there
no end to this guy's goodness?

"Oh, no worries. I'll just head back to my room and pick up another shirt."

"Dude, you look ridiculous with that. Come on, the shirt's in my locker. I
keep an extra just in case. Mom always said it would come in handy." He
turns toward the locker room, then stops, and turns back.

"And Mom would want me to remember my manners. Ahem." He holds out his
hand.  "I'm Calvin."

I take his hand. Again. This time, though, I am already upright, and just
slightly less embarrassed than yesterday.

"Josh."

"Nice to meet you, Josh. Funny how we've run into each other lately, isn't
it?" He turns and walks away again. I'm frozen to the spot, unable to
believe my luck. This is luck, isn't it? Not being killed in a homophobic
rage by the object of my stud-lust? Yeah, that sounds like luck.

"You coming," he turns back to ask, not really in a questioning way, but
more like a statement of what's about to happen, whether I want it to or
not. I do, of course. I come.

"Yeah, thanks. I appreciate the offer." I practically skip to catch up,
then realize that if I catch up too quickly I'll miss the chance to watch
his lovely ass, those two perfect globes of muscle that I've felt thrusting
in my dreams just about every night.

Great. Now I have to try to walk normally with a boner. Can this day get
any weirder?

The answer, if you haven't yet guessed, is yes.

* * *

The locker room is empty at this hour, after morning practice but before
afternoon drills.  I can hear my own footsteps echoing across the banks of
lockers, but Calvin's can't be heard at all--it's like he's walking just
above the ground, rather than on it. There's nothing about his body that
isn't in absolute harmony, all the parts conspiring to make him somehow
superhuman. And fucking gorgeous.

He turns at the end of an aisle of lockers, and sets his water bottle and
shirt down on the end of the bench that runs down the middle of the next
row. We're right in front of the shower room, and looking at it I suddenly
realize I'm staring at the design inspiration for the big stupid shower on
my floor; I've been showering in a locker room shower all along. Did they
all used to be that way? I turn, wondering if I should pose this question
to my new friend, and suddenly I'm face to face with my most humid wet
dream: Calvin, smiling that boyish, dimply grin at me, thumbs hooked in the
waistband of his running shorts, clearly about to pull them off. I hope I
can withstand the rush of blood to my already aching cock.

"Mind if I take a quick rinse?" he asks, hesitating a moment as if worried
that he's going to inconvenience me.

"Oh, no prob. I can wait over there," I offer, nodding toward somewhere in
the distance, not sure where. I've never been here before.

"Oh, just hang out here. I won't take long, promise," he nods and grins at
me like a kid who wants a puppy. I'd give him the puppy. I'd give him
anything. He then whips his hands downward, flings the shorts into the open
locker, and bolts past me. I'm so shocked I don't even have a chance to
look at his now nude body as he zips past. Damn.

As the water starts running, I'm not sure where to look. I decide that I'll
study the lockers for a while. Perhaps I can make some kind of pattern out
of the numbers on them that will take my mind off the fact that the object
of my every waking lustful thought, and most of my sleeping ones as well,
is right now wet and naked not ten feet from me. La la la, looking at
numbers, la la la.

"Josh? I said what's your major." Oh, so apparently I'm not supposed to
pretend that he's not showering? I'm supposed to carry on conversation? All
right then. I sit on the edge of the bench and face the shower, but look at
the floor. I'm not sure I'm ready for this, even though I've dreamed of it
for months. I suck in a deep breath. I look up. And the air is immediately
knocked out of me. Holy fucking fuck.

Calvin is standing under the closest showerhead, the one on the central
column that points out to the lockers. He's facing away from me, with his
chest to the water. What I see is his perfect back, his perfect legs, and
in between his perfect ass. It's all perfect, it's all tan, and it's all
wet. And it's all right in front of me. I try to form a word, any word, but
all that comes out is a sort of gasping squeak that even I can barely
hear. I can't speak.

Calvin, probably noticing that I'm not saying anything, turns around to see
if I'm still here. Now, I've seen Calvin shirtless. I've seen Calvin in a
nylon short shorts. I've seen all but about 2-6 inches of him, the part
that his red Speedo covers when he swims laps for cross-training. You would
think that the unveiling of that last little bit would not be such a big
deal. But it is. And it's not just that for the first time I get to see his
privates, though that's of course part of it. What really strikes me is
that until now I've only appreciated parts of him--his full pectoral
muscles, his softball-like calves, the cut below his waist that disappears
into his shorts--but now I see how it all works together. And the whole is
epic, it's sculptural, it's a symphony of line and curve and motion. He's a
perfectly balanced machine crafted by the devil to lead me astray.

Oh, but that cock. And oh, those balls. They are a wonder to behold, and
their image is seared into my brain. People who have seen the space shuttle
launch know what I'm talking about--the beauty, the power, the achievement
can only be appreciated in person.  That's how it is with Calvin's boy
parts. I couldn't have chosen a more perfect set of genitalia if I had
spent months poring over all of the porn on the net. And I have.

His cock forms a graceful arc out and down from his groin. Perfectly
proportioned and richly veined, it tapers only slightly as it curved down
to the head, which mushrooms out from the shaft so that the rivulets of
water cascading down from his rippled abs break out in all directions as
they wash over it. It is a cock shaped ideally to fit the throat of someone
kneeling before it, looking up. I hope that would be me, someday.

And his balls? Well, I've always been attracted by a well-filled ball sack,
and Calvin's are the gonads of my dreams. Either he's taking a nice hot
shower or he has the most beautiful low-hangers I've ever seen. No wonder
those boys strain against his jogging shorts, bouncing up and down as he
bounds up the stairs. I had caught a glimpse of them at the gym yesterday,
but to see them in their entirety is a complete revelation. My mouth falls
open as I try to imagine fitting just one of those lovely orbs in it. It
would take some work, but I've never shied away from hard work. Damn.

Oh, shit, I've done it again. Calvin's looking at me, eyebrows up. Why is
he looking at me that way? Oh, right, what's my major? Come to think of it,
am I majoring in anything? I go to college? I think the steam is getting to
me.

"I'm undeclared right now," I manage to squeak out.

"Oh, gotcha," Calvin nods, approvingly, I think. And then he takes a big
pull on the soap dispenser and starts washing. Oh my god he's rubbing the
soap all over that amazing body. He smooths suds over his chest, and under
his arms, and across that washboard stomach (the irony!). He swabs down his
legs and feet, and then pauses for a moment. Is he going to ask me to wash
his back? Will I suddenly find myself in a porn story like the ones I'm
always reading and wanking off to on Nifty? It always seems like guys have
trouble washing their backs, and I would gladly pitch in if assistance is
required.

But no, he was just regaining his balance after washing his feet so that he
can lean over to get another squirt of soap. Then he washes his
back. There's only one area left, and I stop breathing while I wait for the
scrubbing to start. He turns around to get one more dollop of soap, and
then he stays facing away from me. Damn, the best part of the show and I'm
on the wrong side!

However, Calvin first soaps up his ass. And he's determined to do a
thorough job of it, apparently, because there's soap everywhere as he
lathers his cheeks vigorously. Then I see him work his fingers briefly and
lightly into the cleft, scrubbing gently but purposefully in the valley
where my dreams come true. It's an awesome performance.

And it's only half over. Now he turns back around, grabs a last bit of
soap, and gets to work. He caresses his cock and balls in a way that I can
only describe as lovingly, perhaps a little playfully. I wonder if his cock
is plumping up a bit. Then he grips his balls, one in each hand, and rolls
them gently around, squeezing and massaging them carefully.

"Gotta check for nut cancer," he says, and he seems to be perfectly at ease
with me watching him do so. "Forgot to do it last week. My uncle lost his
left one because he didn't feel the lump until it was too late. So,
undeclared, huh? Any ideas so far?"

Was he really talking about testicular self-exams and my academic career in
the same breath? Who is this guy?

"Well, I might try Math, or Psychology. Maybe English. I guess I'm more
undecided than undeclared." I'm trying to make sense and watch him rinse
his amazing body at the same time. Multitasking was never my strong suit.

"Funny. I've known what I want to study since I was 8." He turns off the
water, and stands there dripping, naked, still grinning at me. Pinch me, I
have to be dreaming. "Can you toss me my towel?"

I toss him the towel that I see hanging in his locker. He catches it, and a
whole new vista of bodily delights unfolds before me, as he rubs every bit
of his hard and flushed body with his soft, thick towel. I think my dick
went into shock 5 minutes ago, as I can feel nothing in my crotch but
rock-solid weight.

"And what is that?" I finally think to ask. "That you want to study?"

"Kinesiology. Sports medicine. It's always just seemed like my thing."
Hehe. His thing.  His thing is currently right about mouth level with me,
happily bobbing up and down a bit, smelling like soap and making my mouth
simultaneously water and go dry. Calvin is standing next to me, rubbing the
towel on his hair, making Little Calvin (who is not so little) wave at me
like it wants to shake my hand. No, no, the pleasure is mine, dear sir.

Calvin gets dressed in a flash, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head and
slipping board shorts on smoothly up his legs. Whoops, there goes that
beautiful cock, swallowed up by the waistband of his shorts. I hate those
shorts for stealing it from my view. No underwear, I notice. I guess Calvin
takes casual Friday pretty seriously.

"Here, take this one," he says, tossing me a shirt. I had forgotten I was
still wearing that rag of a shirt in tatters around my neck. I slip it off
over my head, and I'm suddenly aware of how slack my body seems in
comparison to the stacked muscle of my new friend. I'm not in terrible
shape, but I'm not in his league by any stretch. I have a 4-pack, tops. I
pull on his shirt. It smells like grass and meadows and, what's that? Ahh,
testosterone.  Intoxicating.

"Thanks again," I manage to say, meaning it. He's given me the shirt off
his back, sort of, and enough masturbation material to last me until I wear
all the skin off my dick with rubbing. It's been a good day, and it's not
even noon yet.

"Hey, you had breakfast? I'm starving."

What did I do to deserve this? I want to know so that I can go back and do
it again and again and again.

"You know, I missed breakfast this morning." This is a lie.

"I think I'm going to grab a Jamba. Wanna get one?"

"Sure. Sounds good." This is another lie. I hate Jamba Juice. But I would
drink radioactive monkey piss if he asked me to. So Jamba it is.

"Awesome." He grabs his pack, turns, and heads for the door. I follow,
because he asked me to come along, and I will do whatever he asks. I hope
he will return the favor.

* * *

We're walking through lower campus, on the way back to the dorms with our
Jamba Juice. I am struggling to choke down some vile mixture with guava or
some shit in it, along with a clot of gritty nutrient powder that will
probably make my hair fall out.  Calvin, meanwhile, is sucking vigorously
at the straw of his ridiculously huge tub of juice smoothie. He clearly
loves the stuff; I can tell by the way his cheeks are sunk in as he pulls
on that straw. Good god he can suck. This is very promising.

I have no idea how we got to his residence hall, nor what we were talking
about as we walked here. I've been focusing mostly on the fact that this
man I've been lusting after from afar is now less than a foot from me. And,
having spent an hour with him, I have to say that my suspicion that his
beauty was only skin-deep is sadly mistaken. See, I have always had this
theory that the more beautiful a person is, the shallower he or she is. By
this reckoning, Calvin should have been about a quarter-inch deep. But
instead, I have found him to be funny, generous, and luckily completely
clueless about the fact that I've been stalking him for months. This is
going pretty well.

"Well, it's been nice to meet you, Calvin." I stop and point vaguely in the
direction of my dorm, on the opposite end of the quad from his. "I'm over
there."

"But don't you want to come up for a minute? I don't have class until 2:30,
and you're fun to talk to." No one's ever said that to me before, at least
in such a sincere way, and I'm completely charmed. This boy could be The
One.

"Yeah, I've got class at 2:30 too. Might as well." I hardly know what to
think. Why is he doing this? How does this play out? Whatever. I don't
care. I just want to spend more time with him, and he's on board with that,
so let's go.

He swipes his ID at the door, pulls it open, and up the stairs we go. He's
on third floor, like me, but his room is much nicer than mine; it appears
to have been remodeled more recently than the Eisenhower administration. He
tosses his stuff on the dresser and flops down on the futon. Do I sit next
to him, or across from him? I decide to take my chances and sit next to
him. This is going so well, we may be making out in a few minutes. I hope
this guava crap hasn't given me bad breath.

"So, now that we've covered school," he says. So that's what we've been
talking about.  Good to know. "What about you. Who is Josh?" Oh my god do
they teach jocks to talk like this at team-building camp or something? I
have no idea how to answer this.

"Uh, I'm just a guy, I guess." And now I'm talking like a third grader
again. Shit.

"Have a girlfriend?" He asks, and again with the grin and the dimples. He's
so genuine, and adorable, and everything. And I do mean everything.

"No, actually." Okay, big moment. Do I tell him, or let it come out
gradually? On the one hand, I don't want to get thrown out of his room for
coming out too abruptly. But on the other hand I want to be honest with
him, and he's been so nice so far. What to do?

"I've never had a girlfriend. I'm gay." That's what, apparently. I surprise
myself by laying it out there just like that. I don't have much experience
coming out to people; though I've known that I'm attracted to men all my
life, I've really only been "out" for about a year.  I've had a couple of
people react badly to it, though (I'm looking at you, Uncle Phil), so I'm
usually pretty cautious. Not today though. I look at him, right into his
eyes, to try to figure out how that went over. You can always see violence
coming if you look into their eyes. I hate that I have to know that, but I
do, so there you go. I cannot tell what he's going to do. He seems a bit
flummoxed.

"Yeah, right. Good one. Hah!" He laughs, as if I've made a great joke. I
haven't, of course, unless he thinks that my sexuality itself is a joke.

"No, seriously. I'm gay."

He stops laughing. He tenses. He stops sucking at his straw. He seems
completely dumbfounded. I have no idea what he's going to do next.

"What are you talking about? You can't be gay." He seems so certain. I
guess the guys whose dicks I sucked in senior year were wrong about me. I'm
not gay, because Calvin says I can't be!

"Well, I am. I hope that's not a problem for you?"

"Look, I don't get this. You seem like a nice guy. I don't understand why
someone like you would say you're into messed-up shit like that." Whoa,
there. What's that about?

"Messed-up shit like what?"

"You know, what gays do. The gerbils and the leather and the little boys
and stuff."

"Calvin, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Look, I know about gay stuff. We had this health teacher at my school that
told us all about it. He knows, because he used to live the gay
lifestyle. But then he found religion and he was cured. He told us about
how gay people put gerbils in their asses for fun, and how they all like to
wear leather and beat each other, and about how they do perverted shit with
little boys." Calvin's getting a little uncomfortable now, I can tell. He's
shifting a bit on the futon, and he's put his drink down.

"I see," I say in the calmest voice I can muster. "Just because you had a
sick fuck for a health teacher doesn't mean that gay people stick rodents
up their asses. Gay people are just like you and me. There's nothing
perverted about it." It's taken me a couple of years to get to the point
that I can just lay it all out like that. Damn, I sound like a Gay
Crusader. In spite of my shock that Calvin has suddenly turned into some
right-wing zombie, I'm kind of proud.

He looks at me as if I've sprouted a second head. His brow is furrowed.

"But gays are that way because they've been smothered by their moms, or
molested by a priests or something. They're sick, and they take their
sickness out on kids. It's a cycle of self-destructive self-loathing."

That's got to be from an evil pamphlet of some kind.

"That's what he told you? He's the sick one." I get up to leave. "Look, I'm
going now.  This is just too much for me."

He sits there, watching me get up. He seems stricken somehow. He's still
trying to figure this all out.

"No, wait," he blurts, getting up from the futon and coming over to
me. "Wait. I need a minute to get this straight." Ha ha. Good one. "You're
telling me that you are seriously, 100%, no-shit gay?"

"Yes, I am seriously, 100%, no-shit gay. Or 99%, because I kinda got wood
for Katy Perry once. But other than that, yes, that's me, gay gay gay. Now
that you know, I'm going, because you're scaring me a little with your
gerbils and your pedo stories. That's some sick stuff there, dude. You
should be mad at him."

I'm out his door and down the hall before I realize I'm still wearing his
shirt. I turn around and go back. He's still standing there, looking
overwhelmed. God, he's beautiful, even when he's acting like a messed up
homophobe.

"Look, uh, thanks for the shirt. I'll wash it and get it back to you
tomorrow." That done, I'm on my way again.

"No! Josh, wait. Come back. I want to talk to you." He's looking at me with
those puppy eyes again, but this time no grin, just that stricken, shocked
expression. How can I leave him now?

"OK, but only if you stop it with the sicko gay stuff. I don't want to hear
any more about that, all right?"

"Deal. Just don't go. I need to talk with you."

I go in. He shuts the door. And then it gets weirder.

* * *

He gestures toward the futon, and I sit down. He doesn't, though; he's
pacing up and down the middle of the room, clearly working over our
conversation of the last few minutes. I'm intrigued. I wait. I mean, I wait
and watch. He's beautiful even when he paces. Now that I know what's in
those shorts, I can't help picturing him without them on.  Is it wrong to
get boned up when your friend is having a crisis like this? Fuck it. I'll
just enjoy the view.

Finally, he stops pacing. He turns to face me, and I see him struggling to
come up with words. The suspense is killing me.

"Look, I'm sorry if I offended you. You seem like a really nice guy, and I
didn't mean to come off sounding like a jerk. I've just never met anyone
who thought he was gay before."

That seems unlikely. And a little insulting.

"Calvin, I don't think I'm gay. I know I'm gay."

Again with the furrowed brow. But he's clearly working hard to grasp this,
so I continue.

"I don't get why this is so hard for you to understand. There are gay
people everywhere.  You see them every day. There are gay people on your
football team."

"No way."

"Yes way. I know a guy who's proven himself to be quite an athletic
supporter in that area. He's been with at least three players already this
semester."

This puzzles him. I can see the gears working in his head, trying to figure
out which of the hulking manly men he's been showering with daily I'm
referring to. Then he suddenly snaps back to me.

"Wait, is this one of those deals where you say you have 'a friend' who
does something, but it's really you who does it?" He seems genuinely afraid
that I might be the guy whose been getting into the tight, padded pants of
his teammates.

"No, Calvin. It's not me. Unlike you, I actually am aware that I have gay
friends, and we talk sometimes. About, you know, gay things." I've been
trying to keep my native sarcasm in check, but this is really too much.

He decides to leave aside the mystery of the man-loving football squad and
pursue a different line of questioning.

"So, what makes you think you're gay?"

"Well, what makes me gay is that I am attracted to men. You know, in a
sexual way. I like the way men look, I like the way they feel, I like
kissing them. It's pretty much the same deal that you have with women."

"But you've tried it, right?"

"Tried what?"

"Having sex with a chick."

This is getting interesting.

"Um, no. Never had sex with a 'chick.'"

"Then how do you know for sure?"

Ahh, so that's where this is going. I decide to go on the offensive.

"When did you decide that you're straight?" I ask.

It's an old trick, but it works.

"What do you mean? Straight is normal. I didn't choose it."

Bingo.

"And it never occurred to you even once to try it with a guy so that you
would be absolutely certain that you're attracted to women only?"

"Dude, sick!"

"Okay, then, it's the same with me. I've always been attracted to
men. That's my normal."

He ponders this for a moment.

"I'm trying to get this," he says, and I believe him. He's working hard on
getting his mind around it.

"When you say you're attracted to men, what does that mean? I don't get
that part."

"It means that I find men more attractive than women."

"But why? I mean, you have everything that every guy has, right? What do
you see in other guys that you don't already have? Why not just stay home
and look in the mirror if that's what you're attracted to?"

I've never heard this one before. Hmmm.

"I mean, your junk is the same as every other guys' junk."

"OK, first, let's not call it junk. That creeps me out. Second, if you
really believe that every guy's ... stuff ... is the same as everyone
else's, then you haven't been looking closely enough. Third, it's not just
about the sex parts. I am attracted to the whole package: body,
personality, sense of humor, the whole deal."

Again, this sets him back a bit. He's not sure where to go next. He paces
some more, then turns back to me.

"Are you attracted to me?"

Oh shit. I didn't see that one coming. I can feel myself blushing, the heat
rising from my cheeks. I'm a little dizzy, in fact.

Keep it together, Josh. Keep it together.

Suddenly, a kind of calm comes over me. I'm not sure where it comes from,
but I take a deep breath, and I just sort of know I'm going to be OK.

"Yes, I am." If he's going to beat me to death with his desk chair, it'll
be right now.

"Oh."

I'm not sure what that means, exactly.

"Oh," he says again, and blinks a few times. Then he looks right at me,
into my eyes.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why are you attracted to me? Do you think I'm gay?"

"Well, no, I assumed you weren't. It's just that..." I'm not sure how to
explain this, or even if I should.

"What? It's just that what?" He really seems to want to know. I take a
breath, and try to tell him.

"It's that you're the most beautiful man I think I've ever seen." When I
woke up this morning, I had just dreamed that I had said this to him. And
now, I've just said it to him, for real. I guess dreams come true. Of
course, in my dream he responded by kissing me.  All over.

"You think I'm ... beautiful? That's what you call a chick. Eww." His nose
wrinkles and he shakes his head.

"OK, so maybe I used the wrong word. I think you're the most handsome man
I've ever seen. Is that better?"

"Yes. I mean, no, it's not. I mean, it's a better word, but I still don't
get why you say that."

"Dude, do you own a mirror? You are fucking gorgeous." I decide to throw
caution to the wind. I'm in this now, might as well own it all.

"What?" He seems genuinely at a loss now. I appreciate that he's trying to
figure it out though, so I'm going to help him. Time to stop dancing around
this.

"You are what every Abercrombie model wishes he was. Your muscles have
muscles.  You eyes have a blue fire in them that makes my knees buckle. You
are the whole package, and just being close to you makes me hard."
There. Might as well have it all out in the open.

"But, but..." He pauses, trying to make sense of this."I'm just a guy. I
can't help how I look. I don't get all dressed up or put stuff in my hair
or anything. I look like everyone else."

"OK, no, you don't, first off. There's no one in the world who looks like
you."

"Come on, man, you're not making sense. Every guy looks like me."

What am I going to do with him? He is both the sweetest and the most
cluelesss guy I have ever met.

"Let's do this. Who is the handsomest guy you know?" I challenge him. This
should be interesting.

"How should I know? I don't know what a makes a guy handsome!" He's getting
exasperated with this. That's what I was counting on.

"Okay, so you don't know what makes a man handsome. Tell me, then, why do
you work out so much?"

"Because I have to, for the team."

"I didn't see any of your teammates out there running stairs today."

He pauses.

"Well, I was doing an extra workout. I need to work on my calves."

"Why? And why were you at the gym yesterday? Doesn't the team have their
own workout room?"

"Yeah, but I like to lift after my classes some days so I can get some
better definition."

"Uh-huh. And what's the purpose of this 'better definition'?"

A trace of a grin plays around his mouth. God he's the sexiest thing ever.

"Well, the chicks kind of dig it," he admits, sheepishly.

"So, would you say that working out makes you more attractive?"

"No!"

"But you just said that chicks like it."

"But they're chicks! I don't know why they like what they like, they just
do."

Time to go in for the kill.

"So you work out so that you're more attractive to the ladies. I can't help
but notice that your get your hair cut every two weeks, that your shelf
over there contains a number of skin-care products that I've seen
advertised on TV, and that your closet looks like you just rolled a rack
out of A&F. Why go through all that trouble, if you're just a guy and have
no idea what makes a guy handsome?"

Boom.

"But." That's about all he's got right now. He looks around his room,
accused and convicted by everything he sees.

"So, I would humbly submit to the jury that you know exactly what makes a
man attractive, and that you work hard to be as handsome as you can be. I
rest my case."

"But I do it to get chicks, not dudes."

"I guess I'm collateral damage in your campaign to impress the ladies."

He considers this for a moment. Then an idea comes to him.

"All right, my turn. You say you're gay, but you don't look like any fag I
know of."

I let the "fag" thing pass.

"You said you don't know any gay people."

"Yeah, but I know about gay people."

"From Mr. Self-Loathing Ex-Gay Health Teacher?"

"His name is Mr. Peterson."

"Whatever. Nothing that guy told you is true, just so you know."

"So you're telling me that you've never wanted to be a woman?"

"What, now?" I can't believe I'm hearing this.

"Gay men feel like they're women inside, which is why they want to have sex
with men."  He states this as if he had just played a trump card.

"Um, no. I like being a man."

"It's not manly to have another guy's dick up your butt."

See? I told you it was going to get weirder.

"Actually, I've never had another guy's dick up my butt. Not sure I ever
want to have another guy's dick up my butt. I may someday, but for right
now, thanks, but no."

"Then you're not gay."

"That's a pretty limited definition of being gay."

"Well there are other things that go with the buttsex. Like the gerbil
thing. And having a guy stick his fist up your butt. That's just gross."

"I agree. But being gay is not just about finding things to go up your
butt."

He looks at me as if I were the naive, deluded one.

"What else is there?"

Again, if he weren't genuine, I wouldn't be having this conversation. But
he's so earnest in his delusion that I feel like I have to go on.

"Well, there's going to movies, and kissing, and dancing, and talking about
books, and eventually settling down and having kids and growing old
together."

"Dude, that's what you're not going to be doing. Because you're gay, right?
Remember?"

Sigh.

"Look, there's no reason why I can't do all of that just because I want to
do it with another guy."

"So what you want is what normal people want, but with buttsex?"

"Ugh. Enough with the buttsex. But your general point is pretty much
right. I just want what a lot of people want: someone to love. Just with a
penis. And better music. That's about it."

"So, you're gay, but you want love? I had no idea that was possible." He
pauses, thinking.  "Are there other gays like you?"

"I sure hope so. It's going to be pretty lonely for me if there aren't. I
don't want to go through life alone. I know there's someone out there who's
perfect for me. With any luck, he looks a lot like you. Of course I want
love. It's all I've ever wanted."

He's silent for a long while.

"Can I show you something?"

This is getting even more interesting.

* * *

Calvin gets to his feet--apparently at some point he had squatted down next
to the futon in order to look me in the face without actually sitting next
to me. I hadn't even noticed.  He walks over to his bookshelf, and picks up
an old-looking book. He flips through the pages, and pulls out a piece of
folded paper. He holds it for a moment, and I can tell he's trying to
decide something. Finally he nods to himself, takes a deep breath, and
closes the book. He steps over to the futon, and hands me the paper.

"What you just said make something click in my mind," he explains. "Will
you take a look at this?"

"What is it?" I ask, unfolding the paper slowly. I have no idea what I'm
about to find.

"I'll tell you once you read it." he murmurs, almost in a whisper.

I open the paper fully, and smooth it on my leg. It's a note, written in a
block script that looks kind of architectural. I read it to myself, slowly.

"Cal--

"I'm leaving in a couple of hours. I don't want to go. I don't know how I'm
going to make it without you. I'm sorry I pushed you so hard that I pushed
you away. I really wish we were playing for the same team, but since we
aren't I just can't see you again. Everything I've ever wanted is in this
car that you're about to drive out of my life. I will always be here, if
you decide things can be different between us.

"Love, Reese."

I read the note twice, and then again. It's about the saddest thing I've
ever seen. I look up at Calvin, and he's leaning against his desk, with the
strangest look on his face.  Something's really not right. And then I
realize there's a tear at the starting to make its way down his cheek. I
look down, certain that we wouldn't want me to stare, and I notice that his
legs are shaking. He's in a bad way about this note. But why?

"Calvin, who's Reese?"

He takes a shaky breath, as if there's suddenly not enough air in the
room. He lets out the breath, wipes his cheek, and inhales again. He puffs
out his cheeks, shakes his head slowly back and forth, and tries
again. This time he finds his voice,

"He's my best friend from home. He was, anyway."

I try to arrange my features into an expression of supportive
expectation. That's not easy under the circumstances, let me tell you. This
has suddenly turned very serious. I wait.  He takes a couple of deep
breaths and continues.

"He left me that note on the windshield of my car the morning we left for
college. I came here, and he want to State. I haven't seen him
since. Haven't talked to him. We're not even Facebook friends anymore." At
this a sob catches in his throat.

"Why?" I ask, already knowing the answer. I mean, it's all right in the
note.

"Because I chose football over lacrosse." He chokes back another sob,
closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with his hand.

This is not the answer I was expecting, and he sees my confused expression
once he opens his tear-filled eyes.

"It's right there in the note: 'I really wish we were playing for the same
team.' See?" he points.

"Calvin, I don't think that's what he meant by that."

"Yes he did. And look here," he says, taking the note from my hand. " 'I
will always be here, if you decide things can be different between us.'
See, he's saying that if I transfer to State we can be friends again
because the U is their rival."

Oh. My. God. Can he really be that clueless?

"He signed it 'Love, Reese.' Is that normal for guys to write to each
other?" I'm trying to steer him to see what I see.

"Well, yeah. We were members of this church youth group for years, and one
of the things they taught is to tell the people who are important in your
life that you love them.  We did that all the time--we all did. It's not
gay, or anything." He seems less certain about that than his words would
indicate.

"So, since you have this note all figured out, why show it to me? Why are
you so upset?"

"Because of what you just said. You said that love is all you've ever
wanted. It made me think of Reese's note, when he says, 'Everything I've
ever wanted is in this car that you're about to drive out of my life.' I've
never really known what to make of that--all I had in the car was my
clothes and computer and stuff. None of it was his."

He stops again, and the tears start again. He's shaking his head and trying
to blink them back. It's not working.

"Calvin, what do you think he meant?" I ask, knowing my answer, wanting to
hear his.

"I think he meant me," he whispers, barely audible. The tears flow freely
now, and he crumples onto the futon next to me. "Oh, fuck, Josh, what have
I done?" He draws his knees up to his chest, folds his arms around them,
and buries his head. I can hear his ragged breathing, and I sit there,
watching his shoulders shudder.

Not knowing what else to do, I put my arm around him. He tips toward me,
his head coming to rest on my shoulder. I can feel his hot tears spread
through my shirt. His shirt.  Is this really happening?

"I'm so sorry, Calvin." It's all I can think of to say.

He mumbles something in response, something I cannot understand.

"What? I didn't hear that. What did you say?"

"He. Loved. Me." His voice is hoarse but deliberate, as if he's a jury
foreman delivering a painful verdict. "He loved me. And I didn't know. I
hurt him, and I didn't even know it."

More sobs. I wait for him to calm a bit.

"Calvin, why did you say you hurt him? What happened?"

"He told me, the night before we left for college. He just came right out
with it. He told me he thought he had fallen in love with me, and that he
may have turned gay for me. He told me that."

"Wow. That's huge. What did you do?"

"I slugged him in the arm, and told him it was a good joke. He tried to
keep talking about it, but I ended up kind of yelling at him that he was no
faggot and he should shut up. I left, and I may have broken some stuff on
the way out. That was the end of it."

I wait. He looks up at me, his face streaked with tears.

"I thought he was putting me on. I really did! It wasn't until I met you
today that it even occurred to me that he could be telling the truth. I
hurt him, and I didn't even know I was doing it. I'm scum." His head sags
back down onto my shoulder. More sobs.

Now, imagine the scene. Here's the man of my dreams, whom I've already seen
naked and soaped up this morning, and who now is crying--crying!--because
he's just realized that he hurt his friend who had fallen in love with
him. This is the guy I feared was likely to beat me senseless because I was
looking at him in the gym, sobbing because he didn't understand what his
friend was telling him.

"Calvin, it's okay. Seriously, it's okay. You can fix this. You can."

He sniffles a bit, and then meekly asks, "How?"

"Isn't it obvious? You just call him, and explain what happened. You tell
him that you didn't get what he was saying, and you apologize, and you
talk. That's it."

"Do you think that will work?"

"Of course. Why shouldn't it?"

"Because he's probably totally forgotten about it by now. He probably
doesn't care anymore."

"Bullshit. No one writes a note like this and then just moves on."

"But what would I say to him?" He trains those piercing periwinkle eyes on
me, and we're about 4 inches apart. Oh god, even his breath is delicious.

"Just tell him you understand now what he was trying to say, and that
you're not upset with him, and that you want to still be friends like you
were before. Simple, right?" I smile, hoping that it's contagious. It seems
to be. That grin, that killer grin, sidles back into view.

"You really think that would work?"

"Yes. We gay folks have a sense about this. He will forgive you." Mainly so
that he can see your killer body again, I don't say. I'm not proud to admit
that my mind immediately jumps to what Reese will do when he sees the
8-pack. I suddenly hate that bitch and his long friendship with
Calvin. They probably grew up skinny dipping. And having circle jerks. Damn
him. Anyone would end up gay going through that.

"OK. I'm going to call him." He gets up to retrieve his phone from his bag.

"Well, good luck with that," I say, getting to my feet and heading for the
door.

"Wait, Josh! You have to stay. What if I need help? What if I don't know
what to say?"

"Calvin, you'll do fine. You don't need me to translate Gay for you. We've
been talking this whole time, right?"

"I need you to stay." He is definite about this, and he deploys his dimples
as his enforcers. Again, what can I do? I turn and sit back down. I'm a
fucking puppet because of those dimples.

"OK, I'm dialing," he narrates, needlessly. I know what dialing looks
like. "It's ringing."

I suddenly feel tight in the chest. It's like I've been plopped into the
middle of a movie. A romance. Well, an independent-film kind of romance. A
gay, somewhat porny, independent-film kind of romance. My mind is revving a
bit here--it does that when I'm nervous.

He blinks when the call connects. He darts a look at me, and then closes
his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Hey, it's me," he says, softly, into the phone. Into Reese's ear.

I realize there's a tear making its way down my cheek.

* * *

"Yeah, it's been a while," he says, after a brief pause. "I'm sorry about
that. I just didn't know what to..."

He stops, listening hard.

"Yeah, I got it. I tried to call you, but your phone wasn't working."

He looks at me, hope in his eyes. He seems to want me to confirm that this
is going well.  I give him a quick nod and a thumbs-up.

"Yeah, well, I guess I wouldn't really want to talk to me either, after
that night. I'm really sorry about that whole thing. I just didn't know
what was going on."

He listens again, nodding.

"But I have a new friend who cleared it all up for me. Helped me see what
you really meant."

Luckily he doesn't look over to see my furious blushing.

"His name's Josh. I just met him today. Or, actually, yesterday, at the
gym."

He looks over, and grins. My cheeks are on fire. Seriously, I think my
eyelashes are getting singed.

"Is he what? Cute? Uh, I guess so. Yeah, I'd have to say he is."

His playful eyes twinkle like every star in the sky. I wait for my heart to
beat again. It may be a while.

"Look, Reese, I just wanted to tell you that I was a complete shithead that
night, and now I know what you were trying to tell me. And I'm okay with
it. I mean... I ... uhh..."

He looks at me as if he's forgotten his line and I'm the prompter.

"Tell him that you are secure in your sexuality and you're fine with him
being gay," I offer in a stage whisper. That's what I would want to hear if
I were Reese. Of course, if I were Reese I would do everything I could to
undermine the "security" of Calvin's sexuality.

"What I'm trying to say is," he looks at me, right at me, his eyes drilling
into mine, and then he turns and walks over to the window. "What I'm trying
to say is that I miss you every single day. What I'm trying to say is I
miss you so much it hurts." He breathes, twice, quickly, as if he's trying
not to throw up. "What I'm trying to say is that I love you.  Not in the
youth group way, but really love you. I love you." He sounds surprised, and
then more certain. "I love you."

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It's all I can think to myself. The shock of
what he has just said into the phone takes my breath away (and a year off
my life, I think). I am stunned.  And proud. And happy (for Calvin, for
Reese) and sad (for me). This is all too too much.

He is silent. He is listening. Then, all at once, he sinks slowly to the
floor, and he comes to rest kneeling in the middle of the room. He turns to
face me, and his face is one of stunned hurt.

"But," is all he can muster. He shakes his head slowly.

"Reese, I know I was stupid ... but I'm past that now ... listen to me," he
begs. This is suddenly not going well.

"No! You can't do that! Reese, why? I..." he looks completely lost,
adrift. I can't even imagine what's going on. His expression twists from
one of loss to one of anger.  Something else has happened now.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy. Yeah, you try that. See how that works out for
you. I'll fucking kill you. I will!" He angrily mashes the end button on
his phone, then looks down at it as if it had betrayed him. He is still for
a moment, then he throws the phone against the wall. Hard. It shatters.

I just about jump out of my skin. The violence scares the hell out of me.

He remains kneeling in the middle of the room, looking down at his now
empty hands. I see his breathing slowly return to normal. I wait.

"Can we take a walk?" he says, dully. "I don't want to be here right now."

"Yeah, of course, whatever," I reply, getting up. He rises, graceful even
in his emotional shambles. We stand there. I have to say something.

"Calvin, this is all my fault. I am so sorry. I really thought that calling
him would help-- would help you both."

He looks at me, hard.

"No," he says, finally. "It was the right thing to do. I just don't know
what to do now."

He walks to the door, holds it open for me. We're going for a walk.

* * *

We walk across the quad, heading I don't know where. Calvin's not said a
word since we left his room, but he seems to know where he's heading. I
hear the clock chime a half hour, but what it's half past I have no
idea. Then I remember I'm wearing a watch. It's 2:30. My class is
starting. As is Calvin's. I don't mention this to him.

We seem to be heading to the edge of campus, by the lake. I've been on this
trail before, but only to run on it; I haven't ever bothered to look at the
scenery. It's beautiful, with trees arching over the path and the waves
gently lapping the shore. Suddenly, Calvin heads off the trail, through the
undergrowth and out of sight. I follow.

When I catch up to him, he's standing on a secluded point overlooking the
lake. There's a bench here, one that seems not to get much use. No
wonder--there doesn't seem to be a path that leads here. Calvin sits on the
bench and stares out at the lake. I sit next to him, and take in the view
as well. I wait for him to speak.

I wait for five long minutes, maybe more. Finally, he starts to speak,
mostly to the lake.

"You ever have one of those days when everything changes? All at once?
Like, when you look back at the person you were in the morning you hardly
recognize him? You ever have a day like that?"

I'm kind of having one right now, but I'm not sure that's what he wants to
hear. I just nod.

"This morning I knew who I was, what I wanted. Now, everything is
different. Nothing is what I thought it was, including me. And
Reese. Reese." He snorts, shakes his head.  "He's not what I thought he
was, and now he's not what I thought he was after that either.  Nothing is
what I thought it was."

I'm not sure I'm following this. but I keep nodding.

"And you. I just met you and now you've seen the most thrashed day of my
life. I feel closer to you than I am to most of the people I've known for
years. How does that happen? How did any of this happen?"

"Calvin, sometimes shit happens. It just does. And, if it helps at all, I
feel like we've known each other for years already too."

He looks at me and nods. He seems relieved that he's not the only one
feeling this way.

"So, what happened with Reese?"

He sighs, turns back to face the lake. I'm not sure he's ready to talk
about it, but I feel like he needs to. I wait.

"Well, it didn't go well."

"Yeah, I could kind of tell that."

More silence. Perhaps he needs a nudge.

"What you told him was beautiful. It was about the most heartfelt thing I
can imagine. I would love to hear that from you."

He looks at me, raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, if I were Reese, I would love to hear that from you."

The grin plays at the edges of his mouth for the first time since the call.

"I was just kind of surprised to hear you say what you did. I wasn't
expecting it."

"Neither was Reese, apparently. God, I feel like such a fucking idiot."

"So, what did he say?"

"Well, first he told me that he blocked my phone calls after leaving that
note on my car.  He said he decided he couldn't talk to me anymore. I told
him I didn't blame him for that, because I was a jerk that night."

"Uh-huh," I intone, encouragingly.

"And then when I told him about the note, and about how you helped me to
understand what it meant, he immediately started asking about you, like he
thought we were, you know..."

"Lovers?" I suggest, knowing that the word would likely bring a flinch. I
am not disappointed.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." It's Calvin's turn to blush. "He sounded so strange--I
couldn't tell if he was angry or sad or what, but I knew right then what I
needed to say to him. So I did."

"I was pretty stunned when all of that came flowing out. I had no idea you
were going to tell him that."

"It surprised the hell out of me, too. But it all just fell into place once
I started. Saying it out loud made me realize how I really feel about him."

He turns to face me, and he takes my hand in his. On cue, my heart begins
to race.

"That's what I mean about how this day has changed me. You made me see that
what Reese felt for me was real. And that what I feel for him is real too."

"How did I do that?" I'm confused by this whole thing, but as long as he's
holding my hand I'll go with it.

"By making me see that two guys can be in love. Not the sick stuff that
Mr. Peterson talked about, but real love. I had no idea. It never occurred
to me that Reese could be gay, because gays were perverts. Reese isn't a
pervert." He stops, takes a deep breath. "And neither am I."

Whoa. Dude.

"What are you saying, Calvin? Do you think you might be gay?"

He bites his lip, looks puzzled. And gorgeous, oh god he's gorgeous.

"I don't know. I don't know anything right now. I do know that I love
Reese, and I have for a long time. I just didn't have a word for it, or a
way to think about it, until today. You gave me that, Josh. You made me see
myself in a whole new way. Thank you." He squeezes my hand. I'm going to
die.

"Okay, so, you told Reese that you love him. What happened then? It all
seemed to go bad after that."

He looks down, at our hands clasped together.

"Yeah. He just went off. He said that he never said anything about being in
love with me, and that he has a girlfriend, and that I was making the whole
thing up. I thought he was just mad at me, and I tried to apologize and
explain that I've changed, and then he started yelling that I was a faggot
and that was going to tell everyone back home that I have a boyfriend and
am a huge cocksucker."

"Oh, fuck, Calvin, I'm so sorry. Where did all of that come from?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Here I thought that we were finally going to
be friends again, and then he does this."

"I'm not sure how to ask this, so I'll just go ahead. Do you really want to
be friends with him again? Just friends?"

His hand squeezes mine harder now, and he's tearing up again. This is so
hard for him.

"I don't know. I don't know what I want."

He stares out at the lake again, as if there's an answer out there
somewhere.

"I think I want more than that," he whispers. "Does that make me a fag?"

He has the anguished look of someone who has just received a cancer
diagnosis.

"Calvin, you are the same person right now that you were this morning, and
the morning before that, and the year before that. Recognizing that you
love Reese makes you a better person, because you're being honest with
yourself. Forget about what society calls it. Just take it for what it is,
and let it be."

"Josh," he turns back to face me. "How is it possible that you walked into
my life right when I needed you? You're kind of a miracle."

"Um, about that. Let's discuss that later. Right now we need to figure out
what to do about Reese."

"I don't know that there's anything I can do. Or that I want to do. He was
really pissed-- I've never heard him like that. He sounded like he wanted
to hurt me, bad."

"Well, you had hurt him pretty bad. Maybe he just needed to score some
points on you, and he'll calm down now that he's done that."

"Maybe."

"Do you want to try again? Call him, or text him, or something?"

"I don't know, Josh. What would I say?"

"Tell him the truth. Tell him you want to be close to him again. Tell him
that you want to be more than friends."

"But what if I don't? I mean, I've never done anything with a dude. Never
even thought about it. What if Reese and I are together and the whole thing
grosses me out? What if it turns out I'm not really into ... it?"

"This is going to sound cheesy, but what does your heart tell you?"

He chuckles.

"My heart tells me that I miss the hell out of Reese and I want him back in
my life. But what if my dick thinks otherwise? It's not really fair to
Reese if I say that I'm into him and it turns out I'm not. And anyway, he
has a girlfriend. Maybe he's right and I'm wrong about the whole thing."

"There's only one way to find out. You need to see him."

"Okay, that'll solve one problem. But what about the other one, about me?
About whether I'm ... you know."

Now there's a question I can help with. But should I? Do I come clean about
my crush? I try to weigh the pros and cons of full disclosure, but it's a
foregone conclusion--it always is with him. Something about him just
inspires honesty. I have to tell him.

"Calvin, you know how you were saying that it's kind of amazing that we met
today?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, um, here's the thing. I've kind of been watching you since
orientation."

He thinks about this for a minute.

"What do you mean, watching?"

"I mean, from the moment I saw you I thought you were the most beautiful
creature I'd ever seen. I watched you the entire day as we went through
orientation, and just about every day since. I know where your classes are,
I've seen you at practice, and I was under the bleachers this morning
because I've been under the bleachers every Friday morning so that I can
see you do stairs."

He is silent, pondering this revelation.

"Why?" he asks, simply.

"Because I have this completely obsessive crush on you. Because I would
watch you do anything, anywhere. I'm not like this; I've never done this
before. But there is something about you that just makes me do it."

"Wow," he murmurs. "That's kind of strange."

"Yeah, I know. And now that I know you, I feel awful about it"

He's quiet as he looks at me sort of quizzically, like he's trying to
figure out whether he's freaked out or flattered.

"So, I'm sorry for perving on you, I hope you don't mind too much."

"Josh, I think it's sweet. How could I be mad at you? You have helped me so
much today."

Whew. But there's more.

"I just have one question for you. What did you think would happen? I mean,
weren't you hoping that we'd meet at some point? Is there something about
me that made you think I was gay?"

"No! No, I never for a minute thought you were gay. I just couldn't stop
looking at you.  And then the more I saw you, the more I saw what a great
guy you are. How you always hold the door open for people, and how you hug
people rather than shaking hands, and how you never even seemed aware of
the fact that you look like a Greek god. I just liked watching you because
you are a nice person. And a gorgeous one."

He's quiet for a moment, but his eyes don't leave mine. I continue.

"But now I see how amazing you are, how sensitive and genuine, and you are
so much more than a beautiful body. You are a beautiful person, all the way
through."

He blushes. I've not seen him do that, ever--and I've been watching. His
eyes dart back and forth between mine, as if he's trying to see something
inside me. I have no idea what he's looking for, but that he's looking is
deeply thrilling. This is the best day ever.

Then I feel his hands leave mine. The moment is over, apparently. Except
that it's not.  His hands move up, up, and then I feel them on my jaw, on
both sides. He's cradling my face in those strong hands of his. His thumb
traces the hollow of my left cheek, brushing the stubble with a
whisper-soft touch. Then I feel his weight shift on the bench, feel him
leaning into me.

As many times as I've imagined this moment, it's never felt like this. I
sense his heat first, the sun radiating from his skin. Then I feel his
breath, soft on my face, sweet and warm.  And then, with an aching
slowness, his hands pull me closer, closer, until my lips touch his. He's
tentative at first, and I revel in the simple contact between our
mouths. Then all of a sudden, his grip tightens, his lips open, and he's on
me, in me, all over me. I close my eyes and try to kiss him back, but all I
can really do is hold on and try not to collapse under the force of him on
my lips. It's like he's been holding back all his life and now he can't
control it.

I reach up and wrap my hands around his neck, that strong tan neck I've
yearned for so long to touch, with its close-cropped hair and smooth
skin. And now I am touching it, I'm running my fingers over it, feeling the
little hairs stand up.

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss.

"Stop that!"

My heart stops beating, as ordered. What the hell does this mean?

"I'm ticklish there!" he giggles, and I laugh too, as relief sweeps over
me.

And then he leans in again. This time I feel his tongue as he thrusts it
into my mouth. I lash back, which surprises him, I think. Then he pulls
back a bit, his hands gripping my neck and mine on his, and looks at me,
our noses touching.

"So that's what it's like," he notes, as if he's finally seen a movie
people have been talking about and wasn't sure he'd like.

"It's almost never like that," I reply. "That was amazing."

"I just didn't know what to expect, you know, kissing a dude. It's
different," he muses, "But nice."

"I've kissed a few 'dudes,' and that was way beyond nice." He blushes
again. And then he kisses me again. And I see stars again.

"Thank you," he finally sighs.

"No, thank you," I reply. "This is what I've been dreaming of for three
months."

"And this is what I didn't even know I wanted three hours ago." He's so
fucking cute.

"What do we do now?" I ask. I have some ideas, but most of them are not
appropriate for a bench out by the lake shore.

"Well, let's look at this situation objectively. You've been, as you say,
'perving' on me for months. I, on the other hand, need to find out if I can
handle being with a guy. Do you think there's a way we could both get what
we want?"

He accompanies this sledgehammer of a sentence with a triple threat: a
raised eyebrow, devilishly twinkling eyes, and a smouldering smirk. I'm
powerless.

"What are you suggesting?" I need to hear him say it.

"That we go back to my room, and see if we can't both get what we want."

"Calvin, I don't mean to be dense, but I want to be sure that we're talking
about the same thing here."

"What I'm talking about is going back to my room and having you show me
just what you had in mind all of those months that you spent watching
me. And I'll show you what I think two guys might get up to if they 'forget
about what society calls it and just let it be.'"

Holy fucking shit. You know how earlier I said that sometimes dreams come
true? Turns out that was only the beginning. I try to keep my composure.

"You make a compelling argument. Shall we?"

We rise, and walk back to the trail, shoulders touching. I can barely
breathe, and the path is spinning a little. I take deep breaths, and the
world smells like soap, and love.

* * *

I float down the lakeside path, trembling inside at what we're doing. We
don't talk at all as we walk, though we bump shoulders about every five
steps--it's like Calvin doesn't want to be more than 2 inches from
me. Which is more than fine with me. Every time someone jogs by we break
into giggles, because we have a Secret. Yes, it's kind of eighth grade, but
I've always thought that most of what we need to know about love we learn
in eighth grade.

The trees are greener now, the breeze fresher. I can hear more
sharply--there are ducks at the edge of the water nibbling in the mud. The
world is beautiful, and he is beautiful. I could die right now and miss
nothing that I need in life.

Instantly, there's a huge clap of thunder, as if the gods themselves are
fixing to smite me for my self-satisfaction. The reason we have such a
green and lush path to walk together is that it rains here, a lot. And it
is starting to rain now, a lot.

Calvin looks at me, and tosses his head in the direction of the dorm. We
take off at a run, the brisk raindrops spattering us as we dash. No doubt
he could far outpace me, but he doesn't, staying right at my side
instead. There's not a hint of impatience as he matches my pace perfectly,
and we run in lockstep up to the door of his hall. Swipe, stairs, door, and
we're in. Drip drip drip.

I start to shiver; it's a combination of being soaking wet on the outside
and flushed with adrenaline on the inside. Suddenly I'm shaking all over,
my hair flopping into my eyes.

He takes one look at my doused-rat look and starts to laugh. His laugh
fills the room with a music that church bells aspire to.

"You're soaked," he manages to utter between fits of laughter.

"So are you. We're making puddles, and I'm f-f-freezing."

"Then we go warm up. Come on," he calls out as he grabs his shower kit, and
two towels, and heads down the hall.

On a Friday afternoon the hall is deserted. Everyone is either home for the
weekend or already out making the rounds of house parties scattered around
town. This being an athletic floor, it's even more unlikely that we'll run
into anyone, as they tend to party harder than most. Ar the end of the
hall, Calvin turns into the shower room.

As I figured, it is far nicer than the dilapidated old hose room in my
dorm. Here, there are individual stalls with curtains for privacy. Calvin
makes a beeline for the stall on the end, which bears a blue sign of a
wheelchair. I look at him, puzzled.

"The handicapped stall is twice as big as the regular ones. And there's no
one on this floor who uses it, so it's the cleanest one. Come on," he
beckons to me.

I follow, into the first of two little rooms; this one has a bench, and a
couple of hooks, and a curtain that Calvin pulls shut behind me. He then
reaches into the inner room, and I hear the water start to run.

He looks at me. "Well?" he asks. "Are you going to get in? You need to take
your clothes off first," he reminds me, like I'm a kindergartner.

"I'm not wearing my clothes," I remind him. "At least not the shirt." I
whip it off over my head, and toss it at him. "Here, I might have gotten
some water on it."

The shirt smacks him wetly on the chest, then slides to the floor. He
glares at me, pretended to be affronted, and then he laughs. He takes his
shirt off and throws it at me.

He reaches in and checks the water as he heel-toes his shoes off. "It's
warm, come on."

For the second time today I see him hook his thumbs into the waistband of
his shorts and pull them off in one fluid motion. This will never get old,
I decide. He jumps into the shower, and I hear him calling, "Josh, come on,
the water's fine," in a sing-song voice.

Still unable to believe that this is happening, I pull off my shoes and
shorts and then my underwear. Thank god I chose a pair that I don't mind
him seeing! I've been meaning to get some new ones. I stand for a second,
realizing suddenly that he's about to see me naked for the first time. I
hesitate knowing how gangly and awkward I'm going to look next to him. I
summon up my courage, and step in.

He's standing under the showerhead, eyes closed, enjoying the warm water
running over him. I enjoy watching the warm water running over him. It's
only been a few hours since I saw him do this after his workout, and now,
this time, not only do I get to watch him, I don't even have to pretend
that I'm not watching him. In fact, I get to be in the shower with
him. Best day ever.

He opens his eyes, and sees me standing there, still shivering, naked as
the day I was born. I'm expecting him to step aside and let me under the
water, but instead he just opens his arms wide and motions for me to come
to him. I do, of course I do. I stand in front of him, almost touching him,
and his eyes never leave mine. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me
into him, and for the first time I realize that we are exactly the same
height.  I guess I had put him on such a pedestal in my mind that I had
made him taller than he actually is. But here we are, nose to nose, nipples
to nipples, and cock to cock. I feel the contact all the way up and down my
body.

I'm not shivering anymore. I tilt my head slightly to one side and kiss
him, kiss him as he has kissed me, with the power and hunger of months
passed in yearning. There has been a space in my life that I didn't know
needed filling, and suddenly he's here to fill it. I wrap my arms around
his neck, pull him even tighter to me, and time stops as the water pounds
down on us and the kiss goes on forever.

Finally our lips break their clinch, and Calvin smiles broadly at me. For
the first time today he seems genuinely happy.

"Feeling better?" he asks, sweetly.

"All warmed up," I reply. Warm indeed--I feel my penis rising steadily,
pressing against him. Kissing does that to me, and this was
nuclear-strength smooching.

He looks down at my erection, and seems surprised by his own. His thick
cock is growing against me, pushing against my balls, lifting them as it
rises. He pushes me gently away, letting our cocks spring free. He looks me
up and down.

"You're ..." he pauses. Finally, he finishes: "Beautiful."

I blush, it feels like over my entire body. I've never considered myself
exceptionally handsome, though I do work out and spend my summers
lifeguarding at the town pool.  But I'm nothing compared to him. I stand in
awe of his body, again, but this time I can touch it. I do. I reach out and
touch my hands to his nipples, stroke them, brush my wet fingers over
them. He rolls his eyes back in his head and sighs. His nipples stiffen,
reaching out to me in return. I see goosebumps spread across those meaty
pecs.

"You're going too fast!" he says as he snaps his eyes open. "Everything you
do feels so good. Let's get scrubbing so we can get out of here."

Actually, I would be perfectly content to stay here all night. But he grabs
the soap out of his shower kit, clearly intent on getting back to his
room. I snatch the body wash from him and squeeze a big blop of it into my
hand.

"All right, if you're in such a rush, let's get you nice and clean," I tell
him. I rub the soap between my palms to build up some lather. I hope I
don't come all over him as I do this. I don't think my dick has ever been
this hard.

I start with his chest, smoothing the soap all over the mounds of
muscle. It's firm, only slightly yielding to my ministrations, but I can
tell that he's getting chills from being touched this way. I soap up his
arms, and then I turn him around to work on his back. His broad, smooth,
ridiculously muscled back is my canvas, and on it I paint a romantic scene
in suds. I know he's waiting for me to stray into the Speedo zone, and so I
skip over his perfectly rounded buttocks and soap up his legs instead. That
done, I finally turn to his ass. I rub the soap over the lightly furred
cheeks, feeling the power in those lovely globes of pure muscle. I venture
into the cleft, soaping up his most hidden place, and when my fingers find
his anus I lean forward to whisper in his ear.

"I think I found where to stick the gerbil."

He laughs and spins around and before me now dances the Holy Grail, the
organ of my devotion. His prick is up and reaching for me, there must be 8
inches of it or more; it's no longer gracefully arched but now pointed like
a missile at my face. Soon enough, my darling, soon enough.

I reach down and touch it, and its heat shocks me. He's burning up! The
skin of his prick is smooth and soft, and is getting very clean as a result
of my repeated strokes up and down its length. Then I reach one hand
further down to his balls, and I clasp them in my palm--or try to, anyway,
they are so large--and rub them gently. He's breathing somewhat raggedly
now, and he's started chewing on my shoulder. I take this as a good sign.

"My turn!" he suddenly announces, and he grabs the body wash and squirts an
enormous glob into his hand. He starts, as I did, with the chest, but his
strong hands are instantly everywhere on my body. It's like he can't decide
what to wash first, or perhaps he's just curious about what everything
feels like.

"Oh my god, you're right. I had no idea another guy's body could be so
different from mine," he marvels, shaking his head as he strokes me all
over. He turns me around to wash my back, but his hands drop immediately to
my ass, and then right up against my asshole. He fingers around it gently,
as if worried that he might hurt me, but then gets a little bolder and rubs
directly on the opening (which is closed tightly, as I've never been fucked
and, as I told Calvin earlier, I'm not at all sure I ever want to be). He
then spins me back around and pounces on my groin like an eagle on a
chipmunk. I'm still painfully hard, but when he grips my cock for the first
time I feel myself harden even more. He strokes up and down, touching for
the first time a penis not his own. He looks up at me, his eyes wild with
discovery.

"Dude, you didn't tell me that you're uncut!"

"That fact rarely comes up in conversation, particularly when I've just met
someone."

"Awesome! What's it like to have that extra skin?"

"I don't know what it's like not to have it, so I can't really tell
you. But you're welcome to explore it all you want."

And he does. He actually kneels in front of me to get a better view of how
the skin moves up and down the shaft, covering the head of my cock even
when I'm more boned up than I've ever been before. And then, without
warning, he grabs my balls, with both hands. A little too energetically.

"Ooof," I say, bending over a bit. "Go easy there, big fella."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He is clearly surprised by my reaction. "I'll try to
control myself."

"I hope you don't mean that," I wink at him as I turn off the
shower. "Let's get back to your room."

He tosses me a towel and we dry off quickly. I'm wishing my boner away, as
I don't want to be seen in the hallway wagging a stiffy around, but Calvin
doesn't seem to care at all.  He just gathers up his shower kit and his wet
clothes, and throws the towel over his shoulder. I wrap my towel around my
waist and follow. He walks right out into the hallway, his cock still at
half-mast, bobbing freely in the open.

"Um, Calvin, you realize you're naked right?"

"Uh, yeah. We do it all the time here, because this is an all-male floor."

"But what if one of your hallmates has a female guest? Couldn't that get
awkward if you ran into her in the hallway like this?"

"Awkward for the guy she's seeing, yeah, because once she lays her eyes on
this she's not going to be happy with whatever he's packin'." He turns to
me and waves his half-hardon at me.

I laugh at his goofy machismo. I haven't seen this side of him, the cocky
jock, before. I guess it means he's getting more comfortable with me. With
us. Are we an us?

We're back at his room, and he shuts the door behind us. He dumps his
shower kit and towel in the corner, and then walks over to the futon and
flips up the front, flattening it into a double bed. Plenty of room for us
to, well, what are we going to do, exactly? I'm not at all sure, once I
think about it.

He plops his fine, naked ass on the futon and looks at me, appraisingly.

"You're overdressed," he says, with a sly wink. God he is so sexy.

I stand before him, with the towel still around my waist. I'm everything at
once: thrilled, nervous, turned on, scared to death. I am frozen before
him, not sure what to do or how to do it. He sees my deer-in-the-headlights
look and gets up from the futon. He comes to me, and his hands go to my
waist. As he works his hands under the towel, he leans in close to my ear,
and in a hot whisper he says, "Before today I never even thought about
another guy. Now it's all I want."

I grab his shoulders to keep my knees from buckling under me. I lean
against him, feeling the solidity and warmth of his body. My towel falls,
and his hands are again all over me.  We kiss, and kiss. Then he moves
backward to the futon, and we fall back onto it. I'm on top of him, with my
legs astride him, by cock pointing into his navel, my lips all over his.
My cock is grinding into his washboard stomach, and the friction of my
foreskin sliding up and down that furrowed expanse of muscle is going to
make me blow in about 10 seconds. I break our kiss, and sit up. This has
two immediate effects; first, I can take in the amazing sight of my idol,
my god, lying before me with lust in his eyes; second, his huge, bone-hard
cock nestles into the crack of my ass, and throbs there impatiently.

Wanting to make this last a bit, I brush my fingers across his chest; his
nipples spring to attention, ever the good soldiers, and goosebumps radiate
out from them across his entire torso. His head tips back, his mouth opens,
his back arches, his eyes close. His hands grip my thighs as if he's afraid
he's about to float away and he's holding on to save his life. I raise my
hips to lift myself over his insistent prick, and slide down his body onto
his legs.  I'm now straddling his powerful thighs, feeling them thrum with
energy. I lean back down and take his right nipple in my mouth. He gasps,
and I nibble. He cries out, and I suck that nub of flesh into my
mouth. He's shaking as I suck in more of his beautiful pectoral, and his
nipple is unbelievably hard in my mouth. I switch to his other nipple, and
bring my hand up to tweak the one that's still wet from my spit. He moans
like a demented man, his head thrashing back and forth.

"Unnhhh! No one's ever ... done that ...  to me! You're fucking ... fucking
... amazing!" he huffs out in gasps. I can feel his cock nudging me in the
belly, and I want to get there. I move slowly down, kissing my way down his
abs, kissing each peak and each valley, stopping to french-kiss his cute
innie belly button. This makes him buck and start moaning again, so I
continue down, following the trail of deep golden hair that starts just
below his navel and guides me down to his groin. I don't get far, though,
as his cock reaches nearly all the way to his belly button. It's the
largest I've ever laid my hands on. I grasp it with my left hand, and he
breathes in sharply. I look up at him, and he's looking down at me, with
the strangest look on his face. His breath is coming in little gasping
wheezes. I'm afraid he's going to hyperventilate.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"It's just that, well, we're about to ... I mean you're going to ... aren't
you?" he stammers.

"If you mean I'm about to suck your dick, then, yes, you're right." I
wonder if he's prompting me to talk dirty to him a little. I could be up
for that.

"But ... but once you do that then ... I mean, I'll be a ..." He stutters
along. "I mean, there'll be no going back," he finally manages to get out.

"Calvin, if you're afraid that my giving you a blowjob will make you gay,
you don't have to worry. You became completely gay back in the shower. No
going back now, buddy."

His eyes bug out a bit, and then he sees that I'm grinning at him, still
holding his rock- hard cock in my hand. He gets the joke.

"So basically, I'm done as a straight guy, is what you're saying."

"I don't care what you call it. I just want to do this, and if you want to
do it too, then let's forget about finding a name for it and just fucking
do it."

His lips purse. He's really thinking about this.

"So, you in, or you out?" I ask, giving his prick a squeeze.

"Ahhhh, fuck, I'm in!" His head flops back to the mattress, and his hands
cover his face.

That's all I need to hear. I lift that beautiful slab of meat up to my lips
and open wide.  Really wide. As it enters my mouth, Calvin arches his back
and his dick starts to pulse. I half expect him to come right then. But he
calms down, and I wrap my lips around it and run my tongue over its hot
surface. His moaning, like his laughter, is music to me.

I've only been sucking cock for about a year now, but I've learned a few
things. I press a bit with my tongue here, suck a little harder there. I
take big all-day lollipop licks, and plant little kisses all up and
down. This isn't sex, it's worship.

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god," Calvin whispers over and over again. I take
a little detour down to those enormous, churning balls of his, and his
breath shortens into tight, hiccuping bursts. I keep working his cock with
one hand while with the other I reach under his balls and lift them to my
lips. I give each a lick, and then I take the right one into my
mouth. Calvin arches, and sucks in a huge breath. I worry that he's about
to yank his ball back out of my mouth, but, as I noted earlier, his sac has
a lot of give to it, and I hold tight. I consider for a moment trying to
get both orbs in my mouth at once, but my mouth is nearly full as it is;
there's no way another nut is going to fit. So I tug at the other ball a
bit, and swab my tongue over the one in my mouth. Then I switch it up. I
don't think Calvin's taken a full breath since I started down here, so in
the interest of him not asphyxiating I decide to move back up to the main
attraction. I kiss his inner thighs all the way back up, loving the clean
smell that is now mixing with ... sweat? No, that can't be it.  It's a kind
of musky smell that drives me wild. He's releasing some sort of hormone
that is like heroine to me. Dizzy, I grab his cock again and stuff it back
into my mouth.

"Dude, you're killing me!" he gasps. He grabs me by the shoulders, pulls me
off his prick with a squishy, suctioning noise, and hoists me smoothly up
to face level. "How did I not know about this?" he demands, his face
flushed, his forehead dewy.

"About what?" I ask, not sure what he means.

"About how good this is! It's like I've never had sex before--the way you
make me feel."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Can I finish now?" I ask, jerking my
head in the direction of his spit-slicked dick below me.

"Oh hell no," he replies, effortlessly lifting me off of him and rolling us
over. Now I get the value of all of that bench pressing. Totally worth it.

He is now astride me, in precisely the same position I was moments ago, and
all I can hope is that he's got the same general plan in mind. But where I
kissed my way down his body, he's all business. He does a sort of cat-like
leap and is suddenly at my crotch, pulling my legs apart so that he can
kneel between them. He leans forward, and studies my cock and balls for a
moment, and then seems to decide that he's going for it. He reaches for my
cock, my achingly hard cock, and grips it in his strong hand. He lowers his
face down to my boner, his lips a fraction of an inch from making
contact. He freezes, and looks up at me.

"Hey Josh," he says, with a mischievous grin, "Does this make me look gay?"

In spite of myself, I laugh at this, hard. He has come so far in a day,
hell, in the last two hours. That he can make this joke makes me adore him
all the more.

"No, Calvin. You are clearly completely hetero. Now, suck my dick."

"Yes, sir," he replies smartly. And then he gets to it.

Now, I don't know if you remember what it was like to suck your first dick,
but I remember quite well the first blowjob I ever gave. Perhaps it was
because I'd never had one myself that I thought the procedure was all about
maximum suction and friction. Oh, and moaning. The people in porn always
moaned. But it turns out that an energetic vacuuming and scraping effect
with a moaning soundtrack doesn't make for a great blowjob. I got better,
though my first blowjob recipient never came back for another one.

But I digress. Calvin clearly has had a good number of good blowjobs in his
life, because about 12 seconds after he starts on me I am ready to
shoot. His mouth is wet, his tongue is everywhere, and his teeth seem to
have disappeared. Luckily he pulls off my cock to watch, fascinated, as his
fist moves my foreskin up and down. On the upstroke, he kisses the hood as
it gathers at the tip of my prick. One the downstroke he licks all around
the exposed head. This drives me wild.

All of a sudden, he rears up, grabs my ankles, and pushes my legs up into
the air. I tense instantly, as he has clearly forgotten that I don't want
to be fucked, but I'm not sure I can stop him if that's what he wants to
do. I'm about to tell him to back off when I feel his breath on the
sensitive skin between my balls and my hole. Oh my god, he's going to rim
me.

First he kisses all along my taint, taking big mouthfuls of my most private
skin on the way. Then he reaches my hole, and kisses it. He kisses my ass!
Then he looses an all-out tongue attack: he nips and licks and probes and
finally pushes his tongue right inside. My eyes are clenched so tight I see
stars. He works my hole for what seems like 10 minutes, as if he's dreamed
of eating asshole for his whole life. Where did this come from?

Just when I'm starting to wonder whether I can come simply from his rimming
me (I think I'm pretty close), he releases my legs and returns to my
cock. By this point pre-cum is dripping from the tip of my dick, and he
licks it all up. Dirty boy! Then he starts bobbing up and down on my cock,
and his intent is clear: he wants me to cum. Hard.  Now.

"Oh my god, Cal--" is all I can get out before it happens. The cum just
flows out of me, not even in spurts, but in one huge gush. He pulls his
mouth off of me just in time, but he keeps pumping me with his fist and I
drench myself with cum. I have never come this hard in my life, and still
he's pumping. He doesn't stop until the last drop has oozed out, and then
he rubs his thumb over my dickhead, massaging it in. Having just come, I'm
kind of sensitive, but I think he knows that. He's just pushing me a bit.

I pull on his shoulders to bring him back up, eye to eye. I can smell me on
his breath: my sweat, my precum, my ass. And then he kisses me, and I taste
me and him together and I suddenly want to taste me and him together
forever.

He is pressed tightly to me, and my cum slips and pools between our bodies.

"So, um, rimming, huh? Pretty advanced for a straight boy," I tease.

"Well, I've been with a few chicks who like anal, and it always seemed to
me the polite thing to do if I'm going to fuck them there."

"And how does my ass stack up against the ones you've been in before."

"Yours is stronger. I could barely get my tongue in there! But hotter,
too. You have a nice ass." He grins.

"And you have a nice mouth," I counter, and kiss him again.

Suddenly, I shove him to the side, and use the momentum of that push to
roll him over.  I'm on top again.

"And now, I have some unfinished business," I scold, moving downward.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that," he scolds
back.

In a matter of seconds I have him moaning and arching again. He is so ready
for this, and it takes only a dozen or so strokes before I feel his balls
rise up against my hand. I look up and see the sinews in his chest cording
up across his muscles as he tenses, his orgasm approaching.

It's decision time, and I decide to keep going.

"I'm gonna..." he calls out, but he knows I know. I keep sucking, keep
pumping, and then it happens.

Like everything else about him, his ejaculation is bigger than life. My
mouth is suddenly filled with cum as his hands grasp my hair and he cries
out. I swallow as fast as I can, but there's so much of it.

"Oh god, oh god," he calls out. "Oh god, Reese, oh god, unnnnhhh!"

That name hits me like a hammer between the eyes. My throat closes, and I
think for a moment that I'm going to choke. It's too much for me to process
right now, so I push it out of my mind and continue my ministrations to his
cock. And then I'm licking up the spilled droplets of his sweet cum,
kissing him all over.

The quivering in his legs slows, and then fades. His balls ease slowly back
down from where they had bunched up tight at the base of his cock. His
breathing returns to an easy rhythm. I kiss my way up his torso, stopping
to greet each nipple, and then I'm face to face again with him. He has the
open, untroubled look of someone who has just cast off a great weight, like
he's seeing the world anew through those crystalline, glinting blue eyes.
He is happy.

He kisses me, tasting the last bit of his own seed on my lips.

"Hmm, salty, " he opines. "Not terrible." He winks at me. "But you, sir,
are amazing. No one has ever made me feel that way. No one."

"Not even Reese?" I can't keep myself from saying. So, yeah, it stung a
little. Shoot me.

He startles, like I've flicked him in the balls.

"What? Why would you say that?" He is confused, and, somewhat to my
satisfaction, a bit hurt.

"You called his name out when you came just now."

"What? No, I did not. No way. No."

I look at him, my eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Oh." He has played in back in his mind now, realizing. "Oh, oh, fuck,
Josh, I am so sorry. I can't believe I did that." He bites his lip. "It's
just been such an amazing day, I don't know what I'm saying." And suddenly
he turns on the basket-of-puppies cuteness, and I'm done. My anger and
hurt, such as it was, evaporate.

"It's okay," I grudgingly offer. "I'll take it as a compliment."

"How about this--do that again, and this time I'll call out your name. As
loud as you want.  Just please do it again, okay?"

I laugh. He laughs. We lie on his big bed and laugh together. He wraps his
arms around me and I lie, pillowed on his firm, smooth chest, watching his
breath rise and fall, feeling his hand in my hair.

I want to lie here forever. I, like Calvin, never imagined it could be like
this. I'm not talking about the sex; I knew the sex could be like this
(though it never has been before, I'll be honest). But this part: the lying
here, listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beat, shivering when his
fingers brush the back of my neck. I never want this moment to end.

But there's something I have to do, and I know I cannot completely give
myself to this moment until I do it. I take a deep breath.

"You need to go see him," I say, in the softest tone I can muster.

* * *

He is silent for a moment, two. I wonder if he heard me, but then I realize
that the hand that had been stroking my neck has stopped its gentle
movement. He heard me.

"Why?" he murmurs, almost under his breath.

"I think you know why," I reply, continuing to speak mostly to his nipple,
as if it were a microphone wired directly to his brain.

"But Josh, I said I was sorry. I don't know why I said his name, but he
doesn't matter to me anymore."

I lift my head off his chest, reluctant to leave that perfect place but
needing to look into his eyes.

"I know you don't mean that. You know you don't mean that."

"I do mean it," he replies, adamant. "One, he hates me. Two, the feeling is
now mutual.  Three, after what you and I just did, how can I even think of
him?"

"Hmm. Okay, let's take those one at a time. One, he is pissed at you, and
he lashed out.  Perfectly understandable. It doesn't mean he hates
you. Two, what he said made you crazy, the kind of crazy that only love can
make. You don't hate him. Three, what we just did was incredible for me
too. But as close as that makes us, it's nothing to what you have with
Reese."

"Bullshit. That's just bullshit. How do you know we're not the ones who are
meant to be together? We seem to be doing pretty well, right?"

"I'll be honest. I have no idea what we have, or where it's going."

"Then," he states, in his closing argument to the jury tone of voice, "we
shouldn't be talking about Reese, we should be talking about us."

"Calvin, what's my favorite color?"

"Blue?" he offers.

The color of his eyes. Oh yes.

"Lucky guess. Where do I live? Do I wear boxers or briefs? Who did I take
to my senior prom?"

He looks at me helplessly.

"Calvin, what's my last name?"

Silence.

He's devastated, I can see that. But I press on.

"Now, tell me you don't know the answers to all of those questions, and a
thousand more, about Reese."

He closes his eyes and turns his head away.

"Calvin, don't. Don't turn away. Just listen to me. You need to see him. I
know so little about you, but I know that you love him. Maybe not in the
way that you and I have just demonstrated, but it's love. You know that."

He shrugs his shoulder, and remains staring at the wall.

"There are three people in this bed right now, Calvin. You and me--and
Reese. There is nothing I want more than to curl up here with you and
pretend the whole rest of the world doesn't exist, to keep rolling around
this bed until we ejaculate ourselves into dehydration. But I would still
know, in the back of my mind, every minute, that Reese is out there,
unfinished business. Now, maybe you will find that he's really changed and
doesn't want to see you anymore. Fine. I'll gladly take his place. But you
might also find that your best friend is the one who is meant to be the
love of your life, and I wouldn't deny you that. A chance like that comes
around not very often, and you need to take it when it does."

I stop to catch my breath. This is hard.

His head slowly turns back to me. There are tears in his eyes, down his
cheek.

"Why are you doing this?" he struggles to say, his voice thick.

"Because I don't want to be the runner-up. I love you too much for that."

My words shock him.

"Did you just say you love me?" he asks, in that sweet little boy way of
his.

"Yes, I did," I nod. "And not in the church youth-group way, in case you
haven't noticed."

"But you just got through telling me that we hardly know each other."

"You forget, I have three months on you. I've seen how you act, I know who
you are.  And today has only confirmed it. I love you. And because I love
you, I need you to see him. So your mind is settled, and you know what you
really want."

"Oh my god, Josh. This is all so much."

"Yeah, it's been quite a day."

He is silent, for what seems like 5 minutes. Finally, he speaks.

"Okay, let's go."

"What, now?" Does this guy have any other setting than "Balls Out"?

"Yes, now. If I need to see him before you and I can figure out what we are
together, what this is," and here he gestures to our sweaty and cum-slicked
bodies, "then I want to see him now."

He has a point. If it's really over with Reese, better to know right away,
right?

"Okay, I'm in."

"Great. First, we need to get cleaned up again. Then we need to creep him
on Facebook to find out what dorm he's in. Then we can get on the road."
He's taking charge now, acting like the football captain.

Then he stops, and he looks at me, deep into my eyes.

"I just want you to know, Josh, that I can't imagine anything Reese could
do or say that would make me not want to come right home and get back into
this bed with you."

My heart races at his impetuous, romantic gesture. That's my hope too.

"Well, then, we should get moving," I say, slapping him playfully on the
chest. "We have some driving ahead of us."

* * *

State College is about 6 hours away, so we go through the drive-through to
get dinner for the road. Calvin drives, too fast, while stuffing french
fries into that gorgeous mouth of his. I sip my soda and watch the muscles
of his arms gently twitch as he steers down the interstate. I wish I had
thought to grab my iPod or at least some discs, but I was only back in my
room long enough to pick up some clothes and my bathroom kit. We drive in
silence for a while.

"So, how did you and Reese meet?" I ask, not knowing why. I'm not sure how
much I really want to know about this guy.

"In preschool, if you can believe it," he replies, chuckling. "Our parents
have been friends forever, and they put us in the same classes, and on the
same teams, that kind of thing.  Now that I look back on it, it was like an
arranged marriage or something."

"And the whole night-before-college thing came completely out of the blue?
He never gave you any sign that he might be feeling that way about you?"

He ponders this for a moment, silhouetted by the sun setting behind him.

"No, I don't think so." He squints a bit, as if trying to see back into
memories for things he might have missed--or misinterpreted.

"You know," he says brightly, "We lost our virginity together."

"And that wasn't a sign that there might be something gay between you?"

"Not to each other, stupid," he laughs, punching my shoulder. "But in the
same room. At the same time. Actually on the same bed."

"Now, this is a story I have to hear."

"Well, there were these twins that we dated a couple of times. This was
junior year. And one night their parents were out of town, and they invited
us to party with them. So, we'd been drinking a bit, and at some point they
took us both by the hand into their parents' bedroom. Turns out their
parents had a bit of a kinky side, because the place was covered in
mirrors. Walls, ceiling, everywhere. Next thing I know we're all four on
the bed, Reese and I on top of one twin each, and we're all naked. I
remember thrusting away at this girl, and looking over and seeing Reese
doing the same. I looked away, like it wasn't something I should see, but
remember, there are these mirrors everywhere. Everywhere I look, there's
Reese, bucking and sweating. And he's looking right at me. I don't even
remember what the girls looked like--I just remember seeing Reese's face
get red and squinched up, like he's trying to shit or something, and then
it happens. He starts gasping out these kind of soft cries, like a dove,
and his eyes open, and he looks right at me as he cums. And suddenly I'm
coming too, and our eyes never left each other. It was kind of intense, now
that I think about it."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound gay," I tell him, in the most deadpan voice I can
muster.

"But there were girls there! It's not like we were having sex with each
other!"

"Yeah not like that at all."

He's quiet for a bit.

"Okay, I guess it does sound a little gay now." He giggles.

"Just a bit. But it's not like you went skinny dipping all the time or
something."

He suddenly focuses more intently on his driving.

"Hold on there, big boy. Seriously? Skinny dipping? How much more cliche
can you get?  It's like you were living a gay romance novel and you two
were the only ones who didn't know it!"

"We only did it once!" he protests.

I cock an eyebrow at him.

"A week. Once a week. During the summer. Okay, sometimes twice a
week. Except when were were at the cabin, and we did it every day. But
that's all!"

He looks at me, hoping his denial is working.

"I could suck a dozen dicks a day for the rest of my life and still never
be as gay as you two were."

He bursts out laughing, and I join him

And we continue, laughing, into the twilight.

* * *

We arrive at State just before midnight. We roll into the half-deserted
parking lot near the dorms, and check the campus map that I printed out
before we left. Reese's room is on the ground floor of the hall in front of
us. We won't be able to get in without an ID card, so we walk up to the
building to see if we can tell which room is his. We walk down one side of
the building, and none of the four rooms with lights on seem to be
Reese's. We walk back up the other side, and at the second lighted window
Calvin stops dead.

"That's it," he whispers, jerking his head toward the window.

"How do you know?" I ask.

"The poster. He always had it on the wall of his room. I hated that
thing--the band was awful, but he liked the way the poster looked, so he
kept it up for years. I used to think he knew I hated it, so he kept it to
bug me. I guess he really liked it."

Suddenly, a form pops into view. Apparently someone had been sitting at the
desk, and is now standing.

"That's him," Calvin whispers, and I try to tell whether the strain in his
voice is excitement or anger or what.

"Well, now what?" I inquire, not sure what comes next.

"Give me your phone," he orders, his hand outstretched, his eyes still on
Reese's shadowy form.

I do, because that's what I do--whatever Calvin wants.

He dials. Through the window I see Reese reach into his pocket. He has no
idea that it's Calvin calling, because he's using my phone. He brings his
phone up to his ear.

"Hey, Reese, it's Calvin."

I see Reese look at his phone, apparently trying to figure out how he
missed the Caller ID that should have warned him not to pick up. He gives
up and brings the phone back to his ear.

"Yeah, I know. But I wanted to try to talk with you about it, see if we
can't clear the air."

He listens. Through the window I see Reese gesturing animatedly.

"Oh, I see," Calvin says into the phone, and then he motions for me to do
... something.  I'm not sure what it is, at first. It looks like he wants
me to cut his throat and then poke him in the ear or ... oh, the mute
button! Right, I show him where the mute button is on my phone.

"He says that he can't talk right now because he's out with his girlfriend
at a party," he whispers to me.

He takes his finger off the button

"Yeah, that's too bad, Reese. I'm sorry I caught you at a bad time."

Reese is pacing back and forth, clearly agitated.

"Can we at least talk sometime?"

More listening, then the mute button again.

"He says he's at his girlfriend's house, and he won't be able to get away
all weekend," he whispers again.

"That's too bad, Reese. I guess I have just one more question. Why do you
insist on wearing that stupid Phish shirt? I always hated that thing."

Reese stops cold. He spins around, trying to figure out where Calvin is
hiding. Only once he has spun around three times does he come to the
window. Calvin steps under the glare of a streetlight and waves to him.

"Can we talk now? Now that you're back from your girlfriend's house?" he
asks into the phone.

Reese hangs up without answering. He stands in the window, looking at
Calvin. Then, finally, his shoulders droop and he motions for us to come to
the side door of the hall.

"Are you ready for this?" I ask as we walk to the door.

"Yep. As long as you're here with me," he replies, and takes my hand. At
this point I think we're both pulling for Reese to be a complete asshole.

We get to the door, and Reese is standing there holding it open. I surprise
him, as I was standing in the shadow when he looked out and saw Calvin. But
he opens the door wider, and we go in. We walk in silence back to his room.

We stand there, in the middle of the room, nobody wanting to say the first
word. Finally, Reese speaks.

"So this must be Josh," he says, a little snidely, jerking his head in my
direction. "The boyfriend?"

"Yep," Calvin answers, taking my hand once again. What the hell is he
doing? "I'd like to introduce him to your girlfriend. Tell me," he says, as
he looks around the room, "Where is she?"

Reese is silent, clearly wounded by this.

"Cal, look. I don't want this to go any further, and I don't think you do
either."

"Reese, I apologized for what happened. If I could take it back I would. I
was a complete jerk, and you have every reason to be pissed at me. But
let's not let it end our friendship.  We can still be friends, right?"

And here he turns on the full puppy dog look. I wonder if Reese is as
susceptible to it as I am.

"No."

I guess not.

I stand there, looking from one to the other. They are perfectly matched in
many ways, in terms of height and musculature (I can see under that Phish
shirt that Reese is in fine shape indeed, though he's clearly built for
speed, not sheer power). The major differences are in coloring: where
Calvin is tan, Reese is porcelain; where Calvin is sandy blond, Reese is
dark, almost raven haired. But their eyes--the ones that are right now
boring into each other across the three feet that separate them--are
precisely the same color: of blue fireworks in a twilight sky, of an angry
winter ocean, of a sapphire in a burning jewelry store. They are stunning.

Suddenly, Calvin throws himself at Reese, tackling him to the floor. A blow
like that would put me in traction for weeks, but Reese just grabs Calvin
by the shoulders and pushes him off. Then it's his turn to lunge, and he
barrels into Calvin's chest and send him bouncing off the desk on the other
side of the room. Calvin pushes him off, gets back up on his knees, and
grabs Reese by the legs. Reese kicks and squirms and throws Calvin off of
him, but Calvin comes right back at him. This goes on for several minutes,
with neither gaining the upper hand, until finally Calvin shoves Reese down
onto the lower bunk and then lands on top of him. They are panting heavily
now, and their tired fists slow in their struggle to find vulnerable
openings to strike. Finally they grow still, and their eyes meet again.

"Reese, I swear," pants Calvin, as he rolls off to lie beside his opponent.

Reese, finding his advantage, pounces on top of Calvin.

"Why did you come here?" he screams into Calvin's face. "I fucking hate
you!" Reese is crying now, choking on his tears. He starts to hammer on
Calvin's head and neck and shoulders, screaming all the while, "I
... fucking ... hate ... you!"

Calvin suddenly grips Reese's head in his strong hands, grips him
tight. The muscles in his arms stand out in corded relief as he pulls Reese
down to him, down and down until they make contact.

Reese struggles against him, and pushes on the mattress in a vain attempt
to free himself from the kiss. Finally he brings his hands to Calvin's
head, slides his fingers behind, and pulls himself down onto him even
harder. They grind together like two angry, lustful statues.

I back up to the desk and sink into the chair, watching these two mortal
enemies passionately kiss. Years of pent-up lust are being played out right
in front of me, and as much as I want to get up and storm out of the room,
I can't. They are just too much in love for me to want to break up their
embrace. Plus they are hotter than hell.

Finally, they break their kiss. Reese collapses back to the mattress, at
Calvin's side, still breathing hard.

"Oh. My. God," he says, in a monotone.

"Umm, yeah," agrees Calvin.

They are quiet for a moment, their breath returning to normal.

"Cal, what the hell was that?"

"Well, I think we might be a little gay. But Josh tells me not to worry
about labels and stuff. Right, Josh?"

"Y'all look perfectly straight from here," I offer. "Especially when your
tongue pushed into Reese's mouth. I've been surprised by that move myself
on occasion."

I see Reese stiffen. Bingo.

"Cal, did he say what I thought he said?"

Calvin struggles a bit.

"Well ... yes. See, Josh and I--"

"Stop. I get it. I gave you shit about the boyfriend thing to piss you off,
and now you're turning it back on me. Funny. I mean, you seem like a
perfectly nice guy there, Josh, but Cal's about as straight as they come."

"Actually, I have no problem with the way he comes," I volunteer. "Right in
my mouth."

Holy shit when did I start talking like a scorned drag queen?

Reese looks over at Calvin, for confirmation.

"See, Reese, it's like this. I was straight this morning, and then I met
Josh. He made me see that I had been denying part of myself all along, and
then I told him about you, and then he made me come here because he knew I
wouldn't be happy unless we figured stuff out. And I'm glad he did, because
we do need to get this figured out."

Reese looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

"So, you're the reason he's here?" he asks me.

"Yep, I guess so. And apparently I was right--you guys are either in love
or completely demented. This is like Fight Club porno."

"So, it looks like we got ourselves a situation here," Reese offers to the
room. "We need to get this all sorted. But unfortunately my roommate is due
back right now. I don't know which would freak him out more, the fighting
or the making out. Actually, the threesome would probably be what blew his
mind. Anyway, we need to get out of here."

"Where should we go?" Calvin asks. "We're not really from around here, you
know."

Reese considers this for a bit. Then, an idea.

"My aunt's cabin," he says. "She said I could use it any weekend I wanted,
now that I'm just two hours away. We could go there."

Yay, more driving.

"Josh, what do you think?" Calvin asks. I don't know what I think, of
course. I cannot believe this day has gone on so long and changed so much
in my life. I guess it's after midnight now, though, so we're on to a new
day. What the hell.

"Sounds great. You two go. I'll need a ride back home, though."

"No," they say in unison. I wonder if that used to happen a lot. They don't
seem surprised by it.

"No," Reese says again. "You're coming with us. You're the reason that
we're even talking again, and you must be pretty special if Cal here
decided to throw out a lifetime of heterosexuality for one day with you."

I can tell from Calvin's face that he's not sure how to take this, but he
piles on anyway.

"Yeah, you have to come, Josh. All three of us are in this now. I need you
there."

"Okay, I'll go. Why the hell not?" I do my best to smile, though every
fiber in my body tells me this will end badly--for someone. Probably me.

And that's how we ended up, all three of us, in Reese's car, heading into
the mountains at 1 in the morning. I hope this will all look better by
daylight, but I know the odds are against it.

* * *

Reese is driving, Calvin has shotgun, and I have the backseat to myself. A
sign of things to come, I imagine. At least back here I can sleep instead
of having to listen to the Hardy boys up there finishing each other's
sentences.

"Oh, and you remember that time at the lake?"

"When Sheila and her sister?"

"Yeah! Oh my god I thought I was going to die. I'm all 'Mulligan!
Mulligan!' and she's all '40 percent! Two-thirds at most!' And then the
water balloons!"

"But at least we'll always have Dubuque!"

It goes on like this for an hour or more. I have no idea what any of it
means, or maybe it means nothing more than two old friends exchanging the
currency of memory, proving to themselves how much they share.

I drift off to sleep, awakening when I sense the car stop and the driver's
door open. I raise my head and can see Reese, illuminated in the
headlights' glare, struggling to open a gate.  Calvin gets out and helps
him shove the bolt back and the gate swings open. They get back in and we
drive through the gate and up an unpaved driveway that seems to go on
forever. Finally we arrive at the cabin. Reese pulls up alongside and kills
the engine.

Perfect silence, perfect darkness. We gather up our packs and head inside.

The cabin is small and tidy. As it is now after 2am, we make our way to the
hallway where the bedrooms are. Reese turns on lights as we go, and he
enters what appears to be the master bedroom. The bed is enormous, and it
looks so nice and soft. How long has it been since I woke up? Oh, right,
long enough for my life to change completely. Twice.

"This is the only bed that's made up," Reese yawns. "Let's just crash here,
huh?"

"Works for me," Calvin says, pulling his shoes and socks off.

"Okay, I'll grab a couch or something," I offer, heading back out the door
of the bedroom.

"No," they both say again. See, it's going to be a habit. Ugh.

"We all stay together," Calvin says, definitely.

"Leave no man behind," agrees Reese, not seeing any irony in his
statement. I want to remind him that we're only here because he tried to
leave a man behind, but I'm too tired.  I give up, and turn back to the
bed. Calvin and Reese are flinging off their clothes right and left and
when the dust settles they are under the covers naked and fidgety. I leave
my underwear on and go to climb in on Calvin's side, but he holds down the
covers with his arm.

"We have rules at the cabin. No clothes in bed."

Exhausted, I strip off my boxer briefs and slip into the bed. I can hear by
Reese's breathing that he's already asleep; I guess the emotional shocks of
reuniting with Calvin have wiped him out, which I completely understand. I
have just enough energy to touch Calvin's cheek and kiss him good night. He
sweetly kisses me back, and then wraps a strong arm around me. I find my
place on his chest once again, and drift off.

* * *

The first thing I hear is a car crunching up the drive. Which is odd, since
we're about a mile and half from the middle of fucking nowhere, and who
would be driving up in the middle of the night. I open my bleary eyes.

Oh. It's not the middle of the night. From the looks of the light coming
into the room, it's mid-morning already.

I sit up, rub my eyes, and look around. Where am I again? Oh, right. In bed
with my new fuck buddy and the love of his life. Who are currently spooned
together next to me.

I hear a car door open, and footsteps on the drive.

I wonder whether to wake the guys up. They are sleeping so peacefully. The
covers are mostly off, as it's a bit warm in the room. The smooth, pale
skin of Reese's hairless, muscled ass contrasts with the tan, lightly
furred roundness of Calvin's as they lie pressed together. Reese's arm is
around Calvin, and their bodies rise and fall with their deep
breathing. They are beautiful, both of them.

The front door to the cabin opens.

I don't know what to feel. I felt myself falling for Calvin yesterday, but
once I saw him with Reese I knew that what they have is much deeper than
anything my one day of lust with Calvin could ever approach. I remind
myself that even if I lose Calvin to Reese, I at least have the
satisfaction of knowing I brought them together. And they are so cute
together. Pressed together. Hot.

"Reese? Reese, is that you, dear?"

The voice that calls out, a woman's voice, is chipper and sweet at the same
time. I wonder who it is. This might be an awkward place for Reese to be
found, now that I think about it.

Reese stirs, and awakens. He's lost for a moment, and then he seems to
realize where he is, and who is lying pressed up against him. He smiles,
broadly and with such contentment that I can't help but smile back.

"Aunt Emily, I'm in here!" he calls back. "I'll be out in a sec."

His voice awakens Calvin, who, like Reese, has the look of utter peace on
his face as he rubs his cheek against Reese's arm. Then Reese sits up,
reaches over and grabs the sweats that lie in a pile next to the bed, and
then he's up and stepping into them. Like Calvin, he's no fan of underwear,
apparently. So much the better for me; I don't get a good look at his
goods, but I do see the general outline of several healthy mouthfuls.

"You guys hang out here for a sec, okay?" Reese instructs as he leaves the
room. I hear him pad down the hall, and then quiet conversation I can't
quite make out.

"Hey," Calvin says to me.

"Hey," I reply.

"You okay?" he asks, touching my arm.

"Yeah, I think I am. It's all happened so fast, but seeing you two
together, I know it was the right thing to come see him. He seems like a
good guy."

"He is. Always has been. But I already have a good guy." He looks at me,
and I can tell he's torn.

"Look, don't worry about me. What happens happens. I'm the luckiest guy in
the world, just along for the ride. Even if you two run off and get married
tomorrow I'll still be happier than I was before I got to know you."

He reaches up, runs his hand behind my neck, and pulls me down to him. His
mouth finds mine, and I'm suddenly swept back in. To him, and to whatever
this is that we have. That we now share, apparently, with Reese.

"You're the best," he says, kissing me one more time. "And now, I better go
say hi to Aunt Emily."

His lithe body seems to spring up off the bed as if propelled by an unseen
force, and he too slips into a pair of sweats from the floor. As he pads
down the hall, shirtless and rumpled, I trace the outline of his body on
the bed next to me with my fingers, wondering.

"Oh, Cal!" Aunt Emily cries, and there's the sound of hugging and
reunion. "What a surprise, and what a treat. Just look at you! I cannot
believe you've gotten even more, well, developed since I saw you last
summer."

"Aunt Emily, how have you been? I've missed you."

General laughter and good cheer and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do
now. I decide to get some clothes on anyway. I pick up a pair of fresh
underwear out of my pack, and then I put it back. What the hell. I grab my
sweats from last night and pull them on, one of the boys. Then I sit on the
bed. Waiting for my cue. Or perhaps I'm supposed to be hiding in the
closet?

"Aunt Emily, there's someone I'd like you to meet," I hear Reese declaim
loudly. He clearly wants to signal me that I should be ready for my
entrance. Having given me a heads-up, he calls out, slightly louder, "Josh,
can you come out here and meet my aunt?"

I walk down the hall, shirtless like the others. I'm trying to fit in, a
thought that makes me smile to myself. That I could fit in with these studs
and their bizarre world of fighting and spooning. What a freak show this
has turned out to be.

I round the corner into the kitchen, and Reese is standing next to a
diminutive woman with cropped gray hair and a warm smile.

"Josh, this is my Aunt Emily," he says to me. "Emily, this is Cal's friend
Josh." He looks at me, and a little grin plays around his mouth. "Our
friend Josh, I mean."

I extend my hand and smile my best "meet the parents" smile.

"Josh, I'm happy to meet you. Welcome to my little retreat in the woods. I
hope you found the bed comfortable?"

I blush, and I swear I see a bit of a knowing smirk cross her face. But
maybe I'm imagining it.

"It's great, thanks," I reply, holding onto my composure by my
fingernails. Calvin and Reese exchange a look, and they both break out into
giggles at the same moment.

"Now, you boys sit down and I'll make us some breakfast."

We sit at the table by the window, overlooking what appears to be apple
trees.

Aunt Emily busies herself in the kitchen, and the three of us stare
intently out the window. I have no idea how this is going to play out. I
wait, and watch.

She appears in a few minutes with coffee mugs, passes them around.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Emily. I didn't know you would be here this weekend,"
Reese ventures.

"Oh, pish. I'm so glad you're here. I came up on the spur of the moment, to
try to get the garden buttoned up for winter. I could sure use some help,
if you wouldn't mind staying the weekend?"

"Of course, Aunt Emily," says Reese, and Calvin nods his agreement. So, I
guess I'm here for the weekend. Sometimes you just have to let life take
you where it takes you. At least the coffee's good.

Aunt Emily cooks up a breakfast that threatens to collapse the table, and
the boys tuck in.  I watch her watching them, with the pride of family in
their strength and beauty. She really seems to love them.

After the meal, she stands up and announces, "All right, boys, how about
the two of you tackle the apple trees while Josh and I clean up. Remember
there are overalls in the shed you can wear so you don't snag your
clothes."

"Yes, ma'am," the say in unison (see?) and they're out the door like a
shot.

I stand, ready to help with the dishes, but Aunt Emily abruptly sits back
down. She touches my arm, and says, "Sit, Josh! Have some more
coffee. Let's talk."

She pours me another cup of coffee, my third. I won't be able to sit still
for the rest of the day.

"So, tell me," she starts, as she lifts her mug to sip. "How do you know
Cal and Reese?"

"Well," I reply. "I met Calvin at school, and Reese I just met yesterday."

Her eyebrows peak for a fraction of a second, then settle back down.

"And have you known Cal long?"

"Not too long." I hide my eyes by looking into my coffee cup. I take
another gulp.

"And how long have you been sleeping together?" she asks sweetly, taking
another sip.

I nearly spit out the coffee that's in my mouth. What the fuck?

"I, uh, ummm?"

"Look," she intones, putting her hand on my arm. "Let's be honest with each
other, shall we?"

She looks at me for a moment, eyebrows up, taking my measure. She
apparently sees what she's looking for. She sips again, and continues.

"I see the way you look at them, at Cal in particular. You're smitten,
aren't you? And now here's Reese, who has a much earlier claim on his
heart. You're not sure where you fit."

She pauses, letting her words sink in.

"Am I right?"

"How ... how did you ..." I stammer, blushing furiously. Is Aunt Emily a
witch?

"Oh, honey," she chuckles, patting me on the leg. "You are no match for an
old dyke with weapons-grade gaydar."

Wha-what now?

"Oh, don't look so surprised. Come on now, look at me. I'm not exactly the
matronly old aunt in lace and pearls, am I?"

She's right. I chuckle in spite of myself. But then something dawns on me.

"So, tell me, Aunt Emily, how is it that you show up here for a quiet
weekend of yard work with enough food for an army? Expecting to work up an
appetite, were you?" My turn to cock an eyebrow.

She is silent for a moment, and then bursts out with a guffaw like a karate
chop. She has a good, long laugh, and then she fixes me with her steely
gaze again. She raises her mug in my direction.

"Touch‚, my boy, touch‚. I am in the presence of a formidable
intellect. You have found me out. In the spirit of full disclosure, I'll
tell you everything. You have to promise me, though, that you won't tell
the boys, at least not until we see how this settles out. Do we have an
agreement?"

"Agreed. My lips are sealed."

"All right then. So, I assume that you know something about how long Reese
and Cal have been friends? Well, Cal practically grew up here. Those two
were always together; they loved coming here all year round, but especially
in the summer. I got to love Cal just as much as I love my nephew. Now,
most people look at Reese and see a tough kid, a macho athlete. But I saw a
different side of him, here at least. When he and Cal would come up here, I
saw the way that Reese looked at him--a lot like the way you do, dear. I
always figured that one day he would figure out that he loved that boy. My
partner, Dolores, and I would have them up here any time we could--any
chance we had to get Reese away from that moonbat sister of mine." She
grunted in disgust, shook her head, and continued.

"I swear, that woman. She keeps telling me I would understand if I would
just be born again like her. I tell her that maybe next time she'll be born
with a brain. She and her wing-nut religious zealot friends, like Cal's
parents, make life miserable for those boys.  There was no way that Reese
could ever be honest with himself with that crew watching over him."

"He told me about a Mr. Peterson, who taught at their school," I offer.

"Oh that bitter old queen. He and his gerbil stories have messed up more
than a few questioning youths. He should find his way under a bus, I swear
to god."

I like Aunt Emily more and more.

"Anyway, we figured that eventually Reese and Cal would find their way
around to figuring out how they felt about each other. They're such men,
really--never been allowed to get in touch with their emotions. So they
spent their last few weeks of summer vacation here, helping me in the
garden and swimming down at the pond. I could see them edging closer to
finally seeing what they both wanted but couldn't talk about; even Dolores,
who by then had become my ex, was rooting for them. They were here right up
to the night before they left for college, happy as little clams. I mean,
look at them," and she nods her head out the window.

I turn to see Calvin and Reese, clad only in ratty old denim overalls,
working in the apple orchard. Well, not so much working as wrestling. It's
like they can't keep their hands off each other.

"Were they always like that?" I ask, turning back to Aunt Emily.

"Oh, yes," she laughs. "It's been obvious to everyone who has eyes to see
for years." She pauses to watch them throw fallen apples at each other,
shaking her head and chuckling.

"Now, where was I? Ah, right. The night before college. I had arranged a
wonderful dinner on the balcony there, overlooking the
valley. Chateaubriand for two, roses on the table, candles. I wanted to
pull out all the stops--my last-ditch effort to kick-start their stalled
relationship. I even went down to the bottom of the hill where Dolores has
her cabin to give them all the space they might need. Even after our split
we still care deeply for those two boys, so I was down with Dolores,
toasting good luck to them--me with white wine, Dolores with a boilermaker,
if you want a snapshot of why we split--and hoping for the best, when we
heard the yelling start. Then the table went over, and all hell broke
loose. As I ran back up the driveway I had to jump off the road when Cal
came tearing down. He just about ran me over. By the time I got to the
cabin, Reese was slumped against the balcony railing over there,
sobbing. The whole place was a mess, but I didn't care about that. I just
wanted to comfort him, to find out what happened, but he wouldn't talk to
me. He packed up his car and drove away without a word about it, then or
ever after. We've talked since, of course, about everything but that
night. He wanted to forget it ever happened."

She looks at me, hard.

"So, have you heard Cal's side of the story?"

I nod.

"I sure would appreciate hearing it," she says, as she sits back in her
chair to listen.

I tell her what I know, what Calvin told me not 24 hours ago (has it really
been less than a day?). The pieces fall into place, one by one, and she
nods each time one does. Finally she has the full picture.

"So," she sums up, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Three months ago
Reese and Cal try to kill each other with my good steak knives; today,
Reese and Cal are, well, that," she gestures out the window again, where
Calvin sits with his back against a tree, feeding an apple to Reese, whose
head is in his lap. "And what has changed? Nothing. Nothing except you,"
she jabs me in the chest. "You did this."

I'm not sure what she's accusing me of, but I shrug and nod.

"And for that I will always love you," she cries out as she stands up and
kisses me on the forehead. "Now for Part 2 of our plan." She cackles an
evil laugh and hustles back to the kitchen. I follow. I want to know what
Part 2 might entail, as Part 1 has pretty much wiped me out.

In the kitchen, Aunt Emily is busily unpacking several grocery bags of
food. It looks like she emptied out a high-end supermarket on her way up
here.

"Aunt Emily, you never got around to the part about how you knew to come
here this morning, and to bring all of this food."

She snickers and rubs her hands together.

"Ah, that's where fate stepped in. Last night, or rather early this
morning, when Reese opened the gate to the driveway, he made enough noise
that it woke Dolores, whose cabin is right near there. Well, she looked out
to see what the ruckus was, and she recognized him of course, and then she
saw Cal get out to help. She called me right away with the news. She didn't
mention you, though, which is why you were a surprise to me this morning."

"I was sleeping in the backseat. It had been a long day."

"Tut, tut, my dear, you had exhausted yourself in the service of love. In
any event, as soon as I got her call I knew that something may finally be
happening between the boys, and I wanted to help if I could. I know they
wouldn't think to bring anything decent to eat, and then they would have to
drive the half hour into town for every meal, and how can romance bloom on
a diet of burgers and fries? So first thing this morning I loaded up and
here I am!"

She seems quite pleased with herself.

"Little did I know that there was already a cupid working the inside!" She
winks at me. I think it's somewhat extravagant praise, when I've only done
what my most lustful impulses have led me to do.

"Now, tell me, Cupid, are you any good in the kitchen?"

"Yes, ma'am. I had to learn at an early age, but now I quite enjoy
cooking."

"Well, good. Help me unload these bags, and we'll see if you can tell what
I had in mind."

We unpack the very tony groceries, and I start to build a vision of the
meals to come. I can do this.

"So, you and Cal," she ventures, while we arrange the cupboards. "Is it
serious?"

"No, ma'am," I respond, without thinking. It suddenly occurs to me, though,
that in some ways it is very serious, to me anyway. "I guess not. I don't
know, really, what it is, between us."

"Let me guess. You extend a helping hand to a confused soul in need, but
once you've helped him over he realizes that his true love lies
elsewhere. Am I close?"

"You're scaring me, Aunt Emily. How do you do that?"

"At my age, kid, there's very little I haven't seen. Or done, for that
matter. Are you okay with Cal and Reese? I mean, with whatever they get
sorted out here?"

"Well, since I'm the reason they're here at all, it would be pretty
illogical of me to try to break them up now. I knew that this could happen,
but I also knew that Calvin and I had no future until he figured things out
with Reese. Watching them, though, it's clear that they are right
together. So, I'm happy for them, and I'll just have to hope that some of
their luck in love rubs off on me."

"Or that they both rub off on you, eh?" she elbows me and busts out another
karate chop of laughter.

"I like you, Aunt Emily. You are a dirty old woman."

"Yes, yes, I am!" she hoots.

She pats her eyes dry and gets serious again.

"So, here's the plan. I'll tell the boys at lunch that I suddenly
remembered an appointment back at home that I cannot miss, and that I have
to leave right away. I'll tell them to stay, since there's so much food
here--they aren't like you, Young Sherlock Holmes, they won't question the
food--and enjoy the rest of the weekend. Then I'll make myself scarce. You
stay and keep working that cupid magic of yours. What do you say?"

"I say we go for it. Operation Cupid, Part 2!"

We clink our coffee mugs together and toast to love.

* * *

"You have to leave so soon?" cries Reese, when Aunt Emily delivers her bad
news over lunch.

"Yes, dear, but you three should stay. Enjoy the place. And don't worry
about the garden.  You boys did a great job with the apple trees, so now
you should relax."

Actually, what they seem to have done with the apple trees is lie beneath
them and look at the sky, but who's quibbling? Funny, though--I could see
them through the window the whole time, and never saw them so much as
kiss. Strange.

"And Josh here tells me that he can cook, so that's covered. I've left
plenty of food for the weekend, so you're all set." She bolts to the
kitchen to pick up her keys. Apparently Part 2 starts right now. She sweeps
back into the room, and says her goodbyes. She kisses Reese and Calvin on
the cheek, and then does the same to me. I'm family.

She crunches across the drive to her car, and she's gone. It's the three of
us now: two Greek gods, and Cupid. I'm not as sure that this is what I want
at this point, but I promised Aunt Emily I would give it the old college
try.

"So, what's next?" I ask brightly.

"Well, we could go for a swim at the pond," Reese offers.

"Sounds awesome," Calvin immediately chimes in, already getting up to go.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit."

They look at me as if I'm crazy.

"Swimsuit?" Calvin inquires, skeptically. "Come on, let's get to the pond."

We walk down the path from the cabin into the valley below, nestled at the
bottom of which is a small pond with a waterfall at one end, a little creek
emptying out the other, and soft grass all around. It's a beautiful
spot. And it's about to get more beautiful--the guys are shucking off their
khaki shorts and getting ready to jump in. They stand on the bank of the
pond for a moment, and I take in the view: two perfect bodies, to amazing
asses, two pretty great guys. In unison, they dive in.

I take off my shorts, and jump in as well. What the hell. The water is
cold, but clean and refreshing. I've never skinny-dipped before, and the
feeling of the water flowing over my cock and balls is amazing. I could get
used to this.

We paddle around for a while, and then Reese hops out of the water and lies
on one of the large, flat rocks next to the waterfall. His strong, lean
body glistens in the sunlight.

Calvin swims up to me, grabs me around the middle, spins me around, and
presses me to him.

"Hey, buddy, I think you forgot your swimsuit."

"So did you. And it's a shame, too. I do love that red Speedo. Especially
the way that it rides up on your left buttock when you butterfly."

"You are so creepy," he chuckles. "And so cute." He squeezes my ass, and
moves in to kiss me.

"Whoa there, big fella," I say, pushing him back. "We need to talk."

He looks crestfallen. "About what?"

"About all of this," I reply, gesturing over to Reese.

"Oh, right," he says, soberly. "Look, Josh, I don't know what to say. I
mean, seeing Reese again has reminded me of all of the things I love about
him. And being here, well, it's where so much of our history is, even the
bad part. It was on that balcony that we had our big scene, in fact."

I nod--convincingly, I hope.

"But there's something wonderful about being with someone completely new,
someone for whom my life story is unfamiliar, something to be discovered. I
was just getting used to the idea of being with a guy--with you--and now
with Reese it's all complicated."

"Calvin, I saw you two under the apple trees. You did not look at all
conflicted feeding him apples as he lay in your lap. It was a beautiful
thing to see, and I'm happy for you, I really am. I think you and Reese are
great together."

"It's still a little weird, though. I mean, waking up this morning with him
pressed up against me was amazing. It just felt so right. But we haven't
even kissed today. It's like we're tip-toeing around the whole issue of
what we are to each other. In some ways, it feels like we've moved back to
the way things were before, not forward to what they could be in the
future."

"I would say take it one day at a time," I smile, "but you always move
faster than that.  Take it one hour at a time and see what happens. I'm a
patient person; if it isn't meant to be with Reese, I'll still be here."

"Thank you, Josh. Thank you for everything."

This time I move in to kiss him, and he meets me halfway.

"Oh, will you two get a room?" Reese shouts from the ledge, just as he
launches out into the water in a naked cannonball. It's a wonderful moment
as he hangs in the air, cock dangling below him, and then he explodes into
the water right next to us with a thunderous crash.

He reaches the surface, and finds us glaring at him. He laughs, and we both
do as well.

"Now, get back to making out. I've never seen two guys kissing before, and
it's kind of hot."

"What?" I ask, not believing it for a moment. "You've never seen guys
kissing? How can that be?"

"Cal didn't tell you about our happy fundamentalist upbringing? Fucked us
up in the head but good. I had no idea until I got to college that guys
even did that kind of thing. And now it's happening in my own
backyard. Shocking!" He splashes us, for effect.

"Well, if it's what you really want," Calvin grins, "Then who are we to
deny you?"

He grabs the back of my neck, pulls me close, and kisses me like my tongue
is the antidote to poison he's just drunk. Knowing Reese is watching makes
it twice as hot.  Maybe thrice.

Calvin releases the kiss, looks at Reese. "Are you offended yet?"

"No," replies Reese. "But keep trying."

"You know," Calvin tells Reese, "It was kissing Josh that made me gay."

"Oh, is that what did it, then?" laughs Reese. "Does that mean I caught it
from you last night?"

"That one didn't count," explains Calvin. "You were crying at the time, and
hitting me on the head, and swearing at me. In terms of romance, it was
kind of sucky. So, no, I would have to say you're still straight."

"I deserve a second chance, don't I?" protests Reese.

The things these boys come up with to delay getting down with each other!
No wonder Aunt Emily was so exasperated with them.

"Oh, fuck, you two, just get to it!" I shout, my patience at an end.

"You heard the man," Calvin says to Reese. He pulls him close.

Reese suddenly looks very serious, and he even seems to pale a bit. It's
clear that he's nervous. I don't really understand this, given that it was
his finally trying to come to terms with his attraction to Calvin that
started all of the balls rolling, leading us to this moment. But now that
the moment is here, Reese looks kind of panicky. Calvin notices it too.

"Dude, it's okay. Really."

Reese stammers in response. "I just ? I don't know if this is what I ?" He
looks helplessly at Calvin, and then, adorably, at me. As if I know what he
should do. Actually, I do. I glide closer to him, to his ear.

"Reese," I whisper. God he smells good. What is it with these guys? They're
like catnip.  "This is what you've wanted for so long. Go for it."

He turns to me. His eyes are big, his face uncertain.

"I dreamed of this I don't know how many times, but now?" He blinks the
water out of his eyes, wrinkles up his nose. "Josh, how did you know you
were gay?"

Here he is, naked in a crystalline pool with the man of his dreams, and
he's asking me about what I knew and how I knew it. Cupid has a tough job.

"Reese, I didn't know. I mean, I always kind of knew, but we can play games
with ourselves when we don't want to know what we know, you know?"

I'm not helping. He's looking more lost.

"But the moment I knew was when I was too exhausted from trying to hide
it--from the world, from myself--to fight it back any longer. I just gave
in, and I took the opportunity that was in front of me." I look over at
Calvin, who is clearly worried that this is not going well.

"I wasn't as lucky as you," I continue. "What was in front of me was
someone who I didn't love, didn't much like for that matter. But he was
there, and I had to try. So I did.  After, I knew two things: one, that I
really didn't like him. And two, that I was gay, without a doubt. Now, what
you have in front of you is someone you love, and have for as long as you
can remember. Someone you thought you had lost forever, but who is here now
because he finally wised up and saw what he had almost thrown away. Calvin
loves you, Reese. I know that, I see it. There is nothing bad that can
happen to you, to either of you, if you just take this chance. He loves
you."

Calvin, who has been listening to me, opens his arms again; Reese, with his
boyish grin, glides to him. They float, nose to nose, searching each
other's eyes. Then, they close their eyes and finally share the kiss that
they've been denying themselves. They've been heading here their entire
lives.

Score one for Cupid. I should probably feel bereft at this moment, as I
watch the man of my dreams lose himself in the arms of the man of his
dreams, but I don't. What I feel is a strange kind of joy. This is one of
those rare moments when the universe aligns itself suddenly, when something
happens that is so right and so true and so real, that my heart races to
see it.

Oh, and it gives me a tremendous boner.

Calvin and Reese are less tentative now, and their embrace turns to a kind
of wet, ecstatic grappling. They go at each other with an abandon that is
familiar to me from their fighting, from their wrestling in the apple
orchard. But it's different, too, as they seek leverage not to subdue the
other but to achieve greater contact, more effective friction. I dip below
the surface to see what's going on downstairs, and my suspicions are
confirmed. Two huge cocks rub up and down between them, their hands
reaching places that used to be off limits even to best friends.

Back on the surface, Calvin whispers into Reese's ear, and then they paddle
off to the waterfall and its hospitable flat ledge covered with moss. They
have forgotten I exist, and, watching them, I almost have as well.

They reach the waterfall and climb up onto it, standing proudly in the full
daylight, their jutting cocks breaking the flow of the water as it cascades
down upon them. They kiss again, and again their embrace grows frenetic, as
if they cannot ever touch enough of each other's skin. Calvin takes Reese's
hand and leads him out of the waterfall and to the ledge. He sits, and then
lies back on the mossy rock, and pulls Reese down on top of him.  They
kiss, but I can see Calvin preparing to make his move--I've known him just
over a day, and I already recognize his style. There it is: he grabs
Reese's shoulder with one hand, puts the other on his hip, and rolls him
neatly over. Calvin's on top and in charge.  He takes full advantage; he
kisses his way down Reese's chest, taking a moment to kiss and suck on his
nipples (I taught him that! You're welcome, Reese) and then falling
gravitationally to his crotch. Reese is watching him, intently. Calvin
wraps his hand around Reese's fat prick and looks up at him. Though the
waterfall is babbling nearby, I can still make out his words.

"Is this what you want? I know this is what I want, but I need to know that
you want it too. Really want it."

Reese looks down at him, and slowly a smile stretches across his face.

"I've never wanted anything more in my whole life."

Calvin smiles up and his buddy, his best friend, and now, as the head of
Reese's cock disappears into his mouth, his lover.

Reese arches and writhes as Calvin works his magic--he is just a natural at
this, a prodigy--and within a minute he is crying out unintelligibly. He
shakes all over, then his every muscle tenses as he grasps Calvin's head
and tangles his fingers in those sandy locks. Calvin does not relinquish
the throbbing prick in his mouth, but continues pumping away as Reese
arches and screams and thrashes.

As first times go, this one is a winner.

Then Calvin is back on top of Reese, kissing him frantically. They roll
over, Reese on top this time. Reese sits up a bit, and his eyes take in the
sight of Calvin, naked and sweating and urgent, spread out before him.

"I can't believe we're here," he intones huskily. "I love you so much it
hurts."

"I love you so much you're gonna hurt if you don't get busy, mister,"
Calvin threatens, laughing and tickling Reese's ribs with his long, strong
fingers.

Reese pounces on Calvin's lovely member, and without hesitation (finally!)
he takes it in both hands and his mouth. He can still barely cover it all,
but he's trying mightily.  Apparently both of them are on a hair trigger
today, because Calvin is almost immediately in the throes of an impending
orgasm. I hope they learn to slow down and enjoy this sometime.

"Oh god oh god oh god," I hear Calvin chanting. The familiarity of this
chant pleases me.  And then every muscle in his body seizes up, his legs
kick out wildly, and Reese had better get ready for the tsunami.

"Oh god oh god Reese I love you!" he calls out, and Reese's head stops
bobbing up and down as he tries to figure out what to do with all of the
cum. I silently wish him luck.

Hearing Calvin call out Reese's name while he cums should perhaps devastate
me, but it doesn't. Instead, it puts some closure on the whole deal. I
sense the relief that Calvin feels now, having found his place, and having
aligned his inner self with his outer reality. I'm happy for him, for both
of them.

Exhausted, for all kinds of reasons, they lie side by side on the ledge in
a tangle of sculptural arms and legs and luxuriantly spent cocks, and they
are beautiful. As their breathing settles into long, restful breaths, I
swim to the opposite bank where we left our clothes. I climb out, grab my
towel and shorts, and walk up the path, naked under the warm sun.

* * *

I'm back in the kitchen, working my way through Aunt Emily's mountain of
fine foods.  She's left me a pile of ingredients and no recipes, so I'm
doing my best to figure out what she had intended for this dinner. After an
hour, the pieces are falling into place, and I'm starting on the actual
cooking when Calvin and Reese appear on the path up from the pond. From the
kitchen window I can look down on them as they climb, chattering and nude,
toward the cabin. I can't make out what they're saying, but the
conversation is spirited. I smile to myself, thinking how happy Aunt Emily
would be to see this.

The boys stomp and clatter in to the house--how can naked men make so much
noise? As they walk into the kitchen, bringing with them the fresh smells
of the pond, I see that they've put their shorts on. I guess we'll call
this dressed for dinner.

"Dinner in about a half hour, guys," I call in greeting from the stove.

"Great!" says Reese. "I'm starved."

"Yeah, thanks for doing all of this," Calvin adds, taking in all of the
various foodstuffs strewn about the kitchen.

I can tell something's worrying him. I hope all went well at the pond after
I left. I assumed that if I took my leave while they basked in a
post-orgasmic glow that nothing untoward could happen. I may have been
wrong.

"I'm going to start up the hot tub," Reese calls as he heads out onto the
balcony, where the hot tub overlooks the valley.

Calvin and I are alone for the first time since ... since when, exactly? I
don't even know anymore.

"So, um," Calvin starts, clearly worried about something. "When we woke up,
you were gone."

"Well, this dinner wasn't going to cook itself, was it? I promised Reese's
aunt that I would cook tonight, so here I am. Besides, you two looked so
peaceful there on the rock, I didn't want to disturb you."

He's still worried. His lips are bunched up, and his eyebrows practically
meet in a peak on his forehead. I keep working around the kitchen, but he
just stands there like a statue of melancholy. Finally I have to ask.

"Calvin, what is it? Did something bad happen after I left?"

"No, no. It was all good. But I was worried about you. I thought maybe
after you saw that Reese and I were, um, reconciled, that you would be hurt
or feel left out."

I smile at him, marveling at how sweet he is to be worried about me after
all he's been through in the last day and a half. He's gone from being a
straight-arrow jock to fretting that I feel neglected because he gave
someone else a blowjob. It's touching, really.

"Calvin, I am thrilled for you. This is what you need--he is what you
need. Seeing you two together makes me happy, because there's more joy in
the world today than there was yesterday, and I had a hand in that. It's a
good feeling. Now," I say as I kiss him on the nose, "tell your buddy there
that dinner is just about ready."

He goes out to the balcony and I see them talking. They are starting to
look like lovers now, casually touching each other, standing closer. Then
Reese comes inside, leaving Calvin leaning against the railing, watching
the sun set over the valley.

Reese comes into the kitchen and takes in the preparations underway.

"Wow, it smells just like when Aunt Emily cooks," he says, grinning and
taking a swipe of the sauce I've made.

"That's a huge compliment. Thanks."

"So, um, Josh..." he begins, and then apparently thinks the better of it.

"Yes, Reese?" I prompt, while I stir at the stove.

"Josh, I ... well, we don't really know each other very well."

"That's true. But then again I've known Calvin for less than 2
days. Sometimes you can't judge a friendship by something as arbitrary as
time."

"Well, what you have with Cal is a little more than friendship, I think."

I look at him, trying to figure what he's getting at.

"Well, yes. But it's nothing compared to what you two have. I think you
guys are great together."

"I guess I just wanted to let you know that I'm not the person you probably
think I am, from what you've seen of me. I'm not a crazy, lying, closeted,
angry, vengeful bitch or anything."

"My god, Reese, is that what you think I think?"

"Well, I couldn't really blame you if you did. You haven't seen my best
side in all of the drama with Cal. But I wanted to let you know that I am a
good person, and I'll be the best boyfriend or lover or partner or whatever
to Cal that I possibly can be. I know he thinks the world of you, and I
want your blessing."

Wow. Just, wow.

"Reese, I love that you two have found each other, finally. I'm happy for
you, and I'm happy for Calvin. And I will be thrilled to see you two
together forever." And I kiss him on the nose too.

"Cal's right. You are the most amazing guy."

I blush, as I always do.

"One more question, though," he adds. "Does he always cum that much?"

I burst out laughing. Reese is laughing too.

"I've done it just once, but it was a mouthful and a half!"

"I know, right?" Reese and I are fast friends.

"Okay, mister, help me carry these plates out to the table, and tell your
cum hose of a boyfriend dinner's on."

I lay out the feast that I hope Aunt Emily had intended, and we dine on the
balcony by candlelight--candles she provided for the occasion, of
course. Either the food came off well or the guys are too polite to say
otherwise, but they eat with vigor.

We clear the table, and as I get the chocolate torte from the fridge, I
mention something that's been bugging me.

"Hey, guys, Aunt Emily left all of this food for dinner, and I think I was
able to figure out what everything was supposed to be used for. But there
are a couple of things here that I don't know what to do with. Now, you've
had Aunt Emily's cooking for years--what would she have done with these?"

I lay out the mystery ingredients: a twinkie, a piece of red licorice, and
a candy corn.

"Now, I know that this is dessert," I say, gesturing to the torte, "But
what is this?"

Calvin and Reese stare at the miscellaneous food, the strangest looks on
their faces (actually, it's the same look, on two faces at once). They
chuckle softly to each other, shaking their heads.

"So, is someone going to let me in on the joke?"

Reese explains. "We were up here one summer when I think we were, what,
Cal? Eight?  Nine?"

"It was the summer we turned nine," Calvin replies.

"Okay so the summer we turned nine. Aunt Emily's birthday is also in the
summer, and our families were going to come up to the cabin and celebrate
her birthday. Then everyone would stay here for a few days, and we'd all
head back home. Well, the day of her birthday came, and no one showed
up. We waited and waited. Finally Aunt Emily came and told us that my
parents' car had broken down, and that there was going to be no party."

"It was really sad," Calvin interjects.

"Yeah, we felt bad for her. So we decided to make her a birthday cake--"

"But this was all we could find," Calvin says, finishing Reese's
sentence. They do that, now that they've had sex.

"So," Reese continues, "I took a twinkie, and Cal planted a red vine in it,
and I stuck a candy corn in the tip of it to look like a candle flame, and
we gave it to her and sang Happy Birthday. It was kind of pathetic, but she
always talked about that, every summer.  It's funny that she would have
this stuff around the cabin, isn't it?"

I think it sounds just like something Aunt Emily would do.

I take the torte out of the gold foil bakery box, and I find that there's a
note underneath it.  Written in neat script on the envelope is "If Part 2
of Operation Cupid is successful, please give this to the boys." I open the
envelope, and take out the note.

"Hey, guys, Aunt Emily left this note that I'm supposed to give you. Here."

Reese takes the note, opens it, reads the first sentence, looks up at
Calvin, and then me, and then back to Calvin. He decides to read it aloud.

"Dear Reese and Cal--

"I asked Josh to give you this note if you have finally figured out what
I've known for years and years: that you love each other, and that you
belong together. I've wanted this for you for so long, and now you've
finally realized that you want it too. I couldn't be happier for you.

"It's also time that you knew the truth. You know that I count the birthday
that we spent alone as the most special one of my life; what you don't know
is that the reason no one showed up for the party. I had just come out to
them as a lesbian, and they refused to have anything to do with me."

At this, Reese looks up at Calvin, his face pale with shock. Calvin nods at
the letter, and gestures impatiently for him to keep reading.

"It hurt me deeply that they reacted this way, but what was worse is that
both of your parents demanded that I not say anything to the two of you
about my sexuality; if I did, I would never see you again. So I agreed to
keep my silence.

"When you two boys made me that birthday cake, it meant more to me than I
could ever express. You loved me even when no one else in my family
would. That's the reason that your makeshift birthday cake meant so much to
me.

"And this, then, is my message to you: your families may not accept you,
and they may reject the new relationship that you are forging. But as long
as you have people in your life who love you no matter what--people like
me, people like your friend Josh--then you can wait out the hard times and
know that you are loved. Be strong, my darlings. You have a beautiful life
ahead of you.

"--Aunt Emily."

Reese has a hard time reading the final lines of the note, tears streaming
down his face.  Calvin eyes are welling up and he blinks hard as he puts
his arm around Reese's shoulder and pulls him close.

"Oh my god, Cal," Reese whispers. "I had no idea."

"She knew all along," Calvin murmurs, amazed.

Reese turned to me.

"She writes about you in this note."

"Yep."

"How did she know that this would happen to us this weekend? This all came
out of the blue--how could she know?"

"When she found out that you were here, she hoped that this had finally
happened. So she came up to try to help. Then she and I talked about what
was going on, and she left me here, as she put it, to play Cupid."

They look stunned.

"Guys, come on. Anyone could see you two were heading this way. She's known
you all your lives, and I met you yesterday, and we both could see it."

Calvin chuckles. "I guess it must have been pretty obvious," he
laughs. "You were clearly so in love with me," he pokes Reese in the ribs.

"Shut up, Cal. You've the one who always got a bone in the shower after we
went swimming." This actually does have the effect of shutting Calvin
up. But just for a moment, and then the poking and tickling begin
again. They just can't keep their hands off each other.

Then Reese stops again, and looks at me, a little squintily.

"So, how did she know that we were here? We didn't tell anyone we were
coming, and you didn't even know her then. How did she find out?"

"Dolores."

They both look at me, their mouths open a bit.

"Dolores?" they say in unison (I'm getting used to it).

"Yeah, Dolores. She lives down the hill, by the gate. When you had trouble
opening the gate last night she heard it and saw both of you. She called
Aunt Emily."

"But ... but why?" stumbled Calvin. "What reason would she have for calling
Aunt Emily? I didn't even think those two were friends anymore."

"Well, they're exes now, but they're still friends. She and Aunt Emily both
really wanted you two to get together."

A light goes on in Reese's eyes, and he nods, as if the last piece of the
puzzle has fallen into place.

"Aunt Emily and Dolores. Of course..." he mutters.

"Wait," Calvin interjects. "Dolores is a lesbian too?"

* * *

After reminiscences and chocolate torte, Reese announces that he and Calvin
will clean up, and then they have a surprise for me. They send me to wait
in a small room off the kitchen that I hadn't been in before; it seems to
be an artist's studio. There are paints and canvases scattered about, blobs
of acrylic on the floor. The walls, though, are papered with newspaper
clippings, moments in time from a small town I've never been to, but that
seems familiar nonetheless. As I look closer, I see that all of the
clippings are about Reese and Calvin: Calvin hitting the winning run, Reese
making the state finals in wrestling, the two of them capturing gold and
silver in event after event. But there's more, beyond their athletic
accomplishments; an article here about Reese donating his apparently rare
blood to the victim of a horrific car accident; one over there about Calvin
winning a national prize in debate. Aunt Emily filled this room with her
boys, celebrating their accomplishments even as she was unable to be honest
with them about her own life.  It's beautiful, and profoundly sad.

The door flies open and Reese announces that he and Calvin have come up
with something special to thank me for all I've done for them (in the two
days that I've known them at all!). He takes my hand and leads me back out
to the deck, which has been transformed in my absence. He has lit tiki
torches all along the railing; the hot tub steams and glows in the light of
the dancing flames. Calvin is waiting there, light shimmering on his face,
grinning like crazy. Reese joins him, and they look at me,
expectantly. There is such warmth and joy here, in the flame-kissed deep
twilight of the mountains, that I can't help but smile back at them.

"So, get in!" Reese orders, practically twitching with excitement.

"I will, I will! But a hot tub with one person in it is kind of lonely," I
mention demurely as I pull off my shorts. I stand naked before them,
wrapped in the glow of the flames and the first stars and their love, and I
am more relaxed than I've ever been.

"Oh, no worries," bursts out Calvin. "The hot tub is only half the
surprise. Get in, and you'll get the rest."

His words thrill me. That this beautiful man, who only 48 hours ago was a
nameless crush, now wants so badly to make me happy, well, it's just about
beyond belief.

I climb into the tub, and shiver into the heat of the water. It's the
perfect temperature; hot enough to make my balls loose, but I'm not
sweating.

"Well?" I look back at them. They glance quickly at each other, and then
shuck off their shorts and jump in after me. They are immediately on both
sides of me, snuggled up close. Their skin is electric, their bodies taut
and intensely male. I like their taste in gifts.

Suddenly Calvin's mouth is at my left ear. "We wanted to thank you the best
way we know how," he growls.

Now Reese is at my right. "For all that you have done for us, now we're
going to do you."  he purrs, and then his tongue is in my ear. A shiver
runs all down my right side, straight from my ear down to my toes and then
back up to my cock.

I turn to Calvin, to see in his eyes that this is okay with him, and before
I can even get a good look his mouth is on mine, pressing against me with a
force that surprises me. His arm slips around the small of my back, his
hand gripping the hollow of my hip. We kiss until I think I'm going to
explode, and then I feel Reese's hand on my jaw, pulling me toward
him. Calvin releases my lips from his, and I turn to Reese. His kiss is
different; where Calvin's is urgent and overwhelming, Reese's is soft and
beckoning. They are so different, and yet they seem at times like two
halves of the same person.

Reese breaks our kiss, and lays his hands on both sides of my head so that
he can look deep into my eyes. "Thank you for the greatest gift anyone has
ever given me," he says solemnly. "I will always love you for what you have
done." His eyes are so honest and so clear, I know he means what he
says. Before I can respond, not that I would know how to, he is kissing me
all over my face, little nips on my nose, eyes, cheeks, everywhere.  And
then he's back on my mouth, and his lips merge with mine.

Calvin, not to be outdone, begins tweaking my nipples gently at first, then
more vigorously. His ministrations take my breath away, and I pull away
from Reese, gasping.  Smiling, he congratulates himself silently on his
ability to have me completely at his mercy. Bastard. Lovely bastard.

Reese leans down to kiss my nipple, at which the hot, bubbling water
laps. His more refined technique drives me nuts, as does his insistent
nibbling. Then he sucks in my nipple and somehow plays his tongue in the
suction, and the effect is mind-bending. He owns me now.

Until Calvin swoops down on my other nipple and works his magic, and I feel
that I'm about to fill the hot tub with spunk without anyone ever touching
my prick. I look down at the two of them, and I cannot believe this is
happening: two gorgeous, athletic men gather at my nipples and compete to
see who can make me the most insane with lust. It's like I've stepped into
someone else's life. And that person is awesome.

As if on some unseen cue, they lift me up, up, up until I am almost out of
the water.  Cradling me in their arms, they each kiss me again on my lips,
and then turn me to face out of the tub. They have spread a towel on the
deck at the edge of the tub, and on this my torso comes to rest. That
leaves my knees resting on the seat in the water, my stomach pressed
against the towel, and my ass in the air, dripping and steaming in the
evening air. I look back over my shoulder and I see Calvin and Reese kiss
each other over my ass. Then their hands run down my back to my
buttocks. The chill I feel is not because of the breeze; it's because of
how how good their hands feel on my back, and how good I think they're
going to feel once they get where I think they're going.

I feel the guys pull outward gently on my knees, separating them, spreading
my legs apart. I have never felt so exposed and yet so safe in my life; as
vulnerable as I am, I know that I can trust them completely. And that's a
good thing, because right now they are both behind me, between my legs,
while my balls wag in front of them. My asshole is no longer hidden between
my cheeks; I am spread wide open and there is nowhere to hide.

I feel by a gentle brushing on the hair of my ass that someone is
approaching. I look back again and see what I've felt; it's Calvin's cheek,
his stubble catching the hairs on the inside of my buttocks as he comes
closer and closer to my anus. I brace myself for what I know will be a
piercing onslaught, and yet I am surprised; he plants a gentle, almost
dainty kiss directly on my pucker, and then he pulls away. If it were
possible for an asshole to cry out in disappointment, mine certainly would
have. But my frustration is short-lived, as I feel another stubbled jawline
rub against the inner cleft of my ass and I know that it is Reese. He, like
Calvin, kisses my anus, but this time he lingers to kiss again, and then
again, each time with more intention and force. My spine involuntarily
arches when I feel his tongue press at the center of my tightly-drawn
sphincter. And then he is in me, his tongue like a dart, but one that
spreads and widens and flexes once it is in me. Oh my god how had I not
noticed his tongue? One would think an instrument that versatile and
talented would be apparent as soon as he opened his mouth to say hello.

Reese's tongue withdraws, and he kisses again, a great suctioning kiss that
threatens to draw out my entire soul through my ass. I feel myself pulling
away from him, at the same time that I want to give him everything, to push
back against his beautiful face until he has eaten his fill. He finally
pulls off of my with a great slurping noise, and I lurch forward, pressed
against the edge of the tub.

Before I can catch my breath, Calvin is back on me, and this time he has
something to prove. His tongue is huge, and it is everywhere at once:
thrusting again and again through my opening, hooking around and pulling at
my sphincter from the inside, reaching to what feels like my lungs. He
takes a deep breath and then pushes even harder; at this point I'm not sure
I'm even a virgin anymore, as his tongue feels as big as his cock. He
presses in shockingly deep, and then shakes his head side to side like a
dog with a bone.  My ass has never felt so violated, and I surprise myself
by pushing back against him.

Then I feel Reese pushing in, and the two of them lick my now buzzing
asshole at the same time. They compete for best purchase on my ass, and yet
it's a friendly competition; I can hear them kissing each other and my ass
all at once, and my cock twitches mightily.  But Calvin wins the tussle,
and he reaches under my hips and lifts me up out of the water.  My thighs
come to rest on his shoulders, and we form a kind of perverse wheelbarrow,
with his tongue buried in my ass and my cock and balls hanging free above
the water.  Reese takes immediate advantage of their availability.

Surging into the space below me, Reese stretches himself out between
Calvin's legs, rests the small of his back on the edge of the hot tub seat,
and wraps his arms around my back.  This puts him eye to eye with my groin,
and I look down between my elbows to see him reach his head up and take my
balls--my hot-water-dangly balls--into his mouth. Both of them at
once. I've never had anyone do that to me, and my instinctive response is
to rear back--which, of course, causes me to press my ass even tighter
against Calvin's face. He responds by pushing back even harder, his
muscular tongue reaching places in me I didn't know existed.

Meanwhile, Reese nurses at my balls, rolling them about in his talented
mouth. His tongue washes over them, his teeth graze them teasingly, his
cheeks suck them almost painfully. He releases them, finally, only to take
the right one into his mouth for special treatment. He pulls away with it
firmly trapped in between his lips, and I feel the cords stretch until they
are taut. I gasp, and yet I don't want him to stop. If he's going to pull
it off I'm okay with that as long as it feels this good. He purses his lips
and pulls back, and my ball slides out from between his lips like a kiss
being blown to a departing sailor on a wartime dock. The pressure and the
release are intoxicating. And then he pounces on my left teste and gives it
an even stronger dose of his suck-and-tug routine. This is why god gave us
balls, I'm convinced of it; Reese is the universe's way of compensating me
for all of the times I slipped on a bike pedal and smashed my nuts on the
bar.

Calvin, meanwhile, has searched out every crevice of my ass with his
tongue, and they are all quivering with delight. I had never imagined
myself wanting to be fucked, but tonight I'm not so sure. Oh, who am I
kidding? If these guys wanted to fuck me--both of them, at the same time--I
would probably let them do it. I would give them anything.

As if on cue, Calvin and Reese stop their ministrations, and Calvin again
flips me over.  He lays me back on the deck at the edge of the pool, so
that my butt rests on the rim and my feet are on the seat. Again he and
Reese spread my legs, but this time it's my cock and well-sucked nuts that
are on offer. They pounce, spreading my legs wide enough for both of them
to nuzzle up to my loose scrotum; as I look down, they exchange a glance
and then simultaneously each one takes a ball in his mouth. This just about
sends me into orbit; no one has ever paid such inventive attention to my
nutsack, and before this moment I would not have thought it possible to
have my balls sucked by two people at once. Knowing these two, I just have
to hang on and hope that their competitive streak does not extend to who
can suck harder.

Just as my balls reach the point of exhaustion--I'm not sure that the
ligaments or whatever the hell holds them up will ever return to their
normal length, as stretched as they have been tonight--they plop out of
those lovely mouths and bounce joyfully on my taint.  Calvin smiles at me
and his big right paw reaches for my cock. Seeing this, Reese, makes a move
for it as well, and their hands are locked together with my achingly hard
dick captured in their grasp. They are suddenly tender, though, as they
pull my boner up from where it has been throbbing against my belly. Reese,
fascinated, fingers my foreskin gingerly, as if not sure whether he's
allowed to touch it.

"Awesome, isn't it?" enthuses Calvin. "Watch how the skin slides up and
down!" He moves his hand up and down my erection, and Reese studies the
motion closely.

"If I had that I would spend all of my time jerking off," states Reese.

"That's how you spend all of your time now!" laughs Calvin.

"Not any more, with you to suck my dick whenever I want," Reese shoots
back.

Calvin giggles, but then regains his composure. "Let's not forget who we
have to thank for that," he reminds Reese, and they turn back to my cock
and each plant a kiss on its throbbing head, which is now shiny and red
with precum and urgency. Reese sticks his tongue out at laps up a shiny bit
of precum.

"Yum. He tastes like you," he says to Calvin.

Calvin licks at my dickhead, but Reese has already swabbed up the
leakage. So he plants a tight, suctioning kiss right on my slit in an
attempt to mine some fresh ooze. He sucks powerfully, and then I feel his
tongue probing into the opening. He's raping my dick with his tongue, and I
love it. So, apparently, do my balls, because they give up a huge blop of
precum, which he sucks down hungrily.

"So that's what I taste like, huh?" he asks Reese, smacking his lips.

"Like you've never tasted your own before," sneers Reese, then he grins and
elbows Calvin in the ribs.

They return to my cock, and begin to battle their way to the top, kissing
the length of my still-dripping prick and kissing each other around
it. Finally Reese reaches the tip and he's all business, pulling firmly on
my cock, causing the foreskin to completely cover and then lop over the
head. He sucks the gathered skin into his mouth and runs his tongue around
between my skin and head. This has always driven me wild, but never before
has it been like this. Then, like Calvin, he works the slit with his
tongue, alternately penetrating and sucking, until I'm just about blind
with excitement.

Sensing that I'm getting close, they work my shaft with their clasped hands
again, while both lick and suck at the tip. Their stroke is what I imagine
they use when they are jerking themselves off and want to get the job done
quick: it's a no-nonsense stroke designed to achieve the maximum spurtage
in the minimum time. It works. Holy fuck it works.

"Guys..."

They continue stroking. I'm not sure they are even listening.

"Hey, guys..."

They don't skip a stroke.

"Guys, I'm gonna..."

Clearly they don't care. Fuck it.

"Guys, oh shit, Calvin, Reese, oh my fucking god!"

It hits me. The Orgasm. Not just an orgasm, The Orgasm. I've had a few in
my life--say, one or two a day since the time I was 12. But there was never
anything like this. I will look back on this moment as the day I realized
what it could be like.

My entire body tenses, my legs shake as if gripped by a seizure. My balls,
so loose and floppy a minute ago, climb up so high that I think they're
going to slip inside me--oops, there goes the right one. Then the spasm
starts, down between my legs; it's like an electric shock that convulses
some secret muscles down there. Whoops, the left nut has now returned to
its internal roost. My boys sure are taking this orgasm seriously.

When the first surge of cum rockets out of my cock, I don't think any of us
is ready for it.  It launches high into the air, and then lands--plop--on
my lips. I have no doubt that the second, third, fourth, and twenty-seventh
shot would have gone that far as well, except we'll never know that for
sure. Reese clamps his mouth on my dickhead and won't let go.  Well, until
Calvin pushes him off of it and takes several shots himself. Then they
share that messy thing between them, lapping at it, catching globs of cum
as they are blasted out, and then kissing each other with my cum sloppy on
their lips. It's all over their faces, and still it shoots out; they giggle
joyfully and lap up what they can, kissing each other between spurts. It's
like my crotch has become their playground, and that's the hottest thing
I've ever been part of.

Finally, as I gasp for air and the spasms subside, they kiss their way up
my torso to my nipples, to my neck, and finally to my lips. My eyes are
closed in exhaustion, and I try to identify which one is kissing me just by
feel. Before I can check my answers, they are both kissing me at the same
time. We kiss until my breathing returns to normal, and then we all
collapse on the deck.

We lie there side by side, all three of us naked and exhausted and tasting
of my cum, looking up at the stars beyond the dancing flames of the
torches. I have never tried to imagine perfect happiness, but this is as
close as I think I've ever been to it. Or am likely to get to it.

* * *

"Well, you guys sure know how to say thanks," I say, after we've reclined
under the stars for a while.

Calvin turns to me. "That's just the beginning, my friend. I'll be saying
thanks for a long, long, time."

"Yes, we're very grateful people," agrees Reese, smiling.

"Aw, shucks, gentlemen. I did what anyone would do in the same
situation. Well, anyone who likes stalking hot guys and giving them
blowjobs," I venture, modestly.

"And who is such a romantic that he is willing to go to any lengths to see
that hot guy hooked up with his repressed best friend," adds Reese.

"That's me, the romantic with the leaky cock and the well-sucked asshole."
This makes me ponder the skill with which they "thanked" me. "You guys are
amazing. I cannot believe that neither of you has had sex with a man before
today. Well, yesterday, in your case, Calvin."

"Nope, complete virgins, we were," attests Calvin. "Just very very dirty
ones."

"Well, I for one applaud whatever dirt you've been rolling around in. I
quite enjoyed myself."

"We enjoyed you too," smirks Calvin, looking more beautiful than ever. Of
course, everyone looks better when their face is shining with one's own
cum.

"Now, let's get inside before we get chilled out here," I scold, pretending
to be the mother hen. "Aunt Emily would never forgive me if you two caught
your death of cold."

We snuff the torches and head inside. We all make our way to the master
bath, and the guys go in ahead of me to get the shower running. I open my
pack to put my shorts away, and I find another of Aunt Emily's surprises: a
package that reads simply "Operation Cupid, Part 3." I wonder what she has
in store for her boys now.

I unwrap the package, and inside the box I find a note ("Enjoy yourselves!
--Aunt Emily") and the following items: four boxed enemas, an jumbo bottle
of lube, a book titled "Gay Sex for Complete Beginners," and two packages
of large-sized condoms.  Now, how would Aunt Emily have known about the
size issue? I don't give that a second thought because, well, ick. Anyway,
this is a goodie bag for the aspiring young gay men in the next room, and I
can hardly wait to share it with them.

As I enter the bathroom I find Calvin and Reese already in the large
shower, covered with lather and helping each other with their hard-to-reach
areas.

"Room for one more?" I ask.

"'Bout time!" comes the reply from Calvin, who swings open the door and his
arms, in a recap of our shower yesterday. I enter, wrapped in the warmth of
his arms, and this time Reese closes around us from behind. This is the
best place in the world, sandwiched between these two and their plump cocks
which are even now struggling to reach each other, through me if necessary.

We scrub, and play, and splash, and laugh, and make quite a mess of Aunt
Emily's lovely bathroom. When we are clean enough to want to get dirty
again, Calvin shuts off the water and we dry ourselves.

"Hey, guys, Aunt Emily left you something else for tonight," I tell them as
I rub myself dry.

"That woman is amazing," sighs Reese. "What is it this time?"

"It's kind of a care package. You have to come see." I walk out into the
bedroom with a towel around my waist. They follow, similarly attired.

I open the box, and toss the items out onto the bed. "Ya got yer condoms,
yer lube..."

"So far so good," says Calvin, making sinister eyes at Reese.

"Oh, in your dreams are you needing that tonight, big guy," retorts
Reese. "It would take more lube than that to get your monster up in my
business."

"And ya got yer complete instructional manual..."

The book hits the bed with a plop and Reese picks it up. He opens it to a
random page and is visibly shocked--it's fully illustrated, and as Reese
has been an out gay man for all of about a day, it's a bit much for
him. Calvin pulls it from his hands and flips through it eagerly.

"Cool," he says, studying some of the more advanced topics.

"Check the index for 'gerbil,'" I tease.

"Shut up," he returns, and tosses the book back to the bed.

"And finally, ya got yer enemas. No one wants to tap a poopy ass, right?"
The guys are a bit stunned by this, and it's clear they're not sure they
want to be involved in anything that requires rectal cleansing. It's not,
admittedly, a very sexy thing to contemplate for the first-timer.

"Umm, ewww," opines Reese. "Why would you want that?"

"So that you are clean and empty for anal sex. It's what everyone does. I
guess. I mean, I've never done that, but, still, I think it's a pretty
normal thing." I'm not sure I'm helping.

"Look, we both just sucked on your ass for like a half hour, and you hadn't
used one of those things, right? And that was fine, right?" Calvin regards
the enemas on the bed as if they were snakes. Poisonous ones.

"Right, but actual sex is different. I mean, look at what you guys are
packing. You shove those monsters up the ass, there's gonna be some motion
there. This way, it's all clean and clear."

"Look," Reese says, trying to get his head around all of this. "You've been
gay for like, ever. We're kind of new at this. I've never had anything up
my butt bigger than a girls finger. You?" he nods to Calvin.

"Nope, me neither. Well, two fingers, once." He giggles nervously.

"Okay, so we're pretty much complete anal virgins. I'm not sure about all
of this. Josh, what do you think?"

"I think you should do what's comfortable for you. But I'd certainly be
willing to help if you wanted to try it."

"Get this--a full service Cupid. He'll even shoot his arrow up your ass,"
Calvin chuckles.  I'm not sure Reese finds it so funny.

"Here's the thing, guys. Your ass has some stuff in it that can make you
feel amazing.  Now, I don't want to push you into anything, but if you'd
like to try, I'll show you what I know."

They consider this. They look at each other. I can tell Calvin is ready to
go--he's proven over and over again that he's up for anything--but Reese is
uncertain. Calvin goes to him, cradles his face in his hands, kisses him
sweetly, deeply, and then says "I want your ass, Reese."

Reese sighs, clearly love-struck.

"I'm in," he says to me. "Let's do this thing."

"All right, then," I announce, grabbing up the enema boxes. "Everyone back
into the bathroom."

I arrange the guys so that they are on all fours on the bathroom rug,
facing each other. I want them to be able to see each other's faces as I do
this. I unwrap the first box, and position myself behind Calvin. I marvel
for a moment at the sight before me--his muscular, round buttocks, slightly
parted, with a dark furrow of hair between. This is without a doubt one of
the finest asses on the planet. But no time for fawning now. With one hand
I spread open his cheeks, exposing the tight knot of anus hidden inside. I
position the tip of the bottle here, and say softly to him "I'm going in
now, so push out a bit, like you're taking a shit." Instantly the knot
blossoms, showing some of his glistening insides, and the tip slides in.

"Oh," Calvin grunts, and I see his surprise mirrored in Reese's face.

"You okay?" I ask, holding back until he's ready.

"Yep, fire away!" comes the response, ringing with bravado. Calvin is the
only man I know who can come off as completely masculine when he's asking
for an enema.

I squeeze the bottle, gently at first, then harder as the bottle empties.

"Oof," Calvin moans, and his head drops down between his arms.

"Cal, how ya doin'?" Reese asks, concerned.

"Oh my god Reese it feels amazing," Calvin replies, bringing his head up to
look at Reese. "It's like, full, but in a good way. You're going to love
it."

The enema is about all squeezed out now. "Okay, about done. I'm going to
pull the nozzle out now, and you hold the liquid in, okay?"

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? It's going to come running out,
isn't it?"

"Calvin, your ass is so tight I'm surprised that the nozzle hasn't been
snapped in two. You won't have a problem holding it in." I withdraw the
nozzle, and he lets out a "woof" in relief.

"Now, hold that in for a few minutes. Reese, you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. I'm not sure that I'm as anally oriented as our
friend here."

Calvin laughs and kisses Reese playfully.

"Don't laugh, or you're going to have a fucking fountain back there,"
chides Reese.

"You heard the man! I'm locked up tight as a drum back there."

I'm in position behind Reese. His ass is so different from Calvin's; where
football has given Calvin powerful, full glutes, as round as a bowling ball
and about as large, Reese's ass is sculpted in on the sides, rounding only
near the cleft down the middle. They are the buttocks of a gymnast, of a
sprinter, and they are open wide for me now.

"All right, Reese, you know the drill."

"Can we not use that word right now?"

A sense of humor is important when one is about to be anally violated for
the first time with anything larger than a cheerleader's pinkie.

"Okay, push out."

He does, and his ass opens. It's beautiful. I don't say that lightly--some
asses are not much to look at, frankly, but this one is gorgeous. Seeing it
quiver and pout I'm tempted to throw the enema aside and plant a kiss right
on it. It's criminal that he's been hiding this thing from the world. But I
have a job to do, and I slide the nozzle in.

"Oh," Reese says, matter-of fact. "That's not bad.

Then I squeeze.

"Oh, shit!" He lunges forward toward Calvin, pressing his head against his
shoulder for support. Luckily I am expecting this, and I keep the pressure
up. "I'm not big enough for the whole thing! There won't be room for it
all!"

"Yes, there will be. You'll be fine," I assure him, hoping my voice is full
of confidence.  He may be right--I'm pressing awfully hard to empty the
bottle. Finally, I'm done.

"Okay, I'm going to pull it out now," I announce.

"Finally!" Reese sighs.

As the tip of the nozzle reappears, the pouting pucker closes behind it and
not a drop emerges. These guys are tight.

"So," Calvin asks, "How long do we stay like this?"

"For a couple of minutes. Then you go and release it on the toilet, and
come back for round two."

"Round two?" gasps Reese. "Are you serious?"

"Gotta be clean, guys. Second one will be easier, I'm sure."

Suddenly Calvin rears up on his knees. "Gotta go," he announces urgently,
and bolts for the toilet, which is in a little room of its own off the side
of the main part of the bathroom. He shuts the door, but we hear his
groaning clearly. He's either really enjoying the sensation of the enema
rushing out of him, or he's really really not. Hard to tell.

"Josh?" Reese says, quietly.

"Yeah, Reese?"

"I'm not sure about this."

"About what?"

"About this whole anal thing."

"Reese, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do"

"But you know how Cal is. If he asks me, I'll end up doing anything he
wants."

"He has that effect on you, too?" I chuckle.

"Yeah, he does. Always has." He seems to be remembering things that extend
far back in their lives together. I'd give anything to be able to see what
he's seeing right now.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Why have you never been fucked?"

I think about this for a moment.

"It's just not something that I have ever really wanted to do, I
guess. Maybe the right opportunity hasn't presented itself. I mean, what
you guys did to me out in the hot tub was fucking amazing. My ass has never
felt that good. If you had asked me right then, I would have let you stick
whatever you wanted up there, I was so into it."

"Good thing Cal didn't know that."

"Yeah," I agree. "But maybe that's how I would answer your question. I've
never been fucked because the right guy hasn't asked me at the right
time. If that happens at some point, I could see giving it up to him. Until
today, I wouldn't have thought that. Just another thing I've learned this
weekend."

"I think it's pretty clear that you've taught more than you've learned this
weekend. I mean, look at us. Two days ago, we weren't even speaking to each
other, and now we're on our hands and knees letting you hose out our
asses."

"We've all come pretty far, I guess."

"Dude! You have to do that!" Calvin shouts as the door to the toilet flies
open. "It's fucking awesome!"

"Yeah, I think it's about time," Reese agrees as he gingerly makes his way
to his feet and passes Calvin on the way to the toilet. The door closes,
and I try to make out by the sounds whether he's okay in there. Not sure.

Calvin stands before me, naked and beaming.

"You are the man," he announces, bouncing up onto his toes and back down,
up and down. His cock is bobbing at me, beckoning. But now it kind of
belongs to someone else.  That thought gives me a twinge in my gut, but
just for a moment.

"Nah, I just do what I can to help," I modestly reply.

"Can we go again?" he asks, planting himself back down on the rug.

"How about if you and Reese do each other this time?" I suggest. "You know
what they say, 'give a man an enema, and he'll get fucked once. Teach a man
to give an enema, and he's fucked for life.' Or something like that. I
forget how it goes, exactly."

Calvin laughs. "Maybe Aunt Emily has that cross-stitched on a doily
somewhere. We'll have to look for it later."

Of all of the things I've dreamed about doing if I was ever alone with a
naked man on his hands and knees, laughing until I cry was never one of
them. But it seems right, somehow, completely right.

We hear the toilet flush, and Reese appears in the doorway.

"Well, that was ... different," he says, slowly.

"You okay, buddy?" asks Calvin, getting to his feet and coming to Reese's
side.

"Oh, hell yeah. We doing this again?" Reese clearly found something to
enjoy about the experience.

"Josh says we should do each other, kind of a hands-on application of what
we've learned. You ready?"

"Fuck yeah. Let's do this thing."

"Me first!" Calvin throws himself down on all fours, legs spread wide. He
lowers his forehead to the rug, reaches around behind him, and pulls his
asscheeks apart. His hole, glowing with all of the attention it's been
getting, twitches in the cleft, hungry.

Reese steps up. I hand him an enema bottle, and nod my head toward Calvin's
waiting ass. He takes it, presses the nozzle to the pucker, and pushes it
in. He smiles, like he's a caveman who's just discovered fire. He squeezes
the bottle and watches the liquid flow into his best friend's ass.

"Done already?" Calvin whimpers when the bottle is empty. "We need to find
larger ones somewhere."

"Dude, you're a total ho," laughs Reese. "Now get up and do me."

"With pleasure, sir." Calvin springs up and grabs the last enema out of my
hand.

Reese settles onto the floor, hands and knees, and waits.

"Come on, help a brother out here," whines Calvin. Reese reaches back as
Calvin had done, spreads his own ass wide open, and waits.

"Fuck, man, you are ... okay, I'll say it," he says, with a glance at
me. "Reese, you are beautiful."

He leans down close to Reese's tightly buttoned ass. Instead of the enema
nozzle, what Reese feels poking him is Calvin's tongue.

"Stop it! We're not done yet!" growls Reese.

"Mmmmppphhh!" is all Calvin can say in reply. To be fair, it's hard to
enunciate when one's tongue is shoved completely into another person's
asshole. Try it sometime!

"Okay, okay," Calvin says, regretfully, as he pulls out of Reese. "Here
goes!" He thrusts the nozzle home with perhaps more gusto than Reese was
expecting, but he holds the bottle firmly in his friend's ass.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Go already," replies Reese.

Calvin's hand, the product of years of intense physical training in the
grasping and holding of footballs (and baseballs and rugby balls...)
flattens the enema bottle so rapidly I think it's going to burst. The
resulting jet has to have reached Reese's throat from the inside.

"Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuck." breathes Reese, as he struggles to keep himself from
collapsing.

Calvin yanks the nozzle free, and then sits back on his heels to admire his
work. "That is one fine ass. I am so boning you tonight."

"You, sir, are a romantic," mutters Reese. "And now, I have some stuff to
blow out my ass, if you'll excuse me."

He gets up and walks off to the toilet, leaving me alone with Calvin, who
is seriously tumescent. A drop of clear pre-cum drips in a long, spidery
thread from the tip of his enormous cock.

"So," Calvin begins. Am I really going to be making small talk with a naked
hunk of man with a dripping dick while his lover evacuates his bowels in
the next room? My fairy godmother is fucked up in the head.

"What do you think it's like to be, you know..." he trails off, suddenly
demure.

"Fucked in the ass?" I cheerfully offer.

He grins. "Yeah, that's what I meant. Do you think it hurts, the first
time?"

"Calvin, I don't know first-hand, but I cannot imagine that it is without
at least mild discomfort, at least at first. Just look at what you are
proposing to put in there," I add, gesturing toward his leaking snake.

"Yeah, but if a guy's really into it, it's probably okay, right?"

His concern for Reese, his feelings, and the structural integrity of his
lower gut is touching, in its way. He really is a sweet guy, even if he
lets his dick think for him most of the time. Of course, if I had a cock
like that I'd let it do anything it wanted.

"You and Reese love each other. You wouldn't let anyone hurt him, would
you?"

He is immediately tense, as if he has just heard paratroopers land on the
roof with perverse intent. "No," he says in voice that chills me with its
calm determination. He's a little scary when he does that, even when he's
naked.

"Then you won't hurt him. You'll know to go slow and let him decide when
it's too much."

"That's not what I meant," he begins, but at that moment Reese emerges from
the toilet room. Calvin rushes past him, eager to release his own load.

"Well, that's not as bad as I thought it would be," Reese announces,
somewhat jauntily.  He sits, somewhat carefully, on the edge of the bathtub
and takes several deep breaths.

Calvin emerges from the toilet room, grinning eagerly.

"What's next, gentlemen?"

"Ah, now that you're all clean and ready to go, let's get you into the
bedroom and on to the next thing: The Talk."

"The Talk?" Calvin repeats, looking at me and then Reese. "What's The
Talk?"

Reese frowns. "You know, the way you two say that it sounds like it should
be capitalized. Kind of creepy."

They follow me into the bedroom, where the lube and the condoms lie in wait
on the bed.

"Yes. The Talk. Before one commences anal intimacy, one must ascertain the
history and past practices of the potential partner," I begin.

"Dude, now it sounds like you're reading from an instruction manual,"
Calvin says, his nose wrinkled in objection.

"I am. Page 36 of 'Gay Sex for Complete Beginners.'" I show them the book
on the nightstand, where I've left it open to the salient section.

"So, full disclosure time. You both must first swear that you will be
honest and complete in your answers."

They hold up their hands in a perverse imitation of an honor pledge--the
honor is intact, I'm sure, but they are still naked and mostly boned-up
while they do it. It's quite a sight.

"All right. Now, unprotected anal sex carries risks, and so you must wear a
condom unless you are in an exclusive relationship."

"Josh, I'm not looking to fuck other guys," interrupts Calvin, seeming
offended at the very suggestion. "I don't want any other guys. Just you,"
he turns to Reese. "Only you."

"Only you," replies Reese, solemnly. I feel like I've just witnessed a
wedding. It's simply too sweet.

"That's great, guys, but you also have to take into account your sexual
histories. Now, have either of you had unprotected sex, whether anal or
vaginal?" That last word shocks them a bit, I can tell; it's almost like
I've reminded them that vaginas exist, and they are troubled by that.

Reese answers right away. "No, no anal, and ... well, the other kind
... always with a condom."

Calvin nods. "Well, I've had lots of regular and actually quite a bit of
anal..." I can tell Reese is taken aback by this, but Calvin
continues. "Always with a condom."

"Quite a bit of anal? What does that mean?" demands Reese.

"Well, I've done a few chicks that way. You really never have?"

"Cal, you seem to have forgotten that I was pretty much wrapped up in not
admitting that I was in love with you. I've had sex with exactly three
women, total, and anal was the furthest from my mind, because it would have
made me think of you."

"Okay, so here are the standings. Reese: no men, no anal, vaginal always
with condom.  Calvin: no men, lots of pussy, and a suspicious amount of
anal, always with condom.  That about cover it?"

"Yep," Reese nods.

"What do you mean by a 'suspicious amount of anal'?" demands Calvin.

"I just mean that the large number of times you were up people's butts may
be an indication that you were trying to work through your desire to
possess the one butt you couldn't have. That's all." I smile sweetly at
Calvin. Reese bursts out laughing.

"I love this guy," he manages to say through the peals of laughter. "He can
turn your relentless pursuit of fuckable women into a hidden desire to fuck
me. That is awesome."  He presents his fist to me, and we bump. Calvin
scowls.

"Whatever. So, what's the next step, chief?" Calvin is all business when it
comes to pleasure.

"Well, you guys need to make the call. If you trust one another completely,
I think your risk from unprotected anal sex is relatively low. At least
that's what the flow chart on page 38 seems to indicate."

"Whoa. I've never done it bare," marvels Calvin. "That would be totally
awesome. Are you up for it, buddy?"

Reese takes Calvin's hand in his. "I trust you with my life, Cal. And I
trust you with my ass."

They kiss. Is it possible for a moment to be both romantic and profane?
Because this one is definitely both.

They're still kissing. I wonder if I should slip out of here.

Still kissing. Yeah, it's time for me to go. I grab my pack, and head out
to find a place to crash for the night.

"Josh, wait," calls Calvin as I step into the hallway.

"Yeah, Calvin? What is it?"

"Will you stay? I want you here. I want to be sure that this goes okay." He
looks at Reese.  "I want to be sure no one gets hurt."

His concern for Reese touches me once again. What can I do? And
objectively, if you have the chance to watch two completely gorgeous men
have sex for the first time right in front of you, would you be able to
walk away? Yeah, I thought so.

"Calvin, you won't hurt Reese, I know you won't. But I'll stay anyway, if
it will make you feel better."

"Thanks, man," Reese softly adds, stroking my arm gently.

I sit in the chair off to the side of the bed, and Calvin and Reese begin
making out again.  Immediately, they seem to forget that I am there, and I
watch them as their groping and rubbing becomes more urgent. They fit
together as if they were molded as one and separated at birth; here,
eighteen years later, they are to be rejoined. I find myself swept away
with the passion of the scene, forgetting that I am there to be, oddly, the
anal sex coach who also happens to be a virgin. Strange world.

After a considerable stretch of foreplay that is leisurely and frantic by
turns, I sense a moment of transition coming. They are getting ready to
embark on something completely new, and both their spirits and their flesh
are willing. With passion-drunk eyes and steel- hard cocks, they are ready.

"Josh," Calvin huskily whispers. "We're ready." Reese nods.

As I stand and step to the edge of the bed, Calvin rises and joins me. His
eyes burn with pure sexual energy, and I hardly recognize him.Well, I
recognize that slab of horse meat he uses for a cock--that's perfectly
familiar. I find myself worrying that I've been too confident in Reese's
ability to take that thing. I'm not sure I could. Then again, having Calvin
kiss me for twenty minutes would make me consent to having a fire hydrant
shoved up there.

I turn to Reese. "Are you ready?"

He swallows. He nods. "Yes, it's what I want."

"Then do it already! Fuck me right now before I take it and shove it in
myself!" Calvin shouts as he mounts the bed on all fours.

Reese looks at him, and at me, and back at him. He is speechless. I am
speechless. Calvin simply wags his widespread ass back and forth, ready for
the onslaught.

"Something wrong?" he asks, bouncing up and down slightly on the edge of
the bed.

"No, I ... I just assumed that it would be Reese that would be ... umm..."
I trail off, not sure how to say what I only now realized that I had been
assuming.

"Me too," says Reese, with a voice that betrays both relief and excitement.

"Why? Because he was the one who was all heartbroken and pining? And that
makes him girlie? Come on, Josh, Mr. Let's Not Care What Society Thinks!
We're both men, we are in love, and we both have shiny clean asses thanks
to you. Now I want my best friend to fuck me in the ass, right now, to show
me that he loves me enough to bugger me into next week. Are we clear?" He
again wags his ass at us, emphasizing his point. He makes a compelling
argument.

"Dude, chill," Reese soothingly replies, his hands tracing delicate
patterns on Calvin's lower back, and down along his powerful, open
buttocks. "I want you so much it hurts. I just never knew that this is what
I wanted. But it is."

He drops to his knees, wraps his arms around Calvin's hips, and pulls that
lovely ass right back onto his mouth. From the sounds he makes, I can tell
that he's giving Calvin's anus the same treatment he gave mine earlier, and
my ass twinges a bit, jealously. The guy knows how to rim.

Remembering my role here, I grab the lube that's still on the bed, and pop
the top. Reese pulls his face out of Calvin's ass crack, a huge smile
shining between his spit-slicked cheeks. I squirt some lube onto my index
finger, and press the tip against Calvin's asshole. He moans and rocks
back, forcing my finger into his rectum. It's warm and soft in there, and
Reese is a lucky man. I squirt and probe several times over until I've
gotten a good amount of lube into his ass and around the outside of
it. Then I squeeze a huge dollop onto Reese's burning hot prick, and work
it around. He moans in response to my impromptu handjob, which I take as a
compliment.

"You're ready," I pronounce.

"Josh," calls Calvin. I walk around the other side of the bed so that I can
see his face.

"Yeah, Calvin? What is it?"

"Stay right here with me, okay? I want to be able to see you."

For the first time I sense a stress in his voice. I realize that all along
he's been asking me about whether it would hurt, and he was asking for
himself, not Reese. He's been planning on getting fucked all along. Was it
just yesterday that he couldn't get past his disgust about the whole gerbil
thing? Now he's preparing to have a throbbing hot cock inside him, and it's
clear that he can hardly wait.

"Now, go slow, Reese, and let Calvin know when it's okay to go
further. Calvin, you set the pace by pushing back when you're ready." They
both nod, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to have someone
give you instructions as you lose your virginity.

I lay my torso down on the bed so that Calvin and I are face-to-face, while
Reese stands behind him. I can tell just by looking into his face when
Reese's cockhead makes contact with his ass. His eyes open wide, and then
they close with a flutter, and I feel him push back, gently at first with a
little rocking motion, and then harder, more urgently. His breathing is a
little shallow, his teeth are gritted, but I can tell he's in heaven as
Reese's cock takes possession of his most private place. Finally, their
bodies make contact, and Reese is fully inside.

"You okay, Calvin?" I ask, whispering my question against his forehead,
which now glistens with sweat.

"Yeah, I'm okay. More than okay. I mean, it's a lot, like every single
button is being pushed at once, but it's amazing." His eyes open, and meet
mine. "Thank you," he whispers, and kisses me softly.

"Okay, Reese, you're in charge," he announces. "Make it good, because I'm
coming after your ass next."

As Reese draws back slowly, I sense my presence is no longer needed. I get
up from the bed (and from the wet spot that my leaking, aching prick has
left there) and slip quietly out the door, pausing only to take in the
sight of Reese thrusting cautiously yet deliberately into his best friend,
his lover, his dream. They're going to be fine.

* * *

As I open my eyes and look about me in momentary confusion, I wonder when I
am going to wake up knowing where I am. This weekend has changed so much in
my life that I cannot imagine going back to the dorm tonight and sleeping
in my same old bed.  The bed I'm now in, which I found in the next room
down the hall from the master suite, is comfortable enough, but a bit
lonely after the sleeping arrangements the night before.

There's light streaming into the room. I can hear movement in the kitchen,
so at least I know one of them survived the night--hopefully both. I am
naked, as I have been more often than not lately, and the sheets are
suspiciously damp. Did I do that on purpose, or did sleeping next door to
the energetic (and occasionally quite vocal) guys result in my spewing in
my sleep? Doesn't really matter, I guess.

I get up from the bed, pull on a pair of shorts, and make my way out to the
kitchen. There I am greeted by a lovely sight: the two men in my life,
standing at the stove, apparently trying to cook breakfast. It's not that
they are cooking that makes them a lovely sight, however; it's that they
are both wearing sweatshirts. And only sweatshirts. Under the waistband of
the gray jersey material are two beautiful, perfectly shaped
asses--Calvin's full, strong buttocks, and Reese's two tight handfuls. As I
watch, Calvin shifts his weight from one side to the other, and the fluid
motion of muscle and sinew is enchanting. I could watch this all day.

"Morning, gentlemen. Nice view this morning." They turn, realize what I'm
referring to, and smile in greeting. Of course, once they turn I also am
treated to the sight of their relaxed but still sizeable cocks arching
gracefully from under their sweatshirts. Fuck me they're beautiful. It is
only once I can tear my eyes away from their cocks that I notice what
they're wearing: Calvin's sweatshirt says "STATE" on it, and Reese is
wearing Calvin's University sweatshirt.

"So, I see that you have reconciled your differences when it comes to
college rivalry," I tease.

"Well," says Calvin," Once you buttfuck a guy--"

"And are buttfucked in return by him--" adds Reese.

"Small differences like where you go to school seem pretty silly,"
concludes Calvin.

"Oh, and I'm going to transfer to the University next semester," says
Reese, clearly pleased with the decision. "Since I already know some people
there," he smiles at me, and kisses Calvin.

"That would be awesome," I reply, meaning it with all my heart. These guys
are good for me, and I want to keep them in my life.

"So what's the plan for today?" I ask, as the guys bring breakfast to the
table.

"Well," says Calvin, with a wicked grin at Reese, "We could show you some
new stuff we learned last night. You might want to try it out."

I look across the table at them. They are both so happy, so much in love,
and, of course, so fucking gorgeous. I am happy to be a part of their
lives, wherever that takes us.

"You know, I might be persuaded to try something new," I say with a
wink. "If the right opportunity presented itself."

"I got your opportunity right here," growls Calvin, grabbing at his meaty
crotch. He's such a romantic.

"A toast, then," I announce, holding my orange juice glass aloft. "To new
friends, to old friends and new lovers, and to Aunt Emily, the sly old
lesbian who saw it coming years ago."

We clink glasses, and laugh at our good fortune. Sometimes life can change
in a weekend of improbable circumstances; but it can also change when we
decide it must, because we have already missed too much to let any more go
by.

THE END

If you enjoyed the story, would like to read more, or want to let me know
exactly the point in the plot that you shot your load, please email me:
mjl4716@yahoo.com