Date: Thu, 12 Jun 2003 12:00:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Mead <timmead88@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dr. Tim and the Boys, ch. 21

The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events
between males.  If you are offended by such material, are too young, or
live in an area where that sort of thing isn't allowed, don't read it.

In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms.  In
the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always
practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites
are allowed without the author's consent.

Thanks, as always, to Tommy, Patrick, Evan, Ash, and Mickey.

Timmead88@yahoo.com
Chapter 21: Summer's End


TIM:


I run every morning I'm able.  I mean, if there's a foot of snow on the
ground, of course I won't.  And those mornings I was at the Jonses in
Shaker I didn't either.  But here at home I do.  I just feel better, for
one thing, after I've had a good run.

In August we were having a spell of pretty hot weather.  It was in the
upper 80's and humid just about every day.  Even at 7:00 when I started
out, it would be nearly 80.  I wore a sweat band on my head, but by the end
of the first mile, I'd have soaked through my clothes.  Periodically I took
off the sweat band and wrung it out and put it back on my head, just to
keep the sweat out of my eyes.  Of course, I did that as I ran, never
breaking stride.

One morning as I was running through the arboretum on my way back home, I
heard someone running behind me.  He or she had come from a side path onto
the main path and was keeping a steady pace, not gaining on me or dropping
back.

"I know that butt.  That's Tim Mead's butt.  I've followed it across enough
finish lines!"

Without looking back, I said, "I know that voice.  I've heard it bitching
about everything in the world.  How are you Max?"

I wanted to stop and hug him, but we both knew we couldn't do that.  I did
slow down, however, so that he would overtake me.  When he caught up, he
put his arm around my shoulder.  I put mine around his waist, and we ran
along together for a few steps.  Letting go of each other because it was
awkward to run that way, we gradually slowed to a jog, and thence to a
stop.

"Timmy, it's great to see you, guy," he said as we finally hugged.

"Max, I can't believe it.  I am really glad to see you, but what in hell
are you doing here?"

I should explain that Max Hewitt was a classmate of mine at Kenyon.  He was
related to one of the pioneers in the rubber and tire industry in Akron.
He had been a physics major, as I recalled, so we never had any classes
together.  But we ran together for four years and got together often just
to yak, frequently over a beer, during those long, cold winters and springs
in Gambier when there really wasn't much else to do.

Max had gotten me to question everything.  He had a deep if charming
skepticism, an ingrained distrust of all institutions.  I didn't know it at
the time, but that was a trait he shared with my writer/obsession, John dos
Passos.  We spent many an evening, either in one of our rooms or in our
favorite pub, talking about God, life, time, the universe, and, of course,
our friends.

The last I heard he was working on a master's at Ohio State, but we had
lost touch, as, despite the best intentions, one does.  At Kenyon, Max had
been built a lot like me.  The same height, we shared skinny bodies with
legs made strong by our running.  But Max had filled out in the intervening
five years in a way I hadn't.  His legs, which I could see because of his
skimpy running shorts, were as muscular as ever, but his thighs and calves
seemed thicker.  His torso had also filled out, perhaps just as a result of
genetics, perhaps because he had been working on his upper body.  At any
rate, he looked damned good.


"I'm the new assistant to Father John, the rector at St. Peter's Church
here in town."

"An administrative assistant?"

"Well, sort of.  I'm the curate at St. Peter's.  My special duties involve
St. Peter's ministry on campus."

"You're a PRIEST?"

He smiled.  "Yeah.  Hard to believe, isn't it?"

We flopped down on a nearby bench.  I put my hand on the back of his head.

"Max, I just can't believe you're HERE, much less that you're a priest."

"Well, get used to it.  I'm here for a while, and I hear you are making a
name for yourself on campus."

"What kind of name?"

"I met a university student the other day who told me that he and his
friends thought you were a great guy, Tim.  But he also said somebody
called you `The Iceman'?"

I laughed.  "Oh, that.  Yeah, I got off to a bad start.  You see, I still
look so damned young, I've been pretty formal with my students in class.
It was the wrong approach, as I've learned, and I've tried to change.  But
once you get that sort of reputation -- or that sort of nickname -- it's
hard to get rid of it."

"`The Iceman' sure doesn't fit the Tim Mead I know.  But Mark said you were
somebody really special."

"Mark Mason?"

"Yeah.  He's a regular, I take it, at St. Peter's."

"I guess I knew he and his dad were Episcopalians, but I never really made
the connection."

"Listen, Tim.  I've got to get back.  Father John is in Cleveland this
morning at the diocesan office on some sort of business, and I'm covering
for him.  But we've got to get together and catch up."

"Oh, yeah, Max, let's do that.  Would you be free this evening?"

"Sure am."

"Come to my house for a drink and dinner, OK?"

"If that's not too much trouble, Tim, I'd love it.  Can I bring anything?"

"Not this time.  Just be there."

"OK.  But where do you live?"

When I told him my address on Trumbull, he grinned.  "I live in those
townhouses, too," he said.  "That's about three doors down the street from
me."

I refused to say anything about it's being a small world.  "Then even with
your trouble getting places on time, you should be able to be there by
6:00, right?" I said, smiling back at him.

"Tim, I'm so glad I ran into you."

"You didn't run into me.  You can't catch me, remember?"

"I'll get you for that one of these days.  Meanwhile, `Icy,' I'll look
forward to seeing you at 6:00."

"Hey!  I just figured it out.  It wasn't my butt you recognized at all, was
it?"

"No.  Actually, it was the combination of the butt and that hair.  But I
admit I knew you were at the university, so I wasn't surprised to see you
up ahead of me.  Seemed like old times."

We got up and ran along together until I got to my house.  I waved at him
as I turned and ran up the walk.  He waved back and said, "This evening,
Tim."


I showered, dressed, and spent the morning at the computer.  I was almost
finished with the task of adapting my doctoral dissertation on dos Passos
into a book.  A couple of university presses were interested already, and
that was good.  I didn't flatter myself that any of the big commercial
publishers would be interested.

After lunch I called Mark.

"Hello."

"Mark, this is Tim.  I didn't know you were back from Germany."

"Hey, Tim.  Good to talk to you.  If you didn't know I was back, why are
you calling me?"

"Because, smartass, I ran into someone, almost literally, who said you had
been telling him about me."

"Uhm, who was that?"

"My old friend, Max Hewitt."

"Oh, yeah, Father Hewitt and I did talk about you the other day.  He said
he knew you at Kenyon."

"What else did he say about me?"

Mark chuckled.  "Well, he said you always beat him at cross-country meets,
but that he thought he had taught you a few things, too.  And that you two
had shared many a beer and late-night talk-session together.  He seemed to
like you a lot, Tim.  I think he was really happy to find out you were
here."

"You have no idea, Mark, what a pleasant surprise it was to run into Max
this morning.  So, how are you?  How is Lori?  Is she with you?"

"I'm great, thanks.  Had a wonderful time in Deutschland.  But Lori decided
to spend a little more time with her family.  She'll be here next week,
though."

"We'll have to get the brotherhood -- and Lori, of course -- together
before classes begin.  Ced and I would love to have everyone come here.
Maybe Max and Steve Metz could join us, too.  Do you think Lori would be
overwhelmed by so many men?"

"I think she might love being queen bee, but I'll ask her.  It will be
interesting to have Father Max.  And I'm looking forward to talking with
Steve.  I don't really know him, you know.  And the great thing is, I won't
be the only straight guy there."

"I suppose you do sometimes feel outnumbered, now that the rest of us have
all figured out who we are.  So, yeah, you'll enjoy having Max and Steve
there.  And Mark, please don't forget to sound out Lori.  She'll certainly
be welcome if she wants to come.  Ced will want to see you when he gets
here this weekend, so I expect I'll being seeing you soon."

"Hope so, Tim.  I need to get caught up on what's been happening -- like
with Trey and the Big Guy."

"Well, you may be surprised to learn all the things that have happened.
Ced or I will call you soon about getting together, OK?"

"Sounds great."

"Oh, Mark, how -- and where -- is your dad?"

"He's fine.  He closed up the house in Meadville, though we aren't selling
it.  I can use it for weekends or whenever I want.  He has taken mostly
clothes and some books and cd's and moved to Lake Polk, Florida.  He's
renting a condo there until he can find something to buy.  He's been pretty
busy, but says he likes the town and has met some great people."

"I'm sure your dad would find the most interesting people in town."

"Oh, but Tim, the best news -- "

"Yeah?"

"He thinks he's found a guy."

"Really?  That's great!  Do you know anything about this guy?"

"No, not yet.  Dad doesn't even know if he's gay.  But he seems to be
really attracted to him.  His name's Doug, and he goes to Dad's church.
That's about all I know."

"Well, anybody who attracts Stan's interest must have something going for
him.  And your Dad deserves to find a great guy.  If it's this Doug, then
Doug's a lucky man."

"That's for sure!"

"So, Mark.  Ced or I will be in touch soon about this weekend.  And we'll
be thinking about a big get-together before classes begin."

"Fantastic.  Thanks, Tim.  Tell my bro I said `hi.'"

"Will do, Mark.  Please give my love to Stan when you talk with him."

"Right."


I was really looking forward to Max's being there that evening.  I had
thought a couple of times of trying to find out where he had gone by
getting in touch with the Kenyon Alumni Office, but the road to hell, and
all that . . .

When I knew Max, I was really into the dating scene, trying desperately not
to even think about my gay urges, and being more or less successful.  But I
was always attracted to him.  He was not only a great friend, drinking
buddy, almost a soul mate, but he was also damned sexy.  At least I thought
so.

About my size, Max had heavier bone structure, bigger hands and feet.
Yeah, and I remembered very well from all those showers we took together
after meets, he had a bigger cock, too.  He had a square face, a ruddy
complexion.  His eyes were a wonderful sort of chocolate brown, and his
thick, wavy hair was the same color.  Next to me, Max looked very
masculine, and I envied him.

The doorbell rang promptly at 6:00.  When I opened the door, there stood
Max, looking good enough to eat.  His hair was still wet from the shower.
After all, he only lived a few doors down the street.

He was wearing a white polo shirt with some sort of coat of arms over the
pocket, khaki shorts, and sandals without socks.  Although Trey mentions
occasionally that he loves Chaz's feet, I've never paid much attention to
them.  But for some reason, I thought Max's feet were sexy.  Even with the
baggy shorts, I was reminded what a big cock Max had.  Yeah, I know.  I am
deeply in love with Ced.  But a guy can enjoy the scenery, can't he?
Junior obviously was, for he twitched and began to fill.


* * *


MAX:


When Tim opened the door, he was standing there in a dark green t-shirt,
khaki shorts, and sandals without socks.  I had seen him wear glasses
occasionally at Kenyon, but most of the time he wore his contacts.  Tonight
he was wearing those glasses that everyone wears now with the tiny lenses.
The rims were sort of a copper-colored wire that went fabulously with his
hair.  He didn't seem to have changed at all since Kenyon.  He still had
that pale skin, those emerald eyes, and that slender built.  Only his legs
showed what great physical shape he was in.  He looked delicious.  Well, a
guy can dream, can't he?

We hugged again.  His condo is the mirror image of mine.  In both, the
front door opens directly into the living room.  His seemed to be furnished
with all new things, and somebody with taste had obviously chosen it.  But
somehow it didn't look like Tim.

He offered me a choice of beer, wine, or sherry.

"Beer or wine is fine, but no sherry, please.  That reminds me too much of
Sunday afternoons in seminary."

He brought us each a glass of red wine.  I'm no expert, but it tasted like
pretty good stuff to me.  He told me it was too hot to eat outside, but
that he was going to grill on the patio and we'd bring it in.

"Steaks?"

"No, lamb chops.  I remembered that you liked them."

He was right.  I love lamb chops.

So we sat and chatted about various things while the charcoal was doing
whatever it is charcoal does.  He asked how long I'd been in town.  I
explained that I'd only been there a week and had been frantically busy
trying to move in, unpack, get stuff for the condo, and learn about my
duties at the church.  Otherwise, I told him, I would have gotten in touch
with him as soon as Mark told me he was at the university.

He said, "Max, I still can't believe you're a priest.  Tell me what brought
you to this point?"

"Well, Tim, it's a long story.  Maybe after a chop or two I'll feel up to
telling it," I said, grinning at him.

"You got it.  I won't push you any more.  But please tell me when you feel
like it, OK?"

We reminisced about days at Kenyon and shared information about people we
had known there and what they were doing now.

Tim's meal was amazing.  I would never have guessed that he would be a good
cook.  It was all very simple.  We had the grilled chops, steamed
asparagus, and saffron rice.

"Where'd you learn to cook like this?"

"I hate to eat alone in restaurants, Max.  Always have.  In grad school I
found it was cheaper to cook for myself, and out of sheer boredom, asked
Mom for some recipes.  She sent me some cookbooks, and I experimented a
lot.  So now I have a small repertoire of recipes that I like and that will
do when I have company."

For dessert we had fresh peaches which Tim had peeled and sliced up over
wonderful French vanilla ice cream.  With my permission, he poured a little
sherry over them.

Afterward, I rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher while he put
away the leftover food.

He fixed coffee, and when it was ready, we took it into the living room.
When we sat, he said, "I've been meaning to ask you about that coat of arms
on your shirt."

"Oh, that's my seminary, the Church Divinity School of the Pacific."

"You were in Berkeley for seminary?  Damn, Max, I was right across the Bay
at Stanford!  What a shame we didn't know that."

"Yeah, Tim, it is a shame.  But you know, I didn't get out much, and I'll
bet you kept your nose pretty close to the grindstone, too."

He smiled and said, "You've got that right."

"Now," he continued, "I've wined and fed my old friend.  Does that entitle
me to the story of what he's been up to since Kenyon?"

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"Are you kidding?  I've got to know how badass Hewitt became a priest.  And
I've got all evening."

So I told him.  How while I was working on my masters' in physics at Ohio
State I woke up one morning and said to myself, `There's nothing I can do
with a physics degree that I can see myself doing for the rest of my life.'
How I slacked off on my classes while I stewed about all that.  How I
talked to Bill Broadhurst, the rector of Harcourt Parish, the Episcopal
Church on the Kenyon campus.  I had often attended Canterbury Club meetings
and had gotten to know Father Bill pretty well.  So, one day I hopped in
the car and drove to Gambier and had a long talk with him.

That was the beginning of a lot of talks.  I also talked to Father Hal, the
rector at my home church in Akron.  I talked often with my advisor at OSU.
One day, he, Bob Schmidt, my advisor, asked me, "Max, what DO you see
yourself doing?"  I told him I hadn't a clue.  He suggested I keep asking
myself that question.

"Now, Tim, keep in mind that neither of the priests I was talking with ever
suggested I should enter the priesthood.  Neither of them did any
proselytizing whatever.  One day, though, as I was driving from Columbus to
Gambier for another visit with Father Bill, I had this vision of myself
celebrating a Eucharist.  `No,' I said to myself, `You've got to be
kidding!'  But there it was, and it kept coming back."

"Max," Tim said, "I don't want to be flip about this.  But are you telling
me you had some sort of Pauline experience, like on the road to Tarsus?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I am.  And the more I thought about it, the more I
felt compelled to follow up on that flash I had.  I could see myself
counseling people in trouble.  I could see myself going to hospitals and
visiting the sick.  I could see myself baptizing babies.  Believe me, Tim,
both Father Bill and Father Hal tried to talk me out of it.  They thought
it was some momentary thing.  It took a lot of convincing to make them see
I was sincere about all this.  Eventually, though they both got behind me,
and, with a lot of help from them, and finally from Bishop Salt in
Cleveland, I got into seminary.  And a damned good one.  The faculty at
Pacific are brilliant.  There's one guy there, Bill Countryman, who just
blew me away!"

"Oh, I've heard of him, I think.  Wrote a book about sex in the Old
Testament, or something like that?"

"Yeah, have you read it?"

"No, should I?"

"You bet.  And if you like that, let me give you a list of his other
books."

"I promise I'll read it.  But I'm curious about something.  You were always
distrustful of big organizations, of institutions generally.  Isn't your
becoming a churchman something of an about-face?"

"I'm still not sure I trust the institutionalized church, but I've got to
work with it and within it to do what I feel compelled to do."

"You're the one who taught me to think skeptically, you know."

"There's nothing wrong with a healthy skepticism, Tim."

We talked at length about religion and churches.  Tim explained, though I
remembered from college, that by the time he got to Kenyon, he was fed up
with the kind of narrow-minded, restrictive, judgmental Christianity he had
grown up with and that he found Kenyon exhilarating because there one could
think and say pretty much anything.  He credited me, probably too
generously, with encouraging him to explore ideas and issues without any
constraints on what was supposedly correct or proper.

I reminded him that I grew up in the Episcopal Church and that I never
experienced the kinds of things he had at home.  Whatever questions I had
about religion in college never enticed me away from my church.  So it was
only natural when I had my "crisis" to go back to there for spiritual help
and guidance.

What Tim didn't know was that I am gay.  Hardly anyone does.  I'm not
really out, except to Fathers Hal and Bill, whom I mentioned earlier.  I've
thought a lot about coming out.  Sexual orientation is still an issue in my
church, but there are lots of congregations which are gay-friendly.  I
don't know yet how the local parish feels, so I'm being very careful.  But
I can see myself coming out at some point, maybe not too far down the road.

Meanwhile, I couldn't help sensing a rekindling of the attraction I had
always felt for my old friend.  I had had many a hardon because of Tim
Mead, and he was the center of quite a few of my j.o. fantasies at Kenyon.
Tim always looked boyish, fresh, innocent.  I knew he had a brilliant mind,
inquisitive, doubting, testing, insightful.  But I longed for his body.
College was tough because, even in the supposedly enlightened 1990's.  I
heard too many comments from my "friends" on the cross-country team and
around campus about "fags," "queers," and "homos."  I wasn't about to let
myself in for the scorn and rejection that went along with being gay.  And,
of course, I was sure Tim was straight, and I did not want to risk our
friendship by coming out or coming on to him.

But his mind, his intensity pulled me to him.  Yet he seemed to look to me
for guidance.  If only I could have guided his cute cock into my ass, I'd
have been happy.  And as I so often followed that boy's ass across many a
finish line (I DID beat him once in a while), I longed to impale him on my
hard and needy dick.

I was sitting there thinking how hot he looked.  That green shirt went so
well with his sexy green eyes and his glorious hair.

"Max, did Mark Mason say anything about his best friend, Ced Jones?"

"No, I'm sure he didn't.  Mark and I really haven't talked all that much.
Why?"

Timmy looked a little nervous at that point.  He swallowed, cleared his
throat, and said, "Max, I'm so glad you are back in my life.  But I can't
let our newfound friendship get off on the wrong footing, so there's
something I have to tell you."

"OK."

"I'm gay."

`Hot dawg!' I thought.  What I said was, "No shit?  You?"

Then, when I didn't say anything else, he told me the whole story.  About
what Mark and two other guys had done to him, about how Cedric had reacted,
about the "Brotherhood," and about how he and Ced were lovers.

"So, Ced and I share this place.  He's in Shaker during the week and spends
his weekends here.  In the fall, we'll be living together here.  I'm really
eager for you two to meet each other.  You're going to love Ced!"

Damn!  I had gone from a high to a low in short order.  First the news that
he was gay, then the news that he had a live-in partner.  Oh, well.  It was
still good to have Tim back in my life.  Somehow it didn't seem right just
then to tell Tim that I'm gay, too.  I'd have to do it soon, though.

I asked a lot of questions about this group he'd gotten himself into.
Apparently Tim knew Mark's father, too.  And Ced's parents.  But I gathered
that none of them were generally out on campus, just among themselves.
Then something occurred to me.

"Tim, are you telling me that Mark Mason is gay?"

"No, he isn't."

"But he has lived for three years with your, uh, with Cedric?"

"That's right.  Mark has known all along that Ced's gay, and he's cool with
it.  But then Mark's dad, Stan, is gay."

"This is all a bit too much for me to absorb at one time."

"Max, I've thrown all this at you without even asking about how you feel
about it.  I can be pretty insensitive at times.  I'm sorry.  You didn't
get up and storm out, and you haven't taken a swing at me, so I presume
you're not too shocked."

"Not shocked, but surprised.  How could I have known you for four years,
run with you, showered with you, gotten drunk with you, and talked into the
small hours of the morning countless times with you and not have know you
are gay?"

"Well, my friend, I tried very hard to keep you from knowing.  And I was
pretty successful in repressing my gay side in college."

"Tim, I hope you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't drop an old
friend for anything like that.  I'm looking forward to meeting all the guys
in your `Brotherhood.'"  They sound like quite a group.  I am especially
eager to meet the guy who obviously makes you so happy, the lucky Cedric."

His face lit up when I said that.  "We'll make that happen soon, I
promise."

I had a lot to mull over, and it was getting late, so I took my leave soon
after that.

At the door, after I had repeated my thanks for the dinner and the evening,
Tim looked perplexed for a moment.  Then I picked up the vibes.

"It's OK, Tim.  I'd like a hug."

He beamed and gave me a bone-cracker.  "Max, it's great to have you back.
I'll be in touch soon."

"I can't tell you how pleased I was to learn from Mark that you live here
now.  It's great to see you again, Red."

He started to frown.  Then he smiled.  He knew I remembered his dislike of
that name and was teasing him.  "Do I have to call you Deuce?"

"Er, no, that's OK.  I promise never to call you Red again."  Deuce was a
name some of the guys on the cross-country team called me because I so
often came in second to Tim.

He opened the door, put his arm on my shoulder, and stepped out onto the
stoop with me.  "See you soon, Max."

"Yeah, Timmy, I hope so.  Good night."


* * *


TIM:


The next morning Max was just running up the street as I came out to start
my run, so we ran together.  Not talking, just enjoying having a running
companion.  We were so in tune, I felt totally comfortable with him, as I
always had.  After we had made our big circle and were on our way back
through "the Arb," as students called it, Max stopped, flopped down on a
bench, and said, "Tim, I have to tell you something."

"Max, we mustn't stop this suddenly, you know.  Walk with me for a few
minutes, and then we'll talk."

"Yeah, you're right, of course.  But there's something you need to know."

"So spill it!"

We walked in silence along the path together as our heart-rates returned to
normal.  After five minutes or so, we came to another bench.  This time we
both sat.

He looked at me with those sexy brown eyes and smiled.  "I should have told
you this last night, but I was so interested in what you were telling me
about Cedric and his friends that I didn't want to interrupt."

"Yeah?"

"Tim, the irony is incredible!  All that time we were friends at Kenyon.
We were both gay, and neither of us had a clue."

`Huh?'  At first I thought I'd somehow misunderstood him.  "We were both
gay . . ."  Had he really said that?  I shook my head in disbelief.

"Wait a minute!  I can't believe this.  You're telling me that you're gay,
too?"

He beamed at me and nodded his head.  He looked so adorable I leaned over
and grabbed him into a hug.  Of course he was all hot and sweaty.  He felt
solid in my arms, vibrating with life.  Junior responded by getting stiff
and starting to leak.

"I can't help thinking, Max, what a lot of comfort we could have been to
each other back then."

He winked at me.  "And maybe more, Tim."

"Yeah, who knows?"  He seemed thoughtful.  "But you're a priest.  Do THEY
know?"

"Well, HE knows, of course.  And I came out in seminary when I found that
there were several others, both students and faculty, who were gay.
Actually, there was no stigma associated with being gay.  Father John and
the vestry here know, too, of course.  I don't go around broadcasting it,
but I'm not about to hide who I am, either."

"I admire you for that, Max.  Ced and I have had several talks about coming
out."

"You mean you're not out?"

"Only among our group, which seems to be expanding.  There are complicating
factors, of course.  All four of the original group play on one varsity
athletic team or another, so there's the problem of their teammates.  Ced's
worried more than I am about the impact coming out might have on my career
here, but it is something that I have to think about.  Trey's parents died
a few years ago.  The parents of the other three all know their sons are
gay, and all of them are OK with it.  But my parents don't know, and,
frankly, it's going to be really hard for me to tell them.  That will be
more difficult for me than coming out on campus."

"We've all had to face questions like that, Tim.  I know where you're
coming from, my friend."

"Thanks, Max.  Maybe you would have some advice for Ced and me as we
wrestle with this problem?  Do you think the three of us could talk about
it together sometime?"

"Of course, if Cedric's willing."

"Not in your capacity of priest, you understand, but as a gay friend who's
out?"

I chuckled.  "Yeah, Tim.  I know you're still a heathen."

We chatted for a while longer and then walked the rest of the way home.  We
agreed that we'd run together every morning.

Actually, for the rest of that week, Max and I spent a lot of time
together.  He had to be at church during the day, and I worked on my book.
But we spent all of our evenings with each other.  One night we went to a
movie.  Sometimes we ate supper at a restaurant.  One evening he made
terrible spaghetti.  Through it all, we never stopped talking.  It was
almost as if those five years we were apart had never happened.

On Wednesday night I surprised myself and Max by going to the service at
his church because I knew he would be celebrating.

It was the first time I had been in a church since one of my cousins got
married.  St. Peter's is an old, gothic style church near the campus.  At
night it seemed cavernous and, even though it was summer, cold.  A small
group of people were there, all near the front of the sanctuary, almost as
if they were huddled together.

Having gone to Kenyon, I had been to enough Episcopalian services to know
my way around the Book of Common Prayer.  I did not genuflect upon entering
the pew, nor did I kneel and pray.  The organ was playing, and I enjoyed
the music.  There was something comforting about all of this, like coming
home, even if I couldn't accept the reason why most of the people were
there.

At 7:30 the organ stopped, and a bell rang near the front.  A side door
opened, and a crucifer came in, followed by Max.

The crucifer was cute, but Max was gorgeous.  His ruddy skin and rich brown
hair contrasted magnificently with his white alb.  Even though he was ten
or maybe twelve years older than the crucifer, Max looked angelic, like a
choir boy himself.

It was a barebones service.  No music.  No sermon.  Just the Eucharist.  He
did it all beautifully, confidently, reverently.  I had never been aware
before of what a wonderful voice he had.  Standing behind the altar in the
large church, I (sitting at the rear of those present) could hear him
perfectly, even though he had no amplification.

After the celebration of the Eucharist, he invited anyone who wanted to
make a prayer of thanksgiving or intercession to come forward.  Three or
four did, kneeling at the altar rail.  Max went to each, clasping their
hands in his, and prayed with them.  He smiled beautifully, beatifically,
at each of them.

After that the congregation and the priest said a prayer together.  Then
there was a hymn, the only one that evening, which the congregation sang as
the crucifer led Max to the rear of the sanctuary.  When the hymn was over,
he said a brief benediction, the congregation said, "Thanks be to God," and
it was over.

Max, of course, was at the door to shake hands with everyone.  I hung back,
the last to leave.  When he saw me, tears came to his eyes.  Then he smiled
and said, "Checking up on me, huh?"

"Yeah, had to make sure you weren't faking.  But it appears that your bona
fides are in order."

"Well, Timmy, whatever your reason for coming, I'm glad you're here.  Are
you going home now?"

"Well, yes, I had planned to."

"I'd love to show you around.  Then maybe we could go back to my place and
resume our ongoing discussion of the world and its people."

"Cool."

So he showed me all over St. Peter's, every nook and cranny.  He seemed so
enthusiastic about it, I concluded that he was really happy to be doing
what he was doing.

"Max, you seemed so much in control while you were celebrating in there.
I'm impressed, man."

"I was scared shitless, Timmy.  That's only the third time I've done that
since I came to St. Peter's.  Of course I've done it lots of times in
seminary, but this is my first church, you know.  And I feel very much
under the microscope."

I laughed.  "Relax, Hewitt.  You've got this job by the balls.  I can
tell."

He chuckled.  We agreed to meet at his place in fifteen minutes.

He had picked up a peach pie at a local bakery, and we had that with ice
cream and coffee on a card table in the dining end of his living room.

I don't know what we talked about.  I do know that I was wondering how
different my life might have been if we had both known back in college that
we were gay.  Not that I had any complaints about my life now.  Far from
it.  But Max is probably the best male friend I've ever had until Cedric.
And I have to say it, Max is one damned sexy guy.  Several times when we
were doing things together that week, I'd get hardons just thinking about
him.

Wednesday night, after going to see Max celebrate the Eucharist, I dreamed
of him.  He was wearing nothing but his alb.  He was sporting an erection
which tented out the alb, and there was a precum spot about the size of a
fifty cent piece on the front of it.  In my dream, I went to him and tried
to raise the garment over his head, but I woke up sweaty and erect.  I try
not to beat off when Ced is gone, but that night I did, to visions of Max
doing a striptease, slowly taking off the alb.


When Ced got back here that weekend, I told him all about Max.  Everything.
About what good friends we had been.  About telling Max about the
Brotherhood.  About Max's telling me that he's gay and how ironic that we
were both friends in college and didn't know each other was gay.  About
running together, about my going to church Wednesday evening, about our
spending lots of time just catching up, renewing our friendship as it were.

Cedric, of course, was happy for me and said he wanted to meet Max as soon
as possible.  I told him we'd see Max the next day, that I'd already set it
up.  But that's also when I got the idea for the party.


* * *


TREY:


The Saturday at the end of that week I had arranged for Tim, Ced, Chaz, and
me to go to Nighttown to hear Geoff Benton's trio play.  At my suggestion,
Ced had called Francis and invited him and Rodney to meet us there.  I made
it clear from the beginning that this was my party.  I was the one who knew
Geoff, and I didn't think I should expect the guys to pay for dinner at a
pricey place to humor me.  They protested a bit, but when I insisted, they
gave in.  I mean, I am always very careful not to flaunt my money, but
there's no point in having it if you can't throw a party for your friends
once in a while, right?  Besides, after what Tim had told us, Chaz and I
were dying to meet Francis and Rodney.  This seemed like a cool way to kill
two birds with one stone.

I drove the Lexus, and Ced sat up front with me to navigate.  That left Tim
and Chaz in the back seat.  Chaz made some sort of crack about his Tahoe
having more legroom, but he seemed happy to get a chance to visit with Tim.
It takes about an hour to get from campus to Shaker Heights.  On the way,
the main topic of conversation seemed to be the new priest at St. Peter's
church, who just turns out to be an old Kenyon friend of Tim's.  Tim seemed
really pleased that Max, or, more properly, Father Max, had showed up.
Apparently they were doing their morning runs together, doing a lot of
things together.  The agnostic Iceman had even gone to the Wednesday
evening Eucharist to see his old buddy celebrate.

Ced and I could hear Tim talking to Chaz about Max in the back seat.  Ced
seemed to be paying close attention to the whole thing.

I glanced over at my old buddy and asked, `"Ced, you cool with this man?"

He smiled and said, "Yeah.  It's nice to see Tim so happy."

"Have you met Max?"

"Nope.  Not yet.  But I've suggested that Tim and I go to church tomorrow,
where Max will be assisting the rector.  I'll get a chance to look him over
first, and then, I'll get to meet him."

"Has Tim agreed to that?"

"First he laughed and said he thought if he showed up in church twice in
one week, the walls would crumble or something.  Then he said he thought it
was a good idea, because he really wants me to meet Father Max."

Getting through Cleveland wasn't bad.  I turned east on Carnegie as I do
when I'm going to Ced's folks' place.  We turned right on Cedar and went up
the hill.  We hadn't gone far, when Ced told me to turn left into a parking
lot.  I didn't see any restaurant, but did as I was told.

We parked, got out, and I pushed the button on the fob to lock up the SUV.
Our buddy led us to a door.  There was no big electric sign on the front of
the building at all.  It looked, instead, as if two store fronts had been
converted into a restaurant.  Next to the entrance there was a painted sign
flush with the wall with a small light over it.

"Ced, babe," Tim laughed, "forgive me for saying so, but this place looks
like a dump."

"That's ok, smartass, you just wait!  I admit it looks bad, but wait until
you taste the food."

Inside, it was pretty dark.  The floors were bare wood.  Old-fashioned
chairs with bent wood back were around the tables.  On the walls were
autographed pictures of celebrities who had eaten there.  I told the maitre
d' my name.  He told us that the rest of our party had already been seated.
He led us down a short hallway and into another room, which had a raised
area with a piano at one side.

"Ced, I like this," I remarked.  "It has its own cachet.  I imagine lots of
Clevelanders think of Nighttown as their special place, don't they?"

He grinned and said, "That's right, bro.  You got it, even if Timmy
hasn't!"

"Hey," Tim said, "I didn't mean anything bad.  I was just giving you my
first reaction, and you must admit, this is not what most people would
think of when they were asked to picture a fine restaurant."

"OK, Tim, I guess you're right about that."

Francis and Rodney stood up when we were shown to the table.  Chaz and I
hadn't met them before.  And Tim was right.  Francis is one impressive
looking dude.  Ced introduced Chaz and me.  Tim shook hands with both of
them and said how glad he was to see them again.

We sat, ordered drinks.  They carded Tim.  Rodney and Francis seemed to
think that was hilarious.  Ced, Chaz and I knew not to seem amused.  Tim
sighed, pulled out his wallet, and showed them his driver's license.  The
waiter, Josh, who was college age and damn good looking, apologized.  "But
we have to be very careful, you know, Mr. Mead."

"No problem, Josh.  It happens all the time."

When Josh had left to get our drinks, we began to talk.  The other four
talked about their adventure in the Flats a few weeks earlier while Chaz
and I sat there, grinning and listening.

When Josh brought our drinks and the menus, I began to see why this place
was so popular.  The choices were fabulous.  Everybody decided to try
something different.  I don't know what they all had, but I had about as
succulent a piece of prime rib as I've ever had.  Tim had those little bay
scallops sautéed in white wine and garlic.  A couple of guys had steaks,
I think.  And Chaz had a specialty of the house called "Dublin Lawyer."  It
was lobster in some sort of a cheese-cream sauce served over rice.  I made
him give me a taste, and it made me wish I had ordered it, too, cholesterol
notwithstanding.

Josh knew his business, I'll give him that.  He was never obtrusive, but,
despite the fact that the restaurant was busy, he was always there when
wanted.  After we had all finished our entrees, he came back with dessert
menus.  We all ordered coffee, but only Rodney, Chaz, and Tim ordered
dessert.

Rodney had a piece of bourbon pecan pie with whipped cream, Chaz had
cheesecake with blueberries on it, and Tim had something called "Death by
Chocolate."  For some reason, Francis, Ced, and Rodney were practically
hysterical when he ordered that.  They continued to chuckle as he ate it.

"OK, you clowns.  What IS it?"

"No offense, Tim," Francis laughed, "but you DO seem to go for the
chocolate, man!"

Tim practically choked on a bite of his dessert.

About then Geoff and two other guys came onto the small stage, and there
was applause.  Geoff smiled at them and sat at the piano.  There was a
moment or two while they plinked and plunked and got the bass in tune.
With no fanfare or announcement, the broke into a smoky version of "Over
the Rainbow."  We all looked at each other and wondered if he had spotted
us and was playing it for us.  When he turned and looked directly at me and
winked, I knew that's exactly what was happening.

The number was warmly applauded.  Obviously the clientele knew and liked
Geoff and his friends.  He smiled, thanked them, introduced his bassist, a
tall Black dude named Roy Huggins, and his drummer, a wiry little dude
named Tony di Franco.

They played a mix of old standards like "One O'Clock Jump," "Stars Fell on
Alabama," and "I Didn't Know What Time it Was."  Then they did an Oscar
Peterson piece called "Blues for Big Scotia" and some things that most jazz
fans associate with Bill Evans.

When they took their first break, Geoff came over and sat with us.  I made
introductions all around.  Tim told him how much he was enjoying their
playing, and the rest of us chimed in.  Then Geoff and Rodney got into some
technical discussion of harmonies and chords, and the rest of us just sort
of sat there and smiled.

During their second set, they played several things one or the other member
of the group had written, and that was fascinating.  I began to realize how
smart and talented my new friend was.  `Now,' I thought `if only we could
find him a guy.'

We kept drinking coffee, listening to Geoff and the guys play, and
exchanging a comment or an appreciation once in a while.  The evening
passed very quickly, it seemed to me.  Before I knew it, Geoff and friends
were taking their final bows, and we all stood up to leave.

Outside, we all exchanged hugs.

Tim said, "Hey guys, we didn't get a chance to bring this up inside.
Rodney and Francis, Ced and I are having a party at our place a week from
tonight.  To mark the end of summer.  Think you guys could come?"

They looked at each other, and then Francis said, "That sounds great, Tim.
We'd like to come.  Can we bring anything?"

"Not necessary.  Just show up, dressed very casually.  I imagine Ced can
email you directions."

Ced grinned and said he'd be sure to do that.

We all hugged again, attracting stares from some couples who were leaving
the restaurant.

On the way home, my big lover sat up front with me, with his hand in my
crotch most of the way.  In the back, Ced had both arms around Tim and,
when I looked back, he was nuzzling Tim's hair.

When we got home, Tim said, "Guys, I'm sorry to spring the party on you
that way.  We had meant to talk about it over dinner."

Ced, not smiling, added, "Yeah.  Sorry.  I had other things on my mind."

"Well, anyway, you heard what I said to Francis and Rodney.  We want to
have Mark and Lori, Steve Metz, Max Hewitt, and you guys, of course.  I'd
like Geoff and his associates to come, too, but I imagine they'll be
playing again next Saturday."

"Yeah, Tim," I said, "they will be.  He told me."

"Well, we'll get together with them some other time then.  But I hope
everyone else can make it."

"Well, Tim," Chaz said, "you know if there's a party, Tiger and I'll be
there.  Can we help any?"

Tim hugged Chaz and said, "No, Chaz, as I said to Rodney and Francis, just
be there.  And I know I don't need to tell you not to dress up."

Chaz chuckled and gave Tim an extra squeeze.  "That's for sure, dude."

More hugs followed.  Then the big guy and I hopped back in my car and we
went home.


* * *


CEDRIC:


Tim's party was exactly a week after our trip to Nighttown.  And it was
Tim's party.  He thought it up.  He was enthusiastic about it.  He said it
would be great to get all our friends together before the fall term
started.

We had originally planned for the brothers plus Rodney and Francis to go to
a concert at the Blossom Music Center.  I thought that would be great.  But
Tim, Trey, and Chaz had sort of made a project of Steve Metz, the smartass
from our lit class spring term.  They all seemed to like him, so I guess I
needed to give him a chance.  And Tim didn't think Steve would like a
Blossom concert.  (I didn't think Chaz would enjoy it either, but he'd go
along if the rest of us were going.)  One good thing about it was that we
could invite Markie and Lori.  I didn't know whether she would come or not.
It might be really uncomfortable for her to be with all us guys, especially
since Mark and Steve would be the only straight guys there.

But I thought I knew the real reason why Tim wanted to have this party.  He
wanted to introduce his old buddy Father Max to the gang.

My first look at Max was in church the day after the Nighttown trip.
Remember that he was wearing vestments.  I couldn't tell much about how he
was built.  He was about the same height as Tim, but much less good
looking.  His features are blunter, less fine.  His skin is reddish.  And
he has this big shock of wavy brown hair and heavy eyebrows.  He looked as
if by noon he'd have five o'clock shadow, too.

Max and the rector, Father John, did the service together.  There were lay
readers who did the lessons and served the chalice at the communion part of
the service.  Max preached the sermon.  One thing I'll have to say for him
is that his sermon was intelligent, well-organized, and only about twelve
minutes long.  He never raised his voice.  Sure not like the church my
folks go to.  Father John presided over the communion.  Tim told me that
Father J. was "celebrating the Eucharist."  How would HE know?  He is a
full-fledged heathen if there ever was one.  But he's spent so much time
with Max the last week or so, he knows all that Episcopalian jargon.

When Tim introduced me to Max after the service, Max insisted on hugging
me.  He said he knew how special I was to Tim, and he looked forward to
getting to know me better.  Then he thanked us both for coming to church
that morning.  He sounded as if he really meant it.

What am I trying to say?  I guess that I couldn't find anything to fault
him for.  He seemed like a nice guy.

Well, back to the party.  The guest list was as follows: Mark and Lori,
Trey and Chaz, Rodney and Francis, Steve Metz, and Max Hewitt.  Trey had
really hoped Geoff Benton could come, but he had his gig at Nighttown that
night.

Everybody else said they'd come.

When I got to our place on Friday evening, Tim made me shower and dress up.
We were finally going to get that dinner at Stefan's he had promised me.
So we duded up and went.

The place was just as nice as he said it would be, and I was impressed that
the valet who parked my 4Runner recognized Tim and our server called him by
name.  Those guys are really sharp.  The food was good.  But you know all
about Stefan's.

Tim and I talked about the week just past.  He talked mostly about Max and
what they had done together when Max wasn't busy with his church duties.
Tim said he hadn't gone to the Wednesday night service.  He laughed and
said he wasn't about to change his views because his friend was a priest.

Then we began to make plans for the party.

When we got home, we got out of our dressy clothes, put on t-shirts and
shorts, and cleaned up the house.  Then we went to bed and had long, slow,
beautiful sex.

The next morning, Tim was up and out, as usual, about 6:00.  Even though I
knew he was running with Max, I wasn't about to get up at that miserable
hour and turned over and went back to sleep.  I woke up to the smell of
coffee brewing and sausages frying.

After breakfast, we showered, dressed, and went out to the supermarket and
to Fein's to get food for the party.  It seems to me we spent the rest of
the day getting ready for the evening's affair, but there was a while after
lunch when we had a pretty heavy make-out session on the sofa.

Tim had bought several kinds of cheese and several kinds of crackers.  He
had crudités and dip.  He had shrimp cocktail.  We went to the package
store and bought beer, wine, gin, bourbon, and I don't know what all.

For dinner, he fixed a green salad, and we had gotten hot German potato
salad, a beef tenderloin and a smoked turkey breast at Fein's.  He bought
the cutest little buns. (Watch it, you guys!  No puns about my Timmy having
cute little buns.)  They were like miniature hamburger buns, about the size
of breakfast biscuits.  People could slice off pieces of the turkey or the
beef and make little sandwiches.  He had mayo and mustard, of course, but
he also had barbecue sauce and a creamy horseradish sauce for the beef.

For dessert he had a huge bowl of raspberries and whipped cream to put on
them.  Those berries cost almost as much as the beef, I think.

So, he had thought of everything.  We had our new place looking nice.  It
never occurred to me until we were sort of nervously waiting for people to
show up, that this was also a housewarming party for Tim's and my new home.
I don't know whether he had thought of that or not, but I know that if he
had, he wouldn't say anything because he didn't want people to make a fuss
over us or think they had to bring presents.  Everything he said about the
party made it clear to me that he wanted everyone to have plenty of good
food and drink and lots of fun.

And then it crossed my mind that this was all to impress Max.


"A-people" that we both are, we had everything ready by about 5:30, and no
one was to come until 7:00.  We sat in the kitchen and had glasses of
lemonade, going over our mental checklists to make sure we hadn't forgotten
anything.  Then we took a shower (together, of course), and changed into
clean clothes.


I confess I was a little nervous.  None of the brothers had met Francis
until last weekend, and Mark had never met him.  I wanted them all to like
and enjoy one another.  I had only met Mark's Lori a couple of times, and
she seemed cool.  But why in hell would she agree to come to this party?
If she thought this bunch of guys was going to fawn over her, she had
another think coming -- not that any of them would be rude to her.

And, of course, I was going to have to be hospitable to Max.  FATHER Max.
Father my ass!  Tim had said that in his vestments he looked like a
choirboy, and he was right.  But my boy and the choirboy had been having a
lot of fun together for the last couple of weeks.  Too much fun, maybe.


* * *


MARK:


I couldn't understand why Lori agreed to go to the party, but she did.
When I asked her about it, she said, "Mark, Schatzchen, don't you think
it's about time I met this pride of lions you are a part of?  I am
fascinated by the group dynamic you boys have.  Your friend Cedric is
charming -- and very sexy.  And I have heard about his former lover, what
is his name, Francis?  He sounds very impressive.  Besides, didn't you tell
me that your new priest would be there?  I must meet him, too."

I laughed.  "Well, you, Steve Metz, Father Max, and I will be the only
straight people there.  But if you're game, I'm really looking forward to
having the brotherhood together again after being apart this summer.  I
don't know Steve Metz very well, and I want to get a chance to talk with
him, since Tim and Trey and Chaz all like him.  Besides, it will be a good
chance to see what Father Max is like when he's not in his canonicals."


The party was actually wonderful.  Tim and Ced had gone all out with the
drinks and the food.  We had more than enough great stuff to eat and drink.
Pops would have been impressed, I think, and that's saying something.

The party itself got off to a great start.  Steve Metz never showed up, and
that puzzled Tim because Steve had said he'd be sure to be there.  The five
of us in the brotherhood hadn't all been together since the early part of
the summer, so we had lots of catching up to do.  But the newcomers, Lori,
Father Max, Francis, and Rodney seemed to blend right in.  It was amazing,
as I watched the group dynamic, how many shifting conversations were going
on, and how the groups broke up and then realigned into new conversations.

For example, at one point I heard Tim urging Chaz to let him see the
journal he had kept of his summer in Cincinnati.

"Well, Tim, I dunno.  I haven't even shown it to Trey dude yet.  And
there's a pretty graphic description of a dream I had about David and then
of the night David and I fucked.  I won't feel right showing that to you if
Trey hasn't seen it, and I'm afraid of how he will react if he reads It."

"OK, Chaz, I honor your reservations.  But tell me this.  Has Trey told you
anything about what he and Raul were doing this summer while you were at
home?"

"You mean they were fuckin' like bunnies?"  He grinned.  "Yeah, he told me
all about that."

"Then don't you think he can take reading about what you and David did?
Don't you think you need to be equally frank with Trey?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean.  OK.  I'll show it to Tiger, and if I'm still
alive after that, I'll get a copy to you."

How's this for an unlikely pairing?  At one point, Francis, drinking what
looked like a cola, was in deep discussion with Father Max, who was
drinking a bloody mary.  I heard snatches of conversation, words like
"seminary," and "the ministry," and "ordination."

Lori, no wallflower, didn't cling to my side all evening.  True to her
intention, she mixed and mingled.  At one point she was chatting animatedly
with Rodney, who had this sort of dopey smile on his face.  I heard words
like "tented arches," "stained glass," and "transept," so I assumed they
were talking about medieval church architecture.

At another point, Trey and Father Max were talking about the Browns'
prospects that fall.  I heard Max saying, "Well, Trey, I'm from Akron, so
I've been a Browns fan all my life.  It's good we have a team back in
Cleveland."  Trey, who was a Redskins fan, said something to the effect
that the Browns had a long way to go before they were a threat in the AFC.

Later, as I was munching on one of those wonderful little roast beef
sandwiches with horseradish sauce on it and sipping a beer, I thought
guiltily that Pops would have teased me for not drinking some of the
cabernet our hosts had provided.  Then my thoughts were brought back to the
present when I heard Chaz telling Francis and Rodney about coming out to
his parents this summer.  I edged closer to that group because I hadn't
heard all the details of the story.  Ced had given me only the Reader's
Digest version during one of our IM sessions.

Having been in Germany during the latter part of July, I hadn't had a
chance to catch up much with either Trey or Chaz, so I was happy when Trey
wandered up.  He had a glass of the cabernet in his hand and was munching
on one of those little beef sandwiches.  He asked me about my visit with
Lori's family and our sailing down the Rhine, and I bent his ear about that
for a while.  Then I asked him what was new, besides his and Chaz's
becoming a couple, which I said was long overdue.  He told me about the
dreams he and Tim had had of each other and this new sense they had of
being connected like twin brothers.  I told him it sounded strange.  He
agreed it was, but he smiled his sleepy smile and said it was nice, weird
or not.  Then I asked him what else was new with him, and he told me he had
decided to major in English, that he wanted to go to grad school and become
an English professor.

"Isn't that carrying the twin brother thing a little too far?"

He looked steadily at me through half-closed eyes, still smiling, and said,
"I think I'm a big boy, Markie.  I am not trying to be a Tim clone.  This
is really what I want to do with my life."

I put my arm around his shoulders and said, "In that case, Tiger, go for
it!"

Another time, I was explaining to Father Max that this summer I had had to
process learning that Chaz and Trey were both bi and that they had now
become a couple.  He seemed to find that fascinating.  I don't think it
bothered him particularly.  He wouldn't have been here if he'd had any
hang-ups about gay people.  "So, let me get this straight, Mark.  You are
the only straight man in this brotherhood that Tim talks about so much?"

I chuckled.  "Yes, Father, it looks that way."

"Mark, we aren't in church.  Please call me Max."

"OK."

"Tim told me that he and Cedric were partners, but he never said anything
about Chaz and Trey being a couple."

"Well, that's Tim.  None of them is out on campus except in this circle
that you see here tonight, so naturally he wouldn't tell anyone, even an
old friend like you, about Trey and Chaz."

Max smiled and said, "Yes.  That's the Tim I know."

Max went to get a refill on his drink, and Lori came up, her eyes
sparkling.  "Having fun?" I asked.

"Mark, sweetheart, your friends are wonderful!  I see why you love them.
And they all love each other so.  I don't know when I have ever been in a
group where I felt so much good will.  You do truly have a brotherhood.
Even Rodney and Francis seem to fit in, though they hadn't met all of you
before, had they?"

"No, they hadn't."

"Father Max is an interesting man.  He is fond of Tim, I think.  And Cedric
is very jealous of him, you know."

That was it!  I had been troubled by Ced's behavior, which was unusual, to
say the least.  He seemed more subdued than I've ever seen him.  Ced has
the sunniest disposition of any guy I've ever known.  But that night, he
seemed really strange.  Laughing loudly at one minute, very serious the
next.  I looked across the room once to see him in what must have been an
earnest conversation with Lori, and I had made a mental note to ask her
about that later.

Another time I saw him staring fixedly at Father Max.  It wasn't a friendly
stare.  And Lori, a relative stranger, had figured it out.  Woman's
intuition maybe?  Ced didn't like Max.  Why?  Well, duh!  Ced was jealous!
I watched my best friend more carefully after that.  He would often go over
to Tim and put his arm around him.  I've seen the two of them show how they
love each other through their body language, and that's not what Ced was
doing.  He was asserting his claim on Tim, no question about it.  I saw Tim
appear to remonstrate with him once, but I couldn't hear what he said.

When the main course was cleared away from the counter where it had been
put out, Tim and Ced produced a huge bowl of raspberries and another big
bowl of whipped cream.  They made coffee in a big urn they had rented.  Tim
pointed out that the berries were there and asked us to help ourselves
whenever we wanted.

That's when Ced did something that surprised the hell out of me.  The party
had been a great success to that point.  The food was good, and everyone
seemed to be having a fine time just visiting, catching up, getting to know
the newcomers.

Suddenly, however, Ced walked to the music system, put on a cd, and turned
the volume up.  "Come on, Timmy, you gonna show these people how you can
dance!"

Tim looked embarrassed and said, "Oh, I don't think this is the time, Ced."

Cedric wouldn't take no for an answer.  He put his arm around Tim, steered
him to the center of the room, and said, "Timmy, you showed how well you
can swing that cute ass of yours at the Phoenix, and I want us to do that
again.  C'mon, Francis and Rodney, remember how we did it?"

They laughed and seemed reluctant until Ced went over and took each of them
by the hand.  "Dudes, do this for me!  Let's dance!"

Giving in with as good grace as possible under the embarrassing
circumstances, Tim went along.  Soon, he was dancing away, surrounded by
Rodney, Francis, and Ced.  It looked like some sort of ritual dance, the
way they did it.  I was impressed, though, with the way Tim moved.  I
thought how startled the people on campus who called him "the Iceman" would
be if they could see him right then.

Trey and Chaz moved the coffee table out of the way to make more room.
Then Lori came over, took my hand, led me to the center of the room, and
began to dance.  Soon, she was dancing surrounded by Trey, Chaz, and me.
It was hot.  It was wild.

But when I saw Ced look over his shoulder and direct a venomous look at
Father Max, who was standing by himself, I knew what all this was about.
My best friend was flaunting his control over Tim in front of Max.  I was
about to grab Lori and take her out of the dancing group when I heard the
phone ring.

Max, who was standing next to it, picked it up.  He listened for a moment,
put the phone down, and made his way over to where Tim was.  He said
something.  Tim told Ced to turn off the music and went to the phone.

"This is Tim Mead.  Yes, I know him.  Oh, damn!  No!  Is he badly hurt?  I
see.  Have his parents been notified?  That's strange.  Yes, I'll be right
there."

By the time Tim put down the phone, the room was dead silent.  It was Chaz
who spoke first.  "What is it, Tim?  What's happened?"

"It's Steve.  He's been attacked.  Pretty badly beaten.  That was the
police calling from the emergency room at the hospital.  Apparently there
was a card in Steve's wallet asking for me to be notified in case of an
emergency."

There was a round of murmurs about that.  Tim continued, "Sorry to break up
the party, gang, but I've got to get down there."  He picked his keys up
off the kitchen counter and practically jogged out to his car.


(Did you notice anything missing from this chapter?  Yeah, no sex.  But I
figure if you're still with me after twenty-one chapters, you're not
reading this story primarily for j.o. material.  Chapter 22 will be along
in about two weeks.  --T.M.)