Date: Wed, 25 Jun 2003 20:33:01 -0400
From: John Paul <john_paul@comcast.net>
Subject: The Alphabet Lovers: Adam (Revised)

My name is John Paul Batista.  I am a 35-year-old photojournalist for a
large publishing company that specializes in travel, leisure and
exploration magazines.  My assignments are worldwide -- one week I might
be hiking through the French countryside and the next I might be riding
a camel in the Tunisian desert.  I get paid (pretty handsomely I might
add) to be a globetrotter; how cool is that?  After fifteen years as a
photojournalist, I've had countless adventures -- I've seen a lot of
remarkable things and met a lot of fascinating people.  I'm fluent in
five languages and can get by on the basics with a few others.

There is a downside to this job, however.  I have no place to call home.
I have a condo in D.C. with no furniture except a bed and a few unpacked
moving boxes.  Besides, there's no one to come home to.  I had a
boyfriend once -- Adam -- but he grew tired of the extremely-long-distance
relationship.  Who could blame him?

Since Adam broke up with me, I haven't even attempted to get into a
serious relationship.  Don't get me wrong; I've had more than my fair
share of one-night stands and a few "long-term" hook-ups.  I'm not
necessarily proud of my sluttish ways, but I won't apologize for
satisfying my healthy sexual appetite.  I'm weak when it comes to
good-looking men and I've had no problems attracting them.

With a former Brazilian model for a mother and sex-symbol Anglo-American
actor as a father, I had pretty good genes.  I've been told that I have
an "exotic" look.  In America, I guess that means a look unlike anything
you'd find in a J. Crew catalog -- and you'd be hard-pressed to find
anyone who looks like me in there.  Someone with my sandy-blond wavy hair,
hazel eyes, caramel-colored skin and chiseled features might be more
easily found in a Calvin Klein ad -- if they were slumming that is.  I've
also been told that I'm modest to the point of being self-deprecating.
I don't think I'm ugly, I just don't put as much importance or faith in
my looks as everyone else seems to.

Most of the time, I travel with Jake.  He's by far the best staff writer
we have, so it only made sense that he would work with the best
photographer.  Jake's a pretty good looking guy and has also had his
fair share of sexual escapades.  He's painfully straight, but he's
always eager to learn about different cultures, even that of gay men.  I
guess that's what makes him so great at what he does.  As a result, we
often trade stories about whom we fucked the night before.  During one
such session, he showed me a journal that he keeps with the names of the
women he's been with, a brief description of each along with a rating of
their sexual prowess.  It was crass, I know, but his descriptions were
always amusing and his rating system was usually comically subjective.

We were sitting outside a cafe in London one day when he was jotting
down some details on the previous night's victim, Kylie.  "What's the
rating on this one?" I asked.

"I'm giving her a 9 for technique, but she only gets a 4 for
originality."

"So she was excellent at being derivative, right?"

"Yeah!  Mind if I use that?"

"No, not at all," I answered with a chuckle.  "But, don't you think
you're being a little unfair?  It's hard to find something original when
you've done just about everything with just about everyone."

"Not everything," he said teasingly, throwing a wink my way.  "Besides,
you have some nerve!  I've seen you dragging a different guy away from
the bar every night this week."

"Yeah, well at least I don't write their names down in a book."

"Maybe you should... at least the good ones.  That way, you'll remember to
look them up the next time you're in their town."

At first, I laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion, but later that
night, after a dismal night at the bar, I found myself doing exactly
that.  I only wrote down the names of the guys who popped into my head
right away.  I figured everybody else was too mediocre to remember.
When I finished the list, I noticed a strange pattern: there were
exactly 26 names and each one started with a different letter of the
alphabet.

"That's pretty wild!" Jake said when I showed him the list.  "This is a
cool concept for a book, ya know."

"Yeah right," I replied, snatching the list from his hand.

"No, dude, seriously.  You should write a book about these guys.  I'll
even help you if you want.  It'll be great!  I can see it now, America's
next best-seller, `The Alphabet Lovers.'  Sounds like a Harlequin
Romance, doesn't it?"

I can always count on Jake coming up with some outrageous ideas and most
of the time he thought of things just to be silly.  But he was dead
serious about this one -- and bursting with enthusiasm.  His zealousness
must have been contagious, because by the time I finished my cup of
coffee we were hashing out the details for the first chapter.  We worked
late into the night, forgetting about satisfying our libidos for the
moment.  And so began the weaving of the tale of the "Alphabet Lovers."

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

I met Adam in college, in the days when I was still experimenting with
my sexuality.  I was a sophomore -- fairly social, mildly popular and
loved to party.  He was a senior and the big man on campus; smart,
athletic, funny, rich and oh so HOT.  Just shy of six feet tall with 175
pounds of finely toned muscle, Adam was a 100%-certified, blond-haired,
green-eyed All-American frat boy.  Everybody wanted a piece of him --
especially me.  He was the first guy I ever had a crush on, and I
couldn't approach him to save my life.

He was just too damned intimidating.  Not because of his demeanor or
actions, mind you.  He couldn't be any more charming.  He was so
worldly, he could talk about anything; and he talked to everybody, even
the computer lab geeks (no offense to the nerds of the world).  He was
straight, though, or at least everyone assumed he was.  Although no one
claimed to be his girlfriend (or boyfriend) and his love life seemed
almost non-existent, he was always flirting with one girl or another.
So, thinking he was straight, I was afraid I'd say something to offend
him and he'd make me the school's social pariah.  He seemed cool with
gay guys, but even the most open-minded straight guys can act get a
little testy sometimes.

On top of that, he was just so beautiful.  The mere sight of him turned
my brain to pulp.  I even practiced what I'd say to him when I got the
nerve up.  When I finally did get the courage, I ended up sounding like
a babbling idiot.  In true form, Adam just smiled and tried to make the
best of it.  Humiliated beyond imagination, I quickly excused myself and
hid in my room for the rest of the weekend.
I decided to save myself from any further embarrassment by just avoiding
him completely.  Of course, that's when I started running into him
everywhere: in the cafeteria, at parties, at the video store, or in
class -- and we didn't even take the same classes.  To make matters
worse, he made it a point of starting up a conversation with me every
time, and every time I made a bigger fool of myself.  It was like a
fucking conspiracy.
Anyway, I was chilling out on the quad one day, taking a quick nap
between classes.  It was nice and warm out, so I stripped out of my
shirt and used it and my books as a make-shift pillow.  I had just
drifted off to sleep when I heard heavy footsteps approaching.  I opened
my eyes to see Adam jogging in place beside me.  All I could focus on
was how his sweaty gray t-shirt clung to his beefy pecs.  I propped
myself up on my elbows to get a better look.

"So that's the secret to John Paul's killer tan," he said between puffs
of air.

"Oh no, this is all natural," I answered with surprising wit.

"Genetics can be so unfair," he commented and stopped running in place.

"Who needs genetics when you can just buy it?"

"The tan maybe, but not the rest of the package?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't understand..."

"I mean, you can't buy killer looks like that.  There's not a plastic
surgeon in the world that can duplicate that.  I swear I hear panties
falling whenever you walk by... a few jock straps too.  Seriously dude,
you make it hard for normal guys like me to get a date around here."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing: the star of my wet dreams telling
me that he couldn't get a date because I looked better than him.  This
had to be some kind of joke.  I mean, I won't deny that I'm a pretty
good-looking guy, but he was crazy to think that anyone was even giving
me a second thought when he was around.

"You're hardly normal.  You're like the hottest guy on campus," I
blurted out.  "I mean, I know women who'd pay to get with you."

"Yeah, right," he said, shrugging his shoulders.  "Listen, I've gotta
finish my run before class.  Are you coming to our party tonight?"

"Definitely."

"Sweet," he said with a big toothy smile.  "I'll see you there."

He waved and jogged off.  I dropped my head back on my books and tried
to make sense of the conversation.  After that exchange, there was no
way in hell I'd be able to fall back asleep.

I thought the day would never end.  My two one-hour lectures felt more
like ten hours.  I'd never been so excited about a Gamma Psi party in my
life.  It wasn't the promise of cheap beer and bad music on a Friday
night that had me so keyed up though.  I rushed home to pick out
something to wear.  It was four and the party didn't start until nine,
but I figured it'd take me that long to try on every outfit in my
closet.

I walked into the frat house (fashionably late, of course) and coolly
scanned the crowd for Adam.  It's usually just a matter of looking for
the mob of people that naturally gravitated towards him.  There was no
horde, however, and Adam was nowhere to be found.  I tried to hide my
disappointment when I couldn't find him.  I didn't want to ask for him
for risk of sounding pathetic, so I skulked over to the keg corner,
grabbed a plastic cup of tepid beer and headed for the deck.  For some
reason, nobody ever wandered that far to the back of the house.  I'd
often sneak off to get away from the throbbing techno music and the
freshmen who thought they were cool because they'd been "invited" to a
public frat party.  But there was already somebody on the deck that
night -- it was Adam.

"I figured you'd make your way out here sooner or later," Adam said as I
walked up beside him.  "You come out here a lot."

I was surprised that he had even noticed.  "Yeah, well, this isn't
really my scene."

"Why do you come then?"

"For the free beer," I lied then took a drink.  Seventeen years later, I
still frown from the memory of the beer's acrid flavor.

He nodded and smirked as he watched me fight off a frown.  "You know,
this is the second conversation we've had today," he said.  "And here I
was beginning to think you didn't like me."

"Don't be ridiculous!  Everybody likes you.  I mean, what's not to like?
You're smart and funny and outgoing."  I gulped down my beer and added,
"Good looking."

He just stood there looking into his empty plastic cup.

"You don't really come to these parties for the beer, do you?" he asked,
turning his steely gaze on me.

I stared back into his eyes.  "No, not really."

That's when Adam, the boy of my dreams, the sexiest man on the planet,
leaned in and kissed me.  Out of the blue, no warning, he just flat out
kissed me.  He was tentative at first, as if testing my response.  When
I didn't protest, he leaned in further and started kissing me like he
meant it.  The taste of beer was heavy on his tongue and lips, but it
was sweeter when mixed with his manly flavor.

At once, I was completely swept up in the moment.  I couldn't believe
it:  Adam was kissing me!  He was really kissing me!  Then I thought,
"I'm kissing another guy!"

"What's wrong?" Adam asked when I pulled away.  "I thought you... isn't
this what you wanted?"

"Oh boy is it.  I've wanted to do that for a long time, but... I-I've
never done this kind of thing with another guy before... It feels a little
weird?  I guess it freaked me out."

The concern and confusion that had once wrinkled his brow washed away.
He smiled and said, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm a little
freaked out too.  I mean, I've been with guys before, but none like you;
none that I've wanted as badly as I want you."

My heart sputtered to a halt.  Not once in the million and one times
that I dreamt about this first encounter had I imagined it playing out
like this.  He was the man of my dreams, not the other way around.  But
there he was, waiting eagerly for me to make the next move.  I wasn't
about to disappoint him.  I leaned forward and kissed him.  This time, I
didn't plan to pull away.

Any apprehension that I'd had before were completely gone.  I met his
passion lick for lick, nibble for nibble.  We explored each other's
clothed body, working ourselves into a sexual frenzy.  I started to lift
Adam's T-shirt, but he pulled away.

"Not here," he said, panting.  "Let's go back to my place, okay?"

"Sure," I replied breathlessly.

By "his place," I thought he meant his room at the frat house, but when
he led me around the house to a small parking I realized he meant his
condo in the city.  We hopped into his Porsche and in five minutes, we
were on the highway.

Adam downshifted and mashed down on the throttle.  The little sports car
shot off into the night, letting out a savage growl that embodied the
sexual energy we were fighting to contain.

"Can we listen to some tunes," I asked, thinking it would take my mind
off of how horny I was.

Adam slipped a CD into the player.  A few seconds later a luscious bass
line poured out of the speakers.  It was soon joined by a sparse,
mid-tempo beat and the seductive moans and coos of some silky-voiced
siren.  I looked over at the pilot who was grinning at the obvious
affects of the song on my libido.  He knew what he was doing.  Adam put
his hand on my leg and started stroking my thigh.  I breathed in sharply
then closed my eyes and started moaning along with the song's vocalist.

With the passing of every mile ticker, his hand crept further up my leg
until it came to rest on my crotch.  I parted my legs and slid my hips
forward to give him better access.  He cupped my cock and balls in his
large hand and started squeezing them to the beat of the song.

As the song's tempo increased, so did his driving speed and the
intensity of his dick massage.  Between the speed, the music and his
expert manhandling, I was in sensory overload and close to cumming in my
pants when he pulled his hand away.  He turned into a parking garage and
just as he pulled into a parking space, the now frenzied song came to an
abrupt end.  He leaned over and kissed me then jumped out of the car.

We hopped on an elevator and before the doors could close, he swooped in
for the kill.  "You sure you want to do this?" he asked between tender
little kisses on my lips, chin and neck.  I responded by giving his
hefty-sized package a firm squeeze.  The elevator doors flew open, he
pulled my hand off his cock and led me down the hall.

I didn't see much of his condo that night as we made a bee-line for the
bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in our wake.  Soon we were
naked and writhing on his king-sized bed.  My fingers explored every
detail of his body, which was more superb than I had imagined.  I
followed the thin trail of hair down his rock hard stomach until my hand
finally came to rest on his swollen rod.  I was fascinated by how
different his dick felt from my own.  It was a little shorter, but
fatter and covered with thick veins.  He nuzzled my neck as I slowly
stroked his pole.

"See how hard you make me, John Paul?" he whimpered.  "It gets like this
every time I'm around you."

"Then, fuck me with it."

"Not yet.  You're not ready and," he added with a grin, "I want this to
last."

"Just relax and let me do the rest," he commanded as he rolled me onto
my back.
I felt like melting into the bed as he started kissing my body, leaving
little wet marks all over my chest and stomach that cooled in the air.
He kissed my cock head which lay throbbing just below my navel.  I'd
never had a blowjob before and wanted so badly for him to give me my
first, but it wasn't in his plans.  He licked and kissed his way down
the underside of my pulsing member until his lips settled on my nuts.

Adam shifted around so that he was kneeling between my outstretched
legs.  He grabbed the back of my knees and pushed them up to my
shoulders.  As he did, my ass cheeks spread apart and exposed my virgin
pucker to him.  I was nervous with anticipation but he didn't keep me
waiting for long.  He teased my balls for a while with an occasional
lick.  Then I felt his tongue flicking along my frenum before taking its
first tentative lick at my asshole.  It felt strange and invasive at
first, so I instinctively tightened my ass muscles.  Adam continued
licking around my rosebud, patiently waiting for the right moment.  That
moment came in short time when my unused hole began to quiver like the
rest of me.  Seizing his opportunity, Adam thrust his tongue inside, and
from that point on, my ass belonged to him.
He licked, sucked, and prodded my ass furiously.  I was already
squirming with delight when he jabbed a finger up my hole.  The sudden
penetration was enough to send me into sexual overdrive.  He had real
man's hands with long fingers and thick knuckles.  My ass gripped each
joint firmly as it slipped through.  Shivers coursed through my body
when he wiggled his digit around inside.  By then, my dick was painfully
stiff and dropping a pool of pre-cum on my tummy.

When he introduced a second finger, I could feel the burn as it
stretched my ass to new limits.  I gritted my teeth and rode it out and
after a few seconds of his gentle thrusting, the tingles came back.  I
was bucking up against his hand trying to get more of his fingers
inside.  So, he added one more.  The last insertion wasn't so bad
because in seconds he had all three fingers thrusting and wiggling in my
ass, hitting every hot spot they could find.  I was in ecstasy and I was
impatient for the real thing.

"Fuck me!" I growled.

He grinned devilishly and positioned himself between my thighs.  Pinning
my knees back with his shoulders, he had full access to my aching hole.
With the tip of his manhood pressed firmly against the entrance, he
leaned down and kissed me then thrust his hips forward to bury his dick
in my chute.  It slid all the way in, in one painfully smooth motion.  I
clenched my teeth to fight back the pain.  He did his best to comfort me
with soft kisses on my face as he worked his hips in a tiny circle, and
suddenly, the tip of his cock hit something deep inside.  I relaxed my
grip on his shoulders and let out a throaty groan that let him know I
was ready.

He slowly pulled out so I could feel every bump on his thick shaft.
Leaving just the head inside, he wiggled his hips then slammed all the
way back in.

"Yes!  Oh yes, Adam, fuck my ass hard... just like that."

That was all the encouragement he needed to begin plowing my butt with
his fuck stick.  He put his all into it -- every muscle on his body
flexed and relaxed as he laid his pipe.  The sound of his balls slapping
against my ass filled through the room.  We were both grunting and
sweating like pigs.  He was literally fucking the juice out of me as
rivers of pre-cum streamed down my sides.

"Damn this ass is sweet!" he bellowed.  "Uhn, yeah, I'm gonna bust my
nut."

"Ooh yeah, drop that load inside me."

Adam drove in three more bone-crushing thrusts and erupted deep in my
bowels.  I milked his prong with my ass, determined to get every drop of
his hot cum.  The last convulsion triggered my own orgasm and I sprayed
eight or nine jets of thick spooge all over my chest and stomach.  One
of them landed on my lip and Adam dove in like a vulture to lick it off.
Then he collapsed on top of me; his slowly softening dick still planted
in my sloppy hole and his heaving chest pressed firmly against the back
of my thighs.

"Was it everything you expected?" he asked, huffing.

"Mm hmm, and then some.  I could do that all night," I replied, still
basking in the afterglow of the most powerful orgasm I had ever
experienced.
I felt his cock jump to attention again.  "I was hoping you'd say that."


So he fucked me again.  Then, I fucked him a couple of times.  We fell
asleep in each other's arms only to wake up the following morning and
start all over again.  I never did get a blowjob that weekend.  Oh well.
Adam dropped me off at my dorm Sunday afternoon with a kiss and the
promise that he'd call me later that night.  But, as he drove away and I
started to recall the events of the weekend, I started to doubt he'd
ever call.  Our escape to his private condo, which I once believed to be
a romantic and intimate getaway, began to feel more like a scheme to
keep our affair hidden.   Suddenly, it all made sense.  Adam was
extremely skilled in bed -- he must have had plenty of practice.  And he
managed to keep his trysts top secret by sweeping his lovers away to his
urban love nest.

Don't get me wrong, I was, in no way, criticizing him for being in the
closet.  How could I when I was right there beside him.  What worried me
was how many others had been there before me?  Did he fuck them and toss
them aside the next day?  And, if so, was I next?  If you had asked me
last week if I would be happy just to have sex with Adam I would have
said, "Hell yeah!"  But, as I threw myself down on my hard dormitory
bed, I realized that I wanted more.  I wanted to be with Adam, as his
friend, his lover and his companion.  Adam, it seemed, may have had
other plans.

My concerns seemed justified when Adam didn't call as promised.  I moped
around all day Monday.  I avoided all my friends and even skipped my
first two classes.  By midday I decided to just go back to my dorm room
and sulk in peace.  And there he was, standing across the quad, talking
to a small group of his friends.  I pretended not to see him and
continued walking.

"Hey, John Paul, wait up!" he yelled.  He broke off from the group and
jogged over to me.  I slowed down, a little, to let him catch up.

"Hey cutie, I've been looking all over for you," he said.  "You weren't
in either of your classes."

"You were in my classes looking for me?"

"Yeah, I wanted to apologize for not calling you last night.  I went
back to the frat house and crashed.  You wore me out."

He always said the sweetest things.  "And I wanted to make up for it,"
he added.

"How?" I asked.

He flashed that seductively devilish grin of his then, in clear view of
what seemed like half the student population, Adam put his hands on my
waist and kissed me.  It was a soft, lingering kiss on the lips; not so
much as to be obscene but more than enough to bring a definite and
dramatic end to our days in the closet.

The scandal spread like wildfire.  By dinnertime, everyone on campus
knew about the kiss and about us.  I wish I could say everything was
"happily ever after," but it wasn't.  I'm glad to say, however, that the
issues were few.  We faced our fair share of assholes and deserting
"friends", but it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be.
It didn't matter one way or another though; Adam was worth any amount of
hassle.

Adam graduated the following year and took a job in Marketing at his
father's publishing company.  When I graduated the year after that, he
convinced me to give up the stodgy world of finance for a career in
something I enjoyed and was good at -- photography.  It just so happened
that his father's company was looking for a photographer at the time.

We moved to D.C. and became outrageously successful in our careers.
Unfortunately, my success would eventually tear us apart.  Two years
later, we broke up.  It was as amicable as a break-up can be.  We loved
each other madly but realized that we couldn't make it work.  I used to
call him every day for months after we broke up, until he started dating
the evil and insanely jealous Michael.

Adam is and will always be the one true love of my life.