Date: Sun, 17 Jun 2001 19:53:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: Evan Bradley <EBradley33@excite.com>
Subject: "Ambush," Chapter 10

The following fictional story deals with sex among males.  If you are
offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is
not allowed, depart.  Though not always observed in this story, care enough
about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.

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

EBradley33@Excite.com

                             Chapter 10
                  Maneuvers in a Troubled Landscape

After Tim left my hospital room last night, Wes gave me a workout
walking up and down the halls.  Back in the room, I dove into my pillow
and into sleep.

After all the morning hospital routine, I was recalling how much I had
been celebrating my heightened senses the morning of the accident.  At
the same time, I had never heard the pusher move up behind me, had never
sensed him.  "Now if your interior senses had been heightened, why didn't
you detect the person behind you," that voice in my head challenged.  I
really didn't have an answer.  Maybe the bruising exchanges with Jeremy
and Tim that day had distracted me.  Or maybe I sensed at some deep level
who the person behind me was but felt no alarm because I trusted this
person?  Was that why I had asked Kate Williams to hold off on
requesting a police investigation--because on some deep level I sensed
who the pusher was?

I was staring moodily out the windows when Susan Connolly opened the
door.  Smiling, she was carrying a little pastry sack.  She walked over to
the bed, setting the sack on the tray table.  She reached down and gently
squeezed the hand bound to the IV board.

"I'll bet this cinnamon bagel will remind you of what good food tastes
like."

"How did you know I love cinnamon bagels?"

"I saw you devouring one before class last month.  You were really
enjoying yourself," she laughed.

"You mean, in the subtext of your reply, that I was making a pig of
myself!"  Her laughter bubbled up in that heart-stopping way she had.  It
faded to a small smile.

She didn't waste time with small talk.  "Are you worried about being
attacked again?"

Startled, "I really haven't thought about it. . . . I don't think I'm afraid of
another attack.  Perhaps when I'm home, I may find myself wondering
about it since I'll be vulnerable then. . . . Somehow, I think the attack was
spontaneous, not premeditated."

"Do you think it was a student?"

"I think it had to be.  It's too irresponsible for an adult to have been the
pusher."

"One of your students?"

"I fear so," I said with a slight catch in my throat.  I hoped she didn't note
it.

"Do you think the pusher meant to cause you all this much harm?"

I thought a few seconds.  "No."

"If you found out who it was, what would you do?" Susan probed.

These questions were not random, not idle chit-chat.  They were moving
in a straight line.  She was gathering information.  When she had enough
information, she would decide what course of action to follow.  I knew her
well enough to realize that she had already identified several alternatives,
depending on my responses.  "Damn," it hit me, "she has a pretty good
idea who pushed me, or maybe she definitely knows who the perpetrator
is.  She probably even knows the pusher's motive!  Maybe she's even
talked to him, or he came to her.  She wants to know if I will pursue other
than conventional recourses if the pusher is someone in particular.  She
even suspects what my response will be, but she's proceeding carefully.
She knows this very second that all of these ideas are running through my
mind.  She's leading me.  Wow!  Have we two connected."

"To answer your question, I'd talk to him, find out what caused him to be
so distressed that he behaved so foolishly, find out why he targeted me.
Maybe see what I can do to help the person out."

"Would you bring the police in?"

I thought a while on this one.  She waited.  "I can't say for certain, but I
think, unless the motive is just a stupid one or deals with deeply disturbed
behavior, probably not.  Why?  Do you know who the pusher is?"

"At this moment, I have no proof, but I have a plan."

I wondered if I should ask whom she suspected as the pusher, but I heard a
warning deep below.  When she was ready to tell me, she would.  By not
asking her now, I would show my respect for and trust of her.  Were I to
ask now, she would feel pressure, wondering if I was asking as faculty
member or friend.  "And when will this plan be disclosed?"

"Trust me."

She looked down in her lap a moment.  "Aha," I smiled, "something else
is coming out here."

"Troy came to see you yesterday."  My smile fled.

"Why are you shutting Troy out?"

I shot a glance out the window.

"You know, we two occupy the same wave length," she observed quietly.
We don't even have to look to know the other is there.  We have a pretty
good idea what the other is feeling if not thinking most of the time.  We
have only those secrets we allow each other."

"Well, so much for the notion that I lost my extra-sensory awareness," I
thought.

"Why are you so angry with Troy?"

A pause for careful thought.  "I haven't thought about why I reacted as I
did.  I just felt."

"You rejected him.  He felt it sharply.  He's upset."

"And you didn't reject him when you quit talking to him, made him take
you home?"

"It encouraged him to clarify for himself what we mean to each other and
how antithetical his behavior was to that meaning.  I knew he would
realize what is important.  And when he did, I made it worth his while."  A
suggestive smile told me I was correct in the assumption that last remark
sparked in my mind.

"A bigot will never earn my love.  I don't like prejudice.  But I'm asking
why YOU rejected him?  I'm not challenging you.  I think I know the
direction of your thought; I just need to know precisely what you were
thinking."

I looked at the ceiling, pondering.  "I liked him.  I wanted Troy's approval,
but I hate admitting that, that I wanted a teen's approval."

"My approval isn't important?" she asked quietly.

"Friend, I revel in your approval.  It makes me the luckiest of men.  I was
talking about a teen jock, not you."

A smile burst forth.  "Are you certain you're gay, Evan?"

We both laughed while she gently hugged the surfaces and planes of my
body that would not spark pain.  Amazing.  We had never discussed my
sexual orientation; she just knew what it is.

I continued, "I wanted Troy to like me in spite of some family history that
would suggest otherwise.  Even tried to help him.  It hurt like hell when I
knew that he had called me a faggot even though I was not there to hear
him say it. . . . One of the worst situations in life is to be someplace where
you're not wanted.  Next worse is to be around someone who doesn't like
you.  Ultimate put-downs result.  They are not easily survived."

"Troy does like you."

"Did he push me down the stairs?"

"NO.  You have to know Troy would never do such a thing.  How many of
your students would come confess to you that they had put you down
behind your back?  That took courage, you know.  And he did it because
he has character and because he both respects and likes you."

"Before yesterday, I might have believed that."

"I know he turns you on."

My eyes widened.  "Damn," I thought, "this woman is too perceptive."

"It's okay--I'd think something was wrong with you if he didn't.  He's
beautiful, isn't he?  You like his dimples."

I couldn't help a small smile.  "Okay.  But what is the point of this
discussion?  He's got you back."

"But he doesn't have YOU back, Mr. Halsey."

"Come off it, Susan.  He doesn't care about me, not if he thinks I'm a
faggot.  And he does, you know.  He may tell you one thing, but when he
looks at me, we both know what epithet leaps into his mind."

"You haven't figured it out, have you?"

"Figured what out?"

"How important you are to him."

I looked at her as though she had started swearing like a mule-driver.

"Okay," she said,  "You listen, I'll talk."

"You are a special presence in Troy's life--not a jock, not a coach, not a
fan.  His life is full of these kinds of people.  You challenge him
intellectually.  Few men do.  It isn't just because you are a teacher.  He
admires teachers like Mr. Minor.  But since you pushed him to discover
how well he can think, he has regarded you differently, especially since
you used his ability in sports as a beginning point instead of making fun of
it or trashing it.  He wants desperately to be thought intelligent, especially
after we became involved."  A little smile flitted across her lips.

"That morning in the parking lot after he made you talk to him, he was so
excited.  He was on a high all day long.  That night he was so ardent.
Over the next few days, he mentioned you several times in glowing terms.
You showed him a glimpse, deep down, of what he desires to be.  In class
the day we were discussing the poem about the paradox of freedom, you
challenged him to demonstrate intelligence that our classmates never
expected of him.  We all saw it in your smile and encouraging eyes as you
KNEW Troy would come up with the answer.  You weren't tricking him,
setting him up for embarrassment.  You were liberating him.  Everybody
in that class recognized it.  Since then, they treat him as a leader, not just a
star jock."

"More to the point, Troy was aware of what had transpired for everybody
during that class period.  He must have commented to me three times that
day what a rush it was to understand and be able to explain that paradox.  I
quizzed him about what made it happen.  'Evan' was his answer.  But his
eyes sparked, and his dimples ran deep.  You showed him an ideal Troy.
He reached for it.  Grabbed it.  Loved the results.  You turned him on to it.
You have seen the outcome in class and in his papers.  He's exceeding his
past performance.  We read each other's papers now when you return
them, so I know what you've communicated about the improvement you
have observed.  He may be trying to impress me, but he's trying to prove
you right about him."

"That must have been before he called me a faggot, a vulgar, hateful term.
And he meant all of the hate it implies."

"It was a knee-jerk reaction that took even him by surprise.  Had it been
otherwise, I would not have given him another chance.  Troy's ashamed.
Your rejection of him stung.  Evan, he's never been rejected.  He's always
been the star, the leader of his jock pack.  Fans want to be near him;
women flock to him.  So your reaction was a bucket of cold water in his
face.  He deserved it, and it's teaching him a lesson he needed to learn.  It
has turned his world upside down.  He never expected it or experienced
the rejection he feels now.  He doesn't know how to deal with it.  He
understands that the pain he is experiencing is not unlike the pain caused
by hateful name-calling.  Mr. Minor and I told Troy he needed to talk to
you.  I don't think he knows you and Mr. Minor have . . . drawn close.

I just glanced at her . . . then looked outside.  "Well, when he realizes that,
he'll call both of us faggots. . . . I'm tired of hurt, of fear, of worrying
about not measuring up to someone's expectations," I replied softly.  "I've
had a lifetime of it.  Now you tell me I have to hide my feelings for Tim."

"No, just that Troy isn't aware of them."

"I imagine it will hurt Tim deeply if Troy trashes him because of what
Tim's feelings may be for me.  Or perhaps Troy will make a special
accommodation for Tim."

"It's not going to be that way."  Her eyes sparkled.  "I assume magic
happened when we left you two alone last night."

I blushed.

"I must get after him for molesting the infirm.

I grinned.

"Please don't."

Bubbling laughter again.  "That good, huh?"

"Back to Troy," I said, "he was just trying to win you over."

"No, he knew I loved him.  No winning was necessary at that point."

I looked at Susan.  Her eyes told me she wasn't asking for herself.  She
was asking for Troy.  "Tell me what I have already intuited," I said, losing
myself in the depths of her dark eyes.

"I love Troy, Evan.  I know he loves me.  I want him to be the father of
our children.  Oh, don't worry:  we're not rushing into marriage.  We have
college ahead of us yet.  In the meantime, he needs our help to realize his
potential.  You should have seen him when he asked me if I thought you
would ever be able to forgive him so that you two could be back where
you were--he looked like a little boy about to cry.  He would have melted
your heart.  Please help us."

I looked outside again.  "You've got what you want.  You know I can't
deny a reasonable request from you.  He's got what he needs.  I need to
rest now."

"Don't shut me out too, Evan.  I don't deserve it."

Tears sprang to my eyes.  She was right to call me on it.  I had no business
treating her this way.  It was just another form of running away to keep
someone from perceiving and then turning off on the real me.  "I
apologize.  I'm just so tired . . . so afraid," I heard myself saying with
shock.

"You said you weren't afraid of being attacked again."

"Come on, Susan.  You are a soul mate.  I don't mean that kind of fear."

She thought.  "You are afraid of being weak, of failing.  You are lonely.
You are afraid of being unloved . . . You are deathly afraid of
rejection . . . ."  She focused her eyes.  "You are afraid of not making a
positive difference to others . . . you think no one has any use for you.  As
much as you hate it, you would prefer being used as opposed to being
ignored."

"Wow!" was all I could think.

She arose, taking the hand bound to the board.  She leaned in and kissed
me on the cheek.  She whispered, "Don't be afraid; we're going to help
you.  We'll talk again."  She left quietly.

Two months ago, I could identify every one of my moorings.  I didn't
raise my foot off stable ground before I knew EXACTLY where it was
going to land.  But in a matter of a few weeks, that was gone.  The sketch
had changed the entire landscape of my life.  I couldn't return to that
stance ever again.  At the same time, I had no other stance to assume, it
seemed.  Had I never known, now I would understand what it felt like to
be lost.  I couldn't find firm footing in my emotional range.  "So who
expects your footing to be firm after everything that's befallen you?" my
mental voice challenged.  "That's not real."

I wasn't fooling myself.  The Pride can't last.  If nothing else, Robert will
graduate and go off to college, then Kenny.  At that point, I'll be back
where I started without any of those old illusions to protect me.  Somehow
I missed the crucial skill that could allow me to live off a moment dead in
time.

"Evan, illusions protect you?" my interior monitor asked snidely.  "Make
sense, Man."

Tim?  Could I count on Tim for anything?  That constant smirking.
Granted, my aloof attitude may have caused it.  Probably it was HIS
defense against doubts about me.  I needed some reassurances.

"Then you should understand Troy's need of your acceptance," that
interior voice reminded me.  "And you should ease up on Tim.  Hasn't he
been there when you needed him?"

"Touche!"  That voice knew just where to hit me!  Troy would have that
acceptance, no matter how hard I had to work up to it.  I cared too much
for him and Susan to even consider denying it.  However, giving him what
he needed did not satisfy this need that I could barely articulate."

"Say it" the interior voice demanded.

I realized that my hands had been fiddling with the fold of the sheet over
my stomach so much that the sheet was now quite wrinkled.  If I said it, I
couldn't deny it, couldn't hide from it.  Too honest, even with myself,
once I had articulated it.

Almost softer than a whisper, "I need for someone to really love me,"
escaped on my breath.

One of my deepest secrets--I envied those guys--straight or gay--who
wore a gold band on their left hands.  I'd worn one once.  I would never
wear that one again.  It lay in my safe deposit box at First National Bank, a
useless artifact of dashed hopes, the gold inscribed inside with dreams,
promises, vows long since dead.  I wanted dreams again.  But the best
dreams required promises, and the best promises we sought to validate
with vows.  The likelihood of never having those again was what had been
haunting me.

I have a friend, Mark--rebellious, irreverent, heart of gold hidden beneath
an insouciant demeanor.  He's magnificent.  Mark is strong enough that he
can settle for a relationship without promises and vows.  Swears off
romance.  He never speaks of his dreams.  I don't think he would if he
were invited to do so.  This stance is right for him, makes him authentic,
the source of his strength.  I suddenly realized that Mark's strength is also
a weakness.  Having dismissed their significance, he likely will never
realize any the benefits that attend promises and vows.  No one will ever
catch him tilting at windmills!  I can never achieve Mark's perspective--
too much negative history.  Yeah, I know that makes me weaker; doesn't
mean I am worse.  And Mark is still magnificent.  I wish I were like him.

That tears it!  I faced the truth.  I can't turn away from it and still maintain
my self-respect.

"It's just possible," that interior voice said, "that you are facing an array of
interrelated issues.  As you tackle one, another arises.  But if you stay in
the saddle, you'll transcend all of them."

I was hearing wisdom, I knew, but it was too much.  Too much.  I rolled
over, closing my eyes and willing myself to sleep.
........
By the afternoon, the IVs had disappeared, replaced by pain pills.  I had
started solid food, had had a long walk, had badgered everybody
connected with the hospital, including Dr. Sorenson, about going home
and returning to the classroom.  I found out I was probably going to be
released the next afternoon but NO teaching until Dr. Sorenson allowed it.

"You are going to be surprised at how easily you tire, how much sleep you
need," Dr. Sorenson explained.  "You will have to rethink the simplest
tasks, and they will take two to three times as long to complete.  You're
going to need help."

I ignored the last statement.  "What time will I be released?  I need to
reserve a trip with a cab company."

Dr. Sorenson straightened his papers.  "Can't a friend drive you home?"

"No, they are all tied up with classes and school-related duties."  I had
already made up my mind that I wasn't even going to impose on anyone to
give me a ride.  It would kill me if I were putting someone out.

"In that case, the way we work it is this:  the nurses will call a cab and
then get you ready to leave.  By the time they have you dressed and have
you downstairs at the front door, the cab will have arrived."

"Dressed?  I guess I better ask a friend to bring me some clothes.  My
other clothes were bloodstained on the back.  I told the nurses to pitch
them."

"Okay, I'll tell the nurses at the desk.  Evan, don't leave here expecting
that everything will be rosy once you are settled at home.  As I've told
you, it won't be.  If you set your expectations too high, either your
frustrations will be great or you will become depressed.  Give some
thought to what I've just said.  If you know what could happen, you won't
be bowled over when it does.  See you tomorrow."

I was delighted.  Home tomorrow!  It would be great to be out of view.
........
At last, the day I was going home arrived.  I was restless all day long,
taking twice the walks I usually did.  I had to move, to use up the time.

When Tim had visited the previous evening, several of my students were
there too, so we had little chance to talk.  When a nurse came to shoo
everyone out, I managed to ask Tim, since he still had my attache, to find
the keys in it and bring me some clothes to wear home.  He had leered at
me, telling me he'd sniff out my porno tapes and sex toys.  I told him he'd
be disappointed.  He'd go to my home that evening and drop the clothes
by this morning.  He was true to his word.  It was frustrating having no
opportunity to talk, especially after the hot scene we'd had in this very
room.  If nothing else, I wanted to pay him back.  "Oh, sure, Evan," that
inner voice taunted, "you're only interest is in repaying a debt."  It was the
first time the voice had made me smile.

Of course, Tim had insisted that he drive me home.  I'd told a white lie,
giving him a release time when he'd be teaching.  I just didn't want to
impose on him any more, to wear his good nature out.

At 3:30, a nurse came in, helping me into my clothes.  I'd told Tim to
bring shorts as the most likely clothing that would go over the splint on
my leg.  Dr. Sorenson had told me to remove the wrapping on my ribs
when I bathed at home and to try to get along without it.  I was just ready
to move off the bed to climb in the wheelchair when the door opened for
Susan, Troy, LaRonda, Tony (again!), Beth Walker, Greg, Paul, Rosalie,
and LaKeisha.  They had it all worked out, grabbing flowers, the sack of
prescriptions and other stuff the hospital was sending home.

Troy towered over me, placing his big hands around my waist and gently
lifting me off the bed and onto my crutches held by the nurse.  Our eyes
met.  "So, this is the moment," I thought, "when he learns whether I've
moved past that unpleasantness between us."   I smiled at him and winked.
A smile burst across that handsome face, and those dimples popped
out in his cheeks.  My cock jumped.  His hands gently squeezed my waist,
communicating his recognition that we were going to be okay again.
Susan glowed with happiness.

"What are you guys doing here?  Why aren't you in school?"

"We're taking you home and getting you settled in," LaKeisha explained
as I made my way to the wheelchair.  I blushed as I realized they were
staring at the bruises on my legs.  "We worked it out with Mr. Minor, Mrs.
Williams, and Dr. Sorenson.  Mrs. Williams said she would be the last to
obstruct humanitarian urges among the barbarians, so she released us from
our last hour class.  Was she ever laughing!  I guess she really likes her
own jokes."

"Someone will stay with you every night," Greg continued, "until you are
really back on your feet.  We worked it out with our parents too."  I
noticed them swapping glances among themselves.  "Um-hmm," I
thought, "I think there's a little more to it than that.  I think they want me
to feel safe.  I can see Susan's hand in this."  Greg grabbed my crutches as
soon as I settled into the wheelchair.

"Actually," Tony jumped in, smiling impishly, "we're going to drug you
and then party into the wee hours of the morning.  What a scam!  Huh?"
Laughter and kindred comments followed Tony's teasing.  Tony was
teasing me, engaging with the group!  Well, at least something good was
resulting from this mess.

Everyone started talking as Troy edged Tony out of pushing me down the
hall.  Chatter abounded as we filled the elevator to the ground floor.  Once
outside, Greg brought me my crutches.  Paul jogged off to get his car.  The
others walked off to their cars, telling us they would meet us at my home.

As I was leaning on my crutches, Troy asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I think I did something unwise."  His brow wrinkled in concern.  "I was
so restless that I walked the halls a lot today.  I think when I reach home, I
may fall asleep on my feet."

"That's okay," he said, as Paul pulled up in his car.  "You'll be safe.  You
won't have to worry about anything."

There was that safe theme again.  I managed to turn around on my
crutches and sit in the front seat.  I pulled my crutches in beside me and
then put my good leg in.  I was embarrassed that I had to lift the leg in the
splint into the car.  The strength just wasn't there yet.  Troy climbed in the
back seat, and we were off on the 15-minute trip to my neighborhood.
Paul and Troy were filling me in on school news during the trip.

"How did all this come about?  I was going to take a taxi home."

"Yeah," Paul answered, "we figured you'd sneak off and do something
quiet like that.  So after we visited you that second night, we got together
with Mr. Minor and your doctor and worked all this out.  The hospital
didn't release you until we could be there."

"I see:  diabolical deeds and devious machinations.  I'll have to do a little
plotting on my own."

"Oh, you'll never catch up with all the plotting that's been going on," said
Troy, wagging his eyebrows and flashing those dimples."  Now what did
that mean?

"I think the whole class would have been here, but Mrs. Williams warned
us about violating the Geneva Convention and zoning laws--something
about too many people in a house at one time and an excuse to party on
school time.  But she was laughing, so I think she was joking."

Once there, Paul drove into the driveway.  "We put your car in the
garage," he explained.  Troy jumped out, opening my door.  Using my
hands, I swung my legs out.  Troy put his hands gently under my arms and
lifted.  As I stood on my good leg, he swept me up in his arms, carrying
me up the front steps to the porch and into the house.

"Oh-h-h-h-h," I exclaimed in surprise.  Man!  I was up close and personal
with those dimples.  My leg and ribs protested more than I wanted, but I
wasn't going to let Troy know that.  He gently squeezed me against him.
He whispered in my ear, "This will get you inside quicker and give me a
thrill at the same time."  His breath tickled my ear.  Then he licked my ear
lobe.  I was stunned.  All he did was flash those killer dimples.  What was
he up to?

The house was abustle with students.  Some were in the bedroom, putting
clean sheets on the bed.  Troy just stood there holding me while we both
took in the scene.

LaRonda emerged from the kitchen.  "Evan--I can call you Evan now that
we aren't in school," her eyes twinkled mischievously, "I have some
women out here in the kitchen putting together some simple meals for
you.  Dr. Sorenson explained what we should fix, but we know how picky
you are about healthy food" (this last accompanied by giggles among
those listening), "so you'll like what we are fixing.  We all figured out
what to bring for you, but we'll be checking each day to see what
groceries you need and what errands we need to run for you."  The others
were bringing in the flowers and placing them around the house.  Some
short discussion established that their carnations were going in my
bedroom.  "Thank you," I said loudly, but I don't think anyone heard.

As we stood there, my eyelids were growing heavy.  Quite without
planning it, my head sank down on Troy's shoulder.  I felt Troy's arms
squeeze me a bit.  "Just rest your eyes a minute.  I have you, and I'm not
letting go," he whispered.  How good it felt, being held in those strong
arms, lying on that muscled shoulder and chest.  He smelled good too, like
a man.  I was falling asleep.
.......
When my eyes opened, Troy was bending over my bed with a glass of
water in one hand and some pills clutched in the other.  A dim lamp was
on in the room.  Damn!  He was standing there in his briefs.  The light
reflected in gold hues on his body.  He was beautiful.  Those shoulders
were broad, muscled, and his chest was covered with short, blond hair.
His legs, more heavily covered with the same blond hair, were so sculpted
that they took my breath away.

"Time for your medicine, Evan."  I wondered how long I had been there.  I
started to sit up, but my ribs made me pay for not being careful, pushing a
groan of pain out of me.  "See, time for the pain pills."  He set the glass on
the nightstand so that he could slide an arm under me and lift.  As he
raised me, he sat down on the side of the bed.  I couldn't help it.  I had to
check him out.  A bulge beyond the ordinary filled the front of his briefs.
I looked up.  He had caught me checking him out.  He smiled:  "It's okay,
I checked you out when I undressed you for bed.  Only I pulled your briefs
back to get a good view."  I know my eyes grew big.  "The checking out
was not equal, you say.  It may work itself out properly," he commented
enigmatically.

My brows drew together.  What was going on here?  This guy responds to
information about my sexual orientation with a slur, and now it seems as
though he's teasing me, promising what???  He dropped the pills in my
hand.  I swallowed the pills with a gulp of water.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Two o'clock.  Everyone else left long ago.  They all had to check that
you were okay before they left.  Are you hungry?" he asked.

Yes, I was, I suddenly realized, for I'd had no dinner.  "Yeah, is there
something simple to eat?"

"Let's go see."  He placed one big hand under my butt while he slid the
other under my upper back.  I could feel the hand under my butt gently
squeezing my cheeks.  Goose bumps immediately spread across my skin,
and my cock started climbing.  He lifted me effortlessly and carried me
into the kitchen.  After he sat me in a chair at the table, he turned on the
kitchen light, and started our raid on the refrigerator.  "Hey, here are some
chicken salad sandwiches.  How about those and a glass of orange juice?"

"Great," I replied.

After he set the food and drinks before us on the table, he swung one of
those powerful legs up and over the back of the chair.  It was such a
beautifully lewd movement, for it opened his crotch up, allowing the bulge
in the front of his briefs to drop lower and wiggle a bit.  The light made
the blond hair on his legs glow.  I looked up at him.  He was smiling.  That
rat did that on purpose!  He knew it would turn me on.  I ducked my head,
glad that he couldn't see my erection.

After two bites, he said, "I insisted on being the one to stay with you on
your first night home.  I didn't think I could go another day without our
having a talk."  I hadn't looked up.  "Please look at me, Evan."

I slowly raised my head to look into those earnest eyes.  "I owe you so
much, but I'm the sort to appreciate it silently without ever saying
anything to you about it.  I have to watch it that I'm not that way with
Susan too.  I have just discovered that I have been blind to some of my
faults.  I had never been challenged about them before.  That was one of
the things that brought Susan and me closer.  She challenged me to be
more attentive, considerate.  She taught me to take joy in what I can do to
help others.  To be honest, she modeled that attitude for me, and I was
smart enough to start doing the same."

He cleared his throat nervously.  I drank some orange juice.  I suppose I
should have said something, but I didn't know what because I didn't know
where Troy was heading.

"I NEVER meant to cause you pain, to put you down.  When you shut
down on me that day in the hospital, I even had trouble breathing.  I felt
sick at my stomach.  It emphasized how important you are to me.  I never
imagined that I could hurt someone so much.  I hope I wasn't doing that
before you straightened me out, but I was so insensitive that I probably
did.  When I left your room, I drove around thinking.  Back at school, I
had a talk with Mr. Minor.  Then I had to go find Susan.  We had a long
discussion.  They said I should visit with you about my feelings.  I don't
just want to get back to where we were.  I want us to be closer."

"Why would you want that?"

"You've planted seeds in my mind that have started transforming me.  I
want people to take me seriously.  When people see you as a jock, they
love your skill and winning, but they really don't take you seriously.  They
don't even expect you to have any depth, any intelligence, to speak of.
But you expect all of us to be smart most of the time.  That was so
different.  At first, it made me uncomfortable.  But I started listening.  I
noticed I was allowing myself to be drawn more deeply into the material.
I was understanding.  My mind was firing with ideas.  I loved it.  Then
Susan and I got to know each other.  These traits I've just mentioned made
me more attractive to Susan than just the jock stuff.  In terms of what I am
now, Evan, you are one of my creators.  You and Susan brought this side
of me to life.  I owe you big time.  I don't just want to be your student.  I
want to be your friend too.  A special friend.  I hope you'll allow such a
friendship to develop between us.

I looked at him quizzically.

"I turn you on," he said.  "You like my body, my dimples.  I see you
studying both.  You turn ME on.  I like your mind, your little body, your
pert ass, your humor, your playfulness.  I envy you and Susan your special
relationship.  The old jock Troy would have been jealous, would have
wanted to bust you two apart.  But the Troy you two helped create doesn't
want to take you away from each other.  He just hopes that there is room
for all three of us in a special relationship.  How do you feel about this?"

We had finished our sandwiches and were drinking the last of the orange
juice.  "The landscape has changed so radically of late that I feel I have
awakened on Mars."  He laughed.  "I care for Susan a great deal.  I care
for all my students.  I care for you, Troy.  One of my greatest satisfactions
this year has been the opportunity to observe your academic and
intellectual development.  I don't want anything in that regard to change.
At the same time, I've felt all day that you were coming on to me, flirting
with me, teasing me.  I'm confused.  Maybe you can explain why I would
have these impressions."

If Mr. Minor can flirt with you, why can't I?"  I rolled my head.  "I believe
you two had a special moment or two when we left you in the hospital
room."  He wasn't smiling.  In fact, I saw the muscles in one of his jaws
flex.

"Look, Troy.  Don't put Mr. Minor down.  Blame me."

"I don't blame anyone about anything."

He arose, collected our dishes, and placed them in the sink.  He came
around to the chair, picked me up gently, walked over to the light switch,
and told me to turn it off.  I complied.  He carried me slowly into the
bedroom, his nose gently nuzzling my face.  He lay me down on the bed
and slowly pulled my briefs down.  My eyes had to be as big as silver
dollars.

"Troy, Susan is my friend.  I can't do anything to hurt her."

He smiled.  "I can't either.  She's the love of my life.  And we shall have a
life of love together.  She suggested this."  My jaw dropped.  A belly
laugh erupted from him.  "She said you'd react this way."  He pulled his
briefs down.  His cock was filling rapidly, surrounded by a golden bush.
His balls hung low, wreathed in hair.  His cock was going to be long.

He walked to the nightstand drawer, pulling it open and smiling.  "I
figured I find some lube in here."

"Troy, I don't know that I am capable of much."

"I've thought about this a lot.  Just lie back, trust me, and enjoy.  I've got
it figured out."

He lay down beside me, placing the tube of lube on the other side of me.
His nose nuzzled into my ear, and he nipped at my ear lobe.  Tingling
rippled through my limbs.  He placed a hand under my chin, gently lifting
my head as he leaned in and bit my bottom lip.  At the same time, he
slowly slid his big flat hands over me, being careful to cause no pain.  He
took my hand and placed it on his long, hard cock.  He looked deeply into
my eyes.  "I'm going to make love to you, Evan.  Please give me one of
the thrills of my life by making love to me."

"Then do something for me.  Kneel down over me."  He arose, straddling
my body.

"Sit up a minute," he said.  When I did, he piled the pillows behind me.
As I leaned back, I placed my hands just above his knees, then lifted them,
sliding them along the top of the hair along his legs, occasionally grazing
the top of his tan skin.  Slowly, ever so slowly, I allowed my thumbs to
graze the inside of his thighs.  His cock jumped.  I looked up at him.  His
eyes glowed.

"There's a room, a special room in my heart, that you and Susan occupy.
Your presence, Troy, is not explained by sufferance through her.  You
have a place there through your own right.  Damn!  I know I'll be sorry for
saying this, but you are what I always wanted to be, even in my earliest
thoughts in my family.  One of the bitterest memories early in high school
is having to give up that dream.  I was never going to be a handsome,
popular athlete like my brothers."  My thumbs were gently caressing his
balls.

"Then let us two revive and live that dream in each other.  I understand the
bitterness:  you are teaching me to be like you in important ways, but you
can't become a popular jock.  It sucks.  I'll just have to make it up to you."

I slid my fingertips up his rib cage while my thumbs ever so lightly traced
his six-pack.  I spied precum oozing from the long slit in his cock head.
While moving my fingers up and out over the bundles of muscles in his
shoulders and arms, I asked, "Have you ever done this with a guy before?"

"No, just jerking off with a buddy," he answered a little breathlessly.

"Isn't that what this is?"

"Those times can't compare with this, and those guys can't begin to
compare with you."

"I don't understand," I said as I leaned forward, beginning to gently lick
the tips of his nipples.  He suddenly sucked in his breath.

"Oh, Evan, if this is what it is like for you and Tim, I'm glad you found
each other."

I gently teethed the tips of his nipples as I slid a hand under his balls.  I
gently ran my fuck finger through the hair in his ass crack, noticing that
my finger zeroed in on his hole using the heat emanating from there.  He
groaned.  As I pumped my finger past his sphincter, I bit down on his
nipple.  He shot up, an exclamation emanating from his mouth and precum
shooting out onto the ace bandage around my rib cage.

"Ah-oh.  We'd better get this off."  While he arose, I smelled my finger.
His sweaty musk made a dollop of precum shoot out of my cock onto the
bandage.

"Wait, wait," he chuckled.  I rubbed the finger on the skin under my nose
so that his scent would remain there, so that my mind would fix on his
pheromones.  I then held my finger in front of his nostrils, letting him
know it was his choice.  He looked into my eyes, leaning forward as he
smelled my fingertip.  Then he leaned forward more, rubbing the area
under his nose against my finger.  "I smell hot," he exclaimed.  "Damn.
It's true.  A man knows how to light another man up."  I just smiled.  He
undid the fastener, commanding me to lean forward as he began
unwinding the bandage.  When he had the last loop unwound, he threw it
on the floor, looking at my bruised chest and rib cage.  "Oh, Evan, how
could you ever think I would hurt you this way?"

I looked down at the bruises covering me.  It was an ugly sight.  "Look,
this is a major turn-off.  Let's just go to sleep."

He grabbed my shoulders.  "Look at me, Evan."  I did, feeling myself fall
into the depths of his eyes, just as I often did with Susan.  "Now that I've
gotten into one of the hottest pairs of pants I've seen in my life, you're not
getting away."

He took the pillows from behind me, moving them to the other side of the
bed.  He flopped over on them.  H squirted some lube in his hand and
palmed it over his cock, its head, and his balls.  Then he grabbed me
around the waist, lifting me in between his legs, making certain his long
cock lay nestled in my ass crack.  After another squirt of lube, he palmed
it on my cock and balls.  He clearly had thought through how we could
engage in sexual pleasure around my injuries.

"I don't understand how you can put me down with a term like 'faggot'
and yet want to take me to sexual paradise.  You've put a lot of thought
into how to engineer this for us.  I'm confused."

"Then you know how confused I've been feeling.  I couldn't believe it
when I'd sit in class trying to imagine what your energetic little body
would look like without clothes, what your cock would look like hard,
what that little ass would really look like with my hand moving over it.  Of
course, I'd get a hard-on.  And I'd have sexual fantasies about Susan
too--sometimes all three of us.  I finally figured that it was like . . . two
programs running independently in my head.  They didn't interface, so my
behavior was contradictory.  But Susan and you shut down the homophobic
program.

He started gently brushing the tips of my nipples with his fingertips on one
hand while he gently slid the other over my balls, up my cock to the head,
and then gently around the flared edge.  At the same time, he began
thrusting with his hips. Sliding his cock up and down in my crack.  We
groaned in chorus.

I reached back with my hands, running my fingers gently through his
golden hair, around his ear tips and lobes, down his hairy legs.  Our
breathing was picking up pace.  On one particularly strong thrust up my
crack, in a maneuver I still can't figure out, his cock shot into my hole and
up my ass.  We both shouted.

"Oh, Evan, I want this.  Please let it happen."  I had never felt more
happily helpless--like a bug skewered on a giant pin in a glorious fuck.

"Me too, Troy.  Fuck me!"

I started contracting my inner ass muscles, making his head fly back
deeply into the pillows and moans fly out of his mouth.  He started
flexing his cock in response.  We were driving each other crazy with
pleasure.  Suddenly, his cock expanded while he bit me on the shoulder,
ropes of cum shooting up my ass.  That set me off, spewing cum out on
my stomach.

As our pumping slowed, we struggled to breathe.  He brought his arms up,
hugging me to him, and I placed my arms over his, lacing our fingers
together.

Breathlessly, he whispered, "I have fucked the two most exciting
people in my life.  What do I have to look forward to now?"

"Susan and I will work on it.  We'll 'cum' up with something.  You won't
be disappointed."  We both giggled, falling asleep in our mutual embrace.

(To be continued.)

Hey Readers,

I really wanted to complete this chapter before now, but on-the-job travel
made that impossible.  It was travel to scenic locations, but it was work,
not play.  I guess I can't get my muse in a suitcase.  However, my
synapses have been firing so fruitfully after the break that I've already
begun the first scene in Chapter 11.  Thank you for the e-mails politely
inquiring when the next chapter would be coming out and encouraging me
to continue the story.  They are great energy generators.  I hope "Ambush"
has been, to some degree, repayment for your kindness.

Evan