Date: Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:27:05 -0800 (PST)
From: Peder Pederson <pederdagreat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Secret Chapter three

Three
-The First Time-


	It had been two weeks since that dinner with Balan and Raji at the
Phoenix. Phil had seen Balan every week day at the commissary, but he
avoided any lone encounters, and conversations. They lunched together, but
he saw to it that it always was with one or two others. Phil tried to keep
up the light banter that had heretofore been the norm between them. He was
fooling no one, least of all Balan.
	Thursday afternoon, as he was leaving, Balan came up to him and
ask, "Phil, can I talk to you?"
	"Jeeze, Balan, I can't now, I've got an early date," he lied.
	"Well, what about tomorrow?"
	"Can't tomorrow, having dinner with the colonel," again he lied,
not knowing what else to say. He just couldn't face Balan.
	"Maybe next week?"
	"Yeah, sure," Phil replied, relieved.
	Balan walked to his car a hurt smile curled his mouth. "Dinner with
the colonel? Hell, he left for Hong Kong this afternoon, won't be back
until Monday. Oh, Phil, come on . . . . face it," he murmured under his
breath.
	The next evening, there was a knock on Phil's door. He had just
taken a shower and had donned a T-shirt and cotton sarong (he had taken to
wearing sarongs alone in his apartment--they were comfortable and cool). He
swung open the door was was greeted by Balan's smiling face.
	"I heard that the colonel was called away to Hong Kong. So, I
assumed that your dinner party was canceled. I came by on the off chance,"
he said cheerily fibbing and thrusting towards Phil a bottle of Chivas.
	Phil was taken back. "Yeah, come on in," he said, stepping back to
let Balan, who was still holding out the bottle, in to the apartment. "Oh,
thanks," he said as he accepted the still proffered gift. "Sit down," he
motioned Balan to one of the rattan chairs. Then, finally, he added, "Glad
you came by."
	"Are you?" asked Balan in his mild-toned manner, "I think not."
	"Why do you say that?"
	"You've been avoiding me for the past couple of weeks."
	"No, I haven't, I've been busy," he lied.
	"Oh, come on. Ol' chap."
	"No, really, I. . . ."
	"Ever since the Golden Phoenix, you have been so distant, so cool,
always excuses." The truth was out. Phil Beyer could not react, his face
flushed in embarrassed acknowledgement, images flew through his
mind--thousands of images. "Phil, we haven't been friends for a long time,
but I thought we were good friends. I know how close you and Ed were. I
don't mean to, don't want to take his place. No one can. But, I thought our
friendship could be also special in a different kind of way."
	There was a silence. Phil just sat back in his chair and looked at
his hands clamped between his knees. Balan was sitting forward, his
forearms resting on his knees, fingers intertwined, a searching look in his
face. Balan waited. Phil said nothing.
	Balan stood up, trying to break through the barrier, reached for
the bottle on the coffee table and said, "How about a drink, I could use
one."
	Phil glanced up into Balan's eyes, "No thanks," then added, "I've
sworn off scotch."
	"Sworn off scotch, Why?" Then, "That's uncivilized, " he added.
	"That's why, " stated Phil.
	"What's 'why?'" he asked incredulously.
	"It makes me uncivilized," Phil stated as he dropped his eyes
again.
	"Makes you uncivilized???" Then he understood, "Oh, I see . . . You
mean what happened after the Raffles?"
	Phil could only nod his head.
	Balan slowly shook his head, "Well, Ol' chap, nothing 'uncivilized'
happened." He drew out and emphasized the word 'uncivilized.'
	Phil looked up again into Balan's face and then lowered his
eyes. The look of guilt, so apparent on his face sent a shaft through
Balan's being. An empathetic feeling which Balan realized, understood and
wept, inwardly for his friend.
	"I made love to Raji," Phil confessed.
	"Yes, I know, I made love to her too that night."
	"I didn't mean to though," he glanced up again, momentarily.
	Shrugging, Balan said softly, "Phil, of course you did."
	"But she's your wife," he dropped his head again in abject misery.
	"Yes, she is, but she's your friend, I'm your friend."
	"You don't mind?"
	"No, I didn't mind, Phil."
	"I don't understand, I'm so god-damned confused." Phil lowered his
face into his hands and slowly shook his head.
	Balan went to the kitchen, brought back two glasses, sat down,
opened the bottle and poured two fingers into each glass. "Here," he said,
"drink it."
	Phil sat back into the chair, his hands raised, palms towards
Balan, "No, really, I . . . I don't want any. I think I need all my
faculties."
	"Okay," Balan nodded in quiet acquiescence.
	Phil lowered his palms to his knees, took a deep breath and let it
out in a lung-cleansing sigh. "Balan, that night has been a haze, in fact
the past five or six weeks have been a haze. Christ knows I've tried, but
ever since Ed's death . . . . "
	"I know, I know."
	"All I remember is bits and pieces of that night, I don't know why,
I didn't have that much to drink. . . ."
	"No, you didn't"
	"Just bits and pieces. . . . Balan, help me, I think I'm losing my
mind," came a plaintive plea. "All I seem to be able to do is my assigned
work, and even that, without joy." He looked down again at his hands, "But
that night, I think holds the key. . . . But, . . . . but I can't put it
together." And, then, again, "Balan, help me . . . . please . . . . help
me!"
	Balan sat forward, deeply concerned at the obvious distress of his
friend. He was silent for a moment or two. He must be careful!
	Then quietly, he asked, "Phil, do you remember the Raffles?"
	"Yes, yes I remember," looking intently at Balan.
	"Do you remember our talking, laughing, you dancing with Raji?"
	"Yessss . . . ." He fought to remember.
	Balan paused, then deliberately, "Do you remember seeing
. . . . seeing that man?"
	"What man?"
	"This could be a disaster," Balan thought.
	"The one that reminded you of Ed," he stated, matter-of-factly. He
had tried once before to bring up Ed. Phil had quickly, vehemently cut him
off, making it known that that subject was absolutely 'off limits.'
	"Yes . . . . ," he answered. His face was suddenly drained of all
color. "Yes, now I remember . . . . . I remember that. We left right after
that. Didn't we?"
	"Yes, we left, but it was you who wanted to leave. You insisted
that we leave."
	"I . . . I don't . . . remember that."
	"You were upset. The sight of that man really upset you. You were
very pale . . . ."
	"Like now," Balan thought. Then he continued out loud, "Raji and I
were concerned. We were really concerned, so she sat in the back seat with
you. You . . . you began to weep, uncontrollably."
	"No! No . . . , I . . . . I don't remember that. . . . I was
crying? Jeeze, I'm sorry." He dropped his eyes momentarily.
	"No need to be. After a short time you calmed down. You said that
you didn't want to be alone, so we suggested that you spend the night at
our place. You agreed."
	"I don't remember th . . . ," then, as an afterthought, "Yes, I
do. I stumbled on the stairs . . . . Didn't I?"
	Balan smiled, "Yes, yes, you did," he added with a chuckle, "and,
you unleashed some pretty steamy invectives at that step."
	"Sorry," was returned simply and contritely.
	"No problem. Actually it was a normal reaction. Raji was greatly
amused. I don't think that she had ever heard you swear."
	"She must think me an oaf."
	"I think not. Well, when we got to the apartment you seemed quite
calm. You were a . . . little tipsy . . . . but not bad. Your color had
returned. We made up a bed for you on the sofa. You were sitting in the
chair and you began to fall asleep. I removed your shoes and got you
standing. Raji had brought you a pair of pajamas. You took them, thanked
her and stared at them for a second."
	Balan considered not going on, but he felt that he had to . . . had
to for his friend's sake.
	So, he continued, haltingly, "Then . . . you . . . You threw the
pajamas in the chair, said that you never wore pajamas . . . ."
	"That's crazy . . . . I always wear pajamas!" Then with spiraling
consternation, "I don't remember . . . . I don't remember that. That's
crazy . . . ."
	"Shall I continue?" and he looked deep into Phil's pained
visage. "Can he take it?" he continued to ask himself.
	He would continue.
	Phil glanced up at Balan, he saw a warm friendly face and an
knowing, accepting smile.
	With a little chuckle, "Well . . . then you stripped your clothes
off, throwing them about."
	"In front of . . . . in front of . . . . Raji," came the pained,
halting and embarrassed question.
	"Yes," came the simple, accepting, non-judgmental answer.
	"Jeeze, I'm sorry." He looked away.
	"No problem, you aren't the first nude man Raji's seen, or me
either."
	All that Phil could do was shake his head in disbelief. "Go on
. . . "
	"Then you said to us, 'Okay, now it's your turn, strip down.'"
	Phil sat back as if he'd been pole-axed.
	"Christ, I didn't, . . . I couldn't have said that . . . " His
pained eyes locked on Balan's in shock.
	With a laugh Balan answered, "Yes you did," and then added,
tongue-in-cheek, "and . . . . as all good Asians, we had to do what our
guest desired. So, like you we disrobed and threw our clothes on the
floor."
	"You didn't!"
	"Yes," he laughed as he remembered that scene--clothes flying about
and Phil standing there unseeing.
	"You laid down on the sofa, we turned off the light and went to our
room. Raji was laughing, she thought it so funny. I must admit, ol' chap I
also found it immensely amusing."
	Phil shook his head in disbelief.
	"We went to our room got into bed, still laughing and began to make
love. Then . . . ."
	"This is going to be difficult for him," he supposed, but
necessary.
	"Then . . . . you came in to our room, and . . . . and said
. . . . 'I don't want to sleep alone' and you crawled into bed with us."
	Phil flushed scarlet. His eyes popped open, "Holy Mother of Mary!"
Then, "Oh, my God, Balan, I'm . . . .sorry."
	"Why? There's nothing to be sorry for. You were troubled
. . . . deeply troubled. We, Raji and I didn't do anything against our
wills. He were not forced. All we did . . . . ALL WE DID was to make
love. Simply that."
	"We . . . made love? . . . You and Raji, me and Raji?"
	Slowly now, carefully now, very carefully "Yessss. . . . . You and
Raji . . . Raji an I. . . and . . . . you and I."
	"You and I?" Again his face blanched white. His hands trembled,
indeed, his whole body trembled. Then there was a long silence. His eyes
broke from Balan's and focused on infinity. Neither moved. Phil simply
could not and Balan would not. Phil needed to work this out for himself.
	Then after a few minutes, "Those . . . those . . . ." he fought to
verbalize a truth, a most difficult truth for him.
	 " . . . Those were the fragments . . . . I couldn't
understand. . . ."
	As if to verify what he had heard . . . what he thought that he had
heard, "You and I made love?" he repeated.
	Quietly, with infinite understanding and concern, "Yes Phil
. . . . you and I made love."
	Another long, long pause, "In front of Raji?"
	"Yes Phil, in front of Raji."
	Again he focused on infinity, recalling thoughts, dreams,
sensations secrets. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. Then he placed his
hand, parallel over his mouth as if to halt the truth. After a moment, he
opened his eyes. He dropped his hand.
	"I remember now," he whispered and continued, "I remember
everything." Then with unfathomable pain in his voice, he continued, "It
wasn't the first time . . . . that . . . . The first time was about ten
years ago. . . ."
	Phil related in detail his secret. After the tale was over, a
lightness emanated from Phil, the aura of the old Phil, the Phil before
Ed's death began to return. His breathing was deep and steady, the stress
lines had miraculously vanished from his face and his normal rosy color
returned.
	Balan stated, with a knowing shake of his head, "I understand Phil,
that was too bad, it wasn't right for you then. . . . You were too
young. . . . He wasn't right for you."
	There was a knowing silence in the room. The two sat in silence for
minutes. One needing the silence to put the pieces of the puzzle into
place. The other, allowing the silence for the sake of his friend.
	Then Balan asked, "Are you all right, Phil?"
	With a voice that exposed a deep relief, "Yeah, I'm fine Balan
. . . . thanks."
	Balan marveled how the charged atmosphere of minutes ago had now
been neutralized by a truth. It was now calm, refreshingly calm.
	"I'd better go home now, Ol' chap, You probably want to be alone,"
he said as he stood up and moved to the door.
	"Yeah, Balan, thanks," he said as he got up and held out his hand
to Balan. They shook hands.
	Then as if impelled to bare all, accept all, confess all, Phil
looking openly into his friends eyes said simply, without directed emotion,
"There's one other thing I have to say. I remember I enjoyed making love
with you, both of you." A weak smile came to his lips.
	"I enjoyed making love with you too," came the reply with an extra
squeeze to the hand.
	Also, with simplicity Balan leaned over and placed a light kiss on
Phil's lips.
	As he began to pull away, Phil forged forward to continue the kiss
and parted his lips--his tongue searching. Balan's lips parted and his
tongue too darted forth. Then their bodies came together, right hands still
locked in a handshake between them. Phil pushed away.
	"Sorry, you'd better get going. Raji'll worry about you."
	"No, she won't. She knows where I am. She won't care, and besides
you don't have to apologize for the way you feel, especially to me . . . "
and then he added, "or Raji. Ever!"
	Balan stepped towards Phil, deliberately.
	This time both their arms encircled each other, hands moved down
their backs, cupped their buttocks. Their lips locked in a long searching
kiss. Pelvises thrust forward for more intimate contact sending galvanic
shock waves through both. Phil uttered and involuntary, deep-throated
sound. They backed away, Phil's eyes searching, Balan's smiling. Balan
silently took Phil's hand and led him to the bedroom. Phil acquiesced.
	Balan removed Phil's T-shirt and loosened the knot in his sarong,
letting it fall to the floor. He stood back and gazed on Phil's nude
body--broad shoulders, dollar-sized aureoles, a dusting of chest hair, flat
muscular stomach, muscular, hair-covered thighs and calves. And at the base
of his stomach a mass of dark brown hair framing a now lengthening cock
with a ruddy head beginning to lift its needful form over uplifted balls.
	"Lay on the bed," Balan whispered, "watch me." Phil did as he was
told, he laid on the bed, his eyes riveted on Balan.
	Balan unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, exposing his muscular
arms, wide shoulders, small purple aureoles and flat stomach. He undid his
belt, unclasped and unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. He stood
there allowing Phil to take-in his long, heavy muscular thigh and
calves. He wore white briefs which did not mask his pendulous ball-sack and
turgid cock. Balan hooked his thumbs under the waistband, lowered and
stepped out of them. His hooded, bluish-purple cock sprang outward, his
balls swayed as he walked to the bed. He knelt on the bed, his arms
bracketing Phil's chest and lowered his lips in a long languid kiss. Phil
wrapped his arms around Balan's torso and drew him downwards.
	Balan moved his lips from Phil's mouth and to his ear, his hot
tongue circling and darting in and out. Phil groaned, involuntarily arching
his back. The tongue traced a moist path down Phil's neck and sucked at
that spot where it meets the shoulder. Phil continued to writhe in
delicious stimulation. Balan moved down over the chest and cup-sucked the
right nipple.
	"Ohhh, Gawd," escaped from Phil's lips. Balan's tongue-tip flicked
the nipple into ridged erection. Then his tongue traced another path to the
left nipple and thereto he ministered to that center of joy. He lightly
nipped it between upper teeth and tongue. Phil's torso jackknifed in
autonomic reaction. His breath came in short panting gasps.
	Balan parted Phil's thighs with his knees and moved downwards,
tongue licking, fingers caressing until his chin came to the thick thatch
of cock-hair. His fingers encircled the upstanding cock, exacting a gasp
from Phil. Balan knelt between the spread legs, fingering the tight balls
and moving up and down the shaft of Phil's cock. Slowly he bent forward,
opening his dark, chisel-edged lips and lowering even further, encased the
pulsing cock-head in his warm moist mouth. His tongue flicked back and
forth in his mouth.
	"Oh, Christ, Oh, my god," issued from between Phil's clenched teeth
as his hands clenched open and closed. Balan's lips moved further and
further down the heavy cock-shaft 'til his nose was buried in the mat of
cock-hairs. Phil's eyes rolled up in ecstasy. His body quaked. Balan began
to move rhythmically up and down the length of the cock--tracing the crest
of the head and the pulsing veins along its length with his tongue.
	Suddenly, Phil grasped handfuls of hair on either side of Balan's
temples and pulled him up, locking his lips on Balan's cock-warmed mouth.
	"Oh, Balan," he crooned, "it feels so good." One hand traced down
Balan's back and over the firm round ass, the other hand snaked between the
two bodies and grasped the hard cock. Slowly he moved his hand towards its
base, exposing the sensitive head. "Let me suck you," he hoarsely
whispered.
	Balan softly placed two fingers over Phil's quaking lips, "No, my
friend, this is for you." And, he moved back down and sucked the whole
length of that hard cock into his mouth. Phil gasped. The sucking-licking
motioned started again, up and down, flicking tongue. In and out of that
hot, moist, pleasure giving mouth Phil's hard cock was propelled.
	A guttural groan began to escape from his lips, his body
tensed. Balan replaced his mouth with his hand and it slid up and down the
well-lubricated cock in ever increasing speed. Phil arched off the
mattress, only his head and heels made contact as a deep, primordial
scream-groan issued from his lips. He collapsed. Torrents of milky cum
arched upward in cadence with the body spasms landing to form opalescent
pools on chest and stomach. His body jerked, spasmodically, uncontrollably.
	Balan ceased his hand movements, bent over the cum spattered torso
an planted a tender kiss on Phil's lips. He got off the bed, went to the
bathroom and returned with a wash cloth.
	Phil lay there, spread-eagled, hands thrown over his head, face
turned to the side, eyes closed, deep breathing, detumescent cock laying
over right thigh, sparkling torso. Sitting on the edge of the bed Balan
carefully washed the spattered torso. Phil reached up and tenderly touched
Balan's cheek with his finger tips.
	"Thanks, Balan . . . . thanks."
	"You okay?"
	"Yeah . . . yeah, I'm fine."
	Balan rubbed Phil's cheek with the back of his hand and smiled.
	After a few minutes of just touching each other, Balan stood up,
went over to his clothes and began to dress. As he was putting on his shoes
and sox, he said softly, "Phil, what just happened was a gift from one
friend to another. A gift, nothing more, nothing less. Nothing is required,
nothing is demanded. . . . . Do you understand?"
	Phil searched Balan's face, he searched for the meaning, then
slowly it dawned upon him. Slowly he nodded his head in assent, then swung
off the bed and knotted his sarong. He followed Balan to the front
door. Balan turned and they hugged each other. A warm friendly man-hug.
	"Sure you're okay?"
	"Yes, I'm fine, I really am. I need some time to think . . . about
a lot of things, I guess."
	Balan smiled, knowingly.
	Phil closed the door after Balan, flicked on the stereo and sat
down with a deep sigh.

	Slowly, he began a critical, mental inventory of his life to
date. An erotic inventory.
	The old secret--Pastor Richard--he guessed that Balan was right. He
wasn't ready. The age difference coupled with the social-religious status
of the pastor made that circumstance impossible for his young mind. The
image of the nude pastor standing in front of him on the shore of the river
appeared before him. He remembered his embarrassment coupled with his
telescoping interest in the young pastor's crotch--wanting to look, not
daring to look. He remembered the shock of that evening--the hand on his
thigh. Of course, he remembered that he had enjoyed the sensations of the
pastors fingers on his pubescent cock. But, he also remembered the fear of
being discovered by Pastor Amund. He remembered the warm sensation of the
swollen cock under his hand-encased fingers with some interest and
pleasure, but he again remembered the fear of being discovered by Pastor
Amund.
	Phil remembered his high school days--the showers after gym class,
after track. He recalled as a freshman noting with envy the hairy crotched
upper classmen and wondering when he would be equally endowed? He also
remembered the envy (or was it with wonder?) the big pendulous cock of Bart
Kreuper, the school's number-one jock. He remember playing ' johnny-grabs'
a time or two in the showers and the coach, good-naturedly admonishing,
"All right, you guys. Quit horsing around!" But then everybody did it, and
besides no one ever got a 'hard-on.'
	He remembered fondly "The First Time."

	"The First Time" was in the summer after his senior year. It was a
Saturday. He had come home for the weekend--no peas to can for a couple of
days. His mother, brother and sister had gone to Rochester to do some
shopping. His Dad had asked him the mow the lawn. He had wore short cut-off
jeans and an old pair of sneakers, no shirt. It was hot. An hour's work had
covered him with glistening beads of sweat and blades of cut grass clung to
his calves.
	"Phil, you look hot. Want some lemonade?" It was Jenny. The
Kinsleys had lived next door ever since Phil could remember. Jenny, an only
child, had graduated that June from the "U" in med-tech. Jenny had never
paid any attention to Phil other than a "Hi" now and then. After all she
was four years-or-so older.
	"Sure," he said, wiping his forearm across his brow. He walked to
the opened back door and into the kitchen. She motioned him to a chair at
the table. Jenny then took a glass from the cupboard and poured Phil a
glass of iced lemonade. He couldn't help but notice her short, short, tight
hot-pants that hiked up revealing and inch or two of her buttocks as she
reached up for the glass. And, as she handed him the glass, he also noticed
her breasts swelling beneath a loosely tied halter top. He had never
remembered her being such a sexy person--she had always been merely:
Jenny-next-door.
	"Bet, you're tired."
	"Naw," he said, "I'm used to it."
	"Don't you get sore pushing that old mower?" she asked, or rather
said as she moved behind him and began to massage his shoulder muscles.
	"Naw, . . . well maybe sometimes," came the answer as the fingers
began their mindful kneading.
	"Phil, you've really grown up." Her fingers were no longer
kneading, but caressing. That coupled with the image of her ass, tits and
the smell of her created an obvious stir in his crotch.
	"Maybe I'd better get going," he said. He was a little nervous. She
might see his growing, crotch condition. He began to get up.
	"Oh, not yet," she said breathlessly as her hands slipped from his
shoulders, down to his chest, gently urging him back. His hands lay flat on
the table--he felt mesmerized.
	Her hands remained on his chest and began lightly, oh, so lightly
to move back and forth. Phil's head swam in sensuous bewilderment. His
problem grew. For a second or two she removed her right hand from his
chest. Then she replaced it and drew close to him. He could feel two warm
forms press against his back. She had loosened her halter. Her bare breasts
were pressing against his back. This he knew. His flat resting hands now
life-clamped the edge of the table. His breathing came in quick
gasps. Breasts still pressed against his back, then he could feel them move
from side to side. He could feel their erect nipples against his bare
back. Jenny's right hand moved downwards over his flat, taught stomach.
	"You feel so good," she whispered. Her lips touched his ear and her
hand lightly caressed his stomach. A low soft groan involuntarily issued
from Phil's throat. Her hand now moved downward further and cupped the
bulging , constricted form of his crotch.
	"Oh, so hard, so hot," she again whispered in his ear. This time
her tongue traced around the form of his ear.
	Phil uttered a second groan, this time louder than the first. His
hands now white with exertion gripped the edge of the table in a need to
steady himself, to sustain those wonderful, those new sensations. Jenny's
practiced hands deftly unbuttoned and unzipped the cut-offs turning the
corners back revealing Phil's now raging cock encased in white briefs.
	Phil was almost, totally out of control--but not quite. "Your
folks," he stated, the only words he had uttered since 'maybe I'd better
get going.'
	"They won't be back 'til seven." she assured.
	Her hot hand again cupped the cotton clad cock, equally hot. All
Phil could do was to roll his head back and forth against Jenny's. She then
reached inside and slipped the brief's band under his balls. His turgid,
upstanding, rosy crested cock, springing from the nest of his up-held
balls, jerked in cadence with his beating heart.
	"Ohhh, it's so beautiful," she cooed.
	Her fingers moved up and down its shaft. The feel of her warm
fingers on his cock sent cosmic shock-waves through his body. Phil's body
jerked like a marionette on a string. Jenny released his cock and moved to
the table's edge, facing Phil. He looked up at her freed breasts with their
firm, erect nipples. Quickly she undid the side zipper of her shorts and
pushed them down over her hips. They fell about her ankles and she stepped
out of them. She wore no underpants.
	Phil's eyes snapped-locked on the triangle at the base of her
smooth belly. Highlights of red midst the brown. As if in slow motion,
Jenny released Phil's life-clamped finger from the edge of the table
. . . . . placed them on her shoulders . . . . . reached down and grasped
the waistband of his cut-offs and briefs and tried to pull them down
. . . .
	"Lift up, " she said in a commanding whisper. He did what she
asked. She stripped his shorts down, letting them fall around his
ankles. She grasped his waist, pulling his buttocks to the edge of the
chair. Jenny straddled Phil's thighs, reached down, grasped his raging cock
and lowered her steaming cunt-lips over the rosy, glistening cock head. She
sat. Encasing in one movement his entire cock deep inside her super-heated,
fully lubricated love-tunnel.
	This action brought a thoroughly involuntary, "Ohhh, Gawd." His
young brain whirled, spiraled with heretofore unfelt sensations. His virgin
body prickled over its entire surface with mounting , sensual urgency.
	Well trained muscles clamped and released, clamped and released his
imprisoned turgid tool. She began to move up and down on his thick,
impaling prick. Suddenly, quickly from deep inside his core his whole body
began to spasm, to jerk in primitive release. He groaned as his hips thrust
upward with uncontrolled force. Then he collapsed back against the chair.
	Jenny seemed a bit surprised at the suddenness of his release. She
was filled, but unfulfilled. Then a knowing smile crossed her face. "Your
first time?" she asked quietly.
	All Phil could do was to nod his head. She leaned forward and
kissed him, tenderly on the forehead.

	"Yes," Phil thought, "it was the first time." After that Saturday,
he managed to get back to Wabasha a number of additional times that
summer. Each time became more memorable than the last. He remembered that
each time new joys were discovered, new wonders were plumbed.
	He still remembered with erotic warmth how she would groan and
squirm as he sucked her nipples into hot-pink erections. He remembered how
she would cry out and spasm as his tongue teased her little, pink,
cock-like trigger, hidden midst the soft warm folds if her down-covered
cunt. How could he forget the first time she had slipped her hot lips over
his cock-head! He remembered how, finally, he had been able to control his
young, raging-stud cock and bring Jenny to a screaming orgasm. How proud
that had made him.
	"Dear Jenny," he thought, " she was a good tutor."
	He continued his rumination. His litany of the past.
	He remembered his first meeting with Ed. He remembered the
'initiation.' Their friendship, strong, non-judgmental.
	He remembered the girls. Nothing serious, no one steady, well not
seriously steady. There were passionate interludes, but, always with girls.
	Yes, he remembered the showers after his usual work-outs. He wasn't
good enough to get on the college track team, but he ran occasionally and
played basketball "To keep in shape," he had said. But now, he suspected
that it was, in part, because of the showers. The presence of nude male
bodies.
	He especially remembered the time, late one Friday afternoon. The
locker room was nearly empty. He entered the shower, sweaty, weary--Ax
Parker was the only one in the shower. As he walked in, he couldn't help
but notice Ax's hard-on. He could hardly keep his eyes off of that sight.
	He forced himself to look away. Partly because of embarrassment,
partly because it began to catalyze his own cock into erection. He turned
away, turned up the cold water and controlled his rising feeling. He turned
back--Ax's back was to the shower, he was soaping his arm pits and his cock
still ridge-poled.
	Ax smiled at Phil, and as if needing to explain, "Hot water always
gives me a hard-on."
	Phil smiled, "No problem."
	He remembered a number of other times when he purposefully delayed
his work-out until late Friday afternoon. And, as he remember, he smiled.
	Phil also remembered that there were many, many times when he had
seen Ed's nude body. But, he had, interestingly enough, never entertained
any erotic notions, at least not overtly. He also remembered similar
instances in Ohio during his training.
	Then he remembered after he had arrived in Singapore, he met
Balan. Balan was the first Singaporean-Indian he had met, actually the
first Indian. He remembered how he had reacted to his exotic handsomeness,
even fantasized about him.
	All these 'secrets' now seemed to have some meaning. Phil realized
that they need not be secrets.
	Then he wondered how Ed would have reacted to this state, this
acknowledgment. Somehow he knew, deep inside, that Ed would, could accept
Phil's situation, Phil's feelings with the same warmth, non-judgmental
acceptance that had been the norm of their friendship. Somehow, Phil felt
reassured.
	Phil quietly, slowly shut off the stereo, turned off the lights and
padded down the hall to his bedroom. He gazed with the warmth of things
remembered at the rumpled throw of his bed. Noting a small spot, barely
damp, a visual/tactile memento of his passion, of Balan's ministrations. He
sighed, turned off the light and lay on his bed remembering
. . . . everything that needed to be remembered. Now, not for the first
time.