Ambush

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 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.

EvanBradley33@Yahoo.com

Chapter 29 Calming Troubled Waters

The morning after the big basket ballgame, Troy arrived early in my classroom, looking around for Susan. He appeared anything but the hero of the hour. I heard him ask Rosalie Rodriguez if she had seen Susan. She replied in the negative, sensing that something was wrong, for her brow wrinkled sympathetically. I wondered what she knew or had heard. He flopped down at his desk, his facial expression appearing chastened one minute and belligerent the next, signaling the emotional maelstrom whirling in his interior universe. Though his classmates were congratulating him on his winning basket, he wasn't saying much to anyone, just nodding his head at his fans. Obviously, he hadn't arrived with or met Susan this morning. I hoped they hadn't had a huge argument last night.

A glance at Byron Okata revealed that he was already tuned out. I could almost feel every bit of his hurt. If I didn't find some time to talk to him, I'd feel beaten into the dirt by the end of the day, for he was feeling like dirt now. He wouldn't be attending to much that we covered in class today. Just before the final bell, Susan walked into the classroom. She'd planned to arrive with the bell so that she wouldn't have to talk to Troy.

Susan flatly ignored Troy. He looked hopefully at her, but she wouldn't look in his direction, speak to or acknowledge him. As the class period wound down, I was amazed at how my energy seemed to be bleeding off because of all the issues and wounded feelings among these people who had come to mean so much to me - more than just students. When Troy and Susan were on the outs, just about everything else was out of joint too. Byron's staring off into space was just more verification of this disjuncture.

I decided that I was going to call in a favor, but I'd have to forego talking to Byron for the moment. Just as I dismissed class, I asked LaRonda to give me a minute. Susan shot out the door, leaving Troy looking after her woefully. He'd clearly gotten the message that he was persona non grata. Byron waited for most of the others to leave before he arose and moped out into the hall. When LaRonda came to my desk, I asked her what was going on with Troy and Susan. She disclosed the following scenario.

Susan had left the gym while Troy was being interviewed after the winning basket. Troy had rushed to end the interviews to run in the direction Susan had taken when she left. But he had been too late. Susan must have been hurt, LaRonda theorized, because after the winning basket, Troy had acted like she had been invisible. She also thought that Susan had been unhappy because of the way Troy had not shared the spotlight with Cody after the winning shot.

Troy had been hunting for Susan last night at all their haunts, but he had not been able to locate her. A little checking by LaRonda had established that Susan was staying overnight with Reesa Talbot, one of her friends. Hence, neither Troy nor Susan had joined the guys and Byron after the ballgame. LaRonda had been torn about whether she should tell Troy where Susan was or respect Susan's wish to be incommunicado. She had decided that it was best to stay out of it last night. I thanked LaRonda for the information. She smiled and patted my hand. "We're all worried for them, Evan, but I think they'll work it out." I shook my head in the affirmative.

At noon that day in my classroom, I was munching away on my apple, reading some of Richard Wilbur's poetry, a favorite. I was thinking I should end my lunch early and go looking for Byron. Just then Susan walked in the door of my classroom. "Evan, may I join you for lunch?"

I smiled. "I'd be honored." I studied her; she didn't look any happier than when she'd arrived for class this morning. Her ordinarily smooth, placid brow was wrinkled with inner turmoil. She wasn't smiling. The light in her eyes wasn't as bright as usual. I wondered if she'd come to talk about Troy or just to avoid the cafeteria where she would encounter Troy.

She unwrapped a chicken salad sandwich she'd picked up in the snack bar, took a bite, and chewed. Something warned me to let her start the conversation. After she swallowed, she said, "Evan, I'm a failure."

"Mercy! I find it hard to believe. I don't think of you that way. What's leading you to levy such a harsh judgment on yourself?"

"Melanie Simpson, Byron Okata, Troy." She uttered each name as though she were snapping an iron bar in two with her teeth.

"Okay. Let's take them one at a time."

She started: "The Melanie-Byron thing was a disaster. I know Byron is hurting."

"Have you talked to him," I asked.

She shook her head in the negative. I stared at her as though I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

"I know, I know," she exclaimed, tossing her head when she uttered her reply to my staring. "I need to talk to him, but I feel so guilty."

"What does Byron need at this point?"

"An apology, some kind words, a build-up of his self-image. It would help if it came from a woman."

"And when are you planning for this to happen?"

"Today."

"That will bring some resolution to your feelings. Right? By the way, I need to talk to Byron too, and I haven't done it yet, so I'm not condemning you. And Melanie?"

"Evan, she is so immature. She's still looking at life with big eyes, which explains her fixation with jocks," she uttered with a tinge of bitterness. "She was just indulging me by following my suggestion about getting to know Byron. Actually, I have to admit that she and Jim Marbury are a good match. I'm a little ashamed of myself for thinking that they deserve each other. Jim has major problems striking up a relationship, let alone maintaining one. But Melanie takes life so much for granted that I can see her filling in his deficits. Together, they'll help each other. Melanie won't be above reshaping Jim a little more to her liking. It will probably lead to an improvement in Jim."

"And Troy?"

She frowned. "I'm really upset by Troy's behavior. I thought I knew him. But his recent behavior is Jekyll-Hyde - a 180-degree about-face from who he had become." A sigh escaped. "I thought I was central in his world. He certainly was in mine."

"Was? Past tense? You surely aren't giving up on him, are you?" She looked out the windows of the classroom, not answering. I knew her well enough that she wouldn't answer my last question until she had made up her mind about the matter. Most wise. "Have you talked to him?"

She sighed loudly. "No."

"Do you plan to do so?"

"Not until I know what's best for me to say."

"I can understand. Still, I must observe that so far I haven't heard anything that marks you as a failure. Sounds more like a series of challenges occurring all at once. And those challenges appear to originate with others, not you. You haven't done anything leading to failure. These situations arise when we link our lives to those of others whom we allow to become important to us. Did you feel guilty when Tim started running around on me?"

"Yes."

"Susan! Why?"

"I don't know. I felt as though I should step in and make it right for you two. But I couldn't even look at you because we're so linked; you'd see that something was very wrong just by looking in my eyes. You'd figure it out eventually and then ask me the question I couldn't duck, for if I waited to answer it, I would have hurt you. I can't do that, Evan," she said, placing her hand over mine. I smiled, placing my other hand over hers.

"Does your mother feel guilty in circumstances like these?" She thought for a while. We reclaimed our hands. I just kept on eating, not forcing the moment.

Finally, she answered, with a little wonderment: "No, she doesn't."

"I think you model yourself after your mother. Learn a lesson from her. You can't make it work out most of the time for people, Susan. They have to make it work. You can lend a helping hand, offer a smile and a kind word, a suggestion and some guidance. But you cannot remake their worlds. Don't give yourself grief for situations you can't change. The rest of us and life will give you enough grief," I concluded with a smile.

"But you remade Jeremy's world."

"I offered him a home. HE made it his world. You can offer things like that, Susan, but I iterate - you cannot remake someone else's world. That world is the sum of their decisions, not yours. That's why Melanie will be successful in reshaping Jim Marbury only if he decides he wants to be reshaped."

"Okay. What do you think is happening with Troy?"

"Something is very wrong in his world. When someone's behavior departs markedly from the ordinary, one should not focus on the result of the skewing but on the cause of the skew. The cause will rarely be that person himself."

"Do you know something I don't?"

Her question led me to observe to myself that it came from a person who knew something about Tim but didn't tell me. If she had given me any warning at all, even nudged me down that line of thought, Melanie Simpson's disclosure in my sunroom that Tim was courting Alan Frazier wouldn't have fallen on me like a ton of bricks.

She immediately blushed. "I know what you're thinking. I didn't tell you about Tim, yet I'm asking you to tell me about Troy. I do feel guilty about that. I was so worried about you and the pain the information would cause you that I didn't understand that there are actually several ways of disclosing bad news without bowling another person over. My mistake became clear that night when Melanie gossiped about Tim and Alan. You just turned away from us and locked yourself away from the world. At least remember that I didn't want to cause you pain."

"I know you didn't, wouldn't ever. As for Troy, I'm as puzzled as you. Jeremy and Kenny don't know anything more than I do. If I knew anything, I'd share it with you. I am certain that something has pushed Troy into this behavior. We both know that he is not mercurial or capricious by nature. When a person's behavior departs from the usual pattern so radically, it's because that person feels threatened or afraid, so the behavior is meant to cover or protect - maybe both. Then the situation becomes more complex."

She studied me for a while. "Now I am worried. I agree with you. Something has been dropped on Troy, leaving me wondering what it could be that would cause such a dramatic change."

"We won't wait long to find out."

As we cleaned up after our lunch and she started to leave, she returned. "Evan, I'm sorry for not preparing you for the news about Tim. You know I love you. Please forgive me."

I kissed her cheek. "Yeah, I know, my great, good soul mate." She smiled. "No forgiving necessary. I'll love you forever," I whispered, smiling, feeling relief that I'd earned a smile from her. I wondered if it weren't her first smile that day.

She leaned over, returning my kiss to my cheek. "I feel better, Evan. Only now have I realized how much circumstances have pulled my spirits down. I know I can move out from here and help a little."

I was lining up handouts at my desk during the break between my first and second afternoon classes as students began entering the room. I heard a couple of them call out, "Hi Troy. Great game last night." I looked up to see him striding up to my desk while returning the greetings - but his face was a storm cloud. I smiled and raised my eyebrows in wordless inquiry. "Evan, can we talk?"

"Shoot."

"Not here, please, and not now."

"Where and when?"

"Does Jeremy work this evening?"

"Yes, he does. Do you want to come over to our home? We'll be private there, and we won't be interrupted."

"Is Ron coming over?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Okay. How about 5:30 after practice?"

"Fine. I'll order pizza for us."

His brow wrinkled. "Could we have just soup and some bread like we've done before and sit at the kitchen table while we talk?" he asked a little wistfully. "It would feel homey, and I need something like that now."

"Of course. You want a tossed salad?"

"That would be great," he replied with more energy than I'd seen from him all day.

"Soup, salad, and some special bread at 5:30 it is."

He turned to go, but then wheeled around, fixing me with those sincere blue eyes. "Believe me, Evan, I appreciate your going to this trouble."

"Happy to do it for a buddy," I smiled.

After my last class, I was determined to try to connect with Byron Okata one more time. If I was lucky, there was enough time to catch him and have a talk before heading home to prepare for dinner with Troy. I located myself at the front doors of the school, watching students pass through on their way to work or home. There was always the chance that Byron would leave by some other door, but I had to start somewhere. I was musing about what I was going to say to him, when he came shuffling out of one of the feeder corridors, his head down.

He looked up, seeing me. When I walked toward him, he stopped and then started to turn around. Oh no, I wasn't going to let him get away. "Byron, could you give me a second?" I called out. He stopped, the corners of his mouth turning down. He didn't want to talk to me.

One of Byron's defining qualities was his politeness. I was always amused when the kid in him peeked out from behind it occasionally as it did that time in the classroom when he expressed sympathy for Jeremy upon learning that he was going to become my adopted son. I knew Byron was particularly dutiful to his parents without my ever having met them. I bet he didn't speak up for himself the way teens need to do occasionally. I just couldn't imagine Byron being so forward with a parent.

When I reached Byron, I pointed to a nearby bench. "Could we sit here for a minute?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Byron, I know you're feeling down now. I was delighted to see you and Melanie Simpson together here last week. You looked really happy. Then I saw that Jim Marbury and she had taken up with each other. I know that's a disappointment for you." I paused to give him an opportunity to say something, but he was just looking out the glass expanse of the front entrance.

"You are a great guy, Byron. You have a lot to offer."

"Not enough for Melanie," he said softly.

"Quality isn't what Melanie is seeking, Byron. She's seeking an image, and you're not it."

He looked at me as though he were offended. "What's wrong with my image?"

"Nothing's wrong with your image. It's just that you're not a jock."

He frowned and bowed his head. "I could work for a thousand years, but I'd never be a jock any girl would want."

"No, you will offer something better."

Head still bowed, he looked at me under the bottom of his eyelashes. "Like what?"

"Come on, Byron. You're going to be a career man, a professional. You'll be committed to your career the same way you want to commit to a woman. You'll be productive. You'll be respected. If you connect with the right woman, you'll be her hero every day of your life."

"How do you know?"

"I've been doing this long enough that I've seen how life turns our for all kinds of young people."

"Looks like I'll be doing it alone," he commented bitterly.

"No, you won't. There are women who'll be interested in you. You're a handsome dude!"

He stifled a laugh. Then he turned sober. "I don't even look American, Mr. Halsey. I think that turns a lot of women off." Good. He was feeling comfortable enough to dig up and disclose some of those personal issues he kept buried.

"What does an American man look like in 2002, Byron?"

He frowned again, pitching his head to the side. "Yeah, I know what you're saying. We're a diverse society, and my Japanese heritage doesn't make any difference."

"What will make a difference is that hunky head of black hair, that shapely slim body, that cute ass, those dark eyes, those enticing lips."

He snorted out a laugh. "I'm straight, Mr. Halsey, not gay like you."

"I'm not coming on to you. And how do you know I'm gay?"

"I've watched. I've heard talk about you and Mr. Minor when you two broke up. I've heard that you and Mr. Hamilton are friends. Don't worry. I don't care. It's your business."

"Good. Just so you know, those qualities in your appearance that I enumerated would turn both women and men on. You're a handsome hunk! Besides, I think Asian men are hot!" He laughed quietly, putting his hand to his mouth as cover.

"But then you got really lucky."

The smile diminished. He turned his head to focus on my face more, looking into my eyes. "How?"

"You've got native smarts," I said, wagging my eyebrows. "They still need to be developed," I said archly, "which is why I get after you about stretching your mind and talents more." Ducking his chin, he tossed his head in that way teenagers do when someone reminds them of something they don't want to hear. I gave him a playful punch on the arm. He had to work hard to stifle a grin. "There are women who will be turned on by that, Byron, as much as by your looks. Look at Troy and Susan. Looks didn't turn them on to each other at first. Oh sure, they liked each other's looks. We see good-looking people many times every day, but we don't move into a relationship with them. Troy realized early on how attractive intelligence is to Susan. When she started signaling him that she recognized that potential in him, he couldn't believe it. In fact, he came to talk to me about it. I had to show him that he's really quite an intelligent guy and certainly worthy of Susan's respect. And a leader to boot. Now look at them."

"Mr. Halsey," he said, frowning, "What I saw and heard today tells me that things aren't going too well for them now."

"Check them out tomorrow. I think you'll see a return to the ordinary. Just think a bit about how close they are. And they especially love each other's intelligence."

"Well, I'm not a leader like Troy." Oh, so he was going to make every idea I was pitching stand on its own two feet. Good! That meant I had a chance of really leading him to reconsider his perspective on his prospects with women.

"You don't know that you won't be a leader."

"I'm not big like Troy."

"In this school, I'm recognized as a leader. When I speak in faculty meetings, people listen, but I'm not big like Troy. I don't need to be. A good leader is big inside."

"Why didn't Melanie see any of what you are talking about?"

"As I said, she was looking for something else. It's a good thing she moved to Jim. Susan tells me they are suited to each other."

"Why did Susan fix me and Melanie up then?"

"Byron, she didn't think you were going to be so serious about Melanie. She thought you just wanted to date, have some fun. But you turned serious fast."

He nodded his head. "I know - too fast. But I want a girlfriend so much. I was just hoping this was the woman for me."

"I understand. It's human, natural. But maybe you ought to go a little slower next time? What do the laws of probability indicate about the likelihood of a person's finding that ideal person on the first date?"

I'd won a slight smile from him. "But I still don't have anyone."

"But now you have some experience supporting you. Start looking. I can name several of your friends who are on the look-out for you."

"I don't really have any friends."

"Oh, Byron, quit putting yourself down and look around you. Remember that scene in the movie about the kindly sasquatch, "Harry and the Hendersons," I think it's titled. Recall at the end of the movie when Harry walks off into the forest, appearing to be alone. Then suddenly we see all kinds of his own folk stepping out from behind trees. The forest is full of them! Your friends are like that, Byron. Our forest is full of them. They've been here all along. You just haven't seen them. Why do you think Jeremy, Kenny, Cody and the guys wanted you to go out with them after the ballgame?"

"They just felt sorry for me."

"Did you have a good time?"

Grudgingly, "Yeah."

"Did you feel comfortable with them? Joke with them. Share information with them?"

"Yeah."

"Did they indicate that they wanted you to be with them again?"

He shook his head in the affirmative.

"Did they tell you in subsequent days how much they enjoyed having you among them?"

He just shook his head in the affirmative.

"And you think that's just feeling sorry for you?"

"You mean I'm missing something again?"

"Yes. It's time to take the blinders off."

We sat looking at each other. He glanced quickly at his watch. "I'm sorry, Mr. Halsey. I have to go to my job. But I'm glad we talked. I feel better. I'm going to think a lot about our conversation tonight when I have some quiet time at home.

"You do that. You are ready to think your way through your present circumstances to a new stage of experience. I'll be checking you out in the morning," I said, raising my eyebrows.

He couldn't suppress a giggle. "Damn. What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered. My laughter followed him out the doors. That well-put-together exterior was cracking. He'd used a swear word! Byron was loosening up.

On the way home, I'd stopped at St. Louis Bread Company to buy a loaf of Asiago Cheese Bread. As soon as I arrived at home, I visited the soup stock to see what we had on hand. I made a tossed salad and set the table.

Right on the dot, Troy knocked at the front door. When he entered the door I held open for him, he pushed it closed, then put his hands under my arm pits and lifted me up, holding me so that I was looking straight into his eyes, earning a surprised "Oh" from me. He held me tight, my feet dangling above the floor. "Evan, I'm sorry."

"What are we talking about? And this is a ridiculous position in which to put your teacher - feet swinging in the air like I'm a kid."

"Your not my teacher now. You're my buddy. I'm sorry for not waving at you at the ballgame. When you find out what was going on with me, I think you'll understand. Just so you know, Jeremy kind of chewed me out at lunch about that - and about Cody and Susan."

"Oh?"

Troy smiled. "Don't worry - he did it as a loving brother would. The fact that Jeremy had never spoken to me that way before shook me up a little, made me see where I was. But I need some of your vision."

"Okay. Put your coat on my bed and join me in the kitchen. Everything is ready." He set me down on the carpet with a peck of a kiss. When his warm lips brushed mine, I felt it clear down in my dick. It made me realize that since the beginning of the school year, Troy had opened up, showing his affection and approval to the whole world.

When Troy entered the kitchen, he sniffed. "Smells good in here - like home."

Hm-m-m-m-m. This wasn't the first time I'd heard some mention of home from him. In response to my query, he told me he'd like orange juice for a drink. He walked to the utensils drawer, found a dipper, and brought the soup bowls from the table and started filling them. I discovered that I liked seeing and feeling his big body moving about the kitchen, watching his big hands as they worked capably at domestic tasks. I took the tossed salads from the refrigerator and set them at our places along with salad dressing, which I placed near Troy. He grabbed the breadbasket covered with a napkin to keep the heat in and set it on the table. Then we sat down.

He startled me with his next request. "Evan, would you say grace?"

I smiled. He placed his hands halfway across the table for me to hold during grace, just as families sometimes do. My hands were dwarfed in his big, warm mitts. He squeezed and then held my fingers tightly. I was trying to see through his eyes what might be going on inside that handsome exterior, but I wasn't picking up much. I said a brief, nontraditional prayer, thanking God for a multitude of blessings and for strength in dealing with daily challenges. We both said "Amen" together. Then we started eating.

I was staring at him with my brow wrinkled. "What?" he asked.

"You've never asked for grace to be said before when we've eaten together here. I'm trying to figure that request out."

"Nothing to figure out. I just need some normalcy now, a feeling that I have a home."

"Oh, so your family says grace before meals at home?"

"Never."

"Now I'm confused again. Understand - I'm not complaining. But I'm trying to get a handle on your mindset. You don't have grace at home, but you want it here."

"My sense of home has been challenged in the last couple of days. Maybe, for a little bit, I have a chance to have things more the way I'd like life to be and need for it to be. That's why I asked if we could have one of our comfortable meals here together, a real sit- down meal at the kitchen table in this comfortable home, where two people who are important to me live. Where those two people offer others love, refuge, and healing. Some great things have happened to me in this house, Evan. I hope I've brought some great things here for you too. Being here and eating with you make me feel that things could be right in the world again."

"You know how I feel about you, Troy." He smiled. "You have wrought great things for Jeremy and for me. You are both our buddy and brother. You are welcome anytime. Okay?" He shook his head, rewarding me with a little smile.

"Don't you want salad dressing," he asked.

"No thank you. I eat it only in a restaurant, not at home."

"Why?" he looked puzzled.

"On the whole, tossed salads at a lot of restaurants are sad affairs that just don't offer that much taste. But tossed salads here do."

He speared a salad fork full and placed it in his mouth, chewing away. After he swallowed, he said, "I see what you mean."

We ate in silence for a minute. I was going to leave the floor to him. I knew he'd start when he was ready.

"I've made some mistakes, Evan. I need to get back on course." I said nothing, preferring that he move the conversation along at a pace comfortable to him.

"I know you've been wondering about me - not waving to you, that asshole stuff I pulled at the end of the ballgame."

Whoa! He was really down on himself. But I remained silent, listening.

"I've hurt people. You among all my friends know that I don't do that intentionally. You were the first to make me face that issue. You remember when you were in the hospital, and you wouldn't talk to me when you found out I called you a faggot to Susan, who also stopped talking to me. It was one of the worst times in my life. I think I've done it again.

I'd been shaking my head in agreement when he mentioned that he didn't hurt people intentionally, but his last sentence arrested my head. We continued to eat in silence, which stretched out longer than a minute.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," I suggested gently.

"This isn't all we'll have to say about it, but it began just after Jeremy, Kenny, Cody and I got it on. I know Susan told you about that. The problem didn't start with any of you. It started with my dad. The next evening, he and I were alone for a little bit in the family room, which is unusual in my house with my three brothers ramming around. I was thinking about our four-way - it was hot, Evan, and it also brought us all closer together. I felt as though I had three other brothers besides those at home. I felt on top of the world ['Ah, a collector of people,' I thought. 'Nice. Consistent.']."

"Dad jolted me out of my daydreams when he said he noticed that Cody and I were like Siamese twins. He asked what was going on there. Immediately, I was on alert. It just wasn't like Dad to ask a question like that, so he'd just told me that he suspected that our being together so often involved more than our being jocks on the same team or being friends. I don't know: maybe he tipped to something in the way we looked at each other, behaved toward each other. I blew it off by telling him that I'm usually with others too, and I recited a list of our friends who hang out with us and the days we'd been together recently. I made certain I named some women too - Susan, Angela, LaRonda, Wendy, Beth, LaKeisha, and so on. I pointed out that he never saw them because they were never at our home, just Cody. My brother Justin came in then, so nothing else was said, and I really concentrated on acting normal around Dad, but I knew I hadn't reassured him because I kept catching him staring at me."

Troy and I continued eating. "Remember, Evan, when I described in your hospital room how my family is - not flexible or tolerant. You've already figured out that's because of my dad. I don't think my mom's that way, but I don't know for certain because she doesn't call the shots in the family or even talk about such things. She defers to Dad. When I awoke the next morning, I could feel the worry about Dad's suspicions weighing me down like lead."

Silence ensued as we were completing our meal. Troy really hadn't touched much of his. I knew he was upset. "You can say something now, Evan," he commented, smiling wanly.

"Okay, but you'd better eat. We're going to get you started in the right direction, but if you don't eat now, you'll be ravenous later." I arose and warmed up his soup and poured him more OJ. Then I sat down.

"Before I say anything, tell me about the end of last night's ballgame."

"Oh. . . . Uh - I'm really ashamed about that. I hurt two of the most important people to me - Susan and my brother, Cody. You see, my dad was at the ball game. He always watches me closely. So anything I might have done toward any of you would have fanned his suspicions. After ballgames, he used to come home and tell me everything I'd done wrong. When I was a sophomore and had become a starter on the varsity team in the last half of the season and had been doing well, he really got to be pushy about telling me how I'd played wrong and what I should have done. I felt as though I played for him, not for me or the coach or the school."

"One night he called me an uncomplimentary name." Troy looked away, then back at me. "He said I played like a fag. You know how I felt about gays back then. I set him back on his heels when I told him to back off. I had a coach, and I was playing well. I appreciated his advice, which he could continue to offer, but he wasn't giving me orders. I was going to have only one coach and his name was Hernandez. Then I stormed out and wouldn't really talk to him for a couple of nights. I know my mom stepped in finally and bawled him out because Drew, one of my brothers, told me he heard her tying into Dad. My dad wasn't used to Mom coming down on him, so he listened and then left me alone."

"This time, for an entire day after he implied that something was going on between Cody and me, I tried to foresee what I'd do if Dad accused me of being - I don't know - gay or bi, I guess. He'd probably say gay. He thinks bisexuals are just 'dishonest queers.' I didn't have any answers, but I knew I didn't want that to happen. When he asked about Cody and me, it felt just like that time he told me my style of play was like a faggot's, and he had that same tone of voice this time too. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was afraid, Evan. So I hunkered down, closed myself in - even with Susan because I didn't want her to see my fear. When I realized that there was no reason to be that way with Susan, I was really afraid. It told me I wasn't in control. I'm used to being in control of myself. You can't be a good jock if you aren't in control of yourself. Same with being a leader."

He took a bite or two of bread, chewed, and swallowed. "Because of that conversation with Dad, if I had brought Cody in after the winning basket the way I was obligated to, I know what Dad would have thought. So I shut out everything - even Susan." He ate some soup before continuing. "What a mess! I know I can't take any of the hurt I caused back. I even know the memory of it will always be there just as the memory of the hurt I caused you is still within you. I can't change that. But I can't leave things the way they are. Something's different with me. You caused it, Evan. Help me."

"I caused it?" I asked a little incredulously.

He had a long drink from his glass of orange juice. "You showed me how to open up, trust others, trust myself, be a leader, listen to rather than just hear others, care for others, help and even protect them. What I've done is so contrary to all that."

I sat looking at my empty soup bowl, figuring out where to start. "Okay. Let's start with the right question. Setting aside for the moment the conversation your dad initiated, where did YOU start to go wrong?"

"I blew you off at the ball game."

"Was that the major mistake?"

"I closed Cody out of the recognition he deserved and didn't share an important moment with Susan that would have continued to verify how central she is in my life."

I shook my head in agreement. "A real man, a man who has guts and backbone, who has a healthy self-image, goes back where he went wrong and makes it as right as he can."

"The game's over. I can't go back to that winning basket."

"Where's the next best place you can go where you have essentially the same people in the same setting?"

He chuckled. "Won't you tell me?"

"I don't need to, Troy. You're sharp, a genuine leader."

I stopped talking and waited, watching him.

"At the end of a practice or a spirit rally."

"With one of those you don't really have quite the same crowd, and it's more safe territory for you. Stick your neck out."

"A spirit rally," he replied, sighing.

"What could you do there to make it right?" He looked at me, but I knew he was playing the possibilities out.

A smile spread across his face. "Okay, I've got it. I know what to do."

"Good. And I can see that you are comfortable enough with it that you won't cave. Now let's talk about the other issue area. What will happen if you try to maintain your relationship with Cody but still keep your father happy?"

I saw him immediately tighten up, setting his mouth, the muscles in his cheeks flexing. "I guess you want me to say that I can't do it."

"Troy, drop the defenses with me if you really want to reach the proper answer. Don't second-guess. Be courageous."

I saw his eyes sparkling with the beginning of tears. This was the issue he most feared. He would hurt people most important to him if he decided to duck it. I smiled reassurance. He shook his head as though saying "no," but I knew he was fighting an interior battle. He had to fight that battle and work through it if he was going to get where he wanted to be.

"You're right."

"No, you're right. Tell me what your heart says."

"I'll hurt Cody and maybe even Susan again if I try to return where circumstances stood before my dad tackled me about Cody."

"You are so sharp! Now, let's see if we can use that acuity to reach a workable solution. Without second-guessing me, tell me what alternatives there are to just fumbling along as you have."

He was staring at me, but I knew he was thinking hard. "Drop Cody. . . Get Cody to agree to our being with each other less. . . .Tell my dad the way things stand with Cody and me. . . . Keep being with Cody until the next time my dad raises the issue and then tell him my thinking. . . . Set my heels the way I did when Dad called me a fag and tell him the way things will be with Cody and me and then tell him to butt out."

"Which of those will, in your estimation, cause the most hurt?"

"Dropping Cody."

"You didn't include your Dad there. Why?"

"I'm not going to be around Dad much to speak of after I go to college, but I intend for Cody always to be close to me."

"Why is it important for Cody always to be close to you?"

He answered with a slightly wounded tone: "We may not have the same parents, Evan, but he's my brother. Really. In our minds and hearts, that's what we are to each other."

"Good. What is the worst thing your Dad could do to you if he decided not to accept you and Cody on some level?"

"Make me a Jeremy by kicking me out. . . . He could stop talking to me. . . . Call me names all the time. . . . Be ashamed of me. . . . Stop loving me."

"Which of those could you not abide?"

I was surprised at his answer. "Calling me names all the time."

"Now that we've established some boundaries within which a solution must fall, what are the possibilities for dealing with your father without giving up Cody?"

He grinned. "Will you and Jeremy take me in if Dad kicks me out?"

"You know we will, but your brother Cody may have something to say about that too."

He thought hard. "Cody's parents may not want me to stay there because it would make my dad unhappy. They're not friends, but they know each other." He thought a moment. "I know you wouldn't let my dad's feelings bother you. If my dad got in your face about it, you'd set him straight by drawing a line and letting him know that he'd crossed it. Then you'd get him back behind the line and see to it that he stayed there."

"Okay. So what can you do now about Cody?"

He thought for a long while. "Set things right at the next spirit rally. Go on with Cody as I always have and as we want. The next time my dad says anything about us, tell him the way things are going to be with Cody and me exactly as I set him straight before - respectfully but forcefully. I'll think about what I'm going to say between now and then - if it ever happens. Do you think I have to tell him everything?"

"You should tell him what Susan, Cody and you are comfortable with as a topic of discussion."

"I'm not opposing what you said, but why ask Susan and Cody?"

"Because whatever you say may have ramifications for them too."

"But if I'm a leader, don't I have to tell Dad everything?"

"No. Being a good leader does not oblige you to disclose everything you know. Besides, if someone isn't going to hear what you are saying, what good does it do to say it? I realize that sometimes it needs to be said anyway. If it were to play that way with your father, I think that point is on down the road from where you are now. Sounds like you have a plan. But remember your three resources."

"Susan and Cody?"

"Yes. Who's the other?"

He thought so long I thought I would have to tell him. But I saw the light go on in his eyes and his eyebrows rise. "Mom," he said with amazement.

"Yes. It seems as though your mother has been taken for granted or ignored for a long time in your family. But she's not averse to stepping in to set matters straight if they've gone out of kilter. Obviously, she is not afraid of your father."

"I always thought she was. I realize now that it made me think a little less of her because she was just a doormat with him. It's kind of strange: two of my three resources are women," he mused.

"So?"

"That's not common in my family."

"Well, that's the way it is sometimes in a man's world when men have lost the ability to work it out." We both laughed at the irony of it. "Besides, they are two women who love you." He shook his head mutely.

"By the way, I think there is someone with whom you may want to speak as soon as possible. And then I think there's a fella who's hurting who needs to hear from you soon after that."

I saw the love move into his eyes. "May I use your phone?"

There's an extension in the sunroom, my bedroom, Jeremy's bedroom, the study, and the family room. Take your pick."

Since the kitchen was fairly open to the family room, he walked to the extension, dialed a number, and waited. "Hi Babe. Please don't hang up. I need to apologize." He waited. "I'm over here at Evan's. We just had soup and a salad and a l-o-n-g talk. Now I want to see you, to have a talk with you too. How can we work that out?" He was silent for a moment. "I'll meet you there in 15 minutes. I need to talk to Cody too, but I can call him from there." Then he said his good-bye, whispered into the phone.

"Evan, I hate to eat and run, but I know you'll understand."

"Of course."

He retrieved his coat from my bed, and I walked with him to the door. He grabbed me, pulling me against him, placing a big hand on my ass, pulling me up a little and pushing my crotch against his, where I felt an erection. "Evan, we are going to have a talk about Jeremy, Kenny, Cody and me. I'm not dodging that." He kissed me deeply. I was wondering if I was going to black out for lack of oxygen when he finally broke the kiss, but it was setting off fires all over my body. "Don't you ever drop me or give up on me, Evan. You're my anchor. You know I love you, right?" A little dazed, I shook my head in the affirmative.

I watched through the round glass circle in my front door as Troy shot out the driveway and down the street. I frowned, hoping he would drive safely to meet Susan. Something in the back of my mind was nagging me. "Now what?" I heard myself whispering. Then I remembered: among all the retaliations that Troy enumerated about what his father could direct against Troy and Cody, what Troy had said he feared most was not losing his father's love. It was his father's calling him names. Didn't add up. So that had to mean that his father's calling him names had nothing to do with his father's loving or not loving him.

I heard his answer to one of my questions echo in my mind - "I'm not going to be around Dad much to speak of after I go to college . . . ." Hm-m-m-m-m. Did that mean he was going to minimize the time he spent visiting his father? That would also be time minimized with his mother. What about that? So why did he fear being called names so much more than near estrangement from his parents? I continued mulling the issue. Well, not every issue has to be resolved in a day. This may be one of those resolutions that would await Troy's adult years.

Before classes the next morning I made a quick run to Miles's office to sign the codicil to my will, making Jeremy my beneficiary. After I signed the documents and Rosamund and a legal aid witnessed the signature and a secretary notarized the document, Miles and I were left alone while copies were being made for me. Miles surprised me: "Evan, do you think it's unethical of me to be involved with Jim romantically and sexually when he's my client?"

"No. He became your client before the other happened. And you guys were so ready for each other that nothing could have stopped your relationship from developing. I know you - no matter what you feel for Jim, it won't cloud your professional judgment." I chuckled. "And given your powerful feelings for him, I can't imagine that you will act contrary to his best interest. In fact, I know you'll work hard to help him keep his farm."

He thought for a few moments. "Thank you, Evan. You've given me some peace of mind. I'd never do anything to hurt Jim. And I know that ethical canons of conduct are rules of thumb meant to ensure that all parties are protected from potential difficulties. But you are right - nothing could keep us apart. It was amazing. We could feel ourselves immediately moving toward each other." He grinned. "We both had hard- ons during that first interview. Jim couldn't hide his, and when I saw his embarrassment, I found a reason to stand up so that he could see my similar predicament. Made him feel better."

"Did he realize that you were similarly affected?"

"Oh yeah. He just grinned. It was the sweetest grin, Evan. Innocent but hot. If he'd had a lasso, he'd have roped and hogtied me. And I loved being on the farm with him." He blushed. "We had a 69 in the hayloft."

I laughed with delight. "I'm so happy for you, Miles."

"Wow! I haven't had sex like that in a long time. Yet it wasn't just sex. It was so obvious that we were falling in love. I never thought it could happen so quickly." He paused, looking shy. "I love him, Evan. It's as though I've been waiting for him all my life. I want a relationship with him."

"You both have deserved to have someone meaningful in your lives. Of course, I wasn't certain that you were really into men."

He grinned. "You mean you weren't picking up on my signals."

"Miles, your signals have to be strong enough to be detected by gaydar."

He continued smiling. "You know what I'd like to do? This will surprise you. I would like to work with Jim on his farm. Do some really gritty work. But do it along side Jim. Get sweaty and dirty with him."

"You mean give up your career in law?"

"No. Just work with him in my spare time, on weekends, evenings, you know. I don't know why, but I really want that. Working here at this desk is worthwhile, but it doesn't hold the allure for me that helping Jim would. I also want to be in a position with Jim where I'm learning from him."

I smiled. Miles was doing a bit of relationship management already. He would be more skilled at that for a while than Jim. Yet it was important to him that Jim see himself as Miles's equal. He'd help Jim out legally, but Jim would help him out by teaching him to do something on the farm. Perhaps such an occasion would be a prelude to a discussion about Miles moving to the farm to be with Jim. "You DO love him. This is great, Miles. Makes my day." He laughed self- consciously.

That evening, Jeremy was working, so I had a light dinner. As I finished cleaning up the kitchen, I was summoned to the phone. I knew the voice. "Hey, stud. What's up?" I asked.

"Some friend of Tim's here in town, a Randall York, called and wants me to meet him at Town and Country Bar. Apparently, Tim told him to look me up. Would you go with me?" Ron asked.

Why did my defense shields go up the moment I heard that Tim had engineered this meeting? Was Tim merely trying to be friendly? Or was he playing games? "When did Tim suggest to this fellow that he should call you?"

Ron was quiet a moment. "Let's see - Randall was in the capital this week. He saw Tim there."

"Does Tim know that you and I are more than casual acquaintances?"

"Yeah. I was talking to him just a week ago about settling in. I told him that he was right - you turn me on."

"Uhmm-huh. Tim's up to tricks."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"I don't know, but something's afoot."

"Come with me. Protect my virtue."

"With that monster cock and killer ass, you have no virtue!"

"All the more reason for you to go with me. Please?"

He wasn't begging, but I could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Okay. I know where the bar is located. I was there once with friends. Clubby kind of place among the wanna-be fast set. I can see Tim liking it."

"I'll be by in half an hour. I'm wearing school clothes, nothing fancy. So don't go to any trouble," Ron advised.

I had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt when I arrived home from school, so I donned trousers and a pullover and a jacket. Again, I shot out the door and into Ron's car just as it stopped rolling up the driveway. The trip to the bar was short and quiet. I wondered why. I guess we both were deep in thought - mine focused on what kind of chicanery Tim might be up to. Ron's focus? Anyone's guess.

When we entered the bar and approached the hostess, she glanced at us, smiling and asking if one of us was Ron Hamilton. Ron nodded, raising his hand a bit. She escorted us to a forty-something daddy sitting at a table. Shiny black hair slicked back, beautiful blue eyes, black brows on the thinner side, long black lashes, patrician nose, sculpted lips, long slim fingers. He stood, holding out his hand to Ron and introducing himself. Wonder why he didn't think I might be Ron?

Ron introduced me. I greeted Randall, holding out my hand, but he didn't take it. Rather, he just stared down on me. He must have been 6' 3" with a body tapering from broad shoulders. 'Oh, I thought. Games.' Just as he reached for my hand, I casually withdrew mine, leaving his hanging out there. Two could play that game. I stared haughtily back at him, and then turned away as I seated myself in one of the chairs at the table, leaving him and Tim standing. Randall's face colored with emotion. Tough! Ron was studying me, his eyebrows arched slightly, his mannerism whenever I did something that surprised him.

"Not going to shake my hand?" Randall asked, sitting in a chair. "It's the polite thing to do, you know," he challenged.

'Is this some "big guy intimidates the little guy" schtick?' I wondered. I knew how to deal with it even though it left me feeling bad later. "Then you need to heed your own advice. I held my hand out, yet you were foolish enough not to seize the opportunity to shake it. Opportunities not seized are frequently opportunities lost," I pompously observed. I didn't offer him my hand again. Ron's widened eyes told me he couldn't believe I'd said that. I couldn't imagine why he'd think I wouldn't after being challenged in that manner. A waitress came for our drink orders.

Ron and Randall started inquiring how the other came to meet Tim. As they were swapping news about how Tim was doing in his new position, our drinks arrived. While we worked our way through those, Ron answered Randall's questions about what he was teaching, how he liked the city, and that sort of small talk. Randall made no attempt to bring me into the conversation, which was fine by me. I didn't need to discuss Tim or any of my experiences with him. Besides, on this evening I was just an add-on. Randall clearly had been expecting only Ron. Ron looked my way occasionally. I'd wag my eyebrows at him in response.

When we were ready for another round of drinks, Randall turned to me. "Slave, get your master and me a drink."

'Oh. Ready for a second fall, huh?' I thought. I raised my eyebrows slowly, expressing disdain. Ron blinked rapidly, realizing that Randall had lighted a fuse. "The man is not breathing to whom I would be a slave. If you want a drink, I'd suggest you get up and go get one."

He looked at Ron. Randall might have colored a little upon hearing my response. "Haven't broken him completely yet, huh?"

"No, I haven't completed the job yet," Ron answered archly.

I cocked an eyebrow in Ron's manner, turning my head obliquely, pitching a wordless, sassy attitude his way. Ron winked at me. 'Ah. A scam! I'm up for that.'

Randall was tipping to the fact that Ron and I were communicating but without words. I wondered if he realized what that said about how close the two of us had drawn. I rather doubted it. Randall seemed a victim of arrested perception. Whatever his model for determining what was real, he would think it the only proper model.

Ron continued, "But what training of him I accomplished so far has been easy."

I smiled at Ron drolly. "I've been indulging you. Now I'll have to take the gloves off. Show you what's real."

Randall snickered.

"What's so funny?" I challenged.

"A little guy like you bluffing like that," he answered.

"Oh yeah. You should see those hot, hairy, muscular melons quiver when I lay my lash over them," I said as I nodded in Ron's direction.

That stopped the snickering. He shot a glance at Ron, whose face was inscrutable. I had spoken with just enough sass and verve that he didn't know whether to believe me or not. Randall was developing quite a trouser snake. It was one of his assets that he made certain was open to the view of all, especially since he wasn't wearing underwear, it appeared. The skin between his lip and nose was glazed with a light sheen of perspiration. Randall was turning on!

"Tonight I'm going to screw your little hairy ass," Ron boasted.

"If I give my permission. You know what I've stipulated about our sex play. Tonight, I may decide that I need a piece of ass. You'll give it up if I do."

Ron cast his eyes down demurely, submissively. It was all I could do to keep from cracking up. Here was this handsome, butch hunk playing the virginal maiden. I glanced at Randall. His eyes had never left us. Okay. Let's ratchet the play up a bit. "I've dreamed up some new delights and torments. I'll have you moaning within ten minutes the way I have in the past.

"Not this time."

"Let's see - the last time you were unwise enough to challenge me, I bound you to the play frame in our dungeon and alternately caressed, licked, and nibbled on your nipple, then your ass, your balls, your pucker, and finally your cock."

I turned to Randall: "I laid my lash across his ass until he spontaneously shot his load. Then, while the cap of his dick was still sensitive, I kept slowly licking and sucking it while he writhed, moaning and whimpering, begging me to desist. Of course, I didn't." I turned back to Ron: "I kept at it until he was randy again."

Oh! I was being bad. Playing on Randall's name like that. Again, he colored. Damned if I didn't notice a little shine of perspiration above Ron's lips. He was turning on too?

"You promised never to tell anyone that!" he hissed.

"Tonight," I continued, "after you're bound, I'll eat your ass out - the way you beg me to do. I'll give your ass cheeks a tongue bath. Then I'll proceed into your hairy trench, using just my tongue to move the black hair filling your crack. When you are dripping precum, begging me to lick your hole, I'll step back and lash your ass. After about ten lashes, I'll make love to your noble cock. But here I'll make you find a way to express the pleasure you're feeling."

"Oh Daddy," Ron exclaimed in another character turn, "you're making me wet." We were being so campy I didn't see why Randall didn't catch on. But then I realized that he didn't recognize what was really going on because he needed to believe we were into B/D.

"Good. I could use a precum chaser after these cocktails. But then I'll have to repeat all of it again to harvest some more precum for lubing my cock before it plunges into your monster ass." Throughout our dialogue, Randall had been scooting down in his seat and then sitting up again. I imagined his stiff cock was so cramped that it was hurting.

Ron leaned across the table, looking amorously into my eyes. "Oh, Daddy, do me," he crooned. We couldn't hold it in any more. We both started chortling.

Randall's eyebrows shot up, looking back and forth between us. "You guys set me up!" he exclaimed.

"No," Ron said, "Tim set us up."

He thought a bit, and then his head slowly began nodding in the affirmative. "Why, Randall, did you think Ron was a master and I a slave?" I queried.

Randall turned to me. "I thought you were a slave because you're small. Ron seemed a master because he's big. I guess I've always thought little guys want to be dominated by big guys. Tim hinted around that Ron liked to keep a little slave under cover. So when you showed up unexpectedly, Evan, I just assumed the proof of Tim's words was right before my eyes. You were Ron's slave. I apologize if I offended you."

"Apology accepted."

"I guess I never met anyone who thought a master/slave relationship was wrong."

"I didn't say it was wrong, Randall. If both people move into these roles of their own volition for their mutual fulfillment, that's one thing. But to assume up front that someone is a slave or submissive and then start treating him or her that way is intolerable. And even if such a guy is small, he can still put a dent in your fender, you know. When balls have been kicked, they don't discriminate over the size of the kicker. They just produce agony. Besides, you behave so imperiously to guys newly met that you invite a comeuppance."

Ron snorted in glee.

Randall tried to mask a little chuckle. "You were right to call me on it. Sometimes I'm so much into a macho mindset that I've run roughshod over a couple of guys. I guess I do it because I've always been the head male most of the time."

"As for calling you on it, it's called the Brass Rule: if you piss me off, I'll behave toward you as you behave toward me until you get sick of it and change your behavior to something better. As for being head male, I imagine Ron has enjoyed a comparable stance, but he doesn't need to lord it over people from the outset to feel good about himself. You might try presenting yourself up front as the guy who's talking to us now, the guy we've discovered once we've stripped away all the posturing like an ape. I can like THIS Randall." He responded with a big smile.

"So where's your slave?" I asked.

The smile fled. He swallowed hard. His eyes began glittering. "He left," Randall answered, his voice a mere croak as though someone's hand were closed around his throat. He took a quick sip of his drink. Darn! He was hurting over it.

"Did you acquaint Tim with this information?" I asked gently. He shook his head in the affirmative. "I'm just guessing, but Tim suggested that Ron might be up to sharing his slave?" Randall's eyes lowered but slid over to Ron, to whom my question was an obvious surprise. Again, Randall nodded in the affirmative.

"So who was Tim trying to get, Evan, you or me?" Ron wondered.

"I don't know. Strangely, I don't think it makes any difference whether it was you or I. Tim's getting bored. You'd think that he wouldn't have time for such shenanigans while he's involved in trying to establish himself in a new job. He surely does care a good deal about that. I remember his excitement in talking about it when it was only a job possibility. It's other areas of his life that aren't meeting his expectations." I thought for a few seconds. "It makes me worried for Alan."

"You think Tim's about to do his usual hit and run on Alan?" Ron asked. Randall sat listening to the two of us, his eyes growing a little wider. He must have had a more casual acquaintance with Tim than either Ron or I.

"It wouldn't surprise me. But when Alan came to see me, he pretty much acknowledged that he knew that Tim and he would not be a long- term couple."

The evening was wearing on, and since Ron and I had school the next day, we soon took our leave. "Uh . . . you guys really have sex like what you described, Evan?" I gestured at Ron for the answer. I didn't know how he wanted to present himself in relation to the question.

"Oh, yeah. We trade off, Randall. It's brought us closer because we understand each other better. Maybe you'd like to try it sometime."

"If you ever need a third, I'm available," Randall said eagerly. Again I allowed Tim to answer.

"We're just getting to know each other now, but maybe in the future we'll contact you. Do you have a card?"

Randall eagerly pulled a business card from his wallet and started to hand it to Ron. Then he hesitated a few seconds, pulling his hand back in slow increments as he was thinking through something. He turned slowly to me, smiled, and handed it to me. The man was learning! That earned him a hug, which surprised him. Ron followed suit, hugging him.

"You know, Randall," I commented, "a small dose of macho butch master goes a long way. In a dominant/submissive relationship, the dom can't always be taking and the sub always be giving. We humans aren't constituted to endure that parasitism long term. In fiction, yes. In life, no. Whenever a dom takes, he needs to see that he gives something restorative to the one from whom he's taking. It's a universal law. And the more he's powering down on the submissive, the faster and more he has to restore what he's taking. Think of it as energy transfer. Pardon me for putting it so bluntly, but anyone who misses that inescapable fact is just plain dumb - not a master of human nature and the human condition."

"There are many venues in which the giving can be accomplished that are appropriate for a particular relationship, even a master/slave duo. If there isn't any restorative exchange, the relationship withers into a dried husk that even a lake couldn't restore. And you can count on this: life is just imperfect enough that when it pitches a challenge in the way of the submissive - and it will, the sub will need extra energy to meet that challenge. He won't think he can get it from his master. Or if he signals his need, the master may be insensitive enough to miss the message. You know the old aphorism: absolute power corrupts absolutely. It's a skull and crossbones warning, but most doms are too slow to realize that. The sub is gone before anyone can blink."

"I'm not arrogant enough to suggest that this occurred in your relationship. I hope it didn't. I just hope your next relationship is successful for both you and your slave."

"I think I'm out of the slave business for a while. A master, you know, can invest a lot of his energy in managing a slave. Maybe I was too focused on that. But I know that a dom/sub relationship fulfills me most. I just have to learn to make it work better for the sub." We left Randall with a bright light in his eyes.

Again, the silent ride home was companionable. When the car pulled to a stop in my driveway, I turned to Ron. "Want to come in?"

"Yes," he said quietly. We both alighted from the car and walked to the front door with an arm around the other's waist. In what was becoming a pattern, Ron moved up to me the second I was closing and locking the front door. He said nothing. Just stood there looking down upon me. Then he knelt in front of me, throwing his big arms around my waist, placing the side of his face against my stomach. "Make us honest." I told Randall we changed off when we make love. "I'm ready, Evan." He looked up at me. "I want it. I want you to fuck me. Make love to me. I want to feel all your strength focused on me. I need it. I want to be the center of your attention."

He was the Lion, I the Cub, but he needed to feel me dominating him. Being a Cub, I knew he needed to feel protected, cared for, honored. People might not understand that about Lions. Eeven when it comes from the center of one's being, it takes energy to be butch, macho, alpha male.

I laughed softly. "What?" he asked.

"What did butch little Daddies do among the cavemen when they wanted to screw a huge, hunky caveman? Konk him over the head and roll him into his cave? Cause there's no way I can carry you to my cave or even drag you by your hair."

He joined me in my laughter. "Work with it, stud," was his only reply.

I walked around behind him, pulling off his jacket, then kneeling down and pulling the tail of his shirt out of his trousers, gripping the sleeves of his pullover and raising them, pulling the shirt over his head. He dropped his arms. I knelt behind him, running my fingertips over his shoulders, down the muscles of his arms. As I started up the inside of his arms, I began licking up his neck, up behind his ears, then I ran my fingers down his spine and back up the muscles in his back, licking across his shoulders, pausing to take little nips when I passed over a muscle bundle. Next, I ran my fingertips down the sides of his ribs, where I felt a little quaking, telling me he was ticklish. Secret knowledge for future use! But I wasn't after that kind of tickling tonight. I reached around and tweaked his nipples, then ran my fingers gently through the hair on his chest. "Magnificent Lion," I whispered, "who takes his Cub into a jungle thicket because he wants to get made. The King of the Jungle wants to make himself vulnerable, wants to receive his cub's energy. Wise Lion, who knows that he must be submissive to receive the greatest energy flow. Beautiful beast who's secure enough in his self- image to become submissive in order to receive that love."

I arose. "Stand up," I barked in a butch voice. He put his hands flat on the floor in front of him to steady himself as he stood up. I reached around from behind him and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, letting them fall down his muscular, hairy legs. I pulled his white jockeys down. "Spread your legs."

I knelt behind him, running my fingertips gently up and down those hairy legs, pausing to focus on the back of his calves and up his thighs while I started licking his ass cheeks. He gasped in a breath at this point. I raised a foot and slid his loafer off, then the other. I pushed his socks down and off.

I arose, running my hands over his ass cheeks, then up through his trench, feeling the black hair filling that area. Then I walked around front, looking up at him. I arose on the tips of my toes to lick his lips lightly, not kissing, just licking, then sliding my tongue between them and running it back and forth. Finally, I gave him the softest kiss, drawing it out only a little.

I stepped back away from him, pulling off my jacket slowly, dropping it to the floor. I walked forward, licking the tips of his nipples with just the tip of my tongue. He groaned in pleasure and frustration. I stepped back, pulling off my shoes and socks. I moved forward, stooping to lick around his belly button, then dipping my tongue into the hair-filled interior while I lightly ran my fingertips around his balls. I earned a soft hum from him. I stood back, slowly unbuckling my belt and slacks, allowing them to drop down my legs. Then I slid my briefs down, allowing my seven inches to swing up hard. I pulled a couple of times on my cock, then pulled my balls down. I strolled around behind him, kneeling and nudging up into his perineum. His musk and light sweat turned me on big time. I began licking across his perineum, moving just back to but not touching his pucker. I reached around, using feather-light strokes up and down his cock. This maneuver earned me a little whimper.

Suddenly he knelt, dropped on his hands and knees, then rolled over onto his back. He looked entreatingly at me, grasping his legs under his knees and pulling them up to his chest. "Please . . . please, lover . . . please. I need you. I need your big dick now."

I smiled. I dropped to my knees between his legs, then started running my finger lightly around his hole. It was a beautiful brown, darker than the surrounding skin. His ass lips were trembling. I leaned down and licked across them. Then I licked from the outside to the center, reaching up and tickling first his balls, then his cock. When his ass lips were wet and amidst his entreaties to enter him, I arose and walked to the bedroom for the lube and some towels. When I returned, I lubed my cock and then his hole, making certain that I pushed plenty of it inside his chute. I didn't think anyone had been in there in a while, so I thought I needed to take a little time.

Finally, I pushed my cock head against his hole, hearing little breaths being expelled from his mouth. "Tell me - how much do you want it?"

"Evan, I've wanted it ever since I asked Tim if you'd fuck me. He was having fun teasing me, I know, but I didn't care because he was describing what it would be like to feel your little body doing me, plunging into me, your fierce spirit dominating me. Tonight, when Randall was giving you a bad time and you were in his face like a feisty terrier, I started leaking. I knew then I wanted that power exerted against me. I wanted your cock plunging into me. Please, Evan. Now, please."

I smiled evilly, slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the head of my cock into him. When it breached his muscle ring, he expelled a long breath that he'd been holding. His chute was hot, tight, and smooth against my dick. I slowly pushed into him. The feeling of his ass walls against my cock was indescribable, making me close my eyes as the sensations washed over me. He began whispering, "Yes, oh yes. Please yes. Oh."

Finally, opening my eyes, I leaned forward, placing my left hand just in front his armpit while I used the finger tips of my right hand to tweak his nipple. He closed his eyes and arched his back, breathing deeply. This was quite a stretch for me. When my left arm began protesting the prolonged strain on it, I moved back and began a tickling assault on his cock and balls, whispering, "My magnificent Lion. You are such a turn-on. You have me so hot inside that I may melt down."

Suddenly, his ass muscles gripped me so tightly that they arrested my movement. Oh man! Did he have strong ass muscles! "Damn!" I exclaimed. I heard a soft giggle from him. But I wouldn't give up. I leaned forward, placing my hands flat on his pecs and began pushing and pulling until I was moving in and out of his ass even though he hadn't relaxed his muscles. I used my hand movements to massage his pecs.

At this point, sweat was dripping off me onto him, where it joined his own sweat. He relaxed his muscles, so I leaned back and started loving his cock with my hands, jacking it. I was hitting his prostate often enough that he was moaning. The hair around his hole and in his crack was tickling my balls, and friction from muscles in his ass lips felt wonderful right where my ball bag joined my cock.

I started plunging into him, and he pushed his ass back on me. He reached up and tweaked, pulled and twisted my nipples. For reasons unknown to me, whatever is done to my nipples runs immediately to my cock, ramping up whatever pleasure I'm feeling. I was emitting soft grunts and moans now as I slammed into him. "More, Cub. More. Give it to me!" he begged as his eyes locked with mine. Suddenly I was paralyzed. His eyes rolled back in his head. We both called out our passion. Mine shot into his ass. His fired up to his chin. We both were whimpering and moaning in the throes of our joint orgasm. I finally dropped down on him while his big muscular legs clasped around my ass and his big hands massaged my back. I finally crawled up on him to exchange a passionate kiss.

(To be continued.)

Almost a year ago, Tom Borden (Nifty, Incest: "My Father, My Son") began encouraging me to write a story for the archive - all on the basis of e-mails we'd been exchanging. I thought him mad - in the nicest sort of way. Being every bit a gentleman, he politely kept after me, nudging, coaxing, coaching, supporting (he's skilled at that). Hence, the posting of the first chapter of this series on March 19, 2001. Thank you, Tom, for having that insight and faith and for keeping after me. It's been a good ride. I'm in your debt.

I'm also indebted to all the readers who have e-mailed me. With each of the last three chapters, I haven't been able to send out notices of their posting at Nifty, for I have had to hit the road just after sending a chapter off. In just a bit I have to head out for more on-the-job travel. But I still hope to hear from you. I shall respond.

Evan