The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or live in an area where that sort of thing isn't allowed, don't read it.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks, as always, to Tommy, Patrick, Evan, Ash, and Mickey.
Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 21: Summer's End
TIM:
I run every morning I'm able. I mean, if there's a foot of snow on the ground, of course I won't. And those mornings I was at the Jonses in Shaker I didn't either. But here at home I do. I just feel better, for one thing, after I've had a good run.
In August we were having a spell of pretty hot weather. It was in the upper 80's and humid just about every day. Even at 7:00 when I started out, it would be nearly 80. I wore a sweat band on my head, but by the end of the first mile, I'd have soaked through my clothes. Periodically I took off the sweat band and wrung it out and put it back on my head, just to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Of course, I did that as I ran, never breaking stride.
One morning as I was running through the arboretum on my way back home, I heard someone running behind me. He or she had come from a side path onto the main path and was keeping a steady pace, not gaining on me or dropping back.
"I know that butt. That's Tim Mead's butt. I've followed it across enough finish lines!"
Without looking back, I said, "I know that voice. I've heard it bitching about everything in the world. How are you Max?"
I wanted to stop and hug him, but we both knew we couldn't do that. I did slow down, however, so that he would overtake me. When he caught up, he put his arm around my shoulder. I put mine around his waist, and we ran along together for a few steps. Letting go of each other because it was awkward to run that way, we gradually slowed to a jog, and thence to a stop.
"Timmy, it's great to see you, guy," he said as we finally hugged.
"Max, I can't believe it. I am really glad to see you, but what in hell are you doing here?"
I should explain that Max Hewitt was a classmate of mine at Kenyon. He was related to one of the pioneers in the rubber and tire industry in Akron. He had been a physics major, as I recalled, so we never had any classes together. But we ran together for four years and got together often just to yak, frequently over a beer, during those long, cold winters and springs in Gambier when there really wasn't much else to do.
Max had gotten me to question everything. He had a deep if charming skepticism, an ingrained distrust of all institutions. I didn't know it at the time, but that was a trait he shared with my writer/obsession, John dos Passos. We spent many an evening, either in one of our rooms or in our favorite pub, talking about God, life, time, the universe, and, of course, our friends.
The last I heard he was working on a master's at Ohio State, but we had lost touch, as, despite the best intentions, one does. At Kenyon, Max had been built a lot like me. The same height, we shared skinny bodies with legs made strong by our running. But Max had filled out in the intervening five years in a way I hadn't. His legs, which I could see because of his skimpy running shorts, were as muscular as ever, but his thighs and calves seemed thicker. His torso had also filled out, perhaps just as a result of genetics, perhaps because he had been working on his upper body. At any rate, he looked damned good.
"I'm the new assistant to Father John, the rector at St. Peter's Church here in town."
"An administrative assistant?"
"Well, sort of. I'm the curate at St. Peter's. My special duties involve St. Peter's ministry on campus."
"You're a PRIEST?"
He smiled. "Yeah. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
We flopped down on a nearby bench. I put my hand on the back of his head.
"Max, I just can't believe you're HERE, much less that you're a priest."
"Well, get used to it. I'm here for a while, and I hear you are making a name for yourself on campus."
"What kind of name?"
"I met a university student the other day who told me that he and his friends thought you were a great guy, Tim. But he also said somebody called you `The Iceman'?"
I laughed. "Oh, that. Yeah, I got off to a bad start. You see, I still look so damned young, I've been pretty formal with my students in class. It was the wrong approach, as I've learned, and I've tried to change. But once you get that sort of reputation -- or that sort of nickname -- it's hard to get rid of it."
"`The Iceman' sure doesn't fit the Tim Mead I know. But Mark said you were somebody really special."
"Mark Mason?"
"Yeah. He's a regular, I take it, at St. Peter's."
"I guess I knew he and his dad were Episcopalians, but I never really made the connection."
"Listen, Tim. I've got to get back. Father John is in Cleveland this morning at the diocesan office on some sort of business, and I'm covering for him. But we've got to get together and catch up."
"Oh, yeah, Max, let's do that. Would you be free this evening?"
"Sure am."
"Come to my house for a drink and dinner, OK?"
"If that's not too much trouble, Tim, I'd love it. Can I bring anything?"
"Not this time. Just be there."
"OK. But where do you live?"
When I told him my address on Trumbull, he grinned. "I live in those townhouses, too," he said. "That's about three doors down the street from me."
I refused to say anything about it's being a small world. "Then even with your trouble getting places on time, you should be able to be there by 6:00, right?" I said, smiling back at him.
"Tim, I'm so glad I ran into you."
"You didn't run into me. You can't catch me, remember?"
"I'll get you for that one of these days. Meanwhile, `Icy,' I'll look forward to seeing you at 6:00."
"Hey! I just figured it out. It wasn't my butt you recognized at all, was it?"
"No. Actually, it was the combination of the butt and that hair. But I admit I knew you were at the university, so I wasn't surprised to see you up ahead of me. Seemed like old times."
We got up and ran along together until I got to my house. I waved at him as I turned and ran up the walk. He waved back and said, "This evening, Tim."
I showered, dressed, and spent the morning at the computer. I was almost finished with the task of adapting my doctoral dissertation on dos Passos into a book. A couple of university presses were interested already, and that was good. I didn't flatter myself that any of the big commercial publishers would be interested.
After lunch I called Mark.
"Hello."
"Mark, this is Tim. I didn't know you were back from Germany."
"Hey, Tim. Good to talk to you. If you didn't know I was back, why are you calling me?"
"Because, smartass, I ran into someone, almost literally, who said you had been telling him about me."
"Uhm, who was that?"
"My old friend, Max Hewitt."
"Oh, yeah, Father Hewitt and I did talk about you the other day. He said he knew you at Kenyon."
"What else did he say about me?"
Mark chuckled. "Well, he said you always beat him at cross-country meets, but that he thought he had taught you a few things, too. And that you two had shared many a beer and late-night talk-session together. He seemed to like you a lot, Tim. I think he was really happy to find out you were here."
"You have no idea, Mark, what a pleasant surprise it was to run into Max this morning. So, how are you? How is Lori? Is she with you?"
"I'm great, thanks. Had a wonderful time in Deutschland. But Lori decided to spend a little more time with her family. She'll be here next week, though."
"We'll have to get the brotherhood -- and Lori, of course -- together before classes begin. Ced and I would love to have everyone come here. Maybe Max and Steve Metz could join us, too. Do you think Lori would be overwhelmed by so many men?"
"I think she might love being queen bee, but I'll ask her. It will be interesting to have Father Max. And I'm looking forward to talking with Steve. I don't really know him, you know. And the great thing is, I won't be the only straight guy there."
"I suppose you do sometimes feel outnumbered, now that the rest of us have all figured out who we are. So, yeah, you'll enjoy having Max and Steve there. And Mark, please don't forget to sound out Lori. She'll certainly be welcome if she wants to come. Ced will want to see you when he gets here this weekend, so I expect I'll being seeing you soon."
"Hope so, Tim. I need to get caught up on what's been happening -- like with Trey and the Big Guy."
"Well, you may be surprised to learn all the things that have happened. Ced or I will call you soon about getting together, OK?"
"Sounds great."
"Oh, Mark, how -- and where -- is your dad?"
"He's fine. He closed up the house in Meadville, though we aren't selling it. I can use it for weekends or whenever I want. He has taken mostly clothes and some books and cd's and moved to Lake Polk, Florida. He's renting a condo there until he can find something to buy. He's been pretty busy, but says he likes the town and has met some great people."
"I'm sure your dad would find the most interesting people in town."
"Oh, but Tim, the best news -- "
"Yeah?"
"He thinks he's found a guy."
"Really? That's great! Do you know anything about this guy?"
"No, not yet. Dad doesn't even know if he's gay. But he seems to be really attracted to him. His name's Doug, and he goes to Dad's church. That's about all I know."
"Well, anybody who attracts Stan's interest must have something going for him. And your Dad deserves to find a great guy. If it's this Doug, then Doug's a lucky man."
"That's for sure!"
"So, Mark. Ced or I will be in touch soon about this weekend. And we'll be thinking about a big get-together before classes begin."
"Fantastic. Thanks, Tim. Tell my bro I said `hi.'"
"Will do, Mark. Please give my love to Stan when you talk with him."
"Right."
I was really looking forward to Max's being there that evening. I had thought a couple of times of trying to find out where he had gone by getting in touch with the Kenyon Alumni Office, but the road to hell, and all that . . .
When I knew Max, I was really into the dating scene, trying desperately not to even think about my gay urges, and being more or less successful. But I was always attracted to him. He was not only a great friend, drinking buddy, almost a soul mate, but he was also damned sexy. At least I thought so.
About my size, Max had heavier bone structure, bigger hands and feet. Yeah, and I remembered very well from all those showers we took together after meets, he had a bigger cock, too. He had a square face, a ruddy complexion. His eyes were a wonderful sort of chocolate brown, and his thick, wavy hair was the same color. Next to me, Max looked very masculine, and I envied him.
The doorbell rang promptly at 6:00. When I opened the door, there stood Max, looking good enough to eat. His hair was still wet from the shower. After all, he only lived a few doors down the street.
He was wearing a white polo shirt with some sort of coat of arms over the pocket, khaki shorts, and sandals without socks. Although Trey mentions occasionally that he loves Chaz's feet, I've never paid much attention to them. But for some reason, I thought Max's feet were sexy. Even with the baggy shorts, I was reminded what a big cock Max had. Yeah, I know. I am deeply in love with Ced. But a guy can enjoy the scenery, can't he? Junior obviously was, for he twitched and began to fill.
MAX:
When Tim opened the door, he was standing there in a dark green t-shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals without socks. I had seen him wear glasses occasionally at Kenyon, but most of the time he wore his contacts. Tonight he was wearing those glasses that everyone wears now with the tiny lenses. The rims were sort of a copper-colored wire that went fabulously with his hair. He didn't seem to have changed at all since Kenyon. He still had that pale skin, those emerald eyes, and that slender built. Only his legs showed what great physical shape he was in. He looked delicious. Well, a guy can dream, can't he?
We hugged again. His condo is the mirror image of mine. In both, the front door opens directly into the living room. His seemed to be furnished with all new things, and somebody with taste had obviously chosen it. But somehow it didn't look like Tim.
He offered me a choice of beer, wine, or sherry.
"Beer or wine is fine, but no sherry, please. That reminds me too much of Sunday afternoons in seminary."
He brought us each a glass of red wine. I'm no expert, but it tasted like pretty good stuff to me. He told me it was too hot to eat outside, but that he was going to grill on the patio and we'd bring it in.
"Steaks?"
"No, lamb chops. I remembered that you liked them."
He was right. I love lamb chops.
So we sat and chatted about various things while the charcoal was doing whatever it is charcoal does. He asked how long I'd been in town. I explained that I'd only been there a week and had been frantically busy trying to move in, unpack, get stuff for the condo, and learn about my duties at the church. Otherwise, I told him, I would have gotten in touch with him as soon as Mark told me he was at the university.
He said, "Max, I still can't believe you're a priest. Tell me what brought you to this point?"
"Well, Tim, it's a long story. Maybe after a chop or two I'll feel up to telling it," I said, grinning at him.
"You got it. I won't push you any more. But please tell me when you feel like it, OK?"
We reminisced about days at Kenyon and shared information about people we had known there and what they were doing now.
Tim's meal was amazing. I would never have guessed that he would be a good cook. It was all very simple. We had the grilled chops, steamed asparagus, and saffron rice.
"Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
"I hate to eat alone in restaurants, Max. Always have. In grad school I found it was cheaper to cook for myself, and out of sheer boredom, asked Mom for some recipes. She sent me some cookbooks, and I experimented a lot. So now I have a small repertoire of recipes that I like and that will do when I have company."
For dessert we had fresh peaches which Tim had peeled and sliced up over wonderful French vanilla ice cream. With my permission, he poured a little sherry over them.
Afterward, I rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher while he put away the leftover food.
He fixed coffee, and when it was ready, we took it into the living room. When we sat, he said, "I've been meaning to ask you about that coat of arms on your shirt."
"Oh, that's my seminary, the Church Divinity School of the Pacific."
"You were in Berkeley for seminary? Damn, Max, I was right across the Bay at Stanford! What a shame we didn't know that."
"Yeah, Tim, it is a shame. But you know, I didn't get out much, and I'll bet you kept your nose pretty close to the grindstone, too."
He smiled and said, "You've got that right."
"Now," he continued, "I've wined and fed my old friend. Does that entitle me to the story of what he's been up to since Kenyon?"
"You sure you want to hear this?"
"Are you kidding? I've got to know how badass Hewitt became a priest. And I've got all evening."
So I told him. How while I was working on my masters' in physics at Ohio State I woke up one morning and said to myself, `There's nothing I can do with a physics degree that I can see myself doing for the rest of my life.' How I slacked off on my classes while I stewed about all that. How I talked to Bill Broadhurst, the rector of Harcourt Parish, the Episcopal Church on the Kenyon campus. I had often attended Canterbury Club meetings and had gotten to know Father Bill pretty well. So, one day I hopped in the car and drove to Gambier and had a long talk with him.
That was the beginning of a lot of talks. I also talked to Father Hal, the rector at my home church in Akron. I talked often with my advisor at OSU. One day, he, Bob Schmidt, my advisor, asked me, "Max, what DO you see yourself doing?" I told him I hadn't a clue. He suggested I keep asking myself that question.
"Now, Tim, keep in mind that neither of the priests I was talking with ever suggested I should enter the priesthood. Neither of them did any proselytizing whatever. One day, though, as I was driving from Columbus to Gambier for another visit with Father Bill, I had this vision of myself celebrating a Eucharist. No,' I said to myself, You've got to be kidding!' But there it was, and it kept coming back."
"Max," Tim said, "I don't want to be flip about this. But are you telling me you had some sort of Pauline experience, like on the road to Tarsus?"
"Well, yeah, I guess I am. And the more I thought about it, the more I felt compelled to follow up on that flash I had. I could see myself counseling people in trouble. I could see myself going to hospitals and visiting the sick. I could see myself baptizing babies. Believe me, Tim, both Father Bill and Father Hal tried to talk me out of it. They thought it was some momentary thing. It took a lot of convincing to make them see I was sincere about all this. Eventually, though they both got behind me, and, with a lot of help from them, and finally from Bishop Salt in Cleveland, I got into seminary. And a damned good one. The faculty at Pacific are brilliant. There's one guy there, Bill Countryman, who just blew me away!"
"Oh, I've heard of him, I think. Wrote a book about sex in the Old Testament, or something like that?"
"Yeah, have you read it?"
"No, should I?"
"You bet. And if you like that, let me give you a list of his other books."
"I promise I'll read it. But I'm curious about something. You were always distrustful of big organizations, of institutions generally. Isn't your becoming a churchman something of an about-face?"
"I'm still not sure I trust the institutionalized church, but I've got to work with it and within it to do what I feel compelled to do."
"You're the one who taught me to think skeptically, you know."
"There's nothing wrong with a healthy skepticism, Tim."
We talked at length about religion and churches. Tim explained, though I remembered from college, that by the time he got to Kenyon, he was fed up with the kind of narrow-minded, restrictive, judgmental Christianity he had grown up with and that he found Kenyon exhilarating because there one could think and say pretty much anything. He credited me, probably too generously, with encouraging him to explore ideas and issues without any constraints on what was supposedly correct or proper.
I reminded him that I grew up in the Episcopal Church and that I never experienced the kinds of things he had at home. Whatever questions I had about religion in college never enticed me away from my church. So it was only natural when I had my "crisis" to go back to there for spiritual help and guidance.
What Tim didn't know was that I am gay. Hardly anyone does. I'm not really out, except to Fathers Hal and Bill, whom I mentioned earlier. I've thought a lot about coming out. Sexual orientation is still an issue in my church, but there are lots of congregations which are gay-friendly. I don't know yet how the local parish feels, so I'm being very careful. But I can see myself coming out at some point, maybe not too far down the road.
Meanwhile, I couldn't help sensing a rekindling of the attraction I had always felt for my old friend. I had had many a hardon because of Tim Mead, and he was the center of quite a few of my j.o. fantasies at Kenyon. Tim always looked boyish, fresh, innocent. I knew he had a brilliant mind, inquisitive, doubting, testing, insightful. But I longed for his body. College was tough because, even in the supposedly enlightened 1990's. I heard too many comments from my "friends" on the cross-country team and around campus about "fags," "queers," and "homos." I wasn't about to let myself in for the scorn and rejection that went along with being gay. And, of course, I was sure Tim was straight, and I did not want to risk our friendship by coming out or coming on to him.
But his mind, his intensity pulled me to him. Yet he seemed to look to me for guidance. If only I could have guided his cute cock into my ass, I'd have been happy. And as I so often followed that boy's ass across many a finish line (I DID beat him once in a while), I longed to impale him on my hard and needy dick.
I was sitting there thinking how hot he looked. That green shirt went so well with his sexy green eyes and his glorious hair.
"Max, did Mark Mason say anything about his best friend, Ced Jones?"
"No, I'm sure he didn't. Mark and I really haven't talked all that much. Why?"
Timmy looked a little nervous at that point. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and said, "Max, I'm so glad you are back in my life. But I can't let our newfound friendship get off on the wrong footing, so there's something I have to tell you."
"OK."
"I'm gay."
`Hot dawg!' I thought. What I said was, "No shit? You?"
Then, when I didn't say anything else, he told me the whole story. About what Mark and two other guys had done to him, about how Cedric had reacted, about the "Brotherhood," and about how he and Ced were lovers.
"So, Ced and I share this place. He's in Shaker during the week and spends his weekends here. In the fall, we'll be living together here. I'm really eager for you two to meet each other. You're going to love Ced!"
Damn! I had gone from a high to a low in short order. First the news that he was gay, then the news that he had a live-in partner. Oh, well. It was still good to have Tim back in my life. Somehow it didn't seem right just then to tell Tim that I'm gay, too. I'd have to do it soon, though.
I asked a lot of questions about this group he'd gotten himself into. Apparently Tim knew Mark's father, too. And Ced's parents. But I gathered that none of them were generally out on campus, just among themselves. Then something occurred to me.
"Tim, are you telling me that Mark Mason is gay?"
"No, he isn't."
"But he has lived for three years with your, uh, with Cedric?"
"That's right. Mark has known all along that Ced's gay, and he's cool with it. But then Mark's dad, Stan, is gay."
"This is all a bit too much for me to absorb at one time."
"Max, I've thrown all this at you without even asking about how you feel about it. I can be pretty insensitive at times. I'm sorry. You didn't get up and storm out, and you haven't taken a swing at me, so I presume you're not too shocked."
"Not shocked, but surprised. How could I have known you for four years, run with you, showered with you, gotten drunk with you, and talked into the small hours of the morning countless times with you and not have know you are gay?"
"Well, my friend, I tried very hard to keep you from knowing. And I was pretty successful in repressing my gay side in college."
"Tim, I hope you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't drop an old friend for anything like that. I'm looking forward to meeting all the guys in your `Brotherhood.'" They sound like quite a group. I am especially eager to meet the guy who obviously makes you so happy, the lucky Cedric."
His face lit up when I said that. "We'll make that happen soon, I promise."
I had a lot to mull over, and it was getting late, so I took my leave soon after that.
At the door, after I had repeated my thanks for the dinner and the evening, Tim looked perplexed for a moment. Then I picked up the vibes.
"It's OK, Tim. I'd like a hug."
He beamed and gave me a bone-cracker. "Max, it's great to have you back. I'll be in touch soon."
"I can't tell you how pleased I was to learn from Mark that you live here now. It's great to see you again, Red."
He started to frown. Then he smiled. He knew I remembered his dislike of that name and was teasing him. "Do I have to call you Deuce?"
"Er, no, that's OK. I promise never to call you Red again." Deuce was a name some of the guys on the cross-country team called me because I so often came in second to Tim.
He opened the door, put his arm on my shoulder, and stepped out onto the stoop with me. "See you soon, Max."
"Yeah, Timmy, I hope so. Good night."
TIM:
The next morning Max was just running up the street as I came out to start my run, so we ran together. Not talking, just enjoying having a running companion. We were so in tune, I felt totally comfortable with him, as I always had. After we had made our big circle and were on our way back through "the Arb," as students called it, Max stopped, flopped down on a bench, and said, "Tim, I have to tell you something."
"Max, we mustn't stop this suddenly, you know. Walk with me for a few minutes, and then we'll talk."
"Yeah, you're right, of course. But there's something you need to know."
"So spill it!"
We walked in silence along the path together as our heart-rates returned to normal. After five minutes or so, we came to another bench. This time we both sat.
He looked at me with those sexy brown eyes and smiled. "I should have told you this last night, but I was so interested in what you were telling me about Cedric and his friends that I didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah?"
"Tim, the irony is incredible! All that time we were friends at Kenyon. We were both gay, and neither of us had a clue."
`Huh?' At first I thought I'd somehow misunderstood him. "We were both gay . . ." Had he really said that? I shook my head in disbelief.
"Wait a minute! I can't believe this. You're telling me that you're gay, too?"
He beamed at me and nodded his head. He looked so adorable I leaned over and grabbed him into a hug. Of course he was all hot and sweaty. He felt solid in my arms, vibrating with life. Junior responded by getting stiff and starting to leak.
"I can't help thinking, Max, what a lot of comfort we could have been to each other back then."
He winked at me. "And maybe more, Tim."
"Yeah, who knows?" He seemed thoughtful. "But you're a priest. Do THEY know?"
"Well, HE knows, of course. And I came out in seminary when I found that there were several others, both students and faculty, who were gay. Actually, there was no stigma associated with being gay. Father John and the vestry here know, too, of course. I don't go around broadcasting it, but I'm not about to hide who I am, either."
"I admire you for that, Max. Ced and I have had several talks about coming out."
"You mean you're not out?"
"Only among our group, which seems to be expanding. There are complicating factors, of course. All four of the original group play on one varsity athletic team or another, so there's the problem of their teammates. Ced's worried more than I am about the impact coming out might have on my career here, but it is something that I have to think about. Trey's parents died a few years ago. The parents of the other three all know their sons are gay, and all of them are OK with it. But my parents don't know, and, frankly, it's going to be really hard for me to tell them. That will be more difficult for me than coming out on campus."
"We've all had to face questions like that, Tim. I know where you're coming from, my friend."
"Thanks, Max. Maybe you would have some advice for Ced and me as we wrestle with this problem? Do you think the three of us could talk about it together sometime?"
"Of course, if Cedric's willing."
"Not in your capacity of priest, you understand, but as a gay friend who's out?"
I chuckled. "Yeah, Tim. I know you're still a heathen."
We chatted for a while longer and then walked the rest of the way home. We agreed that we'd run together every morning.
Actually, for the rest of that week, Max and I spent a lot of time together. He had to be at church during the day, and I worked on my book. But we spent all of our evenings with each other. One night we went to a movie. Sometimes we ate supper at a restaurant. One evening he made terrible spaghetti. Through it all, we never stopped talking. It was almost as if those five years we were apart had never happened.
On Wednesday night I surprised myself and Max by going to the service at his church because I knew he would be celebrating.
It was the first time I had been in a church since one of my cousins got married. St. Peter's is an old, gothic style church near the campus. At night it seemed cavernous and, even though it was summer, cold. A small group of people were there, all near the front of the sanctuary, almost as if they were huddled together.
Having gone to Kenyon, I had been to enough Episcopalian services to know my way around the Book of Common Prayer. I did not genuflect upon entering the pew, nor did I kneel and pray. The organ was playing, and I enjoyed the music. There was something comforting about all of this, like coming home, even if I couldn't accept the reason why most of the people were there.
At 7:30 the organ stopped, and a bell rang near the front. A side door opened, and a crucifer came in, followed by Max.
The crucifer was cute, but Max was gorgeous. His ruddy skin and rich brown hair contrasted magnificently with his white alb. Even though he was ten or maybe twelve years older than the crucifer, Max looked angelic, like a choir boy himself.
It was a barebones service. No music. No sermon. Just the Eucharist. He did it all beautifully, confidently, reverently. I had never been aware before of what a wonderful voice he had. Standing behind the altar in the large church, I (sitting at the rear of those present) could hear him perfectly, even though he had no amplification.
After the celebration of the Eucharist, he invited anyone who wanted to make a prayer of thanksgiving or intercession to come forward. Three or four did, kneeling at the altar rail. Max went to each, clasping their hands in his, and prayed with them. He smiled beautifully, beatifically, at each of them.
After that the congregation and the priest said a prayer together. Then there was a hymn, the only one that evening, which the congregation sang as the crucifer led Max to the rear of the sanctuary. When the hymn was over, he said a brief benediction, the congregation said, "Thanks be to God," and it was over.
Max, of course, was at the door to shake hands with everyone. I hung back, the last to leave. When he saw me, tears came to his eyes. Then he smiled and said, "Checking up on me, huh?"
"Yeah, had to make sure you weren't faking. But it appears that your bona fides are in order."
"Well, Timmy, whatever your reason for coming, I'm glad you're here. Are you going home now?"
"Well, yes, I had planned to."
"I'd love to show you around. Then maybe we could go back to my place and resume our ongoing discussion of the world and its people."
"Cool."
So he showed me all over St. Peter's, every nook and cranny. He seemed so enthusiastic about it, I concluded that he was really happy to be doing what he was doing.
"Max, you seemed so much in control while you were celebrating in there. I'm impressed, man."
"I was scared shitless, Timmy. That's only the third time I've done that since I came to St. Peter's. Of course I've done it lots of times in seminary, but this is my first church, you know. And I feel very much under the microscope."
I laughed. "Relax, Hewitt. You've got this job by the balls. I can tell."
He chuckled. We agreed to meet at his place in fifteen minutes.
He had picked up a peach pie at a local bakery, and we had that with ice cream and coffee on a card table in the dining end of his living room.
I don't know what we talked about. I do know that I was wondering how different my life might have been if we had both known back in college that we were gay. Not that I had any complaints about my life now. Far from it. But Max is probably the best male friend I've ever had until Cedric. And I have to say it, Max is one damned sexy guy. Several times when we were doing things together that week, I'd get hardons just thinking about him.
Wednesday night, after going to see Max celebrate the Eucharist, I dreamed of him. He was wearing nothing but his alb. He was sporting an erection which tented out the alb, and there was a precum spot about the size of a fifty cent piece on the front of it. In my dream, I went to him and tried to raise the garment over his head, but I woke up sweaty and erect. I try not to beat off when Ced is gone, but that night I did, to visions of Max doing a striptease, slowly taking off the alb.
When Ced got back here that weekend, I told him all about Max. Everything. About what good friends we had been. About telling Max about the Brotherhood. About Max's telling me that he's gay and how ironic that we were both friends in college and didn't know each other was gay. About running together, about my going to church Wednesday evening, about our spending lots of time just catching up, renewing our friendship as it were.
Cedric, of course, was happy for me and said he wanted to meet Max as soon as possible. I told him we'd see Max the next day, that I'd already set it up. But that's also when I got the idea for the party.
TREY:
The Saturday at the end of that week I had arranged for Tim, Ced, Chaz, and me to go to Nighttown to hear Geoff Benton's trio play. At my suggestion, Ced had called Francis and invited him and Rodney to meet us there. I made it clear from the beginning that this was my party. I was the one who knew Geoff, and I didn't think I should expect the guys to pay for dinner at a pricey place to humor me. They protested a bit, but when I insisted, they gave in. I mean, I am always very careful not to flaunt my money, but there's no point in having it if you can't throw a party for your friends once in a while, right? Besides, after what Tim had told us, Chaz and I were dying to meet Francis and Rodney. This seemed like a cool way to kill two birds with one stone.
I drove the Lexus, and Ced sat up front with me to navigate. That left Tim and Chaz in the back seat. Chaz made some sort of crack about his Tahoe having more legroom, but he seemed happy to get a chance to visit with Tim. It takes about an hour to get from campus to Shaker Heights. On the way, the main topic of conversation seemed to be the new priest at St. Peter's church, who just turns out to be an old Kenyon friend of Tim's. Tim seemed really pleased that Max, or, more properly, Father Max, had showed up. Apparently they were doing their morning runs together, doing a lot of things together. The agnostic Iceman had even gone to the Wednesday evening Eucharist to see his old buddy celebrate.
Ced and I could hear Tim talking to Chaz about Max in the back seat. Ced seemed to be paying close attention to the whole thing.
I glanced over at my old buddy and asked, `"Ced, you cool with this man?"
He smiled and said, "Yeah. It's nice to see Tim so happy."
"Have you met Max?"
"Nope. Not yet. But I've suggested that Tim and I go to church tomorrow, where Max will be assisting the rector. I'll get a chance to look him over first, and then, I'll get to meet him."
"Has Tim agreed to that?"
"First he laughed and said he thought if he showed up in church twice in one week, the walls would crumble or something. Then he said he thought it was a good idea, because he really wants me to meet Father Max."
Getting through Cleveland wasn't bad. I turned east on Carnegie as I do when I'm going to Ced's folks' place. We turned right on Cedar and went up the hill. We hadn't gone far, when Ced told me to turn left into a parking lot. I didn't see any restaurant, but did as I was told.
We parked, got out, and I pushed the button on the fob to lock up the SUV. Our buddy led us to a door. There was no big electric sign on the front of the building at all. It looked, instead, as if two store fronts had been converted into a restaurant. Next to the entrance there was a painted sign flush with the wall with a small light over it.
"Ced, babe," Tim laughed, "forgive me for saying so, but this place looks like a dump."
"That's ok, smartass, you just wait! I admit it looks bad, but wait until you taste the food."
Inside, it was pretty dark. The floors were bare wood. Old-fashioned chairs with bent wood back were around the tables. On the walls were autographed pictures of celebrities who had eaten there. I told the maitre d' my name. He told us that the rest of our party had already been seated. He led us down a short hallway and into another room, which had a raised area with a piano at one side.
"Ced, I like this," I remarked. "It has its own cachet. I imagine lots of Clevelanders think of Nighttown as their special place, don't they?"
He grinned and said, "That's right, bro. You got it, even if Timmy hasn't!"
"Hey," Tim said, "I didn't mean anything bad. I was just giving you my first reaction, and you must admit, this is not what most people would think of when they were asked to picture a fine restaurant."
"OK, Tim, I guess you're right about that."
Francis and Rodney stood up when we were shown to the table. Chaz and I hadn't met them before. And Tim was right. Francis is one impressive looking dude. Ced introduced Chaz and me. Tim shook hands with both of them and said how glad he was to see them again.
We sat, ordered drinks. They carded Tim. Rodney and Francis seemed to think that was hilarious. Ced, Chaz and I knew not to seem amused. Tim sighed, pulled out his wallet, and showed them his driver's license. The waiter, Josh, who was college age and damn good looking, apologized. "But we have to be very careful, you know, Mr. Mead."
"No problem, Josh. It happens all the time."
When Josh had left to get our drinks, we began to talk. The other four talked about their adventure in the Flats a few weeks earlier while Chaz and I sat there, grinning and listening.
When Josh brought our drinks and the menus, I began to see why this place was so popular. The choices were fabulous. Everybody decided to try something different. I don't know what they all had, but I had about as succulent a piece of prime rib as I've ever had. Tim had those little bay scallops sautéed in white wine and garlic. A couple of guys had steaks, I think. And Chaz had a specialty of the house called "Dublin Lawyer." It was lobster in some sort of a cheese-cream sauce served over rice. I made him give me a taste, and it made me wish I had ordered it, too, cholesterol notwithstanding.
Josh knew his business, I'll give him that. He was never obtrusive, but, despite the fact that the restaurant was busy, he was always there when wanted. After we had all finished our entrees, he came back with dessert menus. We all ordered coffee, but only Rodney, Chaz, and Tim ordered dessert.
Rodney had a piece of bourbon pecan pie with whipped cream, Chaz had cheesecake with blueberries on it, and Tim had something called "Death by Chocolate." For some reason, Francis, Ced, and Rodney were practically hysterical when he ordered that. They continued to chuckle as he ate it.
"OK, you clowns. What IS it?"
"No offense, Tim," Francis laughed, "but you DO seem to go for the chocolate, man!"
Tim practically choked on a bite of his dessert.
About then Geoff and two other guys came onto the small stage, and there was applause. Geoff smiled at them and sat at the piano. There was a moment or two while they plinked and plunked and got the bass in tune. With no fanfare or announcement, the broke into a smoky version of "Over the Rainbow." We all looked at each other and wondered if he had spotted us and was playing it for us. When he turned and looked directly at me and winked, I knew that's exactly what was happening.
The number was warmly applauded. Obviously the clientele knew and liked Geoff and his friends. He smiled, thanked them, introduced his bassist, a tall Black dude named Roy Huggins, and his drummer, a wiry little dude named Tony di Franco.
They played a mix of old standards like "One O'Clock Jump," "Stars Fell on Alabama," and "I Didn't Know What Time it Was." Then they did an Oscar Peterson piece called "Blues for Big Scotia" and some things that most jazz fans associate with Bill Evans.
When they took their first break, Geoff came over and sat with us. I made introductions all around. Tim told him how much he was enjoying their playing, and the rest of us chimed in. Then Geoff and Rodney got into some technical discussion of harmonies and chords, and the rest of us just sort of sat there and smiled.
During their second set, they played several things one or the other member of the group had written, and that was fascinating. I began to realize how smart and talented my new friend was. Now,' I thought if only we could find him a guy.'
We kept drinking coffee, listening to Geoff and the guys play, and exchanging a comment or an appreciation once in a while. The evening passed very quickly, it seemed to me. Before I knew it, Geoff and friends were taking their final bows, and we all stood up to leave.
Outside, we all exchanged hugs.
Tim said, "Hey guys, we didn't get a chance to bring this up inside. Rodney and Francis, Ced and I are having a party at our place a week from tonight. To mark the end of summer. Think you guys could come?"
They looked at each other, and then Francis said, "That sounds great, Tim. We'd like to come. Can we bring anything?"
"Not necessary. Just show up, dressed very casually. I imagine Ced can email you directions."
Ced grinned and said he'd be sure to do that.
We all hugged again, attracting stares from some couples who were leaving the restaurant.
On the way home, my big lover sat up front with me, with his hand in my crotch most of the way. In the back, Ced had both arms around Tim and, when I looked back, he was nuzzling Tim's hair.
When we got home, Tim said, "Guys, I'm sorry to spring the party on you that way. We had meant to talk about it over dinner."
Ced, not smiling, added, "Yeah. Sorry. I had other things on my mind."
"Well, anyway, you heard what I said to Francis and Rodney. We want to have Mark and Lori, Steve Metz, Max Hewitt, and you guys, of course. I'd like Geoff and his associates to come, too, but I imagine they'll be playing again next Saturday."
"Yeah, Tim," I said, "they will be. He told me."
"Well, we'll get together with them some other time then. But I hope everyone else can make it."
"Well, Tim," Chaz said, "you know if there's a party, Tiger and I'll be there. Can we help any?"
Tim hugged Chaz and said, "No, Chaz, as I said to Rodney and Francis, just be there. And I know I don't need to tell you not to dress up."
Chaz chuckled and gave Tim an extra squeeze. "That's for sure, dude."
More hugs followed. Then the big guy and I hopped back in my car and we went home.
CEDRIC:
Tim's party was exactly a week after our trip to Nighttown. And it was Tim's party. He thought it up. He was enthusiastic about it. He said it would be great to get all our friends together before the fall term started.
We had originally planned for the brothers plus Rodney and Francis to go to a concert at the Blossom Music Center. I thought that would be great. But Tim, Trey, and Chaz had sort of made a project of Steve Metz, the smartass from our lit class spring term. They all seemed to like him, so I guess I needed to give him a chance. And Tim didn't think Steve would like a Blossom concert. (I didn't think Chaz would enjoy it either, but he'd go along if the rest of us were going.) One good thing about it was that we could invite Markie and Lori. I didn't know whether she would come or not. It might be really uncomfortable for her to be with all us guys, especially since Mark and Steve would be the only straight guys there.
But I thought I knew the real reason why Tim wanted to have this party. He wanted to introduce his old buddy Father Max to the gang.
My first look at Max was in church the day after the Nighttown trip. Remember that he was wearing vestments. I couldn't tell much about how he was built. He was about the same height as Tim, but much less good looking. His features are blunter, less fine. His skin is reddish. And he has this big shock of wavy brown hair and heavy eyebrows. He looked as if by noon he'd have five o'clock shadow, too.
Max and the rector, Father John, did the service together. There were lay readers who did the lessons and served the chalice at the communion part of the service. Max preached the sermon. One thing I'll have to say for him is that his sermon was intelligent, well-organized, and only about twelve minutes long. He never raised his voice. Sure not like the church my folks go to. Father John presided over the communion. Tim told me that Father J. was "celebrating the Eucharist." How would HE know? He is a full-fledged heathen if there ever was one. But he's spent so much time with Max the last week or so, he knows all that Episcopalian jargon.
When Tim introduced me to Max after the service, Max insisted on hugging me. He said he knew how special I was to Tim, and he looked forward to getting to know me better. Then he thanked us both for coming to church that morning. He sounded as if he really meant it.
What am I trying to say? I guess that I couldn't find anything to fault him for. He seemed like a nice guy.
Well, back to the party. The guest list was as follows: Mark and Lori, Trey and Chaz, Rodney and Francis, Steve Metz, and Max Hewitt. Trey had really hoped Geoff Benton could come, but he had his gig at Nighttown that night.
Everybody else said they'd come.
When I got to our place on Friday evening, Tim made me shower and dress up. We were finally going to get that dinner at Stefan's he had promised me. So we duded up and went.
The place was just as nice as he said it would be, and I was impressed that the valet who parked my 4Runner recognized Tim and our server called him by name. Those guys are really sharp. The food was good. But you know all about Stefan's.
Tim and I talked about the week just past. He talked mostly about Max and what they had done together when Max wasn't busy with his church duties. Tim said he hadn't gone to the Wednesday night service. He laughed and said he wasn't about to change his views because his friend was a priest.
Then we began to make plans for the party.
When we got home, we got out of our dressy clothes, put on t-shirts and shorts, and cleaned up the house. Then we went to bed and had long, slow, beautiful sex.
The next morning, Tim was up and out, as usual, about 6:00. Even though I knew he was running with Max, I wasn't about to get up at that miserable hour and turned over and went back to sleep. I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and sausages frying.
After breakfast, we showered, dressed, and went out to the supermarket and to Fein's to get food for the party. It seems to me we spent the rest of the day getting ready for the evening's affair, but there was a while after lunch when we had a pretty heavy make-out session on the sofa.
Tim had bought several kinds of cheese and several kinds of crackers. He had crudités and dip. He had shrimp cocktail. We went to the package store and bought beer, wine, gin, bourbon, and I don't know what all.
For dinner, he fixed a green salad, and we had gotten hot German potato salad, a beef tenderloin and a smoked turkey breast at Fein's. He bought the cutest little buns. (Watch it, you guys! No puns about my Timmy having cute little buns.) They were like miniature hamburger buns, about the size of breakfast biscuits. People could slice off pieces of the turkey or the beef and make little sandwiches. He had mayo and mustard, of course, but he also had barbecue sauce and a creamy horseradish sauce for the beef.
For dessert he had a huge bowl of raspberries and whipped cream to put on them. Those berries cost almost as much as the beef, I think.
So, he had thought of everything. We had our new place looking nice. It never occurred to me until we were sort of nervously waiting for people to show up, that this was also a housewarming party for Tim's and my new home. I don't know whether he had thought of that or not, but I know that if he had, he wouldn't say anything because he didn't want people to make a fuss over us or think they had to bring presents. Everything he said about the party made it clear to me that he wanted everyone to have plenty of good food and drink and lots of fun.
And then it crossed my mind that this was all to impress Max.
"A-people" that we both are, we had everything ready by about 5:30, and no one was to come until 7:00. We sat in the kitchen and had glasses of lemonade, going over our mental checklists to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything. Then we took a shower (together, of course), and changed into clean clothes.
I confess I was a little nervous. None of the brothers had met Francis until last weekend, and Mark had never met him. I wanted them all to like and enjoy one another. I had only met Mark's Lori a couple of times, and she seemed cool. But why in hell would she agree to come to this party? If she thought this bunch of guys was going to fawn over her, she had another think coming -- not that any of them would be rude to her.
And, of course, I was going to have to be hospitable to Max. FATHER Max. Father my ass! Tim had said that in his vestments he looked like a choirboy, and he was right. But my boy and the choirboy had been having a lot of fun together for the last couple of weeks. Too much fun, maybe.
MARK:
I couldn't understand why Lori agreed to go to the party, but she did. When I asked her about it, she said, "Mark, Schatzchen, don't you think it's about time I met this pride of lions you are a part of? I am fascinated by the group dynamic you boys have. Your friend Cedric is charming -- and very sexy. And I have heard about his former lover, what is his name, Francis? He sounds very impressive. Besides, didn't you tell me that your new priest would be there? I must meet him, too."
I laughed. "Well, you, Steve Metz, Father Max, and I will be the only straight people there. But if you're game, I'm really looking forward to having the brotherhood together again after being apart this summer. I don't know Steve Metz very well, and I want to get a chance to talk with him, since Tim and Trey and Chaz all like him. Besides, it will be a good chance to see what Father Max is like when he's not in his canonicals."
The party was actually wonderful. Tim and Ced had gone all out with the drinks and the food. We had more than enough great stuff to eat and drink. Pops would have been impressed, I think, and that's saying something.
The party itself got off to a great start. Steve Metz never showed up, and that puzzled Tim because Steve had said he'd be sure to be there. The five of us in the brotherhood hadn't all been together since the early part of the summer, so we had lots of catching up to do. But the newcomers, Lori, Father Max, Francis, and Rodney seemed to blend right in. It was amazing, as I watched the group dynamic, how many shifting conversations were going on, and how the groups broke up and then realigned into new conversations.
For example, at one point I heard Tim urging Chaz to let him see the journal he had kept of his summer in Cincinnati.
"Well, Tim, I dunno. I haven't even shown it to Trey dude yet. And there's a pretty graphic description of a dream I had about David and then of the night David and I fucked. I won't feel right showing that to you if Trey hasn't seen it, and I'm afraid of how he will react if he reads It."
"OK, Chaz, I honor your reservations. But tell me this. Has Trey told you anything about what he and Raul were doing this summer while you were at home?"
"You mean they were fuckin' like bunnies?" He grinned. "Yeah, he told me all about that."
"Then don't you think he can take reading about what you and David did? Don't you think you need to be equally frank with Trey?"
"Yeah, I see what you mean. OK. I'll show it to Tiger, and if I'm still alive after that, I'll get a copy to you."
How's this for an unlikely pairing? At one point, Francis, drinking what looked like a cola, was in deep discussion with Father Max, who was drinking a bloody mary. I heard snatches of conversation, words like "seminary," and "the ministry," and "ordination."
Lori, no wallflower, didn't cling to my side all evening. True to her intention, she mixed and mingled. At one point she was chatting animatedly with Rodney, who had this sort of dopey smile on his face. I heard words like "tented arches," "stained glass," and "transept," so I assumed they were talking about medieval church architecture.
At another point, Trey and Father Max were talking about the Browns' prospects that fall. I heard Max saying, "Well, Trey, I'm from Akron, so I've been a Browns fan all my life. It's good we have a team back in Cleveland." Trey, who was a Redskins fan, said something to the effect that the Browns had a long way to go before they were a threat in the AFC.
Later, as I was munching on one of those wonderful little roast beef sandwiches with horseradish sauce on it and sipping a beer, I thought guiltily that Pops would have teased me for not drinking some of the cabernet our hosts had provided. Then my thoughts were brought back to the present when I heard Chaz telling Francis and Rodney about coming out to his parents this summer. I edged closer to that group because I hadn't heard all the details of the story. Ced had given me only the Reader's Digest version during one of our IM sessions.
Having been in Germany during the latter part of July, I hadn't had a chance to catch up much with either Trey or Chaz, so I was happy when Trey wandered up. He had a glass of the cabernet in his hand and was munching on one of those little beef sandwiches. He asked me about my visit with Lori's family and our sailing down the Rhine, and I bent his ear about that for a while. Then I asked him what was new, besides his and Chaz's becoming a couple, which I said was long overdue. He told me about the dreams he and Tim had had of each other and this new sense they had of being connected like twin brothers. I told him it sounded strange. He agreed it was, but he smiled his sleepy smile and said it was nice, weird or not. Then I asked him what else was new with him, and he told me he had decided to major in English, that he wanted to go to grad school and become an English professor.
"Isn't that carrying the twin brother thing a little too far?"
He looked steadily at me through half-closed eyes, still smiling, and said, "I think I'm a big boy, Markie. I am not trying to be a Tim clone. This is really what I want to do with my life."
I put my arm around his shoulders and said, "In that case, Tiger, go for it!"
Another time, I was explaining to Father Max that this summer I had had to process learning that Chaz and Trey were both bi and that they had now become a couple. He seemed to find that fascinating. I don't think it bothered him particularly. He wouldn't have been here if he'd had any hang-ups about gay people. "So, let me get this straight, Mark. You are the only straight man in this brotherhood that Tim talks about so much?"
I chuckled. "Yes, Father, it looks that way."
"Mark, we aren't in church. Please call me Max."
"OK."
"Tim told me that he and Cedric were partners, but he never said anything about Chaz and Trey being a couple."
"Well, that's Tim. None of them is out on campus except in this circle that you see here tonight, so naturally he wouldn't tell anyone, even an old friend like you, about Trey and Chaz."
Max smiled and said, "Yes. That's the Tim I know."
Max went to get a refill on his drink, and Lori came up, her eyes sparkling. "Having fun?" I asked.
"Mark, sweetheart, your friends are wonderful! I see why you love them. And they all love each other so. I don't know when I have ever been in a group where I felt so much good will. You do truly have a brotherhood. Even Rodney and Francis seem to fit in, though they hadn't met all of you before, had they?"
"No, they hadn't."
"Father Max is an interesting man. He is fond of Tim, I think. And Cedric is very jealous of him, you know."
That was it! I had been troubled by Ced's behavior, which was unusual, to say the least. He seemed more subdued than I've ever seen him. Ced has the sunniest disposition of any guy I've ever known. But that night, he seemed really strange. Laughing loudly at one minute, very serious the next. I looked across the room once to see him in what must have been an earnest conversation with Lori, and I had made a mental note to ask her about that later.
Another time I saw him staring fixedly at Father Max. It wasn't a friendly stare. And Lori, a relative stranger, had figured it out. Woman's intuition maybe? Ced didn't like Max. Why? Well, duh! Ced was jealous! I watched my best friend more carefully after that. He would often go over to Tim and put his arm around him. I've seen the two of them show how they love each other through their body language, and that's not what Ced was doing. He was asserting his claim on Tim, no question about it. I saw Tim appear to remonstrate with him once, but I couldn't hear what he said.
When the main course was cleared away from the counter where it had been put out, Tim and Ced produced a huge bowl of raspberries and another big bowl of whipped cream. They made coffee in a big urn they had rented. Tim pointed out that the berries were there and asked us to help ourselves whenever we wanted.
That's when Ced did something that surprised the hell out of me. The party had been a great success to that point. The food was good, and everyone seemed to be having a fine time just visiting, catching up, getting to know the newcomers.
Suddenly, however, Ced walked to the music system, put on a cd, and turned the volume up. "Come on, Timmy, you gonna show these people how you can dance!"
Tim looked embarrassed and said, "Oh, I don't think this is the time, Ced."
Cedric wouldn't take no for an answer. He put his arm around Tim, steered him to the center of the room, and said, "Timmy, you showed how well you can swing that cute ass of yours at the Phoenix, and I want us to do that again. C'mon, Francis and Rodney, remember how we did it?"
They laughed and seemed reluctant until Ced went over and took each of them by the hand. "Dudes, do this for me! Let's dance!"
Giving in with as good grace as possible under the embarrassing circumstances, Tim went along. Soon, he was dancing away, surrounded by Rodney, Francis, and Ced. It looked like some sort of ritual dance, the way they did it. I was impressed, though, with the way Tim moved. I thought how startled the people on campus who called him "the Iceman" would be if they could see him right then.
Trey and Chaz moved the coffee table out of the way to make more room. Then Lori came over, took my hand, led me to the center of the room, and began to dance. Soon, she was dancing surrounded by Trey, Chaz, and me. It was hot. It was wild.
But when I saw Ced look over his shoulder and direct a venomous look at Father Max, who was standing by himself, I knew what all this was about. My best friend was flaunting his control over Tim in front of Max. I was about to grab Lori and take her out of the dancing group when I heard the phone ring.
Max, who was standing next to it, picked it up. He listened for a moment, put the phone down, and made his way over to where Tim was. He said something. Tim told Ced to turn off the music and went to the phone.
"This is Tim Mead. Yes, I know him. Oh, damn! No! Is he badly hurt? I see. Have his parents been notified? That's strange. Yes, I'll be right there."
By the time Tim put down the phone, the room was dead silent. It was Chaz who spoke first. "What is it, Tim? What's happened?"
"It's Steve. He's been attacked. Pretty badly beaten. That was the police calling from the emergency room at the hospital. Apparently there was a card in Steve's wallet asking for me to be notified in case of an emergency."
There was a round of murmurs about that. Tim continued, "Sorry to break up the party, gang, but I've got to get down there." He picked his keys up off the kitchen counter and practically jogged out to his car.
(Did you notice anything missing from this chapter? Yeah, no sex. But I figure if you're still with me after twenty-one chapters, you're not reading this story primarily for j.o. material. Chapter 22 will be along in about two weeks. --T.M.)