Fishers Island, NY, Summer 2002

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FISHERS ISLAND, NY, SUMMER 2002

This is a true story. Mostly.

I took the decision to pay a visit to Ethan in the five minutes it took me to walk back to my apartment from the restaurant on W72nd where I usually had my monthly dinner with my older brother Andrew.

I was 25 and I was in the second year of my first stay in New York. After a couple of years on the West Coast following graduation, it was still an exhilarating experience to be an adult living there and earning his wages, and not a Princeton undergrad hopping on Greyhound buses to spend a weekend in the city, sleeping in random couches. My apartment was small, the city was still reeling from the attacks, I wasn't yet making much money, but I was basking permanently in the quiet thrill of possibilities and opportunities.

Being geographically close to Andrew was an additional element to the great happiness of these years. He was ten years older than I was, married with three great kids, but we quickly established a monthly routine of sharing a burger and a few beers in a diner from my neighborhood. It gave him an opportunity to get out of Brooklyn; it gave me the chance to spend quality time with the most important person in my life.

We shared the same the father, but his mother died when he was five. Andrew grew up very much the caring, protective, budding big brother to me and Dustin, the youngest of us three. Dustin and I were never close, but Andrew gracefully and dedicatedly managed to build and preserve a strong bond with each of us. He jokingly called us "Preppy Republican" (Dustin) and "Hipster Democrat" (me); he sneaked us alcohol while we were in college (but admonished us against smoking tobacco); he bought us books, all the time (favoring Kerouac for me, Updike for Dustin); he teased me endlessly when I started wearing a tie. Andrew was playful, warm and encouraging. And Ethan was his best friend and had been since high school.

Andrew and Ethan had long been inseparable. Many of my recollections of them in my late teenage years blurred them into a single entity. Ethan may have been the one who bought me my first Kerouac. Ethan may have been the one who started the conversation of my being gay, sophomore year in College, and gave a brief, touching, pointed, and inspiring speech. Or it may have been Andrew. There were both there and they were both fantastic.

For all their similarities, they were also quite different. They were both vibrant, but Andrew could get manic while Ethan was always serene. Andrew was hyper-kinetic, scattered, moody; Ethan was dedicated, engaging and empathic. I was once told them Andrew was a bright moon while Ethan was a setting sun. They both laughed at my pomposity; Andrew punched me in the shoulder, Ethan ruffled my unruly hair.

Andrew was tall and thin, with dark hair. Ethan was shorter (about 5'11), stockier and dirty blond. Andrew was straight, Ethan was gay.

I had always known that about him, yet the ramifications of his coming out at seventeen were somewhat innocuous in the world of a seven-year old. I do realize it helped me grow up with a specimen of a gay man that added some diversity to those I was usually exposed to. Ethan was an athlete, a science geek and a great fan of the outdoors. He hadn't been a role model, though, or if so, a highly unconscious one whose principles I didn't quite manage to follow. Ethan had been a competitive swimmer and an avid devotee of yoga; I favored team sports, especially soccer, which I practiced and followed quite obsessively. He was a vegetarian and some kind of Buddhist; while my father made his three sons rational atheists and certified foodies, I enjoyed greasy burgers and beers the way Ethan oddly seemed to delight in grilled tofu and weird veggie juices. Ethan had been in a serious and monogamous relationship with Martin for the past seven years; I reserved my commitments to my friends and family and saw promiscuity as the most fulfilling way to experiment, to explore and to engage in what life had to offer. Ethan had the brightest, widest smiles (his eyes disappeared, his white teeth took center stage) and a social butterfly; I was considered a bit rough around the edges, sometimes brooding when not distant, and sarcastic.

For the past five years, Ethan had been living in Massachusetts, teaching geology at Williams College, but he and Andrew talked on the phone almost every day. Ethan and Martin had recently broken up and Andrew got a clear sense that Ethan was going through a rough time. He had rented a little house on Fishers Island, off the Connecticut coastline, and had taken some time off from teaching in order to work on his research and regroup after the end of his long relationship. It was difficult to imagine Ethan depressed; it was also painful. Ethan and my brother had always been there for me and I felt an odd sense of duty to reciprocate – even if I was probably overestimating the importance I had on Ethan's life and, consequently, the appropriateness of my stepping in, albeit with the best of intentions.

I had Ethan's number on my phone and, as I was walking up the four-story high staircase to my apartment, I texted him about visiting some friends in Providence and the possibility of stopping by his place on the way ("it's been a long time"). Could I crash on the couch for one night?

I didn't get an answer that night, but Ethan called the next morning (he hated texting apparently). He was happy to welcome me, warned me that there wasn't much to do on the island, but promised beautiful hikes if I had some time on the Saturday, and some beers in his fridge ("since you're into that kind of thing"). It was all set; I would leave Friday early evening after work, and he'd meet me at the dock. I would stay one night and one day, and be back on my way to Rhode Island by the end of the afternoon. Of course, I had no actual plans to go to Providence and no friends to visit there. But it felt too intruding and overbearing to make a trip solely to see him, and I didn't want to overextend my welcome there.

Friday was warm and sunny, a beautiful early summer day in New York. I took the Boston train and got off at New London. I had only a small bag (more than I needed for one night, less than I would have for an actual trip to Providence) and walked to the ferry. The sun was setting, the town was really quiet, except from other New Yorkers who were heading in the same direction, hoping to catch their ferry for one of the few destinations offered. The walk, the wait, the ferry ride were all blissful. I was relaxed, basking in the dusk. It is only then I started to think about my motivations to go and see Ethan, to question my rushed impulse. I realized I missed him and his company; than the gritty, hurried, rough energy of my life in the city made me need a quick fix of nature, beauty, simplicity and serenity. These qualities were associated to Ethan, to New England, to summer hikes. I had made the right call, for me if not for Ethan.

He was there to welcome me. I actually hadn't seen him in a long time and felt a quick jolt at how beautiful he was. He was tan, wore some cargo shorts displaying beautiful legs, had a plaid shirt closed by a single button in the middle of his torso. His blond hair was in a sexy disarray. His chest and arms were astounding. Ethan had always been muscular, but never displayed the kind of biceps or pecs you get from hours of committed working out. Ethan didn't work out, but walked, swam, ate healthy and was an avid carpenter. I was a little stunned and didn't say anything when he squeezed me in his arms and hugged me quite forcefully. "So good to see you, kiddo".

He took me by the shoulders as if to appraise me, and flashed his biggest, most winning smile. I finally got over myself and took him back in my arms. I patted him on his back and shoulders. "It's wonderful to see you too, Ethan. I'm happy we could work this out. Thanks for letting me crash".

I was starving. Hay Harbor, where the ferry took me, was quaint and tiny. "This is downtown Fishers Island", Ethan quipped. "Let's get you something to eat and have a drink. We'll get to the house later. It's further West, in the middle of the Island. In the middle of nowhere, actually. But you'll love it, it's gorgeous".

We went to a rustic, animated place. I couldn't tell how many real locals were part of the crowd. "It's sometimes a hard distinction to make", Ethan said. "Very few people live here year round. But a lot of people come quite frequently to the house they bought. Or others rent long term. Like me". And indeed, he seemed, acted and was treated like a local. The old bartender knew him by name and by taste (Ethan was apparently a fan of whiskey, which seemed odd), so did the old waitress who called him honey and brought him a big salad without him having to ask.

We caught up on each other's lives as we ate. He told me about Williams, about his students, about field work, about his research, about Fishers Island and its wonders. I casually mentioned or referred to Martin and their breakup, but he never seemed to display distress or gloom about it. I talked about my work, Andrew, Dustin and my father, my friends in New York, my time in California after graduation. I carefully edited out any mention of my love or sex lives – somehow, the rather uninhibited character of my recent adventures in that department seemed inappropriate for the quaint setting and my graceful host. When in Rome...

When we were done, we walked out to the parking lot and climbed in Ethan's old battered orange Volvo, the same car I had always known him in. He caught me smile at the sorry state of his worldly possession and quipped back "it's a just a car". The drive was beautiful; I was a little buzzed by the few beers and the full moon was casting an incredible light on the landscape. Ethan kept pointing towards "Big fucking mansions", but it was a little too dark to really make out more than the gated entrances. We got to the house fairly quickly, veering off on some kind of off road. It was fairly secluded, surrounded by what looked like bushes, trees, maybe some swamp-like areas.

The house was small, single-floored, box-shaped and of recent construction. It was all wooden and had few small windows on the entrance side. Once you got in though, you entered in one big single room, with a row a French windows opening on a big wooden deck, itself overlooking more bushes, trees and swamps, all the way to a breathtaking view over Long Island Sound. The room had an open kitchen, a dining area, a living room and a large double bed, screened from the rest by an open shelf full of books. There was a desk somewhere against a wall, full of Ethan's academic mess. The only separate room was the bathroom, with a sink and a tub.

I darted straight to the deck. It was gorgeous. The moonlight was so strong, I could see everything distinctly. Ethan turned on the light, which suddenly blinded me. I knee-jerkily told him to turn them off. "This is just fine. This is just beautiful". Ethan joined me on the deck: "It's surprisingly warm for the season. This is quite exceptional".

"Do you mind if we sit here for a little while? I'm not quite ready to go to sleep", I asked.

"No, of course not. This is fine." He went in and came back with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "You need a grown-up drink".

"I'm 25".

"I know, I know", he said, suddenly expressionless.

We sat down on two comfortable chairs, both facing the view. He kicked off his sandals and rested his feet on a stool. The sight of his strong, tanned legs, with blond curly hair flustered me a little – so did his wide, beefy bare feet. We sipped our drinks slowly and neither of us said very much. We spent fifteen minutes in a silence that was only half-comfortable for me but which seemed to please him. We muttered sporadic comments about how beautiful the view was and how happy we were at that precise moment. And he really did seem happy and content, as my occasional glances at his beautiful face attested. His sudden decision to stand up and retire to bed felt like a jolt.

We brushed our teeth together, which felt mildly erotic. He closed the door of the bathroom to change into boxers and t-shirt; when he reappeared, he headed for the couch and said I should have the bed. I tried to argue against it, but to no avail. I went to the bathroom to change. I splashed some cold water on my face, to calm myself. I usually don't let my libido take control of me, at least not in mundane circumstances. But my present circumstances suddenly felt anything but mundane. I was, at that moment, incredibly attracted by Ethan; I wanted him with a sense of urgency and intensity that was difficult to tame. I was more than a little drunk by then and felt recklessness creeping up on me. I also felt the first pang of an erection. I felt like calling him, dropping my briefs and showing him my hardening cock, pushing him into doing something about it. But I collected myself, and instead of sleeping naked (like I usually do) or wearing as much clothing as he was, I reached an internal compromise by putting on a pair of boxers and nothing else.

When I got out, Ethan was already lying on the couch. He had put some sheets on it, but was sleeping above them – as the temperature in the house was even higher than outside. He had left the sliding French windows open and I could feel a nice, slight breeze. Ethan had his eyes closed and I whispered him good night before lying on top of the sheets too, legs and arms spread, staring up at the ceiling.

I couldn't quite manage to fall asleep; I dozed off a couple of times, but was easily awoken by any movement Ethan made. Through the bookshelf, I could make out his body tossing and turning. After a couple of hours, I was just wide awake. And maddeningly horny. I slowly pulled down my boxers, as if my raging erection needed to breathe. The little breeze it got made my cock even harder. Then I heard Ethan standing up and walking slowly to the kitchen area. He was trying to be silent, as not to wake me, though I wondered whether he had heard my undressing. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, which he gulped down. I didn't move and my erection did not subside. I kept my eyes half closed to look at what he was up to. When he walked back towards the couch, I saw him startle and stop. He had looked at me, he had seen my naked, aroused body on his bed. He didn't move and kept looking. I saw him hesitate a couple of times, make a tentative movement to resume his walk towards where he was actually headed. But he did look at me, watched me for what seemed like a long time. I saw his hand reach his crotch and distractedly fondle it. Then he stopped, as if aware of what he was doing, and went out on the deck.

I froze for a second; I felt completely sober, with a mind crisp and focused. But it was focused one on thing, seducing Ethan, and I could not manage to hold on for more than a split second to any argument or thought that would detract me from it. I took a deep breath, put back my boxers on, and walked to the deck. My cock was still half hard, enough to be witnessed by anyone who would gaze in that direction. I was hoping Ethan would.

I sat down on the same chair where I had been before, but I turned it sideways, to be facing him, rather than the Sound. He softly and briefly smiled at me, before turning back to the view. I lifted my legs and put my feet on his lap. Again he smiled, again he turned away from me. But he gently grabbed my feet and my calves and started to caress them, to rub them.

"So here we are", he said softly, staring ahead.

"Yes".

"I've sometimes wondered if this would happen. Not often. And I never wanted it to happen. I just wondered whether it would."

"If what would happen?"

"To be attracted by you. To wonder if you'd be attracted to me. What that would feel like."

"And are you?"

"I am now, yes. I have been before. Rarely. Weirdly. Briefly."

"And how does it feel?"

"Right now? Unsettling. But not because of... Not because I've known you and your family for so long. Not because you're still so young that I feel pathetic or worse. Not because I've fancied you secretly and agonizingly for years. Nothing of the sort."

"Then why unsettling?"

He turned to face me and with the warmest gaze, said : "Because I don't know what to do about it." He lifted my legs off his lap and stood up. He asked me if needed anything from inside. Whiskey? Water? I really wanted to keep my head clear and settled for water.

When he came with two bottles, he surprised me by lifting my legs back to his lap and resuming his massaging them.

"You probably think too much about it", I said, determined. "Doing something about it is not such a big deal, indeed. I won't stalk you or be destroyed. There shouldn't be guilt or pressure. This is just what it is."

"I know that. Although, sorry, but for me it's a bit more than `just what it is'".

There wasn't a slight of aggression or resentment, but I felt guilty at being, or appearing to be, so casual about our situation. To signal something, to take back a little of my previous callousness, I used my foot to caress his thigh.

He turned his chair to face me and started to speak, calmly, warmly, resolutely. "I feel like I am over sex. That it isn't something that brings me what I want any longer. Let me rephrase that, I love sex, I really do and I enjoy it. Martin and I, through the end, always had an active sex life together. But it became increasingly more a source of frustration than anything else. Things got pretty bad between us, and we had a lot of angry sex, make-up sex, pity sex. But the angry sex never seemed, to me, to reflect exactly how angry I was, the make-up sex how sorry I felt sometimes, the pity sex how pathetic I ended up judging him. When I saw you earlier on my bed, naked, I was astounded. You've became such an attractive man. You are a man now, a beautiful, sexy man. You give off this incredibly sexual vibe. I was dealing with that just fine until I saw you there, naked and hard. I wanted you, I still want you so bad just as I'm talking now. But I have so many emotions about you, old ones, new ones, odd ones. I don't know how to have sex with you. Do we sweet talk and make love? Do we fuck each other's brains out and cum all over our faces? Do we get rough, nasty? How could any of this not be a let-down?"

"Ethan, cut this out right now. What have you been doing up here on your own? Have you become that self-absorbed? You're hurting because Martin's gone and the relationship's over. It's okay not to feel like having sex with anybody for a while. It really is. But don't come up with that kind of crap, wallow in it and make it sound all nihilistic. Or is it some Buddhist crap you read in a self-help book?"

He froze for an instant, then broke into laughter. "Don't insult my Gods". He squeezed my legs gently. "I want... I just want...", he seemed to be concentrated on finding the right word. "Joy. I want joy."

I stood up, took his hand, motioned him to follow me and led him to the bed. I pushed him on it and lied on top of him. I started to kiss him very passionately, then slowed it down. He wrapped his legs around me and hugged me, kissing me deeply. We rolled over a few times, moved around the bed, thrashing about. Our lips never parted. I finally let go to take his t-shirt and our boxers off. I plunged back on him, our two very hard erections pressing against our stomachs. I kissed him everywhere I could, his body felt amazing. I grabbed his ass with both hands; he had a large, firm butt, the kind that comes with age to those who age well.

Every time we opened our eyes to look at each other, we were smiling. Every time one of my kisses or licks tickled him, he laughed. He muttered my name many times, in a sexy, raspy but exhilarated tone.

I took Ethan's cock in my mouth. It was very thick, but of average size, it was smooth and very hard. It felt almost subversive to be blowing him, to suck on his dick, lick his balls, kiss and play with the head. I increased my rhythm, tried to take him as deep as possible, all the way to my throat. I could hear him moan my name. It was incredible, I thought, fuck yeah, I'm blowing Ethan's hard cock. My own dick was dripping precum on the sheets and almost painfully begging to fuck him.

I asked him if he had any lube. He did, grabbed it from underneath the bed and handed it to me. I was on top and managed to lube his ass while looking at him straight in the eyes the whole time. He looked hungry for it, hungry for me. He had a mischievous smile, lustful eyes, and was breathing irregularly, with little hiccups every time I inserted one, or two, or three fingers in his ass.

He was then open, moist and ready for me. I lifted his legs and put his ankles on my shoulder. I penetrated him slowly and entered without much resistance. It felt insanely good. Our eyes were still locked into each other's. He whispered "go deep". I pushed myself as hard I could and started fucking him. I pressed my body against his, we were both so sweaty by then, they seemed to be sliding. I kissed his neck, licked his ear, buried myself in the pillow as I was pounding and pounding and pounding. He lowered his legs and wrapped them around my butt again. I raised my torso and found myself saying his name very loud, alternating with louder "Fuck! Oh fuck!".

I looked at his chest, with a gorgeous horizontal patch, along his strong pecs, of blond soft hair. I grabbed his pecs, pinched his nipples. The feeling of my dick thrusting in and out was incredible. Ethan was excellent at loosening, flexing, squeezing, loosening again. He was panting and moaning, and grabbed his cock. He started to jerk like crazy, watching me with his eyes wide wide wide open. I pulled out of him and started stroking as well. We didn't cum together but it was close enough. And we both seemed to cum buckets, as his chest, chin and face were drenched.

I dropped myself on him, exhausted. He hugged me while rubbing his stomach against mine and mixing our semen. I took his t-shirt from the floor and wiped ourselves clean. We just lied next to each other, staring at the ceiling. He grabbed hold of my hand, squeezed it and kept it with his. It was so hot in the room that this was as much body contact we could tolerate. I turned my head and looked at him. He was sporting a big, contented smile. He turned towards me and blew me a kiss, then closed his eyes. I fell asleep.

The bright sunlight didn't wake me the next morning. Nor did the sound and smell of the coffee machine. Nor did Ethan's closing the door when he left the cabin. It was him coming back and laying on the counter some bread, cheese, and fruits that he had just gone to buy. It was past eleven, and I opened one eye, naked on the large bed. I had a huge erection.

"Morning wood?" asked Ethan, setting up the breakfast table on the deck.

"Yes, is that joyful enough for you?"

He laughed and came over. He climbed on the bed and started taking my dick in his mouth. "Stop," I said. "We have plenty of time, I'm starving, and not for a quickie".

I put on the boxers from last night, made him remove his shirt and we sat down on the deck. We had a great breakfast, after which Ethan climbed on the hammock that was at the end of the deck and said, "Come with me". I managed to climb my way in, and rested between his legs, my naked back against his naked torso. He wrapped his arms around me.

We talked for an hour. I made him talk about Martin, briefly – but long enough to show that I cared. I asked about his coming out, about his first sexual experiences. I wanted to know all the things that hadn't been told about the Ethan I knew, all the things that we didn't talk about because sharing about sex with him had never been part of our relationship. He asked me about my sex life and I replied a little more honestly and completely than I had the previous night. He seemed neither fazed nor inappropriately eager. But I did feel his cock hardening behind me. He had seen my own erection and was distractedly, slowly fondling my dick.

"Ethan, I do get what you mean with your need for joyful sex, I want you to know that. I have little patience for over-complicated over-thinking of things that are simple and natural, that's all. Joyful sex is rare but it is fantastic. And I guess I haven't had some in a while before last night either. But as opposed to you, I do like angry sex, make-up sex, rough sex, drunk sex, and all that."

"I know. And I am actually a very sexual person. But I'm strictly monogamous and I had been with Martin for the last seven years. So I'm a bit out of practice when it comes to joyful sex."

"What about on your own?"

"That has definitely been a lot of joy, yes. Always has been."

"Tell me about the best one you've had recently".

"I was on a hike, here on the Island. I was very horny, for some reason. I realized there was nobody around. I just sat there, facing the ocean, in the middle of the bushes, took my dick out and started stroking. It's not much of a story, but it felt amazing."

I got out of the hammock and told him: "Get some clothes on. We're gonna hop in your car and you'll take me there. To that exact spot where you jerked off. I want to see it." He grinned and stood up.

The drive wasn't very long, but the hike was, especially with the heat. We spent the time talking about all the different outdoor places we had ever jerked off in. Ethan, being outdoors by trade and by hobby, had a better collection than I did. It was very fun and we were often giggling like randy teenagers.

We finally got to Ethan's spot. It was indeed secluded – and spectacular. He turned to me and asked "now what?". I told him I had had my way with him last night and that it was his turn to call the shots. "I'm yours. Use me and direct me to your own pleasure".

He pushed me against a tree, he lifted my arms and raised my t-shirt. He kissed and licked my armpits, one after the other, my neck, my nipples, my chest, my stomach, my bellybutton. He licked me up all the away along the side of my body to reach my armpit again. He grabbed my dick through my pants and kissed me hungrily. He was a bit rough with my cock, but it felt good. I really wanted to take out his own and play with it, but I decided to let him guide us to wherever and whatever he wanted us to do.

He took off my t-shirt, then unzipped my shorts. They dropped to my ankles, soon followed by my underwear. I was completely naked; still fully dressed, he stepped back to take a full view of my body. He opened his shirt, but left it on. He opened the first button of his shorts, but kept it on as well. He was looking at me intently, taking me all in. He pushed one of his hand inside his underwear and started fondling his cock. His eyes were scanning one part of my body to another, in a slow sequence. His look was so full of lust, he was almost a different person. I felt like the porn he was probably watching sometime. "Jerk yourself off", he told me.

And I did. Slowly. Staring at him, glancing occasionally at his hand, still inside his pants but stroking a now obviously hard dick. He came back close to me and grabbed my face with both his hands, pulled it towards me and kissed me again, with a depth and passion similar to our first kiss the previous night.

He shuffled me a bit, positioned himself behind me, and dropped his shorts and underwear to his ankles. He pulled me closer and stroked my cock with his left hand, using his right hand to jerk himself off. His mouth was right next to my ear. He licked, kissed or whispered repeatedly my name, sometimes Ben, sometimes Benjamin. He was jacking us off at the same rhythm, alternating speed and squeezing hard occasionally. His jerking fist kept punching my ass, and I felt his wet dickhead a few times, smearing me with drop of precum. We were both facing an incredible landscape, but it barely registered, as I was so enthralled in his grip.

"I'm gonna cum", I whispered faintly. He accelerated the stroking on both of our cocks, raised himself a little so he could get an easier and better view of mine. I felt the orgasm building up inside me, shaking me and I erupted. We botch watched my cum fly in the air and land on dry leaves with a flop flop sound. He jerked his cock even faster and his body was trembling. He placed his other arm around me and pulled me violently towards him. His hand was deeply pressed on my chest, when I felt him cumming in spasms, spurting on the small of my back. His body brutally dropped and he grunted. I felt him slapping his dick on my back and wiping it on my ass. He kissed me in the neck, gently, softly. Neither of us were moving for a long time, our eyes closed. I felt his cum dripping and sliding on my sweaty body, towards my crack and my ass cheeks, some drops falling to the ground.

After a little while, we silently dressed, his warm and smiling gaze always upon me. As we walked back to the car, I asked: "So, did we get it all out of our system, now?" He laughed and said, "Nope. Not quite yet, I don't think. What time do you have to catch the ferry back?". I cursed myself for having made up such an excuse to come and visit him. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I didn't have to leave at all that day; I would come off like a scheming manipulative little trickster and it would ruin the actual spontaneity that had made the sex between us so fantastic. I was pretty sure I had not plotted ahead to hook up with him, not consciously, and I wanted him and me to stay with that impression, with that version of the truth. "No later than 7 or 8", I reluctantly came up with.

"It's interesting you use the `getting it out of our system' expression", he said. "This is really what it feels like, isn't it? Yet, it feels like I need to get out my system something I wasn't exactly aware I had in the first place. And right now, whatever it is, doesn't feel completely let out."

I let him ponder more, as he was evidently absorbed by his thoughts. I was walking right next to him, feeling the crusty dried semen on my ass rubbing against my underwear.

"Today", he resumed, "I've had sex with the person you are now, with the sexy guy that got off the ferry last night, with the Ben that decided to pay me a visit - I wasn't and still am not quite clear on that, by the way". He smiled at me and waited briefly for an answer. I looked straight ahead, with my own thin smile on. He dropped the matter and started again.

"I told you it's not like I have been longing for you forever. But I have had, sporadically, strong magnetic attractions to you. I do vividly remember the first one. Andrew and I had stopped by to visit you briefly, on our way to a wedding in Virginia. You were spending the summer in DC, as an intern or something. It was a few months after you had come out to us. Do you remember?"

"I do. I was just twenty. It was just before my junior year."

"Yeah. We had been driving for a while and we met with you at some park, close to where you were living. You were playing soccer, with a bunch of other guys. Andrew and I just sat there, waiting for your game to be over, watching you. I hadn't seen you in six months, but you had changed quite a lot, somehow. You were bigger it seems, or just buffer, I don't know. I remember being fascinated by you on the field: you looked so determined, focused, aggressive. When the game was done, you walked towards us, soaked in sweat, panting. I was transfixed. You were so hot. When you hugged me, I felt some kind of electricity."

"I can't say I remember that".

"Well, it was very strange and disturbing for me. I had never considered you that way, you know? I had never looked at you sexually. It felt creepy. But the whole afternoon we spent together with your brother, I couldn't get my mind off sex. I was with Martin, of course, and you were Benjamin, Andrew's little brother, so nothing would have or could have happened. But I clearly remember the moment when we were taking off; Andrew was still inside, but we were by the car together. You were seeing us off and I was loading in some kind of grocery bags."

"You already had that Volvo".

"Yes, it was in a better shape, though. Anyway, you were standing so close to me and I was trying really hard to shake off this raw attraction. But, just for a second, as I was half into the car, I had a vision of fucking with you in that car, right there, right then. I actually had an erection thinking about it! Then Andrew came down, we all hugged and we left."

I tried to remember that day in Washington as we kept walking. I did recall the events he described, but not anything about him looking lustfully at me nor anything close. It was a great, exciting, and eventful summer for me and that particular day didn't quite stand out.

"And you've thought about that moment since then?", I asked.

"Not really, except by flashes, sometimes. When your name comes up in the conversation, it does happen."

"Flashes."

"Yes. I guess what I'm trying to say, or what I'm trying to figure out myself, is how significant these attractions I felt towards you really were. If what I need to get out of my system are the fantasies I had about you and suppressed with rational determination."

"You will never be able to fuck with the 20-year old me."

"You're just 25."

"Yeah, but I'm not 20. I'm not a college sophomore who just came out. The attraction you described was about seeing me soaked in sweat, playing soccer. You didn't mention how engrossing my conversation was or how fascinated you were by our philosophical exchanges on the meaning of life."

"You're being unfair."

"I'm not. And I'm not saying this is wrong. I think we all try to relive moments from our past, however young or old we are. We did that in the hammock, this morning, for an hour, just by swapping stories. But I think we have a similarly strong urge to experience what we missed out on, what we wished had happened but didn't."

"You feel that way?"

"Yes. For instance, when I was in high school, a good friend from soccer found the nerve to ask me if I'd get into a threesome with my girlfriend and him. He wanted to watch us fuck and maybe participate a bit. I freaked and firmly declined. To this day, I love watching porn about such threesomes; to this day, I wish I could run into him and say `let's do it'. To this day, the few times I've actually been in such a threesome, I always thought about that guy from high school, at one point or another."

"And these work to `get it out of your system' ?"

"No, because, even if these threesomes are fucking hot, each of us is really having their own personal experience at that moment. And it's never really quite the configuration I envisioned could have happened back in high school. Whatever the woman, the other guy, or myself wants or does, the way we fuck, the way we cum, it's never like my fantasy of what would have happened if I had said yes. Probably because, you know, I'm not in high school anymore." I winked at him.

"So, I will never shake off the image of you at 20, sweaty in a soccer uniform."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. It is associated with guilt, a little creepiness, and a kind of sexual longing I find a little pathetic."

"If I told you just now that I vividly remember that moment, that I could still see myself walking out of the field, towards you, and feeling overcome by an animal attraction for you, would it change something?"

"Yes. Definitely. It would alter that moment, change the memory by shedding some of its uglier layers. That moment would become something mutual, and just a missed opportunity. That, maybe we could shake off by fucking."

"Well, I'm sorry then."

His only answer was to take my hand and to keep walking, slowing our pace a little. When we reached the car, he stopped and gently grabbed my face with both of his big, strong hands. He pulled me closer and kissed me slowly, starting with little pecks, licking my lips with his tongue, inserting it in my mouth.

"Let's go", he said, "you must be hungry". We decided to grab some food somewhere and have a picnic on Isabella beach. It was a beautiful day, it was hot but the sun wasn't too brutal. He had some old beach towels stored in his car and we used them to sit and lie on the sand, at a reasonable distance from other little groups or families enjoying the day out. We kicked off our shoes and removed our shirts. We ate and actually managed to talk at length about other matters than sex. Until, after a silent pause watching teenagers play in the water, he asked: " "So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you ever been attracted to me sexually?" he said. "It's only fair I ask."

"Yes, it is. And yes, I guess I have. I know I've always found you handsome and charming." I thought for a while, rummaging through some memories. "Ethan, you must realize that you were always there in my life. You were a constant. And, as a gay guy I grew up with, you probably brought up or personified things about men in general."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, for instance, I vividly remember one time when you were staying at our house for a couple of days. I was young, maybe fourteen? I went to the bathroom one morning to brush my teeth and as I opened the door without knocking, I found you in the bathroom, naked and shaving in front of the mirror. I felt a big jolt. I mumbled some apologies and retreated by slamming the door. I vaguely heard you say "no worries", very casually. I was shaken by the sight of you, which was extremely erotic to me. And I was shaken by your cock. I had only seen it for a split second, but I had found it thick and beautiful. But my point is, I can't really tell whether I had gotten semi hard seeing Ethan's cock or just a guy's cock, period. And it's the same thing with hearing Andrew tease you about your one-night stands (back in the day when you had some) or seeing the outline of your dick through your wet speedo when we were all swimming together. It was fucking hot and parts of the many telling signs that I was gay, but I didn't equate any of that with a specific attraction for you. Not back then."

"And now?"

"Well, now you're Ethan, just Ethan. I'm 25 and I don't need to look for signs telling me who I am or for models from whom to find inspiration as to how to live my life. You're Ethan, a single, fucking sexy guy whom I've liked for a long time. And, yes, today, now that we can, I do want to fuck your brains out constantly. I do admit that when I heard you became single, that ignited a little spark."

After a pause, I added "Or maybe I'm just full of crap. Maybe I've been crazy in love with you the whole time. What exactly are we talking about?"

"Whatever we're talking about, you have lost the right to ever give me shit about over-thinking sex. You little fucker." He flashed me a big grin.

"Yeah. So let's make it simpler. I've always found you hot, I never really thought about doing anything about it. But I confess I may have jerked off on some occasions thinking about you. But that was a while ago".

"So have I. I jerked off the night of that wedding in Virginia, thinking about having my way with you in the back of my car".

"And how was that?"

He laughed. "It was terrible! I was fucking drunk and tired, I came quickly - with a semi limp dick. And I was submerged by guilt as soon as the first drop of semen landed on my belly."

"Lovely."

"Yeah. I came just thinking about your legs, I think. That's how horny you had gotten me on that soccer field. Since that day, I was always aware of how obsessive I was about your legs."

"I think I've been obsessed about your cock, since the day I saw you shaving. I'm an ass man, but I had never paid much attention to your ass, up until yesterday. The only glances at your body I had allowed myself were always for your cock."

"Trying to recapture that moment in the bathroom?"

"Probably. But, see, that's how I'm luckier than you. I could get your cock out of my system last night because I finally saw it, in its full glory. It was finally mine. You can't fuck with 20-year old Ben, but I can play with your cock. It hasn't changed!"

We were both laughing and he delicately took my hand.

"So you're done with me, now that you've seen my cock?" he joked.

"Well, that's the problem. I thought I could be, but by fucking with you, I was finally introduced to your spectacular ass. And that, my friend, is the drama of my life now. An old obsession was just replaced by a new one. Young Ethan's cock gave way to Adult Ethan's ass. It never ends."

"The circle of life."

"Exactly."

After a pause, he asked me: "When you jerked off thinking about me, what was going through your mind?"

I tried to remember, and it came back quickly. "It really didn't happen that often, as I said. But I remember much of it was about your cock, obviously. There was a lot about jerking off together - just the two of us, chilling, or sometimes with a bunch of other guys. There was one night I was really stoned, and it was about you giving me the most awesome blow job".

"But you stopped me this morning?"

"I just said we had the whole day."

"The day is going fast."

"I know."

"I want to blow you right now."

"But not right here?"

"Preferably not. I'm not an exhibitionist."

"I am. But, yes, preferably not on a family beach."

"Where should we go?"

"You tell me. You're the King of the Island."

"I think I just used up my turn of being fully in charge."

"That's right. Well, there's an obvious choice: let's do it in your car. It'll be summer 97 all over again. Kind of."

He laughed, said ok, stood up, packed our things and started to walk. When we were in the car, he turned and asked where we should go.

"I don't know, you know the area. Not at your cabin, let's do it somewhere a tiny bit more dangerous."

He thought for a while then said : "I know of a place. It's fairly secluded."

"You seem to know a lot of secluded places around here."

"The island is just one big secluded place. And I have a lot of time on my hands."

He drove off and we were silent for a while. The he burst into a short laugh. I looked at him quizzically and he said : "I'm so horny, right now, it's ridiculous."

"And you're joyful?"

"Yes, Ben, I am extremely joyful. And stupendously horny. Man, we just had sex. I mean, we've had sex twice already in less than 24 hours and I'm fucking horny again".

"Well, you did say you were a very sexual person. I like a man who's true to his word."

We soon arrived to something that looked like a car park, at the start of a hike. There was, indeed, no one and no car around. "Let's go in the backseat", I said. "Like two true horny teenagers." I lied down on my back, across the seat, my knees at its edge, and my legs dangling. He pulled my short and underwear down, and kneeled on the ground between my legs, by the open door. My cock was already half-hard and he started licking it and kissing it. He was very slow. He lifted my balls, licked underneath them, took them in his mouth, one by one. He moved back up to my dick, licking the whole shaft, circling the head with his tongue. Then he took it all in, in one gulp. He sucked on it, then took it even deeper, all the way to his throat.

It may truly have been one of the longest blow jobs I ever received. He would blow me hungrily, then take my cock out of his mouth, hold it and watch it appreciatively, suck some more, with wet slurping noise, go back to my balls, back to the shaft, back to head. He licked and gently kissed my hole a few times too. He was blowing me like I was the last person he would ever be blowing. He looked possessed, hungry and elated. It was incredibly hot to watch – on top of being a fantastic blow job.

I finally had to stop him. I was getting close to orgasm and even if I had enough stamina for a third in less than a day, I wasn't sure it would be the case for a fourth. And we weren't finish with that backseat.

He was now kissing my stomach and my thighs. I asked him, "In that brief vision, way back in DC, who was fucking whom in this car?"

He looked up, amused and intrigued. "I think it was me fucking you. But if you're thinking about completing unfinished business, I actually really want you to fuck me again." He climbed in the car, which wasn't easy or graceful and lied on top of me. We kissed for a while, then I motioned him to let me get on top and have him lie on his stomach. I wasn't feeling too acrobatic and fucking him from behind seemed the best option, at least to get us started.

I pulled down his pants and undies, spat on my fingers and tried to lube his hole with my saliva. I spat again and lubed my very hard dick. It was still quite wet from Ethan's extensive blow job, though, and it helped getting through the first ring of his sphincter. I carefully, slowly, pushed in and pulled out, before pushing back again. In a few thrusts, I was all the way inside him and started to pump. We must have been quite a hot sight: two guys with their pants at their ankles, going at it like rabbits in the back seat of a car, our legs outside, our sweaty bodies inside rubbing against each other and the old leather of the seat.

Between two groans, Ethan said he wanted to switch positions, so that he could see me better. It was hard to move with our shorts limiting our motions and we were quite clumsy. But he managed to have me lie on my back; he got one leg out of his shorts, he straddled me and sat on my cock, taking it all inside his ass in one swift move. Placing one hand on the ceiling, the other on my pec, he began to ride my dick.

It was incredible: he was in a trance, staring at me with glassy eyes and I could see his fat cock bobbing up and down with each of his movements. He was really slamming his ass against my body, completely impaling himself on my hard dick, all the while managing some amazing contractions with his hole that kept sending jolts of electricity through the shaft of my cock all the way to my guts.

I don't know what got over me, but I started shouting uncontrollably "YES! FUCK! YEAH!", with my eyes wildly, manically open, pleading him not to stop. He used one of his hand to muffle me. He was pressing it hard on my mouth, I almost had a hard time breathing, but I was thrashing about violently, trying to fuck him ever harder. He responded with his own violence, hastening and hardening the slamming of his ass against me, riding me with fury.

I was losing it. We were fucking so hard. I kept shouting, nothing much came out as any noise I made was muffled by his tightly gripping hand and covered by his own very loud panting. Then, the most incredible, insanely arousing sight any gay man covets happened right in front of my eyes: Ethan came without touching himself, one hand still firmly on the ceiling to maintain his balance, the other one on my mouth.

I tried to shout through his hand that I was about to cum, but he kept slamming his ass, still absorbed by his orgasm. I erupted inside him and felt like I was almost passing out.

There followed a lot of grunting, moaning, panting from both us, increasingly quieter and softer, and morphing into slow breathing – the only sound suddenly in this very quiet car park.

I felt my dick slowly softening and abruptly being popped out of Ethan's ass. I felt the dripping of my cum also leaving his hole, in small squirts. Ethan had dropped himself on me, he felt very heavy, extremely warm. My body ached and every small uncomfortable movement was making it worse.

The physical and emotional intensity I had just experienced was rattling me. I felt a brief panic, a deep confusion. Ethan wasn't moving, was completely silent and inert. "Say something", I wanted to shout, "say fucking something! What the fuck was that? How could this be so fucking good?". But I stayed silent too and concentrated really hard on getting my senses back.

Sex is good. Sex can be incredibly, overpoweringly intense even with a complete stranger, even with a complete bastard, even with a fucking twat, even with a guy overweight or old or ugly. Remember, just remember. Remember the sex clubs, remember the anonymous hook-ups, remember the threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes. Remember this guy and that guy and that other guy. Sex is sex.

Of course, sex with Ethan was bound to be fantastic. It's Ethan for fuck's sake. But if I had learned anything thus far, it was that sex is not love.

And what if Ethan had been right – or partly right? At some point, sex reaches a limit in its ability to express what we feel, how we feel. Maybe the incredible, intense, raw and emotional sex I'd had with Ethan in the last 24 hours, culminating in that frenzied copulation just now, had said what I had wanted to tell him all these years. Maybe our fucking reflected better than any simple words or long convoluted conversations what Ethan really felt towards me. Maybe it wasn't so much a matter of getting anything out of our system, but rather of saying what could never be said.

I've always been familiar with straight guys who punch you jokingly or pat you firmly on the back to express genuine affection – I do it too. Ethan and I used our smiles, our dicks, our asses, our lips, our jizz and some very intense banging to tell each other something. Something important. And that something had just been said. Loud, indeed, and clear. Sex with Ethan was over – for today definitely, forever possibly- because the conversation had reached its end. Everything that needed to be said had been perfectly communicated, with brutal sexual honesty, with joyful sexual sincerity.

• • • We slowly disentangled our glued up bodies. Ethan surprised me with a salvo of short, rapid kisses all over my face. "Let's go", he just said.

We drove back to the cabin and took a shower together. Ethan fixed me a sandwich, "for the train. You might not get to Providence before late". He drove me to Hay Harbor, where the ferry had brought me last night. When we got there, he turned off the engine.

"Don't wait up", I told him. "I'm sure the next ferry should be soon. I'll be fine."

"Okay. You do know how wonderful it was to have you here?"

"Well, I know how wonderful it was to be here."

A silence followed, one neither knew quite how to break.

"I should go", I whispered and started to open the door.

He grabbed my arm and said : "Wait up, Ben. We're good, right?"

"Oh Ethan, we're so good. We are so fucking good, it doesn't really get much better than that."

He laughed, took my hand and kissed it.

"What are you up to tonight?" I asked him, one leg out of the car, the other in.

"I'm just gonna head home and relax on the porch. I feel pretty exhausted. Is it crass to say that my ass hurts?"

"Nah. Well, you do that. You relax. Have a little whiskey."

"I will. And I'll raise my glass to you, Benjamin".

I planted a big wet kiss on his lips and got out of the car. We both waved and I watched the old battered orange Volvo drive off. I felt punch drunk happy.

I did feel a little stupid, hours later, back in my small NY apartment, texting him that I had arrived safely in Providence. But nothing that wiped the smile off my face.

Ethan today is still very much part of Andrew's life and, hence, of mine. He and I did sleep together two more times, maybe, in the following three years - before he started dating a graduate student from Williams (a nice, Granola, sensitive, bearded young guy). I confessed I did come on to Ethan on one drunken occasion since then. But that was just the dick talking and, in my defense, Ethan does have a fantastic ass. As well as a firm commitment to monogamy. They've been married since 2010. I see them about twice a year. They always seem joyful.

And, "Ethan", if you happen to stumble upon this story: thank you. As for the question you kept asking that day, the question I kept ignoring (and which I edited out of this story), here is, at long last, the answer: yes.

Comments, suggestions, reactions are welcome: benashtonvilla@yahoo.com