Land of the Living

LAND OF THE LIVING by K. Nitsua. (Tales from the Net series) Copyright 2000 by the author. All rights reserved.

Naked, lying flat on his back in the dim room, Jordan Hamel's breath quickened as gentle fingers, slick with lubricant, caressed his nipples sensually. Soon a hand moved down to his cock, erect and leaking, and began to stroke it.

In a moment, Jordan gasped as he felt a soft, moist warmth surround the head of his organ. His partner had substituted his expert mouth for the hand. As the man above him, also naked, began to suck him in earnest, Jordan raised his knees and spread his legs. He felt the fingers that had been stroking his cock enter the crevice between his cheeks and reach the soft flesh of his asshole. A wave of pleasure rose in him as they slipped inside and found his prostate gland. In a few moments, unable to hold back against the double assault on his cock and ass, Jordan groaned as he shot and shot again into his partner's waiting mouth.

His cock was released and the fingers slowly withdrawn from his anus, still throbbing with the remnants of his orgasm. Jordan opened his eyes. The other man was standing by the table, looking down at him, smiling, his cheeks bulging a bit. He wasn't going to swallow his load, of course. "Thanks, Daniel," Jordan said, feeling a little sheepish as always now that it was over.

Daniel turned, picked up a towel and discreetly emptied and wiped his mouth before he replied. "Don't mention it. Seems like you needed that, buddy."

Jordan allowed his gaze to linger on him. With his blond hair, chiseled face and tanned, athletic body, Daniel could have been a model. He had in fact once appeared, minimally clothed, on the cover of the local free gay bar guide. In real life, though, he was an office manager for a big corporation in town, who supplemented his income by giving massages. He was licensed--Jordan had checked. That didn't stop Daniel from giving a little extra service after the regular full-body Swedish treatment. For this, as he had politely made clear after their first session was over, he expected his quoted fee to be supplemented.

"You're a hustler," Jordan had said, as if he hadn't known what was going to happen when he walked into Daniel's apartment.

The blond man had laughed, not bothered at all, as he pulled his tank top back on. "Guess that makes you a john, buddy," he replied.

Abashed, Jordan had tried to apologize. Daniel had patted his cheek. "Forget it. I've been called a lot worse. Want to take a shower? There's a fresh towel in the bathroom."

He had gone back a couple of months later, and for several more visits since. It was not only that Daniel gave him something that he wasn't getting elsewhere. Jordan had grown to like the muscular masseur and his lack of hypocrisy about what he did. He still felt guilty when he thought of his lover knowing, but the truth was he didn't want to stop. Lee was a brilliant, sweet man, and so kind to him--but any chemistry between them was a thing of the past.

He came back to the present to find Daniel looking down at him quizzically. "Sorry, what?" Jordan said, aware that he had let his thoughts wander.

"I said, ready for your shower?"

Jordan lay back and sighed, gazing at the symmetrical rows on Daniel's stomach, and his still slightly swollen cock. Both cock and shaved balls jutted out proudly, pushed forward by the leather cock ring.

"Yeah, I guess so. I wish I could just lie here for the rest of the night."

Daniel smiled. "I wouldn't mind, but I've got another client coming in at ten." He picked up his clothes and began to dress.

He hugged Jordan when it was time to leave. "Take care of yourself," Daniel said. Jordan fleetingly wondered how much his apparent affection had to do with the five twenties he had left folded on the coffee table. But surely the warmth in Daniel's eyes wasn't faked.

Lee's car was not in the driveway when he pulled in. Jordan had planned it this way, but still felt relieved that his partner was not back yet. A reception for a visiting scholar at the University, Lee had said. That gave him time to mess with the new iMac and try and work the bugs out. Doing something for his partner might also assuage the familiar guilt that was eating at him.

A while later he sat musingly in front of the monitor in their joint office. Lee really had bought this computer for Jordan--the University provided him with one in his office that was bigger and had a DSL connection. The iMac was turning out to be something of a lemon. Despite repeated calls to the helpline, the mysterious crashes and disconnections persisted. It was almost as if the thing were bewitched in some way.

Lee, of course, had been no help at all, beyond being upset that the shiny new machine wasn't working right. He had little interest in computers beyond e-mail and word processing anyway. Any glitch in the works usually stymied him. Thus it was ironic that a few months before, frantically searching for a lost file on the hard drive of their old machine, Lee had accidentally opened a cache of e-mails Jordan had stupidly saved from a man he had met in the local M4M chat room.

The thought of the painful scene that had ensued still made Jordan close his eyes and sigh. He had walked into the house that afternoon to find his partner sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space. When Jordan had asked him what was wrong, Lee had turned toward him, and the glassy hurt and anger in the brown eyes had made him take a step back. Then they had filled with tears and the older man had begun to sob, his face in his hands, as Jordan watched helplessly.

"Why did you do it, Jordy?" Lee had demanded, when he had at last been able to speak coherently. "Haven't I made you happy, given you everything you want? Haven't I been good to you?" Jordan had stood, heartsick, jaw clenched. How could he begin to explain the inner demons that drove him to do the things he did? There was no way.

Lee didn't throw him out that day, though sometimes Jordan wished that he had. Instead, they had begun the arduous process of rebuilding their shattered relationship. He had promised to give up tricking, and he had. He knew in his heart that he should stop seeing Daniel too, but so far he hadn't been able to do it.

As always, mulling over his situation brought neither new insights nor solutions. Jordan determinedly silenced his inner voices as he turned on the computer and waited. At least it was starting up today--occasionally during the few weeks they had tried to use it, it had refused to do even that, the screen remaining dark and silent.

So far, so good, he thought, as the icons appeared on the desktop. He decided to try something simple and check his e-mail. In the aftermath of Lee's discovery of his affair, he had asked his lover whether he wanted to know his account password. Lee had refused.

"You made a promise, Jordy, and I trust you. I'm not going to play detective. I wish I had never found those e-mails," he added, tears welling in his eyes as they had often in those weeks. Jordan hadn't known whether to cry himself or take Lee by the shoulders and shake the nobility out of him. Damn it, why couldn't his partner just scream at him, hit him, treat him like the shit he was? Jordan knew that he never would, though. That was his punishment.

With one last sigh, he clicked into his e-mail program, and saw there was mail. In a moment Jordan was staring at the screen and the contents of his in-box. Amid the spam and messages from familiar addresses, he saw one that made him sit up, suddenly alert.

marcmoss@etherworld.net. "Back soon."

Anger and, though he tried not to admit it, a little fear rose in Jordan. Who the hell was sending him an e-mail using Marc's name? Hurriedly he punched a key and the body of the message came up onscreen.

Hey Camel: surprised? Long time no see. You may see me sooner than you think. Looking forward, Marco.

Jordan's heart was racing and he realized he was close to tears. If this was a joke, it was a vicious one, and had gotten him good. Whoever had done this must know him pretty well--well enough to know about Marc, and that he had been dead for years; well enough to know Marc's private nickname for him. Whoever had sent this knew how much Jordan still missed the charismatic, cruel, spellbinding man who had been swept away on the tide of the plague, like so many others.

He sat, staring unseeing at the screen, as memories came flooding back. It had been one sunny spring afternoon in the park, years ago now, when he first saw the man who had changed his life forever. Marc had been sitting on one of the concrete picnic tables in a wooded area, young, dark-haired with a mustache, dressed only in running shorts and sneakers, smoking a cigarette. His gaze was level and direct, his smile flashing as he caught Jordan's eye from a distance.

Intrigued, Jordan cautiously drew nearer. There would be many such men later as dusk fell, most not as desirable as this one. It was unusual and risky though for someone to be cruising this early. As he approached, the other man stubbed out his smoke. He leaned back, planted both feet on the bench beneath and let his knees part. His chest and stomach were smooth and tautly muscled, his nipples large and dark. Jordan caught his breath as he saw the head of his cock peeking out of one leg of the skimpy shorts. The man's grin widened--he knew Jordan had seen.

Finally he was directly in front of the man, who still had not moved. Breathless, his heart thudding, Jordan let his eye drop to the cruiser's cock, which had hardened and lengthened impressively, bursting out of the confines of its inadequate covering. Jordan felt an ache in his own crotch, his cock pressing against the front of his jeans.

"So, what are you waiting for?" the man on the picnic table demanded.

"Here?" Jordan asked. To his embarrassment, his voice cracked.

The man shrugged, elaborately casual. "Why not?"

"Jesus, man," Jordan said nervously, "it's broad daylight. People are all around."

"Makes it more exciting." The cruiser's hand dropped to his organ and began to stroke it. Jordan gave in. He knelt awkwardly on the bench between the man's legs, bent and took the cock into his mouth. His partner pushed back to give Jordan more room, sighing with pleasure. "Mmm, that's it. Nice."

His response excited Jordan to greater efforts, his fear receding. He began to suck harder, nodding his head vigorously up and down on the long, slender shaft, pulling the balls with one hand while letting the other run over the toned body. "Oh yes, that's great. Suck it," he heard the man whisper.

At that moment something hit the top of the table near them with a loud thump. Jordan started with fright. Visions of being set upon by gay bashers coursed through his mind as he leaped up, before he saw that the object, now on the ground nearby, was harmless--a softball.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" The anonymous man looked at the ball. "There's a ballfield over there," he said. "Someone must have hit a home run--or a foul."

"We'd better get out of here," Jordan said, beginning to walk away, "They're going to come looking for that thing."

The other man waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "Think they'd want to join in?"

"C'mon!" Jordan hissed urgently. He could hear rustling nearby and voices approaching.

"I think it fell over there," someone said.

"Okay, okay." The man in the shorts leaped gracefully off the picnic table and came toward him just as a man and a boy, probably father and son, entered the clearing, the boy with a baseball glove. Fortunately they were behind him, so they couldn't see his still stiff cock pushing out of the shorts.

"You always live this dangerously?" Jordan demanded as they retreated into the woods.

"You call that dangerous?" his companion grinned. "Got my juices flowing. I have an idea. Follow me."

They walked across the drive that wound through the park, into deeper woods. After what seemed a long time to Jordan they arrived at another clearing in which stood a stone cabin.

"What is this place?" Jordan asked.

"Girl Scout weekend campsite. I kid you not." The man walked toward the house, then led him around to the side. Jordan saw that the cabin had been built on an incline and steps led downhill to the back, which was one story lower than the front. At the bottom they turned and found themselves on a stone porch, shaded and cool, on which stood another concrete picnic table. The woods began immediately behind the house, keeping any sun from penetrating their hiding place.

"Nice and private here," the man said. Jordan realized he still didn't know his name. He closed in on Jordan, grasping his hips. Jordan caught a whiff of tobacco, and perhaps another substance, on his breath. "Fucking hot," the man said, as he pressed his mouth to Jordan's, backing him against the wall of the house. They kissed, tongues tangling, Jordan's hand feverishly sliding underneath the other's shorts. The dark man undid the buttons on his fly and knelt, peeling down his jeans and taking him quickly down his throat. Jordan closed his eyes, feeling the coolness on his bare skin, the mouth sucking him making a hot tunnel in the middle.

The man stood. The urgent pressure of his hands indicated that he wanted Jordan to turn. A thrill went through him at the thought of what was about to happen. Just as he wondered about safety he saw his partner pull out a foil packet from a small pocket in the lining of his shorts. He caught Jordan's eye and winked. "Prelubed and pre-pared," he said. Quickly his long cock was sheathed and Jordan turned toward the wall. He cried out in pain as the cock pushed roughly into him, the condom not quite slick enough for comfort, but the hurt soon passed. He wanted to stroke his own cock but the other man grasped both his arms and raised them, spread-eagling him against the rough wall, holding him pinned and helpless as he began to fuck him.

"Please," Jordan started to say.

"No," was the reply. Jordan closed his eyes and surrendered. Usually he only enjoyed being fucked if he could jerk off and end it quickly, but the man taking him had other ideas. He varied the pace and depth of his movements, continually touching new places inside Jordan, finally arriving at a particular angle that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him with each thrust. He began to moan quietly as a strange warmth began to build in his pubic area. When the sensation had enveloped his entire lower body Jordan became aware of an additional throbbing. He looked down and saw the fluid dribbling from his cock--he had cum without touching himself. Knowing that sent him into further paroxysms. He was barely aware of the grunting behind him that signaled his partner's climax.

At last the man behind him pulled out and let go of him. Jordan turned, breathing hard, still reeling from the intensity of his release. The man was pulling off his rubber. He tossed it into the woods and pulled his shorts up, then smiled, the mischief emerging again. He looked like a little boy who had pulled off a particularly clever prank and gotten away with it.

"What's your name, partner in crime?" he asked.

Jordan said his name. "Mine's Marc," the man offered, extending his hand. And that was how he had met Marc Moss.

Even Jordan was surprised sometimes how clear his memories of Marc remained: the good times, the long talks about Marc's work, the excitement when his novel was accepted for publication, the rave review in the Advocate. The spur of the moment jaunts to out-of-the way places--Marc had loved the outdoors. And of course, the hot, fevered sex, in all the usual places and in some he never would have thought of.

It was all too easy to remember, too, how things had gone sour. Jordan, naive and in love, had been shocked and hurt to discover that Marc had no intention of being faithful to him. He had ignored the evidence as long as he could, trying not to wonder about the frequent hangups when he answered the phone in their apartment, or reacting with feigned casualness when concerned friends told him that they had seen Marc in some bar or another with a man they didn't recognize. Finally one day he had snapped when he came home from the University to find his supposed lover in the bed they shared, happily fucking a strange man--a homeless transient whom Marc had picked up in the park.

Marc had been coolly indifferent when Jordan had packed up that evening and left. "People who live with me live by my rules," was all he had to say.

That must have been one reason, Jordan thought, why Marc's final illness and decline were marked by so much anger. The plague played an especially nasty joke on Marc Moss, not only taking his life but first slowly stripping him of the few things he cared about: sex, his looks, his independence and finally, his brilliant mind. In the end, the only one who had stood by him had been Jordan, whom he had treated with such contempt. How Marc must have hated him.

In the aftermath of Marc's death Jordan had been unable to concentrate or focus on his studies. Getting a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature seemed worse than meaningless. He had taken a leave from the program, and when the money ran low, a job as a waiter at Nat's, a low-key, cozy, but very good and expensive restaurant. Dressed in white shirt, tie and black slacks, he had lost himself in the nightly physical labor, the mindless grind of memorizing the daily special board, and the task of describing ingredients and wine lists as if he knew what he was talking about. After the bitter tantrums and verbal abuse of Marc's last months, dealing with snippy customers was nothing, and he quickly became a popular server. Maybe this is my calling, he thought gloomily.

Lee had come into the restaurant alone one Friday evening: a handsome man with salt and pepper hair and beard, tall body beginning to thicken. Jordan had been harassed and busy that night, and irritated that the manager had assigned him yet another table. Single customers usually didn't tip particularly well, since they weren't trying to impress dates. Jordan remembered liking the man's deep, cultured voice from the start, though.

After clearing the main course he had brought coffee. It was then that he noticed that his customer was reading a book whose cover was all too familiar. It was Marc's book, the one that was going to make him the most famous gay writer in America. Jordan's breath caught in his throat and he stood still. Noticing that his waiter was still standing by his table, the diner looked up inquiringly, closing the book. On the back cover was a black-and-white photo of his dead love, smiling, eyes flashing challengingly as they so often had in life. Despite himself Jordan was overcome, and it was moments before he could speak.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed. "It's just that--I know him."

"Marc Moss?" his customer said. "He's really talented, judging from this."

"He was."

"Was?"

"Yes. He died."

"Oh--I'm so sorry. So he was a friend of yours?"

"More than a friend." He was saying more than he intended, responding to the stranger's sympathy.

"I see." Jordan thought the man did see. Embarrassment overtook him and he took refuge in formality. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"

The man at the table shook his head, and smiled. "No, thanks."

When Jordan brought his credit card back to the table sometime later, the man addressed him. "You know," he said, clearing his throat, "I hope you won't think this is too strange--I've never done this before." He offered him a business card. "I'd love to talk to you more about your friend."

Jordan had taken the card hesitantly, glancing at it. "Dr. Lee Hartman, Professor of English and Creative Writing," it said, with phone, fax and e-mail neatly arrayed at the bottom.

Hartman continued, "He was a wonderful talent--I'm devastated to hear that he's gone. I teach over at the University, so maybe I know what I'm talking about. I hope you'll give me a call sometime."

"Sure, thanks," Jordan said. He had not, of course, intended to follow through. Yet something about Hartman's dignified manner, his deep, soothing voice, and his sympathy had stayed with him. They met for coffee the next week and talked late into the evening.

"So you took care of him when he got sick," Lee said.

Jordan nodded. "I had to. He didn't get along with his family. They basically abandoned him."

"Must have been hard."

"Yes, it was." Just how hard, Jordan had told no one. With his uncontrollable sexual energy it was no wonder that Marc had caught the virus. Its relentless ravaging of his body and soul had been unbearable to watch. It must have invaded his brain toward the end--he had to believe that was the cause of his inexplicable, vicious rages.

One day in the hospice Marc had lit into him about bringing the wrong cigarettes. "I told you I've switched brands!" he shouted. "You're so fucking useless."

"Okay," he had said wearily, hoping to head off another full-scale outburst.

"Can't do anything, can you. Can't finish your degree, can't write your way out of a paper bag--"

Jordan's lip began to tremble. "That's not fair." It was as if Marc were on some sort of scorched-earth mission, trying to destroy everything good that they had before he left.

"It's the fucking truth. I can't hold a pencil anymore, and you spew your garbage every week for that rag. Now get out of here. I can't stand the sight of your mediocre self."

He had fled, vowing not to return. Yet he had come back, and stayed to the end. On the last day Marc's emaciated body became wracked with harsh gasps as his organs failed. Jordan looked for a last time into his glazed, unseeing eyes, kissed him on his chapped lips and whispered, "I love you," though he knew Marc was past all hearing. The agonized waiting as the dying man's labored breathing gradually slowed and stilled would remain forever etched in his memory.

"I've made you sad," Lee's voice said, jerking him back to the present.

Jordan passed a hand over his eyes. "It's okay. I needed to talk about this--it's good."

"Gentlemen, we're closing," the barista announced as he stopped by their table to pick up their cups.

Lee looked at him intently. "I'd like to continue this at my house. You haven't told me about your own writing."

At Lee's modest, elegantly furnished home the professor had served him Scotch and they had continued to talk. It took considerable conversation for Jordan to discover that Lee had written, some years previously, a novel that had been nominated for the National Book Award. The older man displayed a copy with mingled pride and diffidence.

"I remember reading this my freshman year in college," Jordan said. "I loved it. I can't believe I'm meeting the author."

Lee laughed. "Right now I'm feeling pretty old."

"You haven't written any others lately?"

Lee shook his head regretfully. "I'm not sure why. The usual reasons, I suppose. The teaching, not having enough time. I love teaching and I'm good at it--I don't feel unfulfilled not writing. Maybe that's the problem."

Almost before he knew it it was one o'clock in the morning, and Lee was looking at him with a new intentness in his eyes. Jordan had wondered what he would do if this moment came. He found himself reaching out and stroking one bearded cheek. The sweetness of Lee's smile at his touch filled him with a warmth he had not felt for a long time.

"You know what made me give you my card?" Lee asked as he cooked breakfast for Jordan the next day.

"No, what?"

"The way your eyes got shiny when you told me you had known Marc. I could tell he was someone special to you. I wanted to help." Lee bent and kissed Jordan. "Besides, your butt looked great in those tight black pants. I was feasting my eyes every time you left the table."

Jordan hugged his arm as they laughed. Even then, though, he had not been bowled over by the chemistry between them. Every time he thought of Marc, on the other hand, his mind filled with erotic images: Marc naked on the porch of the stone cabin, ready to fuck him, his long cock jutting up from his coarse pubic bush; Marc gently rubbing both his nipples with the palms of his hands until he writhed helplessly with pleasure; Marc overwhelming him with ardent, tobacco-scented kisses.

He owed Lee a lot, he knew that. The older man had supported him, encouraged him to quit waiting tables and find work that would let him write. Yet he could have foreseen that their relationship would run aground over his infidelity. The dissatisfaction had slowly grown through the placid months of their life together, going off to work at the paper every weekday, weekends spent safely, predictably, at the movies, the theater and sometimes the lake. Finally, he had begun to search for someone, or something, who could fill the void.

Marc had frequently been cruel to him while he was alive--but in death, he cast a spell over Jordan that he couldn't seem to break.

He was roused out of his memories by the tread of heavy footsteps at the front door. Hastily he closed the program and logged off. He said nothing to Lee that evening about the message.

The following day Jordan came home and went immediately to the computer. Logging on, he felt nervous anticipation as he saw the blinking icon signaling incoming mail. He opened his in-box and gasped out loud.

There was another message from marcmoss@etherworld.net, this time with an attached file: "Any day now."

With trembling fingers he opened it.

Hey Camel: Just another heads up, and a little present to hold you until then. Marco

He punched the icon to download the file, which was untitled. As it was decoded, and the frame on the screen began to fill up, he watched in fearful fascination.

"Oh, Jesus," he muttered when it was done. He was shaking all over.

The picture itself was attractive, the kind he would have instantly downloaded from one of the Usenet groups he used to peruse regularly until the blowup with Lee. It was an image of a dark-haired, mustached man, slender but toned, smiling with casual arrogance. He wore only a very brief, bright red Speedo, perching on the rocks that ringed one of the area lakes on a bright sunny summer day.

It was Marc, of course. It was bad enough that someone had sent him the picture that had once been his favorite. What made it a thousand times worse, what caused actual, coppery terror to rise in Jordan's throat, was that, as far as he knew, he had possessed and destroyed the only copy. He had taken that picture himself on one of their excursions, and burned it in the depths of his grief soon after Marc's death.

"What?" Jordan said, irritably. He and Lee were driving to dinner at some friends' a few days later. No further messages had come, but Jordan's nerves remained on edge. He had not been able to trace the source of the e-mails--the anonymizing server they had come from had been singularly unhelpful.

"I said, is there something wrong?" Even Lee must have noticed his mood.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Jordan knew that wouldn't satisfy his partner, but how could he explain the actual reason? A ghost was sending him e-mails and pictures from his past?

Lee sat back, his face dark. "You're so jumpy and rude. If there's something I've done that's bothering you, why can't you let me know what it is?"

"It's not you." They were on a busy street and Jordan wasn't sure where the left turnoff they were supposed to take was. Great time to start this, Lee, he thought.

"Then what is it? You were just like this around the time--"

"When what?" They had reached the intersection and were stopped in the left-turn lane. The light was green and traffic rushed past them in both directions. Jordan turned to face his partner as his temper flared. "When you found those e-mails from Burt? Is that what you were going to say?"

Lee sat stiff and silent.

"Damn it, Lee! Don't start something then try and drop it now." Jordan thought he saw an opening and swung the wheel, angrily stomping on the accelerator. Their car jerked into the intersection. At that instant a horn blared loudly and brakes shrieked to their right.

Lee wheeled toward the sound, and managed to scream "Oh my God!" just before the oncoming car broadsided them.

The next few days were a series of mercifully blurry images. Sitting in the shattered car amid pebbles of glass, cradling Lee's bloody head, screaming for help. The ride to the hospital. Waiting in the cold, impersonal lobby, trying not to weep. Praying, despite the fact he didn't believe in God. Breaking down at the news that his partner was in a coma. Then, days later, rushing to the hospital after hearing the encouraging phone message.

"When can I see him?" Jordan demanded eagerly.

The doctor, a quiet, competent woman, frowned. "Perhaps not just yet."

"Why not? I thought you said he'd recovered consciousness."

"Yes, but--" she finally continued. "There seems to be a problem with his memory."

"What sort of problem?" Jordan asked, anxiety rising.

"It appears he has at least temporary amnesia," the physician said flatly. "He does not know his name, occupation, or any basic information about himself. My guess is that he won't recognize you, either."

Jordan stood silent, momentarily stunned by this news. Then a desperate idea occurred to him. "But maybe seeing me will make him snap out of it," he countered. "Please."

"Well, perhaps," she said doubtfully.

They had walked into Lee's room together. His head still bandaged, his partner turned toward Jordan and the doctor. His blue eyes were mild, impersonal. There was not a flicker of recognition in them.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Are you sure you can manage him?" the same doctor asked a week later. They were standing some distance from Lee, who was sitting placidly in a wheelchair at the curb of the hospital's main entrance.

"Yes," Jordan said firmly. "He doesn't know anyone, but he's perfectly fine otherwise. You said his memory could come back at any time. Being at home he'll be in familiar surroundings. Surely something will trigger it."

"I hope so. Please let me know if there's any change. Good luck," she said, shaking Jordan's hand.

Nothing miraculous happened when he brought Lee home, however. Still stiff from the accident, the professor hobbled inquiringly about, Jordan following, saying at one point, "Nice house." A few minutes later, he said to Jordan, "So you're my--partner?"

"Yes, I am, Lee," Jordan replied.

"So I'm gay," Lee said musingly. He looked at Jordan. "Please forgive me, but right now, I don't feel--anything for you. I don't know you."

Jordan tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. You just get some rest, take it easy. The university's granted you a medical leave and we're trying to keep things quiet, give you plenty of time to get better."

"Thank you," Lee said. The impersonal, formal tone in his voice made Jordan's heart sink. How was he going to deal with this? And for how long?

Something flickered in the older man's distant eyes, a trace of humor. "You can trust me, Jordan. I'll stay put. It seems I remember how to do the basics like feeding, dressing and the rest. You won't have to change my diapers." He patted Jordan gently on the arm. "I'd like to look at the garden. I seem to have been good at growing things."

The next afternoon, when Jordan came home from work, he called, "Lee?" There was no response. He walked outside, around the house and yard, but Lee wasn't there. Jordan walked into the house from the back, beginning to be worried. He called Lee's name again.

"In here," came a voice.

Relieved, Jordan went back into the master bedroom, then stopped short. Lee was standing naked, gazing at himself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door with a critical air. He wheeled around toward Jordan, who recoiled at the sharp accusation in his eyes.

"Why did you let me get like this?"

Momentarily at a loss for words, Jordan finally stammered, "Well, Lee, it's your body."

"I'm a fat slob. This is disgusting. Why didn't you say something?"

"Lee, you're not the kind of person who likes to be told things like that--usually." He had never known his partner to be concerned about his weight before.

Lee shook his head, pursing his lips. "Well, I'm going to start working on this right now--after I shave."

"Shave?"

"I'm getting rid of this ratty thing," Lee said, pulling at his beard. "Mind if I use the NordicTrack?" he called from inside the bathroom a few moments later.

Jordan, still standing there, replied, "Go ahead, it belongs to the both of us." The fact was, Lee had never shown any interest in it, until now. He left, shaking his head.

Later, at dinner, Lee's strange energy seemed to have dissipated. He had returned to the pleasant, somewhat vacant state that had been the norm since he returned from the hospital. Still, he had run on the NordicTrack for a good hour, and asked Jordan about gym memberships. Jordan had told him he could use his at the local fitness club.

In the days that followed, he saw no sign that his partner was improving, if that meant his memory returning. Lee treated Jordan with polite formality, as if he were a stranger temporarily sharing living quarters with him. Beneath his placid exterior, though, Jordan sensed something going on. Lee showed no interest in his academic or scholarly work, but continued exercising with fierce diligence, riding the exercise machine in their home every day for long periods of time. He also found the track at the high school nearby. Inevitably, he was glimpsed by one of his colleagues at the University, who later called Jordan, frantic at the professor's bizarre behavior. Jordan had to spend twenty minutes explaining the situation, and hung up dismayed. Great, he thought, now it'll be all over campus that Hartman's gone mad--so much for the "medical leave" story.

He had to admit he had wondered the same thing himself. Periodically Lee's calm was replaced by what seemed to be another, much more aggressive personality. That early day in the bedroom had been one instance of that. Another took place about a week or two afterward.

He came home and found Lee in the office, clicking at the computer keyboard. For a moment Jordan was startled, thinking that his partner's memory might have returned and that he was back to normal. Lee looked up and smiled. "Been fooling around with this thing."

"Oh really?" Jordan suddenly felt nervous. That strange look in his amnesiac lover's eyes was back, an unnatural brightness.

"Found some pretty interesting stuff. Your live-in know about all of this?"

Jordan stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"This pic, for one." Lee clicked the mouse and suddenly the picture of Marc in his red bikini filled the screen. "Pretty hot guy there. Someone you know?"

Jordan answered, trying to keep his voice steady, "Someone I knew." He was angry, and bewildered at Lee talking about himself as if he were another person.

"So high and mighty about people fucking around, and you're doing the same thing left and right. "

"That's not true." Jordan began to be frightened as well as angry.

"Oh no? What about that little blond number you go see?"

Jordan said nothing, dumb with amazement. How could Lee possibly have known about Daniel?

"I know what he does to you for a hundred dollars a pop." Lee clicked his tongue contemptuously. "You love it, don't you? God, what a loser. Have to pay to get it--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jordan screamed, completely losing control under the strain of the past weeks, and now this vicious, mystifying attack. "What the fuck would you know about it, you smug, overweight asshole." He began to cry.

Abruptly Lee rose from the chair and came toward him. Jordan raised his arms and began to flail at him randomly, still weeping. Lee caught hold of his arms to stop his attack, then abruptly enfolded him in a fierce, surprisingly strong embrace. Jordan struggled a few moments longer, then yielded and let Lee cradle him sobbing against his chest.

"I'm so sorry," he heard Lee say. "I don't know why I say those things. Please, I'm sorry, Camel. You were so good to me. You were there when everyone else left me... please."

Just as abruptly Lee released him and was gone, footsteps fading rapidly away. Jordan sank on the floor of the office, hiccuping with sobs, completely disoriented. When he finally was able to get up and go searching cautiously for his partner, he found him asleep on their bed. When Lee padded into the kitchen some time later as he was half-heartedly making something to eat, Jordan wheeled around warily.

Lee, however, had reverted to his usual state. He ate his meal and chatted agreeably enough. It soon became clear that he remembered nothing of the conflict that had taken place not an hour earlier.

That night, long after Lee had fallen asleep, Jordan lay awake, staring into space. The quarrel had deeply shaken him, not only because of Lee's uncharacteristic malice but also certain things he had said. He supposed it was possible that sometime in the past he had told Lee Marc's silly pet name for him--but why would Lee suddenly use it now? No answers came, and after tossing and turning for hours he finally fell into a troubled sleep.

He began to feel desperate and confined at home. Conversation was impossible with this being who looked like Lee, but had none of his partner's cultured intelligence. This person watched TV most of the time or read popular magazines, when he wasn't running or lifting weights. His occasional energetic moods remained puzzling, though not as upsetting as that day in front of the computer.

Jordan finally decided to take some time for himself. After work one day he went to the gym and drove himself through an intense workout. The exercise failed to relieve his stress as he had hoped--he remained tense and irritable, and caught himself worrying about Lee every few minutes.

He arrived home exhausted. Having hurried home without showering, he decided he had to have one before turning in. Opening the bedroom door carefully, Jordan saw that the room was dark and Lee was asleep under the covers, his face away from the door. Hoping that he would not be wakened by the sound of the shower, he slipped past him and entered the bathroom, trying to not make too much noise as he closed the door and turned on the light.

He stripped, turned on the water and got in under the hot spray, enjoying the feel of the stream over his tired body. Despite himself he soon began to relax. The soothing spray hitting his skin and the sound of the rushing water were having their effect. His cock stirred, and he gave it a couple of strokes as it rose. He hadn't realized how horny he was. He had been too busy to see Daniel, and sex with Lee seemed out of the question as long as he was in this state...

At that moment the bathroom darkened. Startled, Jordan looked up to see a hulking, menacing shape looming on the other side of the shower curtain. Before he could react, a hand swept it aside to reveal a tall figure with one arm raised in the air, holding something cylindrical. Jordan's mouth opened and he screamed in terror as the object descended on his body, and...

Bounced off his skin. It was a rolled-up newspaper. "Boo!" Lee cried.

Jordan's knees buckled and he had to lean against the shower wall to keep from falling. Relief flooded through him, quickly replaced by anger. "Are you fucking crazy?" he shouted.

"No," Lee replied gaily, "Just amnesiac." He was dressed only in a pair of white briefs, and as irate and off-balance as Jordan was, he couldn't help noticing that the exercise was having an effect. Lee's belly had shrunk noticeably, and his shoulders had broadened. He'd make a great daddy bear, Jordan thought, and realized, dismayed, that his horniness was returning, made stronger than ever by the surge of adrenalin that had shot through his body.

Lee must have noticed something of what he was feeling, for his smile broadened. "You're cute when you're mad."

"Well, are you just going to stand there getting water all over the floor?" Jordan challenged.

In response, newspaper and briefs were quickly discarded. In an instant a naked Lee was in the shower with him, closing the curtain in one quick sweep. Jordan was flabbergasted. He couldn't recall a time when he and Lee had showered together--or for that matter, when Lee had played a prank on him.

Lee's arms went around Jordan. "I don't think I've ever seen you in the shower before," he said, and kissed him, lifting his shorter lover in the air. Jordan found his body responding eagerly as he let his hands rove over Lee's back. Lee put him down and, turning toward the shower head, opened his mouth, then knelt down. The next moment Jordan gasped as his cock was surrounded by surging heat. Lee had engulfed him with a mouthful of hot water and was churning it vigorously in his cheeks. He finally released him, emptying his mouth, and raised his face, grinning and squinting his eyes against the pelting spray. "Hot enough for you?"

"I'm going to shoot in about two seconds."

Lee stood and turned his back to Jordan. "Not before you fuck me." He leered back at his partner just before he bent and braced himself against the wall with his hands. "I got myself ready before I came in here."

Sure enough, Jordan's cock, harder than ever, slid easily between the white, smooth globes of Lee's buttocks. He watched it move like a piston in and out of his lover's hole, both ass and cock glistening with drops of water beading on the skin. Lee let go of the wall with one hand and began to work his own cock underneath.

"Oh yes," he breathed, softly at first, then gradually repeating the words louder and louder until the last "Oh!" became a prolonged wail of triumph. The throbbing of Lee's anal canal around his shaft told Jordan that his cock was discharging its load, thick white drops trickling down the tile and being carried away by the swirling water. A second later he groaned and pitched forward onto Lee's broad back as he exploded in turn into his lover's body.

They got out of the shower, dried themselves off and mopped up some of the water on the floor. Then they moved to the bed and started over again. Jordan felt the accumulated tension of the past weeks finally leave his body, consumed in the fireball of his second orgasm.

Later, their limbs loosely entwined on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, listening to Lee's soft even breathing.

Whatever the hell was going on, it wasn't dull. The only problem was, he wasn't getting much work done--the work that counted, anyway. He hadn't written any more in weeks, not since all this had started. Jordan realized how much Lee had helped him to write, not only by reading and critiquing his work, but by treating him like someone with talent. With the person that Lee had become he was alternately playing nurse and fuck buddy. Come to think of it, his life with Marc had been about like that.

Lying there, Jordan admitted the truth to himself--Marc never had regarded him as an intellectual equal. Lee had. Suddenly Jordan desperately missed the partner he knew. Damn it, where was he? Gone forever?

He forced back the tears of panic that had suddenly risen. Better not to try and figure things out, he thought. Just ride along with whatever's happening.

One Sunday a week or so after that he drove Lee down to a little Mexican restaurant on the main drag downtown for brunch. The narrow dining room was crowded and noisy as usual. Lee was pleasant, vague and distant as he had usually been during the weeks since the accident. He gave no sign of remembering that he had been to the place many times before.

As they were finishing their meal, Jordan said, "Want to go to Tesoros?"

Lee started. "What's that?"

"It's a few doors down," Jordan explained patiently. "They sell antiques, curios, interesting stuff from Mexico and other countries. It's one of your favorite stores. We always go there after brunch here."

"Really?" Lee asked, brightening a little. "That does sound nice."

They walked into the crowded and colorful shop. Jordan began to browse, simultaneously trying to keep an eye on his partner. Things seemed okay and he relaxed a little, becoming interested in some inlaid wooden boxes from somewhere in Asia. In a few moments someone tapped him on the shoulder. Lee was standing behind him holding a large, carved wooden statue. He couldn't place its origin, but Jordan saw that it was obviously a male figure--its most prominent feature was an enormous phallus.

He looked sharply at Lee. The peculiar wicked glint in his partner's eye was back.

"What do you think? For my office at school?" Lee asked.

Jordan snorted, though he was also a bit worried. Lee had shown himself capable of almost anything when he was in this mood. "I don't think so. Some female student will cite you for sexual harassment during office hours."

Lee looked as if he were about to make some retort, but at that moment there was a disturbance at the front of the store: a figure moving hastily toward the door, bumping into surprised and protesting customers. A man's voice, closer to them, demanded, "Hey! Where are you going with that?" Then they heard the high-pitched beeping of a store security alarm.

The store clerk shouted, "Stop that guy! That statue's worth thousands of dollars!"

Suddenly Lee broke into a run and sprinted toward the street entrance. Before Jordan could fully grasp what was happening he was out the door and after the thief. By the time Jordan got to the street himself and looked down the sidewalk, his partner was more than a block away, chasing after the vanishing figure of the shoplifter with astonishing speed, barely avoiding crashing into the few people on the street that he passed.

"Lee! What the hell are you doing?" Jordan began to run himself.

Lee was gaining on the other man. He had almost caught up when the thief, still grasping the statue, reached a main thoroughfare. Even on Sunday morning the cross street was filled with traffic. Beyond, a long bridge spanned the river that ran through downtown.

The shoplifter scurried across as horns blew and brakes squealed. Somehow he attained the other side without being hit, and began to cross the bridge, staggering with fatigue but refusing to give up. With no hesitation Lee flung himself into the busy street as well. Just then Jordan saw a large dump truck speeding toward the intersection. His scream of terror was drowned by the deep blast of the horn. He saw Lee turn, his mouth fly open, his arms rise in a futile attempt to protect himself, just before he was struck. The tall man's body flew through the air as if it were a rag doll, struck the pavement with a terrible thudding sound, and lay still.

"Lee! Oh God!"

In a shorter time than he would have thought possible Jordan reached the spot where Lee had been thrown, getting there well ahead of the shouting truck driver. He knelt down, panting, half sobbing. The older man lay on his back, motionless, his clothes torn, his hair disheveled by the impact. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Jordan stared down at Lee's face. Terror seized him as he heard the ragged breathing, saw the blue eyes staring unfocused into space.

"Hang in there, Lee," Jordan urged desperately as he bent close to his wounded lover's face. "Please--help's on the way." Somewhere in his consciousness he was dimly aware that the truck driver behind him had pulled out a cell phone and was talking rapidly into it. He knew with an awful, leaden certainty that it was too late.

The man on the sidewalk, though, seemed momentarily to rally at Jordan's words. His glassy stare disappeared as he blinked. His eyes focused on the face above and brightened with recognition. Jordan saw the lips, pale with shock, move, and strained to hear the words.

"Camel?"

Jordan nodded frantically, fighting back tears.

"You...knew it was me, didn't you?"

He nodded again. Lee, or Marc, made a great effort and managed to smile faintly.

"So lucky...got to come back...little while."

He had to ask. "Why, Marc?" Jordan cried. "Why did you take Lee?"

The smile disappeared, the brows furrowed. "No." A pause. "Not me. Pure chance...had to take it." The eyes closed, then opened again. "Unfinished business."

"What?"

When Marc started to speak again his voice was much weaker. Heedless of the crowd that had begun to mill around them, Jordan bent until his ear was almost touching his lover's face to hear his words.

"Treated you like shit. Tried to make it up to you. Love... you." Jordan felt a hand grip the back of his head with surprising strength. With a supreme effort, the dying man had managed to lift one arm to embrace him. Jordan gazed again into Marc's face. He could barely get the words out.

"I love you too...Marc."

Marc's voice was now a whisper. "Don't be too long...I'll...be waiting." The blue eyes shone with an unearthly brilliance, then went blank. The hand on the back of his head relaxed its grip, the arm fell heavily to the ground.

With his last ounce of control, Jordan gently pressed his lips to his lover's, now stilled. "Goodbye." He bent his head over the dead man's chest and began to sob.

A wailing siren that had been approaching during the last few moments grew to a deafening pitch, then was suddenly cut off as the EMS vehicle pulled up and stopped nearby. In a moment, strong arms pulled Jordan roughly from the body. He began to struggle to get away and his arms were pinned firmly behind him. A stranger bent over Lee's still form and began to push rhythmically on his chest with strong thrusts. Jordan stared, appalled.

"Let me go!" he screamed. "Can't you see he's dead?"

The man restraining him spoke. "Take it easy," he said, not unkindly. "We might save him yet, fella."

Jordan ceased his struggles. Weeping, he let his body sag against the paramedic's, giving way to his grief. He had been too scared and stupid to believe that Marc had returned to him, and now it was too late. He had lost his love again, and for good this time. And Lee, good, kind Lee who had never done anyone any harm was gone too.

"I'm getting a pulse, Mike!" the paramedic on the ground shouted. "I think he's coming back!"

As Jordan stared in disbelief, he saw the man he had believed dead stir slightly. The lips moved and the man above him bent to catch the words.

"What's he saying?" Mike, the man holding him demanded.

"A name, maybe... Lordy? Jordy?" the paramedic looked up, puzzled.

"That's me!" Jordan shouted, beginning to struggle again. He managed to break the restraining grip, or perhaps the man released him. He ran to Lee, pushing the other paramedic out of the way. He took the other man's face in his hands. Lee's eyes were open, bewildered.

"Jordy? Where am I?"

The events of the last few moments, and now this new surprise, were overwhelming Jordan. With an effort he kept a grip on himself for the sake of the man who lay on the ground.

"Shh," he whispered. "You've had a little accident, Lee. These men are here to help you. Everything's going to be all right."

The paramedic spoke urgently at his side. "We've got to get him to the hospital--he's probably bleeding internally. You can ride with him."

Hours later, Jordan was wakened in the waiting room on one of the upper floors of the hospital by a tap on his shoulder. The surgeon was a compactly built man, youthful in his close-fitting scrubs.

"Mr. Hamel? I'm Dr. Keller. Professor Hartman's in recovery."

Jordan forced himself to ask the question. "How...is he?"

The surgeon nodded reassuringly, though fatigue showed in the circles around his eyes. "His injuries were not as serious as they could have been. Concussion, two broken ribs, and a collapsed lung. He should make a full recovery."

Jordan's head began to swim with relief, and he forced himself not to sit down. "Thank God."

"He was conscious just before we took him in--talking about being in the car with you and getting hit. I didn't understand. It was a pedestrian-vehicle collision, wasn't it?"

Jordan wondered how much of their situation he should explain. "He and I... were involved in another accident about six weeks ago. It caused amnesia. It sounds like he doesn't remember anything that happened between then and now."

"I see. Interesting." The doctor's eyes were sharp, curious. "I understand he is your partner. How have you managed?"

"It's been a bit strange." Just how strange, Jordan had no intention of describing. Even saying it to himself it sounded insane. Could Marc really have returned from the dead after the first accident? And now, had Marc gone back, and Lee come home? He managed to say to the surgeon, who was still looking intently at him, "At times he seemed to think he was someone else."

"Well," Keller said, "Personality changes aren't uncommon in cases of head injury. I hope this is the end of your friend's streak of bad luck. We'll have to watch him closely for a while. Got to make sure there are no long-term effects from two hard knocks coming so close together." He grasped Jordan's arm. "He probably won't be able to talk until the morning. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

"I don't understand," Lee said one evening a few days later. He was propped up with pillows in his hospital bed. Although his head was bandaged and a tube was in his nose, Jordan thought he looked remarkably good considering what he had been through. "The car accident was six weeks ago?"

Jordan nodded.

"But, I wasn't in a coma? I was conscious?"

"Yes. You were all right, except you had no memory."

"And now I don't remember those six weeks." Lee shook his head slowly. "I can't believe it." He looked at Jordan with the ghost of a smile. "Must have been quite a time for you, Jordy."

Not knowing exactly what to say, Jordan nodded.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," Lee said. "I can tell some weird things must have gone on. Who shaved my beard?"

"You did."

Lee stroked his chin. "I can't remember when I haven't had one. And I'm so skinny. Was I not eating much?"

"You wanted to lose weight. You worked out like a maniac."

"Well, all of this did some good, then." Lee reached out and patted Jordan's hand. "Poor Jordy. You must have been worried sick."

Jordan gazed steadily at his partner. "I wondered what we'd do if your memory never came back. But, besides that, it wasn't so bad, Lee. You weren't hard to take care of. Even kind of fun, sometimes."

"And I'm not, usually, am I?" Lee said, sad comprehension in his eyes. "Did we--sleep together?"

Jordan rolled his eyes to the ceiling and laughed before he could stop himself. "Ooh boy, did we ever."

He saw that Lee was looking at him, stricken. Some obscure anger in him kept him talking. "We had the best sex we've had in years. And I guess you don't remember one second of it."

Lee was silent, staring straight in front, eyes glistening. Then he turned to Jordan and spoke. "Are you sorry I'm back to normal, Jordy?"

Silence hung heavy between them. Finally Jordan shook his head slowly. "No, of course not, Lee. But... you've been so down on me sometimes. Well, the last few weeks... it was the best of both worlds. Here I was, still with you... but it was like being with someone else. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it a little."

"So..." Lee swallowed. "Does this mean you'd rather be with someone else?"

Jordan found he could answer with complete confidence. "No, absolutely not."

Lee said, morosely, "It's been hard, knowing how much you loved Marc. I know I'll never measure up to him in your mind."

Jordan forced the lump down in his throat. "Marc's gone. You're here with me. I want us to be together always, Lee. I promise I'll do better."

Lee closed his eyes, nodding. "I promise too."

Jordan stood, bent down and kissed his lips. "I'll stop by on the way to work. See you in the morning."

He drove home, lost in thought. Doors were closing, doors were opening in his life with bewildering speed. All in all, after the tumult of the last few months, he was looking forward to some peace and quiet.

And yet, a small yearning voice inside wondered if this was the end of his adventures...

He got home and walked into the office, which was strangely silent. Hadn't he left the computer running? It was certainly off now. When he punched the startup button the machine blinked on willingly enough. Impatiently he waited until he could boot up his e-mail program. He clicked on the "check mail" button, then stared, nonplused, at the screen.

His "saved mail" box was completely blank. Someone, or something, had erased everything in it, including, of course, the mysterious ones from marcmoss.

Jordan somehow knew that, even if he took the machine to a support specialist down at CompWorld and they ran a recovery program, they would never find those e-mails again.

When he searched the rest of the hard drive, he was not surprised to find that the pic file that had been attached to the second message, the image of Marc at the lake, was gone too. So that was that. Even if he told the tale to someone, he would have no evidence to back it up. Maybe it was just as well.

He heaved a sigh. This damn thing was going back tomorrow. And they'd better not hassle him about the warranty.

Jordan had some other unfinished business to take care of. A few days later, while Lee was still in the hospital, he called Daniel. There was a long pause on the line after he haltingly explained that he was discontinuing their sessions.

"Well," Daniel finally said slowly, "I appreciate you calling, Jordan. You sure you don't want one last massage?"

Familiar guilt enveloped Jordan as he thought of Lee, largely recovered and protesting against his continued confinement. Yet he found he couldn't quite cut himself off from Daniel without seeing him again. "Okay, if it's only a massage."

Daniel chuckled, his good humor seemingly restored. "As I always say, whatever you want."

"It's my partner, Lee," Jordan tried to explain as he lay on the massage table afterward.

"It's usually the partner with you married men," Daniel said dryly. He added, "You don't owe me any explanation, Jordan."

"I know, but--" How could he say what he felt? The fact was he had become attached to the handsome blond who was more than just a hustler, as he had so rudely called him that first time. "I'll miss you, Daniel."

Something flickered across the other man's face. "You really are sweet." He added, with a trace of wryness, "Any last requests before you go?"

Jordan thought a moment. "I'd like to see that gorgeous bod one more time. I won't touch, though."

In response, Daniel pulled off the dark blue tank top he always wore during their sessions, then undid the drawstring of his sweatpants and let them drop to the floor. He stood naked, gazing at Jordan, unconsciously striking a pose as he shifted his weight onto one hip, a hand cradling his cock and balls.

Jordan looked at the sculpted body for long moments, then raised his eyes to Daniel's face. He sighed and shook his head. "You really are something. Thanks a lot, sweet man."

Daniel smiled, his eyes shining. "I wish you all the best, Jordan. Oh and by the way, this one's on the house."

EPILOGUE

It was summer, and still hot in the early evening. Returning from his errand, Jordan entered the house, welcoming the cool air that hit him in the face. "Lee?" he called. There was no reply, though the professor's car was parked in the driveway. Maybe he's out jogging, the fool, Jordan thought, shaking his head affectionately.

The events of the past months had left surprising remnants in their lives--Lee's exercise program, for one. He had said to Jordan a few days after returning from the hospital, "You know, I rather like this new me. I feel better than I have in years," and had surprised Jordan by resuming the running and weight training as soon as he was able. Lee looked years younger, clean-shaven and with muscles re-emerging on his newly svelte body. Jordan had to admit that his older partner's appearance and energy were doing wonders for their sex life. He had even begun to think Lee might enjoy a joint session with Daniel, but hadn't quite worked up the nerve to suggest such a thing.

As he walked through to the back of the house, Jordan heard the sound of splashing water. Lee must be taking a swim in their pool. He looked out the window by the back door and stared in surprise. Who was that buffed man in the bright red Speedo? The muscles in the back and broad shoulders rippled, accentuated by the sparkle of wet skin, as whoever it was hoisted himself out of the water. In the next moment, Jordan blinked. It was Lee, of course. For a moment he had almost believed that Marc had returned once more, dressed in his favorite swimwear.

Jordan opened the back door and stepped out. Lee turned and smiled, his hands on his hips, holding his goggles. "Skipped the jog, it was too hot. Decided to do laps instead."

"New suit?" While he hadn't been looking, his sedate lover had turned into Charles Atlas. He was aware of his quickened breathing and a familiar heat rising in his lower body.

Lee looked down at himself, coloring slightly. "Yeah. I don't know what got into me. I was looking at new running shoes, and somehow ended up buying this instead. Is it too outrageous?"

Jordan shook his head as he walked forward. "You got it, now flaunt it." He stopped in front of Lee, and smiled into his eyes. "You look damn hot, professor."

Lee smiled and said nothing, but Jordan noted the bulge in the front of his scanty trunks.

Raising his voice in a high-pitched falsetto, affecting a fake Southern drawl, Jordan whined, "Oh, Dr. Hartman, I'll do anything to pass this class."

A wicked grin appeared on Lee's face, and Jordan was startled again, once more reminded of Marc, his teasing, infuriating charm. Lee raised his eyebrows. "Anything?" he demanded in a mock-threatening tone.

"Anything," Jordan said softly, staring into the beloved face before him, dropping all pretense.

Lee took his face in his hands and kissed him, hard and deep. Jordan dropped to his knees on the hard concrete of the pool deck, pulling at the wet red nylon to claim his prize. Pure contentment rose in him as he took Lee's cock into his mouth.

The following day he left work a few minutes early and stopped by the park where he and Marc had first met. He parked his car and began to walk into the woods, down the path they had walked then, until he emerged into the clearing where the stone cabin still stood.

He had not been here since a few days after Marc's death. At that time he had been carrying a small cardboard box containing his ashes, and had scattered some on the stone deck that had been the scene of their first, fervent lovemaking.

After making sure no one was at the campsite, he descended the stone steps and reached the deck. The space was as cool and dark as he remembered it. He stood facing the woods behind the cabin, and thought of recent events.

Marc, if he had indeed returned, had come back to take care of unfinished business between them. It seemed to Jordan that he had also left something of himself behind, a gift to those still living.

"Thank you, Marc, wherever you are," he thought.

He stood a moment longer, then climbed the steps back to the clearing.

END