Lightning in a Bottle

The following story is autobiographical, although names have been changed to protect those who made the wrong choice.

I like hearing from readers. So, feel free to reach out to me at 1967author@gmail.com.

And, please donate to Nifty, so we can all keep reading.

Lightning In A Bottle

Prologue

Regardless of the clues to the contrary, I always thought of myself as straight. I always had a girlfriend. I was a devoutly Catholic boy in a devoutly Catholic family in a devoutly Catholic Missouri town. This is the story of how I figured out I was gay. I was 22. It was a long journey, so be patient.

Part One

Mid-way through my first year of law school at Northwestern, I landed one of the coveted summer associate positions at St. Louis' most prestigious firm. I was the only 1L the firm hired.

I was not quite sure how I had threaded the needle. I thought I had botched the interview. I was from a hoosier Missouri river town just outside the ring of St. Louis suburbs, and I was out of my element. I didn't talk the talk. Even after four years of college, there were hints of small town poverty in my speech, both in grammar and in substance. I had tried but failed to purge the "ain'ts" and "don't got no's" and "done seen's" from my vocabulary.

I also didn't walk the walk. I did not have or wear the right clothes. I should have worn a blue suit, white shirt, yellow tie, and wing tips, all from Brooks Brothers. Instead, I wore a greenish double-breasted suit, a striped shirt, a tie that was too shiny, and tassled loafers, all from Men's Wearhouse.

I didn't know the etiquette. I didn't stand when women left the table or when they returned. I didn't precede them down the stairs or follow them up. I had no idea what fork to use or that I was to keep my elbows off the table. I didn't send thank you cards. I had never owned stationary.

I also offended my last interviewer, a litigation partner. Unbeknownst to me, she had gone to Missouri for law school. So, she was unimpressed, to say the least, by my response to why I had chosen to go to law school: "I was getting a history degree, and I couldn't think of anything else to do. I didn't have a burning desire to be a lawyer. I mean, I wouldn't have gone if I had gotten stuck somewhere like Mizzou."

As I finished the sentence, I noticed the black and gold diploma on the wall over her head. I blushed crimson. Seeing no way out, I doubled down. "Of course, you went to Mizzou. If you have pictures of your children, I'll tell you what's wrong with them. I have the special gift of almost always saying the wrong thing. If you want, I can teach it to you. It comes in really handy at funerals and weddings."

To my surprise, she laughed. I had stuck the landing.

When I got the offer, it was from her. She told me the way I had handled the incredibly awkward moment had impressed her. The Cave was betting on who I would become, not who I was.

I had not improved my walk by the time the summer program started, the Tuesday after Memorial Day. I was one of 10 summer associates, although only 9 of us started that day (the guy from the University of Chicago would be in school another three weeks, the victim of trimesters). I was the only one not dressed "the Bryan Cave way." I did not notice, but others apparently did.

At the end of that day, my mentor -- a very kind, gentleman lawyer -- offered to take me for a drink at the Missouri Athletic Club. On the way, he hustled me into a Joseph A. Bank, and he bought me two suits (blue and grey), 5 shirts (all white), 5 ties (all striped), and a pair of cordovan wing tips and matching belt. I told him I'd pay him back as soon as we got our first paychecks (we were making $1,000 per week, which was more than twice what my parents earned, combined). He insisted I would not.

By the time John Frederick (or, as we referring to him, "Chicago") started, the summer program was in full swing. I was in the library doing research when I first saw him. The recruiting coordinator -- redolent very much of a praying mantis -- was giving him a tour, and he raised his eyebrows at me as he passed by. Twenty years later, I remember that fleeting moment vividly, as if it were yesterday, and I was again 22. Chicago was about 6 feet tall, parted his thick brown hair on the right side, and had extraordinarily bright blue eyes behind square'ish, wire glasses. He was wearing a tan poplin suit, a heavily starched white shirt, and a blue and yellow striped tie. The blue in the tie hit his eyes hard. Other than those eyes, he was attractive, but not extraordinary. In all the years since, the best referent I have come up with is Ron Livingston, the from Office Space who, when accused missing a lot of work, responded that he hadn't "missed it" at all.

But, there was something about that moment. It was fraught, at least for me. He moved in slow motion as he went past and raised his eyebrows at me.

We all went for drinks after work to welcome him to our group. I was uncomfortable, as I was still out of my element. Everyone else seemed from old St. Louis money. I was from no St. Charles money.

I had not known about subletting, so I was living with my parents for the summer and commuting 45 minutes each way. I was frugal, so I was not comfortable with the free spending of young people making more money than they could spend and whose habits had never been shackled by a lack of money.

I was insecure, worried that my speech and manner betrayed my humble background (I was one of four children who my alcoholic parents had raised in a two bedroom duplex in our town's dingiest neighborhood. My clothes had come from garage sales. Our food had often come from a government program. We often drank powdered milk and ate toast and gravy for dinner.).

John was none of those things. He was a blue-blood. He had gone to a snappy St. Louis high school (once St. Louis's schools were integrated, everyone who could sent their children to private schools; the rest moved to St. Charles County, which was overwhelmingly white and not part of the desegregation plan). John went to Yale for college, using my school -- Washington University -- as his safety school. He was now at U of C, one of the nation's top law schools, and the leader in the "law and economics" movement. He had already landed a clerkship on the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals, to begin the Fall after his graduation. After that, he would be one of the select few considered for a Supreme Court clerkship.

He was certain and confident. His voice was deep and cultured. He formed words perfectly. He settled easily into the conversation at the bar, slowly moving to the center and taking it over. He had a mordant, observational sense of humor. He touched people as he spoke to them, leaning in and looking them straight in the eye. He made each person feel like they had his undivided attention, like they were special. It was a gift, and I didn't have it.

I was the first to leave. As I said my good-bye's, John again raised his eyebrows at me, and smiled. He smiled easily, and it was a big, broad smile that animated his face and revealed deep dimples and perfect teeth.

I did not smile easily. I had always been serious. I had always been old, even when I was young. I was set on escaping my origins, and I thought that required focus and a seriousness of purpose. I sat in the front row. I raised my hand. I followed the rules. I was hidebound, and I had wound myself so tightly around the idea of striving that I could not unwind. I was constantly competing, constantly trying to move up and out. I was tighter than two coats of paint..

My girlfriend, Ellie, was visiting for a wedding the following weekend. I had met Ellie the first day of NULS orientation, in line for lunch. She was a little shorter than me (I am only 5'7"), but fit as a fiddle before being fit was a thing. She had unruly brown hair, big brown eyes, a button nose, a big smile, and dark, ethnic skin. She was a dynamo, dominating every encounter she had.

I was the opposite. I did not work out. I was carrying about 10 extra pounds. I had thick blonde hair, which I had worn short and parted on the left side since fourth grade. I had green eyes. They had a noticeable circle of orange around the pupil, and the whites were as clear as milk. My smile was too rare, but it dimpled my cheeks when it appeared. Those dimples matched the dimple in my chin. I always looked younger than I was. I was the "cute" guy who never got the girl. I looked like a young Mark-Paul Gosselaar, when I wanted to look like Max Caulfield.

"Who are you?" she had asked me, exaggerating the "you."

"I'm Max. Actually, Mason, but people call me Max. I'm not sure why. It doesn't make sense. It seems like it'd be Mace, not Max. But it's Max." As I finished, I felt like a fool, babbling about my name like a nervous girl.

"Well . . . Mace," she said, exaggerating the gap between the two words. "I'm Ellie. Short for Elizabeth. Which makes total sense. Because Elizabeth starts with El. Anyway, have lunch with me."

I did. I didn't say a word. There was no room. Ellie never stopped talking. If there was something about her I wanted to know but did not by the end of lunch, I'd have been hard-pressed to figure out what it was.

After lunch, I walked Ellie to her room, she invited me in, and -- as 22 year olds are wont to do -- we wound up in bed, oral sexing each other. She was live and loud as I made her come, shifting and writhing under my hands and tongue. She gave great head, deep throating me and swallowing all I had when I came. When it was time for me to go, she insisted, "Come back tonight. And, bring condoms."

I did. Ellie liked sex. A lot. And, she liked me. And my dick. I was average in almost every way but there. Like my father and my older brother, I was swinging a nice piece of meat, disproportionately long and thick for someone my size.

We dated the whole year. I basically lived in her room. When we weren't eating or studying, we were sexing. She hated condoms, so she got an IUD over Christmas, characterizing it as my Christmas present.

Ellie had also developed her vaginal muscles, and she had complete control of them. When she clamped them around me, I couldn't move. When I was coming and she clamped them shut, the pleasure was so intense it made me light-headed.

As the year wore on and the Chicago weather turned brutal, we got experimental, buying books and toys and using both to pleasure each other and ourselves as much as we could. By the time I headed to St. Louis and she headed to New York for the summer, there was almost nothing we had not done to each other. I had fucked and been fucked. I had eaten ass, and had my ass eaten. I had eaten cum and had my cum eaten. We had worked our way through myriad positions. It had been an awesome year, and I couldn't wait to see her.

I got a downtown hotel room for the weekend of her visit (we obviously were not going to stay at my parents'). We checked in, and we picked up where we had left off. Masturbation is no substitute for sex, I had gotten a late start (I had gone to college a virgin and had gotten laid less than ten times in those four years), and I had some making up to do.

We fucked through the rehearsal dinner, which -- as a groomsman -- was a douche move on my part. But, I was pretty sure Todd would understand, once he knew why.

We fucked the next day until we had to leave for the wedding. It was mid-June, and hot even for St. Louis. So, we got chocolate and whipped cream delivered with our breakfast and spent the morning and early afternoon in bed covering each other with both, and then fucking and licking each other clean.

By the time we had to check out on Sunday, I could not get hard, and Ellie was raw. It had been a great, sexy weekend.

I drove Ellie to the airpot. As we parted, Ellie said "When I come back, I want to meet the John you talked about all weekend."

All weekend? I hadn't realized.

Part Two

I was happy the next day when John visited my office. His girlfriend had visited that weekend as well, and we compared notes. I was surprised by his casual attitude toward sex, as he was an observant Catholic who had skipped lunches to go to the Cathedral for mass.

As we talked, he noticed a particularly strong review I had received on a recent project.

"Well done, Mr. Davis" he said. "You must be smarter than I thought."

It was a reverse accolade. It sounded like a compliment, but it wasn't one, once you thought about it. I decided to chide him.

"Nope, I'm just a dumb hoosier from Chucktown who gets lucky every once and again. Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

Chastened, John apologized for the unintended slight.

"I did not mean to suggest I did not think you were smart. It is just that, you do not come across as a law geek. I was surprised you are at Northwestern. I thought you were somewhere like Mizzou. You just seem . . . remarkably normal."

I had no idea what he was talking about or how to respond. But, I did not think I should say "thank you" to "remarkably normal." I thought maybe I should use two words, one of which was "you" and the other of which ended in a K, but was only four letters and did not rhyme with spank. Instead, I said nothing.

Later that day, all of the summer associates received a memorandum from John through interoffice mail (there was no such thing as email, much less texting, in 1990). It read "Mason Davis has become the carrot. Please react accordingly."

I ran into John later in the library. "The carrot?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "The mule chases the carrot. With that review, we are the mules, chasing you, the carrot."

From that moment on, he called me "Carrot." It stuck, and soon the rest of the summer class followed his lead.

***** Two days later, I received another interoffice memorandum from John. It read:

To: The Carrot

From: John C. Frederick III

Re: Friday

Date: June 20, 1990

Vi is not visiting this weekend. So, here is an alternative plan for your consideration/participation: Leave work at 5:30. Travel to my apartment to change into casual clothing. Travel to the Delmar Loop to meet Mark and Jennifer (friends from CODASCO) at Blueberry Hill. Eat greasy burgers. Drink Bud Dry. Play darts and pool.

"Vi" was short for Vivian, his girlfriend of four years from Yale. Vi had stayed in Chicago for the summer, where she was getting her Ph.D. in Psychology from Loyola of Chicago. CODASCO was short-hand for The Country Day School, St. Louis' most exclusive college preparatory academy that prided itself on feeding students to the Ivy League. Like I said, it was snappy.

Rather than respond by memorandum, I used the switchboard to telephone John's office.

"John Frederick," he answered.

"Not John C. Frederick the Third?" I asked.

"No. That seems haughty."

"And, John Frederick doesn't?"

"No."

"Well, John Frederick, this is Mason Davis," I said, adopting the most formal tone I could. "Regarding your memorandum, I have considered it and am willing to participate in your alternative plan."

"Excellent, Carrot," he said. "If I do not see you beforehand, I will meet you in the lobby at 5:30 on Friday, two days hence."

I was excited all day on Friday. So far, I had spent summer weekends at home. I did not want to hang out with people from high school, and my college friends had scattered after graduation to careers or graduate schools.

When we got to John's University City apartment that night, he made two gins and tonic, announced he was going to shower before changing, and suggested I put music on. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and started combing through the CDs stacked on the floor next to the stereo. I settled on "You and Me Both" from Yaz, skipping to the "Mr. Blue" track.

As Allison Moyet sang about the winter sounds crying and an old man slowly dying, John stepped out of the bathroom in white boxers, toweling his hair.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Know what?" I asked back.

"This was my favorite song in college?"

"I didn't. But, it was mine, too."

"Well, that is quite a coincidence, indeed" he suggested, stepping back into the bathroom.

It was. Actually, it was quite a coincidence that we were together, planning a night out. Nothing in our backgrounds suggested our paths would cross. The 25 miles between his childhood home and mine were, in reality, a chasm.

John looked much younger without his glasses. And, he was thicker and more muscled than I expected. He was carrying a little extra weight around his mid-section, but his arms, back, and chest were more muscled than they appeared when he was suited up for work.

John was also hairier than I expected, his chest covered with the same straight brown hair that covered his head. The hair was especially thick in the middle of his chest, where it formed a trail that traced his stomach and disappeared into his boxers.

"Talk with me while I dress," John said. I followed him through the apartment, which consisted of a series of rooms you had to walk through to get to the next. It went living room, kitchen, bedroom, bedroom. The first bedroom was empty. John slept in the second bedroom, on a mattress and box springs directly on the floor. The second bedroom was an add-on above a porch. It had no windows, but plenty of wood panelling.

"This seems pretty grim," I offered.

"Not at all. I love to sleep, and this room is like a tomb. I started in the first bedroom, but it was too bright. I do not even know what time it is back here."

"What does the C stand for?" I asked.

"It is a bit much."

"Coitus?"

"No, Carrot, my middle name is not coitus."

"Cunnilingus?"

"Yes, you guessed it. My mother loved oral sex so much, she put it in my name."

"Good for her. Very avant guard. But, it doesn't seem very blue blooded to me. It seems a bit base."

"My middle name, Carrot, which you are not share with anyone at work, is 'Chester.'"

"As in 'the child molester?" I asked, laughing.

"No, as in Vera Winfield Chester, my mother's maiden name."

"I guess it's better than 'Winfield,'" I said. "Still, 'John Chester Frederick the Third' seems like a lot of name for a little boy to carry around and up to which to live." John was a grammarian, so I was working on mine. Hard.

"It is."

"Does your family call you Trip or Trey?" I asked.

"No, they call me Jo. My dad is John, so I am Jo."

"You call yourself John at work," I observed.

"I like it better. Only my family calls me Jo. J-O Jo seems like a woman, to me."

I decided then and there that I would call him Jo. As I thought about it a bit, "Jo" became "Jo C," which then became "Josie."

We took John's blue Cherokee to Blueberry Hill. As he drove, I explained that I would call him Josie going forward.

"As in Josie and the Pussycats?" he asked.

"No, as in Jo C. Frederick the Third."

"I am not sure I like it."

"Well, I'm not sure I like being called Carrot," I reminded him.

"Touche . . . Carrot."

Mark and Jennifer were already at the Hill, playing darts. They were lovers. John had dated Jennifer in high school, and she had taken his cherry. But, they had broken up when he went to Yale, and Mark had stepped in to fill the void. They had been together since.

John eschewed his glasses for contacts that night. With John's eyes no longer obscured by his silver, wired frames, I noticed two things. One, while his eyes were bright blue, they were flecked with silver. Two, he had the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. They looked fake.

We drank way too much for way too long. Somehow, we made it across town safely. We stumbled drunk up the stairs to John's apartment, which was on the third floor of a house.

"You are welcome to stay," John offered.

"I don't think I have a choice, Josie," I slurred. "I don't think I could find my car, much less drive it."

As John fumbled around in the bathroom, I stepped out of my shorts, pulled off my shirt, settled onto the couch, and pulled the throw over me. I was nearly asleep when John shook me.

"This will not do," he said. "It will be too bright come morning. Stay with me. There is plenty of room."

I followed John to his room. He undressed as we walked, dropping his shirt and his shorts along the way. We passed out as soon as we hit the bed.

John was right. The room was a tomb. When I woke up the next day, it was pitch dark, and I had no idea what time it was. John was still asleep, and I needed water. I sneaked out of the room and to the kitchen, where I discovered it was already past noon. My parents were going to be worried, so I found John's telephone and called them. I got the answering machine, so I didn't have to explain much, other than that I was fine and would be home later.

I took water for John back to the bedroom. I left the door open, so I could see enough to put the water down without spilling it. The light cut across John's body, and I could see that he was sporting morning -- technically afternoon -- wood. He looked thick.

John woke up when I settled back into bed. "Good morning, Carrot."

"Good morning, Josie. I put water on the floor for you."

"So thoughtful," he said, rolling over, grabbing it, and gulping it down. The people in the apartment below were playing dreadful music (James Taylor) loud enough that we were unlikely to fall back asleep. John rolled onto his right side, looked at me, and said "tell me about yourself, Carrot."

So, I did. In summary fashion, hitting the lowlights. It was a relatively grimy story until I headed off to Wash U and started to make my way.

"You mentioned three siblings, but talked only about two."

"My youngest sister died in a car accident on her way home from school a little over a year ago," I admitted. "It's still hard to talk about."

John grabbed my arm. It was the first time he had touched me, and I felt a jolt. "I am sorry to hear that," he said. "I have never lost anyone. I suspect it is terribly painful."

"It is," I said, noticing that his hand was still on my arm. "It's always there, stalking you. You can be bomping along, not a care in the world, and a song comes on, or someone is wearing her perfume, and a feeling of sadness and loss grabs you and just overwhelms you."

"Come here," John said, rolling me into him and wrapping his left arm around me. My head was in his chest, and his chin was on my head. I could still smell the Calvin on his neck. I had never had a homosexual urge (at least that I recalled), but I had a strong desire to kiss his chest. Before I did anything stupid, John released me and rolled onto his back.

"I am sorry for bringing her up," he said. "But, I am glad to know. It explains a lot."

I raised my eyebrows, silently asking "what?"

"There's something going on behind your eyes most of the time. Even when you are enjoying yourself, there is something holding you back, lurking. And, you get lost a lot."

"Lost?"

"Yes. It is like you drift away. You are there, but you are not."

We stayed in bed for awhile, not talking, just relaxing and listening to the bad music. I finally broke the peace.

"So, tell me about yourself."

"There is not much to tell. I am an only child. My parents were older when I was born. I have lived a great life. I went to great schools. I have traveled to great places. Your life is totally alien to me. I would not have wanted to live it."

"You know, each experience makes us who we are. I wouldn't want to re-live, but I like my life today, and I like where I'm headed. So, maybe it was all worth it."

"Maybe."

I changed the subject. "I require sustenance. And, this 'suicide' music is bringing me down even farther than our talk. If we don't get up, I may do something drastic."

"Well, we do not want that," John responded. We got up, dressed, and headed to Steak 'n Shake to get greasy burgers to soak up some of the alcohol that was poisoning us.

Part Three

From that point on, John and I were inseparable. We visited each other throughout the day at work, and we routinely hung out after work. Flush, John had almost no concept of money, and my desire to spend time with him unwound me a little. I stopped caring about bar tabs and admission fees. I just paid whatever it cost to be his running mate.

He took me to dinner at his house. It was a sprawling two story, and John had the second floor all to himself. The decorating was impeccable. The lawn was impeccable. Every room was huge. My family's apartment would have fit in the suite John called his bedroom.

"Did you grow up here?"

"Yes. My parents have lived here forever, since long before I was born."

"Did you always have this floor to yourself?"

"I will answer, if you promise not to laugh."

"I promise."

"No. Until I was 13, my nanny lived down the hall."

"Oh . . . my . . . God. You had a nanny? You really are John Chester Frederick the Third."

"Let's talk about something else. What is it like to be one of the poors?"

I darted across the room and tackled John backward onto the bed. We tussled a little before heading back downstairs.

***** John explored my thoughts and dreams more than anyone else ever had. And, he laughed at my reticence. If you asked John if he favored the death penalty, he would cogitate and explain for some time before allowing you to know his ultimate view. I was the opposite. I said "Yes" or "No" and forced you to force me to explain why or why not. I did not volunteer my thoughts freely. You had to work for them.

I stayed at his apartment the following Friday, too. Like the week before, we were stumbling drunk by the time we were undressing for bed.

"I do not think I know anyone who wears briefs anymore," he said, as I undressed for bed.

"I think it's a class thing," I offered. "The rich wear boxers. The rest wear briefs."

"Yours leave little to the imagination."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, embarrassed.

"You seem, how shall I put this . . . disproportionate."

"It's genetic," I explained.

"It is impressive."

I was uncomfortable. "I think we should stop talking about my penis," I offered. "And get some sleep."

Like the Saturday before, I had no idea what time it was when we woke up. As we lay there talking, drinking water and popping Tylenol, John encouraged me to move in for the rest of the summer.

"It seems dreadful to drive to and fro every day. I have an unused room. You can have it if you want it."

It was an easy decision for me. We retrieved my twin bed and stuff that afternoon. I was settled in by supper.

We ate on the living room floor, listened to music (John did not own a TV), and talked.

"You know," I said, "you don't use contractions when you talk."

"I know. I was taught they are a lazy shortcut. I have never used them."

"Not using them makes you sound prissy."

"Prissy?" he asked.

"Yes, prissy."

"I do not think I have ever been called 'prissy' before."

"I didn't call you prissy," I reminded him. "I said you sound prissy. Not 'remarkably normal.'"

John smiled at the reminder and then sarcastically offered, "Well, Carrot, we cannot all be remarkably normal. Some of us have to be exceptional."

John left his door open that night, so we could talk as we settled in to sleep. Still, it was difficult, as conversational volume was not audible room to room. Frustrated, John demanded "get in here if you are going to talk to me." I got up and moved to his bed, sitting on the edge as we extended the day. The next morning, I moved back to his bed, so we could talk while we had coffee.

That night, John stopped me when I stood to return to my bed to sleep. "You should just stay in here."

"You sure?"

"Yes. All of this back and forth seems pointless."

I slid under the sheet and drifted off. The next morning, I woke up first, which meant I was responsible for coffee. When I returned to the bedroom with two cups, I noticed John's boxers on the floor.

"Are you naked?" I asked.

"I am."

"Why?"

"I sleep naked. I slept in boxers when I knew you were going to sleep with me. I did not know last night that you were going to sleep with me."

"You were naked the whole night?" I asked, surprised.

"I was. But, I put a pillow between us, so there was no danger of you getting dicked in the night."

"Dicked?"

"Yeah. At school, you got 'dicked' when a male brushed his dick up against you, whether advertently or inadvertently."

"Were there chicks with dicks at Yale?" I asked.

"No. And, that is not a remarkably normal question."

"Well, you said 'when a male brushed his dick up against you,' which suggests there were non-males with dicks also. The only non-males would be females. If there were no females with dicks, then your use of 'males' was implied in your use of 'dicks.'"

"Touche, Carrot," John said. "Touche."

***** I was surprised that night when John slipped his boxers off and climbed into bed. It didn't fit his explanation from that morning. I decided to call him on it.

"Josie, why are you naked tonight? You said you were naked only when you didn't know I was joining you. You knew I was joining you tonight."

"It is my apartment and my bed. I sleep naked. So, the rule for this bed is sleep naked. If you want to sleep in your underwear, then you need to go to your own room to do it."

"So, now I have to get naked, too?" I asked.

"You do," he said, reaching over and grabbing the band of my briefs. "These have to come off or you have to get out."

I slipped my briefs off, held them up and asked "satisfied?" and dropped them to the floor. For the first time in my life, I was naked in bed with another man. We seemed to be drifting, but I had no idea toward what. When you're adrift, do you ever know where you will land?

"That is better," John said, sliding the pillow between us, and turning his back to me. "Now, we are even."

We went on like that, sliding into bed each night, slipping out of our underwear, and sleeping naked next to each other. There was always a pillow between us. No one got dicked.

The following Saturday morning, we woke around 11. "I need to pee," John said.

"I'll alert the media," I offered, quoting Hobson from Arthur, one of my favorite movies.

"Well, Hobson," he said, letting me know he caught the reference. "I am hard, so avert your eyes."

"I've seen a dick before."

"You have not seen my hard dick before, and you are not going to start today. Close your eyes."

"No," I played.

"Fine," John said, getting up, grabbing his pillow, and shielding his dick from me as he walked to the bathroom. He was gone a long time.

As he settled back into bed, I put him on the spot. "That took a long time."

"It is difficult to pee through an erection."

"It is. Especially when you're jacking off."

"I did not jack off," he lied, turning beet red as he did. "Fret not, little flower," I said. "I jack off almost every morning. If you wake up with an erection, you may as well put it to use."

"You have not jacked off this week, at least not in here," he observed.

"In the shower. Every morning."

"So, I stand in your cum when I shower?" he asked.

"Only when I shower first," I admitted.

John pulled the pillow from behind his head and slammed it down on me. I grabbed it, and hit him back. After some tussling, we were face to face, with only a sheet between us. John smiled at me, and I smiled back. The moment was overwhelming.

"I think I love you, Josie," I blurted, surprising myself.

"I know I love you, Carrot," John admitted back. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into an emotional embrace. We were cheek to cheek, chest to chest, and crotch to crotch. I could feel his hard dick against mine through the sheet. I'm sure he could feel mine. Neither of us moved.

Finally, John pulled back. "Should we get up, while we still can?" he asked.

"You can," I responded, "I'm going to stay in bed awhile longer." John reached for his boxers, pulled them on under the sheet, and got up. After he left the room, I jacked off. I was so stirred up, my first shot of cum hit the paneling above the bed.

***** That night, there was no pillow between us. The train had left the station, and there was no turning it around. I slept on my right side. John slept close behind me, only a sheet between us. He draped his left arm over me. Before I feel asleep, I pulled his hand to my face, kissed the back of it, and said, "good night, Josie." He respond by kissing the back of my head and saying, "good night, Carrot."

We awoke facing each other on Sunday morning. As we talked, I noticed John's hand on the pillow by his face. He had strong, masculine hands, with thick manly fingers. Without thinking, I reached up, and intertwined my fingers with his.

"Will you do me a favor?" John asked.

"Probably, unless it involves piss or scat," I answered, trying to be funny.

"It is more benign than that," he said. "I would like you to tickle my back."

I did, gently brushing my fingertips over his back and up and down his sides. His back was hairless, but he was still young enough to have some pimples on it.

"Turn over," I urged.

He did, pulling the sheet down to his abdomen. His dick was hard, arched, and tenting the sheet.

"Close your eyes," I suggested. He did. I tickled his eyes, face, neck, and chest.

"Raise your arms," I requested. He did, and I tickled his arm pits, sides, and stomach. His dick arched over my hand as I went. I pushed the sheet down to the base of it, and I tickled as low as I could. John's dick rubbed the back of my hand and wrist. It twitched every time we made contact. I was so hard, I was getting blue balls. Coincidentally, he offered "this is too much, my stomach is starting to hurt."

"Sorry," I said, pulling my hand away. We laid in bed talking, letting our erections ebb before getting up.

We slept the same way that night, and I tickled John's stomach on Monday morning without being asked. He was hard, and I again went as low as I could, not caring that his dick was hitting my hand and wrist.

"My stomach is starting to hurt again," he said.

"Mine, too."

"You should stop."

"Okay," I said.

John rolled toward me, said "thank you," and pulled me into an embrace. Again, we were cheek to cheek, chest to chest, and dick to dick, a thin sheet the only thing between our naked bodies. Neither of us moved. We were both breathing hard. I pulled back and looked at him. He smiled at me, I smiled back, and I pressed my forehead to his.

As an odd noise gurgled out of his throat, John lowered his hand to my hip and pushed his crotch into mine. When I pushed back, John pulled the sheet out of the way and started writhing against me, our dicks dueling. I followed his lead, matching his rhythm and speed. We stayed forehead to forehead as we started to pant. John grunted as he came, tensing and flinching as he did. I kept going until I came, coating my stomach. John used his boxers to wipe the cum off his chest and stomach, and I used my briefs. Neither of us said a word about what had just happened.

***** I spent the day trying to figure out what was going on. I had never had sex with a man, or even wanted to. I mean, I could tell if a guy was good looking or had a nice body, but I had never looked at a man and thought "I'd like to have sex with him." Now, I was either doing it or getting very close. I loved John, but for how he made me act, loosening the ties that bound me and freeing me to act my age, instead of like the old man I had become.

I also spent the day expecting John to pull back. I did not regret what had happened, but I suspected he did. It didn't help that he was out of the office at an event, which meant we didn't see each other all day.

I was in bed by the time John got home. It seemed odd and presumptuous to go to bed in his room with him not there, so I was in my bed. John walked past me, undressed in his room, and then returned to mine. Still in his boxers, John sat on the edge of my bed, put his hand on my head, and brushed his thumb over my temple.

"Carrot, are you awake?" he asked.

When I opened my eyes, he said, "Come to bed with me." I got up, followed him, slipped out of my briefs, and slid under the sheet. I rolled onto my right side, and John did the same, snuggling up behind me, and draping his arm over me. The pretense of the sheet was gone, and his hairy chest tickled my smooth back. He smelled of gin. He reached his arm around me, and tickled my chest stomach. My dick was hard, and he brushed up against it a couple of times. I fell asleep wondering what would happen next.

As men do, we woke up hard. I was on my back, and John was beside me. When I looked to see if he was awake, he rolled onto me, raised his head to stare into my eyes, and started rubbing his crotch against mine again. I clamped my arms around him, and we were quickly once again in rhythm. As John's breath came quicker, I moved my hands to his ass and raised my knees. John came, coating me, and dripping his head next to mine on the pillow. I moved my hands back to his back, which was sweaty. He raised his face and looked at me.

"Get off," I insisted. When he did, I grabbed my dick and started jacking it. In only a few strokes, I added my cum to John's.

"Whew," he said. "For a minute there, I thought you were angry."

"About what?" I asked.

"Me coating you."

"Nope. Just on the verge of blue balls."

"I have spent the last week on the verge of blue balls," John admitted, while using his boxers to clean the cum off my stomach.

"Me, too," I admitted back. "But, it seems we have found a solution to that problem."

The week went on like that. Every night and every morning, one of us writhed against the other until we came. We didn't kiss or even touch each other's dicks with our hands. Hell, we hadn't even seen each other's dicks. We still used pillows to conceal them when we had to take a morning piss.

Vi visited that weekend. I slept on the couch on Friday night, thinking the extra distance would prevent me from hearing them go at each other. It didn't work. The bedsprings squeaked, the wood floor creaked, and Vi came loudly. I jacked off while they fucked. I fantasized about a man as I came, imagining it was me John was fucking.

I woke to them fucking again. I got up, dressed, and brushed my teeth. I ran into John on the way out of the bathroom. We whispered in the hall.

"I apologize for the noise," he said.

"It's fine. I don't want to cramp your style. I'm going to stay at my parents' tonight."

"You do not have to do that," he assured me.

"Yes, I do. I think I'm jealous."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, but don't let it go to your head. You have plenty of ego already."

When I returned to the apartment Sunday evening, Vi was already driving back to Chicago, and John was in bed napping. I slipped out of my clothes and joined him. As soon as I was settled in, he reached over with his left hand and started tickling my chest and stomach. As he went lower, I got hard. His hand and wrist again brushed against my dick. To my surprise, John kept going lower, tickling my dick and balls. I opened my legs so he could have full access. When I started to ache, I told him he needed to stop, because my stomach was starting to hurt.

"I have a better solution," he said, taking my dick in his hand and jacking it. He moved closer to me, and I turned my face to his. We locked eyes. I came hard, hitting myself in the face.

John wiped my cheek and then his. "You got me, too," he said.

"Sorry about that. I was just marking my territory," I blushed. "And paying you back for coating me."

For the first time, I reached between John's legs. He was soft.

"Sorry. I'm a little oversexed. But, I wanted you to know that I missed you last night."

"Thanks," I said, moving my hand to his hip. "I missed you, too." I put his hand on my hip, and we fell asleep face to face.

Part Four

When we awoke the next morning, John was behind me, his morning wood pressing at my thighs. I opened my legs and then closed them around him. Instinctively, John started sliding between my legs, clamping me to him by the chest as he did. There was a layer of sweat between us as he came against the back of my balls. John's hand moved again to my dick. I was so riled up, I came after only a few strokes, all over the sheets. John kissed the back of my neck, I pulled his hand to my lips, and we fell back asleep.

When I woke up, I had to pee something fierce. Unlike every other day, I didn't take a pillow. It seemed silly at that point.

When I was back in the bedroom, I pulled the sheet off John.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"We need to change the sheets. They're covered in cum. And, I wanted to look at you."

"Why?"

"I've never seen you. It think it's about time I did."

John's feet were large and athletic. His calves were thick. He rolled off his toes when he walked, and his calves were muscled as a result.

His crotch was hairy. His dick was soft and, to my surprise, uncut. I had never seen foreskin before. His balls were large and dangled.

"Like what you see?" he asked.

"I do. A lot. You?"

"Yes. You have a really nice dick. Big and thick," he observed.

"It's too bad when your best feature is your dick," I responded.

"It is not. It is your eyes. And your smile. You should smile more often. It becomes you."

I climbed into bed, settled my head on his shoulder, and put my fingers in his chest hair.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"I have no idea," he admitted.

"I've never been with a man before," I said, truthfully. I had thought about it, but my Catholicism was so entrenched that I was certain the mere thought prolonged my already extensive stay in purgatory.

"Me, either," he responded.

"I've thought about it," I admitted.

"Me, too," John admitted back. "It always seemed to me the sex would be better. If you have a dick, it seems like you should more readily know what to do with a dick."

"Do you think we should stop?" I asked.

"Do you think we can?" he asked back.

"I don't know. I don't think I want to."

"I know I do not want to," he assured me.

I moved my hand to his face. "It's probably time we kissed," I said.

"I agree," he said, moving his mouth to mine. It was soft, but firm. I slowly opened my mouth, and he opened his. Our tongues danced and lashed at each other. He rolled on top of me, and we started making out with reckless abandon. We were on the high wire, and there was no net below. We rolled around. We were sweating and hard when we finally broke our first kiss.

"Wow," was all I could say. I was lightheaded. "Yeah . . . . Wow."

I moved my mouth back to his and kissed him again, as deeply as I could. For the first time, I took him in my hand. I had never touched a hard dick other than my own and was, for some reason, surprised it felt like, well, a dick. Nothing more and nothing less. I almost laughed at the simplicity of it all.

I started jacking him. He was almost as thick as me, but about two inches shorter. He reciprocated, and we started jacking each other in rhythm. We came at the same time without breaking the kiss. We coated each other.

We stared at each other. "I love you, Josie," I said.

"I love you, too, Carrot."

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

"I know. I feel the same way. I feel like we have caught lightning in a bottle." Over the next few weeks, "lightning" became our secret public code to express how we were feeling when others were around and we couldn't be explicit.

***** Even though it was Monday, we left work early and hurried back to the apartment. We went straight to the bedroom, stripped as fast as we could, and kneeled face to face on the bed, making out and touching each other.

When we broke the kiss, I looked him in the eyes and said, "wish me luck, Josie." He asked "for what," and I responded "you'll see." I then kissed and licked his neck and chest and stomach before lowering myself and taking his dick in my mouth. It was easier and better than I thought, even with the foreskin.

"Oh my God, Mace," John moaned as I slid back and forth on him. "That feels so good." (I had used the same Max and Mace logic on John as I had on Ellie; on the rare occasion he called me other than Carrot, it was always Mace).

The angle was bad, and my jaw started to hurt. I pulled off.

"Oh, come on, you cannot stop now."

"I had to. The angle was wrong. Lie down."

He did, diagonal across the bed. With my back to his face, I moved my hand to the other side of him, and lowered my mouth back to his dick. With the curve of his dick, the angle was perfect, and I was able to take him deeper than I had before. Before long, he was tapping on my shoulder. I kept going until the last second, pulled off, and jerked him to orgasm. He raised up as he came, and he bit the back of my shoulder.

When he regained his composure, he offered that I had "cut it close."

"I know. But, I didn't want to stop."

"How was it?" he asked.

"Not bad, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. A little funky and odd, but not bad."

"You did well."

"Thanks, I guess. You should probably thank Ellie. She gives great head."

John rolled toward me, whispered "let's not talk about Ellie," put his mouth on my right nipple, and took my dick in his right hand. "What if my mouth is not big enough?" he asked.

"Just try your best," I urged. There was some unfortunate initial contact with teeth, but John got it worked out and was soon sliding up and down on my dick. As I got close, I tapped John on the head so he knew I was about to come. John pulled off and started to jack me. I arched my back as my orgasm started in my balls and shot through my dick. My cum hit the wall over my head. I had never come so hard.

As John settled in next to me, I asked "what did you think?"

"It was okay," he said.

"It was better than okay for me."

"I am glad. And, I could tell. You hit the wall again."

We blew each other twice more that night. Each time was better than the one before. By the end of the night, we were laying next to each other, head to toe, talking and tickling each other's crotches. I took John's dick in my hand, suggested we try to come at same time, and started jerking him. He did the same.

"Are you getting close?" he asked.

"Not really," I answered.

"Slow down. I am." I did. When he started jacking me faster, I speeded up on him, too.

"I'm getting close," I said.

"Me, too."

"Oh, Josie, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," I said, shooting straight up in the air. Cum rained down on us. Just as I was finishing, I felt John's dick thicken, his body tense under my arm, and cum move through and out his dick.

"We should get some sleep," John urged.

"I know," I answered, wiping the cum off John and me with the shirt I had used earlier. It was getting sticky and thick.

When we were settled into the pillows, I put my lips to John's and told him I wanted to fall asleep kissing him. "Okay," he said, pulling me closer to and putting his arm around me.

"I love you, Josie," I said, into his mouth.

"I love you, too, Carrot."

We fell asleep, mouth to mouth.

Part Five

The next morning, John and I awoke facing each other. I took his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. We smiled at each other for awhile before John suggested that I cancel my weekend plan to visit Ellie, "I think we should see where this is going."

"I'd love to, but I can't," I answered. "There's an event at her firm, and she's counting on me being there as her date."

"Maybe I should go to Chicago to visit Vi while you are gone," he answered.

"Why, so I have to wonder all weekend what you're up to?"

"No. So I do not have to rattle around here alone, wondering all weekend what you are up to. Although, from what you have shared, I suspect I know what you will be up to."

"I dunno," I answered. "A lot's changed since she was last here." I leaned over to John, kissed him on the lips, and whispered, "You know I'd rather stay here with you."

"I would rather you stay here with me," he whispered back.

"Funny, isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well," I said. "A month ago, I didn't know you. Now, I can't imagine not knowing you. And, I had no interest in same-sex sex. Now, I can't wait for the next wall to fall."

"The next wall is a big one," John warned.

"I know. But, I've been penetrated with toys before. So, I don't think a dick'll be much different."

"Ellie?"

"Of course. She's into everything."

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"You know, I got hard from it, so I must have liked it as some level."

"Then, it is settled. Tonight, we will try. On the living room floor."

"Like your next syllable, I look forward to it with great eagerness," I said, again quoting Hobson.

"Me, too," John said, adding, "But, in the meantime, I think we should blow each other once more before we head to work."

John maneuvered around until we were ready to 69. In the past, I didn't much care for the position or the action, as it was too much. I felt like I was on sensory overload. But, this was like riding a teeter totter. When I was down, John was up, and when John was up, I was down. I'd have laughed if it hadn't been so hot. John came first, without any warning whatsoever. I had no chance (I was too close to coming myself) to pull off, so I swallowed. It was bitter, and I gagged a little bit.

I tried to hold on as long as I could. I thought of unsexy things and mundane tasks. I was ebbing away when John grabbed the base of my dick with his hand and moved it in unison with his mouth. The stimulation of my entire shaft was too much, I announced "I'm gonna come," and I shot the first volley into John's mouth as he tried to pull off. The remainder wound up on his face and in his hair.

Neither of us moved. John started to laugh, and I joined him.

"I tried to let you come in my mouth, I swear," he said.

"That's okay. I'd rather come on your face and in your hair. I like marking you."

John spun around, pinned me to the bed, and shook his head, trying to shake my cum onto me. It didn't work, but we laughed as he tried. He locked his hands in mine, lowered his face, kissed me softly, and whispered, "what am I going to do with you?"

"Pretty much anything you want," I whispered back.

***** We had a summer associate event that night, and John thought it'd look strange if neither of us showed. We were already worried that people were talking about how close we had become in a short amount of time. We were convinced Ellie and Vi were the only things retarding the gossip. John encouraged me to publicize my weekend in New York with my girlfriend, and he started talking excitedly about visiting Vi and how much he missed her.

I skipped the summer event, pleading family commitments in St. Charles. Instead of visiting my family, I went directly from work to liquor store and bought and expensive bottle of wine. Then, I swung by Target and bought candles. Then, I headed to the apartment and pulled the bag of toys Ellie and shared from my closet (It was 1990, and AIDS was still very much a death sentence; I probably should have gotten condoms, but I trusted Josie's representation he had never been with another man). I retrieved lube and a dildo. I coated the dildo with lube, and while waiting for Josie, tried to get myself as ready as I could.

When John got home at 8:30, the wine was open (and mostly gone), the candles were lit, and I was as ready as I could be. I was in my underwear on a down comforter on the living room floor, listening to the Cure.

"Great minds think alike," John said, presenting a bottle of wine and a candle.

"We don't need the candle," I said. "But, we definitely need the wine. I'll open it while you get ready."

John went to the bedroom while I went to the kitchen. I returned with an open bottle of wine. He returned nude. A fool, he flexed and posed for me.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked coyly.

"I'm pretty sure your brain is your best feature," I responded, sarcastically.

Pretending to pout, he complained "maybe I should fuck someone who appreciates me for my gorgeous body." I had a lot of options available. I thought about responding that minds are more durable than bodies, which would have been a sweet response. I thought about responding "good luck finding that someone," which would have been a bitter response. I settled on "you should fuck someone who loves you tons," which was the right response.

We sat cross-legged on the floor and drank. John was hard, and I could tell he was eager. I was eager, too.

When it was time to go, I laid face down on the floor, with a pillow under my hips, so my rear end was raised. John lubed himself and me generously.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he said.

"You're about to fuck me," I responded, laughing. "Of course you're going to hurt me."

The details are not important. Suffice to say, there were many false starts, it took a lot of work, and there was definitely some pain, but John finally worked himself all the way in. I felt very full. As John gave me time to adjust, he intertwined his fingers with mine, and stretched my arms up over my head. He was covering me head to toe. It was the most intimate moment of my life.

"I love you so much, Carrot," he said.

"I love you too, Josie."

"How much?"

"Tons, like I said."

From that point on, we had a new secret word. Whenever we wanted to say "I love you" in public, we just worked "tons" into the conversation. It was pretty easy. "I have tons to do" or "I have tons of time" or "I'm having tons of fun" drew no suspicions.

"It is all I can do not to buck like mad," he said.

"You can buck," I said. "But, I think I'd prefer that you not 'buck like mad.'"

John started slowly sliding in and out of me. He was still covering me head to toe, and a thin layer of sweat spread between us.

"I am not going to last long," he said.

"Good," I assured him.

He started moving faster, and his breath became ragged.

"I am so close," he said. "Can I come inside you?"

"Of course," I insisted.

He did, pushing into me as deeply as he could. It may have been only my imagination, but I thought I could feel his cum entering me.

John buried his face in my hair.

"I love you so much," he said, rolling off me. "And, thank you. That was incredible."

"You liked it?"

"I loved it. I have never felt so close to anyone in my life."

"I felt the same way."

"Did it hurt a lot?"

"No, not a lot. And, turning you on actually turned me on."

"I can tell," he said, taking my dick in his hand. "It looks like I have some work to do." He kissed my neck, which I love. My neck is one of the most sensitive parts of my body.

He proceeded to make love to my body, kissing and licking all the way to my dick and back up. He grabbed his wine glass, and poured what was left in it down my chest and stomach. I felt it running all over me. He then licked every last bit back off of me. I had been ready to come when he finished fucking me. Now, his chest grazing my dick was about to send me over the edge.

"I need to come," I whispered.

"Be patient," he whispered back. He licked down to my crotch, but skipped my dick and worked on my balls and where my legs met my pelvis. I took my dick in my hand, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

"Patience," he said, again.

"I'm not Job," I answered. "I need to come. My balls are starting to ache."

"Good, that is what I wanted." He moved to my dick, took me in his mouth, and started working the head with his tongue. I tapped him on the shoulder, letting him know I was about to blow. He kept going, taking me deeper into his mouth. I came, a lot. He sucked me harder. I felt him swallow as he did. I came more than I ever had.

"Jesus, Carrot," he said when I was finished. "I thought you were never going to stop."

"I know. That was a big one. Sorry about that."

"It is alright. It was the least I could do, after you let me fuck you. . . . Speaking of which, can we do it again?"

"Already?"

"Yes. See?" he asked, standing up and over me, showing me that he was hard again.

"Yes, please," I answered.

John fucked me twice more that night. The first time, I was on my stomach again, like before. The second time, he said he wanted to be able to see me, so we tried it on my back. It was more difficult to get started, but I liked that I could see what he was doing. As he went at me, we locked eyes. I felt like he could see into my soul. I was so happy I wanted to cry. I reached up and touched his face. He folded his head into my hand.

"I do not want to come," he said.

"I know."

"I could go on like this forever."

"Me, too."

He lowered his face to mine and kissed me. I gripped his head in my hands, hungrily kissing him back. He grunted, and I felt him filling me. The emotion and the intimacy and the pleasure was too much for me, and I came, too, coating my chest and stomach. John lowered himself to me, covering me head to toe. We kissed, gently, without hunger, until we had to stop to catch our breath.

***** It was past midnight when we settled into a bath, with me resting against his chest. We were both well past tired. John's fingers were in the narrow path of hair on my chest.

"Hey, Mace, I just had a crazy idea. Do you think we should live together this year?"

"That's a pretty public declaration, isn't it?"

"It does not have to be. We could get a 2 bedroom apartment somewhere between Chicago and Northwestern. We could share a bed when Ellie and Vi are not over and sleep in our own rooms when they are."

"I'll have to think about it. I didn't do well before when Vi was over. It would only be worse now."

"I think it would be worth the trade. Even if we could not fool around when they were there, we would still be able to see each other. I do not want to go days without seeing you."

"I think we need to think about everything. I'm not sure, the way I feel right now, that it's at all fair to Ellie -- or to Vi -- that we keep dating them."

I felt John tense a little. I was clearly ahead of him in where I thought we were and where I thought we were going. Or, where I wanted to go.

Part Six

Wednesday and Thursday followed the precedent set Monday, with me bottoming for John. I didn't mind the status quo. One, I liked the feeling of him inside me, and how vulnerable it made me feel. I was generally very guarded, and it was great to feel open and subject to someone else. Two, the one time we discussed the option of me fucking him, John expressed concern about my size.

There was no such thing as the internet, much less Google, so it was difficult to research "how to get another guy ready to get pounded." I knew there was a gay bookstore in the Central West End, so I stopped by there on my way home from work on Thursday night. There had to be a magazine or something.

At first, I couldn't go in. I tried, but I couldn't. Every time I'd reach for the door, fear of who might see me inside swept over me.

The Loading Zone, St. Louis' most popular gay bar, was across the street. I was definitely not going in there.

I gave myself a pep talk. I was an adult, for Christ's sake. What was there to fear?

I went in. To my surprise, everyone kept going about their business. All eyes did not turn to me, to judge me with "of course you're here" eyes.

I went to the magazine rack. I tentatively picked a couple up. An older man glanced at me from the side. I must have looked lost. He held out his hand, introduced himself as Peter, and asked if I was looking for something in particular.

"Actually, I am. I kind of need a same-sex 'how to' magazine."

"It's not that complicated. Just do what feels good."

"That's easier said than done," I said. "I'm pretty big, and I want to make sure I make it as easy on the other person as I can."

"Aren't you a dear? So, you're going to top a virgin, and you want to know how to make it as painless as possible?"

"Exactly."

"You don't need a magazine. You need a friend. Come have a drink with me."

Peter walked me out of the bookstore and across the street to The Loading Zone. I paused and told Peter I had never been in a gay bar before.

"If you're going to fuck a guy in the ass for the first time, you may as well visit your first gay bar, too. And, we don't bite."

We went in, sat down, and ordered drinks. Peter introduced me to a couple of his friends, laughingly told them how and where he'd found me, and I proceeded to receive a panel tutorial on how to sex a man properly. I was surprised when one of them asked how big my dick was, and for some reason I shrank it in my answer.

When it was time for me to go, I thanked them for their wisdom. Peter passed me his number, told me there was always room in his life for another friend, and invited me back the following Wednesday, which he said was the big night out.

I planned to tell John I wanted to make love to him that night. But, he beat me to it. When I got home, he was already home, waiting for me in bed. I was still in my suit.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I have been waiting for you. I want you to make love to me."

"Really? That's where I was. I want to make love to you, and I was out trying to figure out how to make it as easy on you as I could."

"It does not need to be easy. It just has to happen. I am not letting you leave for New York without it happening."

I almost ripped my suit off. "Lay on your stomach," I said. "And don't ask any questions." He rolled over, and I started at his shoulders, massaging and relaxing him. I worked my way past his ass to his feet and back up. I spread his butt cheeks and started licking his ass. He did not bristle. He was relaxed and enjoying it. I licked for as long as I could, until my tongue got tired. I warned him that I was going to penetrate him with my fingers, and I did, slowly working one and then two in. He was tight.

Just as I was thinking I could not wait much longer, John interrupted me. "I cannot wait much longer," he said. "At this point, I think the anticipation is turning to fear. I think you should just do it."

"Okay," I said. "But, you're in charge. So, let me know what you want me to do."

As he said "I will," I covered my dick and his ass crack in as much lube as I could. I made a complete mess.

"Lay on your left side," I said. "And roll your right leg over your left." When he did, I moved in behind him.

"Help me to the right spot." He did, grabbing my dick in his right hand and placing it at his opening.

Again, the details are not necessary. Suffice to say, it was not the magical first time experience you read about in online stories. It was hard work. A couple of times, we almost gave up. It took about half an hour or so, but I finally found myself about halfway in. He would not let me go any deeper. Or move.

"Take deep deep breaths," I instructed. "And, push back against me."

"I feel like I have to go to the bathroom."

"I know. But, you don't. "

I clamped him to my chest with my right arm. I kissed his neck. I sucked his ear. I whispered, "thank you for letting me do this . . . I love you."

John turned to me and gave me freedom. "Go ahead. I want to feel what you feel when I come inside you." I started sliding in and out of him. I noticed I went in a little deeper with each thrust. Before long, I was all the way in. The sensation had my entire body tingling. I could feel an orgasm starting in my feet. I stopped thrusting and turned his face to where I could kiss him.

"You feel so good, Josie," I said as I bucked a couple more times, my body convulsed, and I came inside him. I got light headed. I thought I was going to pass out. I pulled out and dove on his dick, making him come in my mouth, and swallowing all he gave.

We were curled up in each other, ready for sleep. "What did you think?" I asked.

"Physically, it was difficult. Emotionally, it was awesome. I felt like we were melting into each other."

"I know what you mean. When you do me, I feel so close and open to you, it's scary."

"You do not need to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of what you're doing to me."

***** I was leaving straight from the office for New York. So, Friday morning was our last private time together before we returned to our girlfriends. I wound up making love to John for the second time. It was his idea, and he wanted to try it on his back. It was still a lot of work, but I liked that I could see his face, especially his eyes, as we made love.

As I picked up speed, John said "whoa whoa whoa," and I stopped.

"Oh, I did not mean for you to stop," he said. "You hit something in there that made me tingle. Start back up and see if you can find it again."

I must have, because it appeared as if John was enjoying being fucked. The hint of pleasure on his face was too much for me, and I came, driving deeply into him as I did, making him gasp. When I was drained, I pulled out, and finished him again with my mouth (I loved having his dick in my mouth). I gulped him dry, then licked down his legs and licked and sucked his feet and toes.

"You have to stop," he said. "It is way too intense after what I have been through this morning."

I climbed up, settled in next to him, and put my head on his chest. I loved hearing his voice through his chest.

"You seemed to enjoy that," he said.

"I did. I love blowing you."

"No, I meant what we did before that."

"Oh, yeah, that was awesome, too. I especially liked being able to see you while we did it."

"You found something in there," he said.

"I think it was your prostate," I answered, thinking of what Peter had told me.

"What is that?" he asked.

"I don't know. I just know it's in there somewhere and that, when it's found, it's supposed to be transformative."

"It was. It actually felt good having you inside of me."

We laid there quietly, listening to each other breathe.

"Are you going to think about me this weekend?" he asked.

"Of course. Are you going to think about me?"

"Only when I am awake. When I am asleep, I am going to dream about you."

I rolled onto him, and put my hands under my chin on his chest. We stared at each other for a long time, smiling. We said a lot, without uttering a word.

We had lunch before I headed to the airport and he headed to Chicago. I was melancholy as I flew east. I was sad to be leaving John for days. And, I was pensive that a weekend with Vi would shock him back to reality and who he was.

I did not have the same worry for me. I had never felt for another what I felt for John. It really was lightning in a bottle, although not for the reason John claimed.

***** Ellie and I had a fine weekend. I tried not to talk about John, as I did not want to arouse any suspicions. And, we went at each other hard. We were young, so sex usually led to more sex. And, we were good at it. There was no work, just easy pleasure.

By Sunday morning, I was tired. And, I was trying to save something for John, who was picking me up at the airport. But, Ellie would have none of it, taking my soft dick in her mouth, working me to hardness (I loved getting hard in someone's mouth), and then deep throating me until I filled her throat.

I thought reciprocation was only fair, so I went down on her. As I was getting her close, she begged me to fuck her. When I told her that I was not sure I could, she told me to look at my dick, which I knew was hard. Cornered, I lowered myself into her. She rolled me onto my back, and rode me, soaking me with her wetness and making herself -- and then me -- come.

As we tried to recover, I offered that my dick was exhausted.

"How do you think I feel?" she asked.

"Like a popsicle?" I answered.

She cocked her head and thought for second. "You know, I had never thought of that, but, yes, I felt like a popsicle, impaled on your stick."

We parted as I hailed a cab to LaGuardia. There was no sadness or tearful "I love you's." We didn't love each other. That's not what we were doing. We were sex partners and not much more. For a year, it had been enough. Now, it wasn't.

John was waiting at the gate for me. Rather than shake my hand, he wrapped me in a full embrace, and turned me in a circle. "Oh, Mace, I am so glad you are home."

"Me, too."

"Now, take me to bed, or lose me forever," he demanded, quoting Meg Ryan from Top Gun.

We floated through the airport. In the car, we held hands. I loved John's hands, especially the hair on the back of them. I raised his right hand to my face and kissed it.

Neither of us talked about our weekends. I am sure we assumed the other didn't want to hear about whatever had happened with Ellie and Vi. I know I had no interest in knowing what, if anything, they did together.

We were pawing at each other as we climbed the stairs, and we were both naked by the time we got to the bedroom. We climbed into bed and kissed just like we had the first time, rolling back and forth across the bed and mauling each other with reckless abandon. When we finally calmed down, I asked John to make love to me. He, of course, agreed. I was on my back when he entered me. He lasted longer than he ever had, sliding in and out of me over and over. I was about to ask him to stop when he hit my prostate, and a jolt shot through me. He kept going as I thrashed back and forth and cried out, coming spontaneously all over my face and neck. My orgasm took him over the edge, and he came, too, before collapsing.

"My arms were getting sore," he said.

"Well, then imagine how my ass and legs were feeling, Mr. Selfish."

"But, they are not my ass and legs, so I am not sure why I should imagine anything about them," he rejoined, laughing.

"If I could, I'd grudge fuck you right now."

"Carrot, you make everything sound so romantic. What am I supposed to say, 'I wish you could grudge fuck me, too'?"

"Probably not," I said. "But, I bet you do."

"Actually, I do. A little."

We rolled into each other, I put my hands in front of my face, and John pulled me into his chest, resting his chin on my head. "We have to live together this year," he said. "I cannot go two days without seeing you again. It made me ache."

"I know how you feel. I had a decent time, but every time I saw a blue Cherokee, my heart skipped a beat."

"You love me."

"I do. Tons."

It was early evening, but we fell asleep. When we woke up, the room was pitch black. It was like a haunted house. The clock said 10:15. It wasn't even bedtime.

We went to the living room to listen to music and talk. John sat on the couch, and I laid with my head in his lap.

"Where does this wind up?" I asked.

"I am not sure. It will be difficult to explain you to my wife and children."

"I had the same thought."

"But, I definitely want a wife and children."

"Me, too."

"I do not think we need to make any big decisions tonight," John said. "I think maybe we should just let it ride and enjoy the love of a lifetime. And, that is what this is, at least for me."

"It is for me, too. And, that means it's going to be hard ever to let it go."

"I know, Mace. . . . I know."

We fell asleep. When we woke up, it was light out.

Part Seven

Our summer went on like that. During the week, we had sex most mornings. We went to work. We visited each other throughout the day. We went home. We had sex most nights. We went to sleep. We usually slept wrapped up in each other. Often, we slept mouth to mouth.

On weekends, we lounged the mornings away in bed. After sex, I would place my head on John's chest, and he would read aloud to me, always from P.G. Wodehouse. I loved feeling John's voice resonate in his chest. Often, I would move to his crotch as he read, taking his soft dick in my mouth and toying with it until it got hard. He'd keep reading, pausing only when it was time for him to come. I'd swallow him and move back to his chest.

Other times, I would get hard listening to him. I'd grab the book from him and read to him while I straddled his chest and he blew me, pausing only when it was time for me to come.

We got really good at sexing each other. Of all the things we did, I preferred having him in my mouth. I loved controlling and delivering his pleasure. I especially liked when he straddled me and fucked my face, although describing it thusly makes it sound way more base than it was. It was not a carnal act of lust; it was an act of love

We made love a lot, usually with John topping me. For every time I fucked him, he fucked me thrice. I liked bottoming more than he did, and he liked topping more than I did.

We spent a lot of time at Forest Park, talking our way around the 6.2 mile track that encircled it. We talked a lot about what we were doing, and what it meant. John was convinced our affair did not have to mean we were gay, we had just caught lightning in a bottle. I was not so sure. I started to look backward, wondering if my religion and upbringing had convinced me of something that was not true.

We spent most evenings on the couch, listening to music and reading to each other. When John read, I sat back against him, so I could feel his voice through his chest. When I read, John sat at the opposite end of the couch, either locking his legs in mine or pressing the bottom of his feet to the bottom of mine.

We absented ourselves from most of the firm's summer social events. We stopped caring if our absences were noticeable. Our summer together was winding down, and we were both pensive about what the future held. We were an island.

***** The final weekend of my summer (with Chicago's trimesters, John would be at the Firm another month after I left), my golfing buddy from law school, Freddie Patterson, visited. Freddie had gone to school in Boulder, and he was the definition of crunchy. He had curly brown hair that he spent no time on. He had twinkly eyes, and his smile lit up his face. He wore peasant shirts and ripped jeans and Birkenstocks. He was stunning. He was easily the most handsome man I had ever met in real life. When Ellie met him, she said, "He's so hot he sucked the oxygen from the room." She did not overstate it.

John was going to have dinner with us on Friday night, then leave early Saturday for Chicago to visit Vi. Freddie was staying with us, and John had told me "there was no way" he could stay in St. Louis and not have me in his bed, and he did not want Freddie to figure out or find out what was going on.

The best laid plans . . . . When John went to the bathroom during dinner, Freddie looked at me and announced "that guy's in love with you."

"He is not."

"You may not know it, but he is. You should see the way he looks at you. It's obvious."

"I think you're wrong," I protested.

"I'm not. So, be careful."

"Careful of what?" I asked.

"You know, if he tries to talk you into something."

"I'm not easily persuadable," I lied.

With Freddie settled on the couch, I tried to stay in my bed. I just couldn't. My nights with John were dwindling, and I didn't want to sacrifice one for appearance's sake. So, I closed my bedroom door, closed John's bedroom door, and climbed into bed with him.

We were face to face, kissing lightly. I whispered, "We can't make any noise."

"It will be hard to fuck you and not make noise," he answered.

"You're going to fuck me?" I asked.

"You are going to be gone soon. I am not going to waste one of our few remaining nights."

"By the way, Freddie thinks you're in love with me."

"I am," he responded.

"I know," I said. "But, if Freddie figured it out, then everyone else will, too. He's not insightful."

"Does he think you are in love with me?"

"No. He thinks I should be careful."

"Interesting," John said, pausing. "You are in love with me, though, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then tell me."

"That's like saying there's gravity. Isn't it evident?" "It is, but I want to hear it."

"Fine," I said, sarcastically. "I'm in love with you, John Chester Frederick the Third. I love you more than life itself. I'll never love another the way I love you, heart and soul, mind and body."

"I am glad," he said. "If you love me so much, let me fuck you right now."

"I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to."

I rolled onto my back and guided John inside me. To avoid making noise, he moved in and out of me very slowly.

"I have never fucked anyone so slowly," John whispered. "It feels incredible."

"I know," I said. "My whole body is on fire."

I have no idea how long he went at me, but it was a long time. We were soaked with sweat by the time I felt him swell and spill inside me. He collapsed onto me.

"My arms are like jelly," he said.

"So are my legs."

"I want you to come."

"I'm really close. That was fucking awesome, no pun intended," I laughed.

John raised up, kissed me softly, and then licked down my chin and neck, nipple to nipple, and then down my treasure trail to my dick. He took me in his hand and his mouth, and I came hard and long. Cum ran out of John's mouth and down my dick. When John pulled off, he spit my cum in his hands, and then wiped it on the towel we now kept for such things. After cleaning me up, he dropped down beside me.

"Jesus, Mace. That was like a gallon of cum. There was no way I could swallow all that."

"I was really turned on. I just got an awesome lay from an awesome guy."

"I am awesome," he deadpanned.

I had to pee, so I slipped on my boxers, quietly left John's room, and then quietly left my room. Freddie was in the hallway, also headed to the bathroom.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he responded. "Are you alright? You're soaked with sweat."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I get hot when I sleep," I lied. "And, I have night terrors. Do me a favor, and wake me up tomorrow. I've been oversleeping lately, and I don't want to rush around."

"Sure," he said.

"You go first," I said. "I'll wait."

When I climbed back into bed, John was asleep. I nudged him awake. "Hey, Josie," I whispered. "Wake up."

"Go to sleep," he said, not opening his eyes.

"No. I want you to fuck me again. The last one was for Friday night. Since you're not going to be here tomorrow night, I need one for Saturday night."

"I am really tired," he said.

"Lay on your back," I instructed. He did, and I made love to his body with my lips and tongue. I took him in my mouth. When I had him good and hard, I climbed on and gently rode him, again going very slow to make sure we made no noise. John never opened his eyes. I propped myself on my arms and whispered "Look at me. And touch me."

John opened his eyes and looked directly at me. With the door closed, the room was so dark it was difficult to see him.

"I love you, Josie. I really do."

"I love you, too, Carrot. I really do."

"I want to come when you come," I said.

"I am very close."

"Touch me."

John took my dick in his hand and slowly stroked it.

"Tell me when you're ready," I whispered.

"I am almost there."

"Me, too."

"I am coming."

"Me, too."

I felt him swell inside me as I unloaded on the paneling yet again.

"Oh, fuck," he grunted, a little too loudly.

"Shhhhh," I whispered.

"Keep going," he said. "I think I am going to come again."

I kept riding him. I felt him swell in me again. He raised up and bit my shoulder as he came again, letting out a low, guttural groan as he did. I kissed his forehead, his nose, and his mouth.

"It just keeps getting better and better," he said.

"I know, Ass," I said, quoting P.G. Wodehouse. "You're ruining me for everyone else."

"I am not sure there should ever be anyone else."

"I'm not, either."

When I had cleaned myself up, I told John I was going to sleep in my own bed. One, I had to get up early for golf. Two, for cover, I had asked Freddie to wake me up.

"Okay," he said. "But, kiss me good-bye in the morning. Without waking me up."

"I'll try," I said.

When I went into John's room the next morning, he was awake. "Make love to me before you leave," he demanded.

"I'd love to," I said. "But, I don't think we have time. I told Freddie to wake me, and he's going to bang on the door any time."

"I do not care. I need to feel you inside me before you go. Please."

I was already dressed for golf. John's neediness made me hard. He was on his back, and he raised his legs, exposing himself. I unzipped my shorts, pulled my dick through the opening in my briefs, and moved over him. I was about to spit in my hand, but John said, "I got myself ready."

I pushed into him. I tried to fuck him slowly to avoid making noise, but he would not have it. "Hurry," he said. "Fuck me harder."

I sped up. I could not go fast enough for John. "Freddie is going to hear us," I warned.

"I do not care," John said. "I need you to fuck me harder."

I started pounding in and out of him. I was sure Freddie could hear the bedsprings and the floor boards, just as I could when John was fucking Vi and I was on the couch. I stopped caring. I could see the pleasure I was delivering on John's face, and that is all I cared about.

"Oh, Josie," I said. "I'm so close."

"Me, too," John said, grabbing his dick and starting to jerk it. I heard Freddie knock on the door and call my name just as I was filling John's ass.

"Oh, God," I said. "I think Freddie is in the next room."

"Stay there. I am really close."

I stayed inside John as I softened. He came just as Freddie knocked on his door. I pulled out, put my dick away, and zipped up my shorts.

"Just a second," I said. "I'll be right there."

I grabbed a pair of John's socks and hustled to the door. As I was about to open it, I looked toward John and mouthed "tons." He mouthed "tons" back.

"Sorry," I said to Freddie. "I had to get a pair of socks. I have only dress socks here."

"No worries," Freddie said. But, I did not think he bought my explanation. After all, I wouldn't need to close the door behind me just to borrow socks.

***** When we got home from golf, my heart leapt when I saw John's Cherokee still parked in front of the building. He had not gone to visit Vi.

When we got upstairs, there was a note. "Vi called. She needs to focus on school, so this weekend is not good. I am going for a run around the Park. I would like to hang out with you guys tonight, but I do not want to intrude."

Freddie read the note over my shoulder. He was not fooled. "He stayed to be

with you."

"Freddie, I really think you're wrong," I said.

"I'm not. And, now I'm pretty sure you have the same feelings for him that he has for you. Which is totally cool. I'm not going to judge. My brother's gay. I fucked a guy in college, just to see what it was like. Different strokes for different folks. But, don't bullshit me. The sound of fucking is pretty singular, and I know I heard fucking this morning. I don't know who was fucking who, but someone was fucking someone, and it was only you and John."

Caught red-handed, I relented. "Fine. You win. I was fucking him. It came out of nowhere, and now we're lost in it."

"Well . . . . A hint of honesty. Congratulations. To both of you. That's awesome. Don't let go without a fight."

"I won't," I insisted.

"It's going to get hard, especially if he's going to try to keep pretending to have a girlfriend."

"Well, I have Ellie," I responded.

"Ellie's not your girlfriend, and you're not her boyfriend. You two fuck each other. That's all you do."

"Well, that's not all we do," I said, laughing.

"Right. You two fuck and suck and lick and do whatever. But, you're not in a relationship. You're exercise equipment. Fuck, you like me more than you like her."

I had no response. He was right. I liked him more than anyone else, save John.

We each showered and washed the golf and sweat off. We put on music. We drank wine. Freddie loaded a pipe and smoked pot. He offered some to me, but I declined.

"So, you fucked a guy?" I asked.

"Sure. It was Boulder. Everyone did everything. It was the only way to fit in."

"Did you like it?"

"What's not to like? It was tight and warm and wrapped around my dick."

"You ever been fucked?" I asked.

"Uh . . . . no. I'm not gay, and I have no interest in getting fucked."

"You ever blow a guy?" I followed up.

"No. I also have no interest in sucking a dick. But, I let a gay friend talk me into letting him blow me. Once he did, I had to keep letting him. He was awesome at it."

"I'm getting better at it," I offered.

"Congratulations, I guess," Freddie said. "I mean, whatever floats your boat."

I let it drop. I didn't want Freddie to think I wanted to blow him, and I thought that's what the conversation was suggesting.

When John got back from his run, I bounded after him to his room. "Look," I said. "Freddie knows. Don't freak out. He figured it out himself."

"I assumed. We made a lot of noise this morning. And, I did not think he would think we were jumping on the bed like little kids."

"I'm glad you're here," I said, changing the subject, and kissing him. "It's a great surprise. I almost burst when I saw your car."

"It is our last weekend like this. I decided I could not miss any of it."

At dinner, we didn't have to hide anything. We could be in love.

When we got home, I offered Freddie my bed. He declined, presumably because he didn't want to hear whatever was going to be going on the back bedroom.

As soon as we closed the door behind us, John pinned me to it with a bold, strong kiss. He buried his tongue in my mouth and devoured me. He worked his way down me, removing clothes as he did. He took me in his mouth, and he went down farther than he ever had. He grabbed my hips and controlled my rhythm against his. I floated away as I came in his mouth.

We moved to the bed. John pinned my legs against my chest and went at me. I was floating away again, in love and intoxicated by lust. He held my legs against his shoulders as he entered me, kneeling. The deliberation of the night before was gone. We were indifferent to what Freddie heard or knew. He fucked me hard, and I loved it. We were drenched in sweat when John came, which made me come all over myself.

When we were cleaned up and ready to sleep, I took John's hands in mine.

"Thank you, Josie," I said.

"For what?"

"For sticking around. And, for loving me."

"You are welcome. But, I stuck around for me, not you. And, loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done."

I folded my face into his chest hair. He had said the best thing I had ever heard.

He stroked my back and said, "I would be lost without you."

"I am lost with you," I responded. He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

"Never let me go," he said.

"I couldn't," I responded, "even if it was the right thing to do."

"It is not," he assured me.

Part Eight

I headed back to Chicago, planning to visit John every weekend until his summer ended. Although we had talked about it, reality thwarted our idea of living together. He already had a lease with two friends. I had a non-refundable deposit.

I bought a car, so I could travel toward him when I needed to see him. He had a car, so the opposite was true.

When I unloaded my things, I found an envelope with "Carrot" written in John's simple script. I opened it to find a brief note: "I love the getting caught in thunderstorms. Always and forever, John."

The "A and F" from "always and forever" became another code for us. Quickly, it became Abercrombie and Fitch. When I wanted to tell John I loved him at a table full of people, I now had three codes: "Lightning," "Tons," and "Abercrombie and Fitch."

As a 2L, I set my own schedule. All of my classes met only on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, which left every Thursday and Friday free. As soon as I was done on Wednesday, I beelined down 55 to St. Louis. John had to work Thursday and Friday, so I studied. I put my books down when he got home, stripped, and joined him on the living room floor or in his bed. The sex was fantastic. The intimacy was better.

On my first weekend back, we laid on the living room floor. We were cheek to cheek, but pointing in opposite directions.

I had taken to calling him "L.O.M.L." which was shorthand for "love of my life." I raised my hand and cradled his left cheek. "LOML," I said. "What's the next chapter? We proceeded to talk about dreams, goals, life, and perceptions. John definitely wanted our story to continue, but he wanted it to be a side story, hidden from view.

He wanted to get married. He wanted me to get married. He wanted our wives to be friends. He wanted our kids to play together. And, he wanted to keep going as we were going, hiding in plain sight.

Open with me did not fit his view. He wanted to be admired and respected. He wanted to rub elbows with Senators, business leaders, and other pillars of the community.

I wanted none of those things. I wanted John, notorious and open. But, I was too much in the throes of it to throw down the gauntlet.

Each visit was like the one before. We spent almost all our time naked and wrapped in each other. When we weren't making love, we read to each other, in bed, on the couch, or on the living room floor. More often than not, he read to me. He had a better voice. And, I liked to rest my head on his chest or in his lap as he read.

Every time Vi offered to visit, John turned her down. He claimed he was too busy trying to get a permanent offer from Bryan Cave. His claim was specious. He had gone to Yale. He was at U of C. He was clerking on the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. He had an offer before the summer even started.

Freddie went with me for the final weekend before John returned to Chicago. He had met a girl on his prior visit, and he thought a weekend visit might get him laid. When I picked him up for the drive back to Chicago, it was clear he had been wrong.

"She was a total cocktease," he diagnosed. "And, now Black Bart is hungry."

"Black Bart?" I asked.

"My dick."

"I have to ask, why 'Black Bart'?"

"Black Bart was a famous miner. He spent his life in dark tunnels. So, I named my dick after him. They have a lot in common. My dick loves dark tunnels."

"Actually, that's pretty clever," I said.

About halfway to Chicago, we stopped for gas and a snack. Freddie offered to drive the rest of the way, and I let him.

After about thirty minutes, Freddie started in about a sex game he had played with his buddies in college. They tallied points, depending on what who got what and when. The point of his story seemed to be that "road head" carried a significant point total. I thought I knew where he was headed,

but I decided to let it play out.

After another fifteen minutes or so, Freddie reminded me that he had let a gay friend blow him in college. I cut to the chase.

"Freddie, you seem to be fishing for a blow job. If you want one, you're going to have to ask for one."

"May I have a blow job please?" he asked.

"I dunno. It feels like I'd be cheating on John."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked. "You fuck Ellie. He fucks Vi. Cheating is inherent in what you're doing."

"Yeah, but they're both girls. Somehow, it feels different."

"Suit yourself," he said. "But, I have a really nice dick. Black Bart is tall, dark, and handsome, just like me."

"Show him to me. Maybe I'll change my mind."

Freddie pulled his shorts out and tucked the waist band under his balls. He was right. He had an awesome dick. Not as big as mine, but perfectly shaped.

"Tempting, isn't it?" he asked.

"It is. I'd be lying if I told you it isn't."

"Take it if you want it," he said.

I felt a pang of guilt, but I decided to seize the moment. I leaned over and took Black Bart into my mouth. He was sweaty and salty, but smooth as silk. Freddie weaved his hand into the back of my hair and controlled both the depth and tempo. It was not long before I felt Black Bart swell, as if he was flexing his muscles. Freddie's cum followed, filling my mouth. It tasted of vanilla.

"Well, how'd I do," I asked.

"You're a natural. Like a duck to water."

"You have a nice dick."

"Thanks. I told you I did."

"Not as nice as mine. But, nice, nonetheless."

"Why'd you change your mind?" he asked.

"I thought I should experiment a little. I mean, I just started all this. I wanted to see what it was like with someone besides John."

"Was it any different?"

"Not really. But, your cum tastes better. Not as bitter. A little sweet."

"Hmm. I've never heard that before."

"Haven't you ever tasted it?" I asked.

"Nope."

"You should try it."

"I think I might."

***** By the time John returned to Chicago at the end of September, Ellie and I were done. Freddie had been right about us, and she "connected" with a first year she met in the lunch line (ridiculously, he was from Wyoming and named Clint). Go figure. I was not disappointed, but I gave her a multiple orgasm as a parting gift.

As I left, she said, "I may call you if I ever need to be fucked properly."

"Don't lose my number," I said. "When Clint is done and gone, call me. I'll finish what he can't."

Vi was not as easy to re-direct. She obviously felt threatened, as she acted like a dog when the baby is brought home. She was constantly trying to insinuate herself between me and John. I was not party to their exchanges, thankfully. I felt for John. He was trying to balance unequal weights.

I wanted John to meet the Brady Bunch, as our class referred to us. We were six, three men (Freddie, Gregory, and me) and three women (Ellie, Jennifer, and Maggie). We all went to dinner, and John joined us.

About halfway through dinner, I went to the bathroom, and Maggie followed me. Maggie was my partner in comedic crime.

"Max, what the fuck? Are you guys lovers?"

"No," I lied. "Why?"

"You should be. It's clear you're in love with each other."

"We're not. I have no idea why you even say that."

"Well, you may not know it yet, but you are. I hope someday someone looks at me the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him."

"I think you're seeing things," I admonished.

"I think you're ignoring things," she rejoined. "Or lying."

"I'm not lying," I lied again.

"Well, I'm not seeing things. You guys are head over heels for each other. If you haven't acted on it, you should. Before it's too late."

"I'm not gay," I persisted.

"I'm not saying you are. But, I am saying you are in love with John. If you're in love with someone, you should let them know. Sooner than later. It doesn't matter who it is. Love is fleeting. Don't miss it."

I hugged her. I knew as I did that I was confirming all that I had denied. I squeezed her tight, and she squeezed me tighter. "I'm so happy for you," she whispered in my ear.

"Don't tell Ellie," I said. Ellie and Maggie were thicker than thieves.

"She knows. She told me about 'John' after she visited you this summer. She said she thought you were in love with him. If not, then she was convinced you were obsessed with him. She said he was all you talked about."

"I had just met him," I said. "I had never felt anything like that. When he looked at me, I felt like I was the only person in the room."

"Max, I am really happy for you. Please be careful. And," she emphasized, "safe."

"We are," I lied yet again.

***** Halloween weekend, John and I rented a cabin in Wisconsin. I have no idea what he told Vi.

I gave him a roadie as we drove north. When I was finished and back upright in my seat, he took my hand in his, weaving his fingers between mine. I pulled his hand to my face and kissed it.

"I love you, Josie," I said. "Always and forever."

"I love you, too, Carrot," he offered back. "Tons."

We didn't say anything for the next hour. When we got settled in our cabin, we were so needy we almost tore each other's clothes off. I laid flat on the bed, my arms above my head. John stood at the foot of the bed, holding my feet against his shoulders. He stood as he took me.

When he was finished, he asked me to take him. He was on his back, and he insisted I go as slow as I could. I have no idea how long I took, but it was the slowest fuck I have ever delivered. He took the length of me over and over as we stared into each other's eyes. My arms were about to give out when I finally came, shuddering as I did.

We needn't have driven to a cabin. We never went outside.

We went on like that, sneaking fucks whenever we could and not sneaking them when we didn't have to. I had met John's friends, and they agreed with his "remarkably normal" diagnosis. His friends were not "remarkably normal." They were erudite and extraordinary. They would some day make the rules we all lived by.

At Christmas, I drove John home. Because of ice, our five hour drive took ten.

I spent the entire three week break at his house. His mother told me I could not be more welcome if I had been kidnapped.

John's mother set me up in my own room on John's floor. We were smart, so I rolled around in the bed so it smelled of me. But, I spent every night in John's bed. To avoid making noise, we fucked and sucked on the floor. But, we slept in his bed, wrapped in each other.

I didn't care what my parents thought. I didn't see them much over the break. John was the most important thing to me at that point.

On Christmas Eve, John gave me a handmade backgammon set as a gift. I gave him an authentic Blues jersey and a CD of our songs, starting with "Mr. Blue."

His parents had long since gone to bed when we exchanged gifts. We built a fire in the fireplace and opened a bottle of Cabernet. It was late, and we were on the floor in front of the fireplace when John suggested we should welcome Christmas making love to each other. We slowly undressed, kissing as we did. We took each other in front of the fire, slowly. We now always stared deep into each other's eyes as we made love. It was the most romantic night of my life. It was 2 a.m. when we finished with each other. John pulled a blanket over us as the fire died. We weren't thinking properly. We fell asleep, naked, on the living room floor.

John's mother woke us up the next morning. "Merry Christmas, Sleepy Heads," she said, ignoring that her son was naked with another man on her living room floor.

She went to the kitchen. John turned to me, kissed my forehead, and said, "Calm down, my mother is awesome."

"I'm naked," I pleaded.

"I know," he said, grabbing my dick and kissing me. He jacked me as we kissed. I felt sinful when I came in his hand, his mother just through the archway.

Not long after, John's mom was at the door. "John," she said. "Your father will be up shortly, and I think he will be nonplussed to find the two of you entangled on the living room floor."

I dressed and got ready to leave. I hugged John's mother good-bye and wished her a Merry Christmas as I left. She whispered "I knew something was making him happy" in my ear.

John walked me to my car. "Merry Christmas, Josie," I said. "I love you more than life itself."

John leaned into my car, and kissed me for all the neighbors to see. "Merry Christmas, Mace," he said. "I love you more than you love me. I win." Part Nine The year went on like that. Vi evanesced, at least as far I was concerned. I heard little about her. I wanted to hear less than I did.

Spring Break, I had interviews on the Ninth Circuit for an appellate clerkship. I went from Chicago to Reno to San Francisco to San Diego and back. The airline lost my bag. Stupidly, my apartment keys were in my bag. Hurriedly, I had put my jacket -- key in pocket -- in the bag. So, when John retrieved me from O'Hare, I was homeless.

John's roommates had scattered for Spring Break. So, I moved in.

We spent four days in bed. We put Chips Ahoy by the bed, so we could cure our bad breath with a cookie when we woke up. I sucked Joe with an ice cube in my mouth. And, with beer in my mouth. And, with champagne in my mouth.

When we weren't having sex, we were reading to each other or asleep. We were exhausted by the time the airline returned my bag.

I wanted this to go on and on, but the end was bearing down on us. John would graduate and move to D.C., leaving me behind in Chicago. He had predicted he'd be in St. Louis to study for the bar, so I took a job with another St. Louis firm for my 2L summer. Vi ruined everything, landing a post-doctorate fellowship in Denver. John had to decide between Denver and St. Louis for the summer, and Vi made the decision for him with an ultimatum. I should have made one of my own.

So, I spent the summer in a city I did not want to be in, only because I thought John would be there with me. Instead, he was in Denver, getting ready to move to D.C.

We saw each other little that summer. The bar exam consumed him, and Vi gave him little rope. I felt the first glimmers of anxiety.

I hid my anxiety in Freddie. He, too, was in St. Louis for the summer, and we hung out almost every night. Our apartments were only blocks away from each other, and we routinely played 9 holes or tennis after work, or ran around Forest Park, or went to the ballpark, or hung out in Busch's Grove.

One Saturday, we spent the day at Forest Park. When it was time to go home, Freddie walked past his apartment to mine. Something was amiss, but I was not sure what.

Once inside my apartment, Freddie decided he needed a shower. He left the door open. My shower curtain was clear plastic, so I could see him in the medicine cabinet mirror. He was a work of art. He ran and swam almost every day, so there was not an ounce of body fat on his granola body. His chest and stomach were covered in curly brown hair, as was his crotch. His back and ass were hairless. His legs were thick and muscled, especially his calves.

"Don't stare," he admonished, shocking me to my senses. "If you like what you see, then come on in."

I stripped and joined Freddie in the shower.

"You were right. You have a really nice dick," he said.

"Thank you. So, do you."

"Yeah, but you knew that already. This is my first time seeing yours. It's too big for you."

I put my hands on his sides and asked what he was doing.

"Just having a little fun," he said.

I moved my hands to his chest. I loved the hair on his front. I lowered my face to his nipple and started to lick and suck it. I worked my way down his body and took his dick in my mouth kneeling in the shower. Freddie grabbed my head and held it still. He drove his dick in and out of my mouth, fucking my face until his legs were trembling and he came down my throat.

The next time I saw Freddie, I asked why he had invited me into the shower. His answer was simple. "I was horny, and you give great head." And, that was that.

At the end of the summer, John and I took a week long trip to San Blas, Mexico. San Blas is a tiny Mexican town on the Pacific side. It felt like the edge of the earth. I didn't speak Spanish, so I was totally reliant on John.

San Blas was sick with mosquitoes. We had to use Deet when we got out of the shower. If you missed a spot in your ear, they swarmed to it. It was gross.

But, we were where nobody knew our name. We spent our days drinking Pacifico and body surfing. We spent our evenings drinking Pacifico and body surfing. We had a ridiculous amount of sex. I may have been wrong, but it seemed like it got better each and every time.

One day, I jacked John in the ocean, his cum floating to the surface. I scooped it in my hand and sucked it through my teeth.

One night, John fucked me on the beach. We were careless and crazy, as we could easily have spent our lives in a Mexican prison if we had been discovered. But, the risk added to the delight, and we both had explosive orgasms that left us exhausted and laughing.

The penultimate day of our trip, we went fishing. We were in a tiny boat with no life preservers when I hooked a sailfish. Our "guide" immediately yelled "sailfeeesh," hit the throttle, and took out across the water, chasing the fish out into the ocean. "Let heeem ruuuun," he yelled, as we flew. We were slapping against the water and laughing hard to suppress the real fear we were going to capsize and die. It took almost an hour, but we got the sailfish to the boat, unhooked him, and set him free. The landing of him had been spectacular. He'd dive deep, reverse course, and fly out of the water, shaking himself violently, trying to free himself of the hook.

That night, I decided to tell John about Freddie. I felt guilty, even though I was not sure I should. I told John I had blown him twice.

"Well," he said, "I cannot say I am happy about either one."

"I know. I feel like shit. But, I can't undo it."

"I think it might make me feel better if you told tell every detail," he said, looking at me slyly out of the corner of his eye.

"You're a pig," I said.

"Agreed. Now, tell me every detail." I did, leaving out nothing. John started jacking his dick as I talked. I took over, jacking him as I described how Freddie pounded my face in the shower. As I finished, so did John, spraying his chest and stomach. I straddled him and licked all I could off him.

***** As we flew back to his clerkship and my third year, I asked "is this sustainable?"

"I do not know, Carrot. I hope so, but I do not know."

"I don't think I want what you want," I responded.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"I don't want to be your plaything. I want to be your everything."

"You are my everything," he said.

"I'm not. Vi lurks. Your desire to be married lurks. Your desire to be hidden lurks."

We held hands as we flew. We were leaving paradise. But, paradise was in our past. We would soon need to face cold, hard facts.

Part Ten

John headed to D.C. and his clerkship. I stayed in Chicago for my final year of law school. We had talked about me spending my the year at Georgetown so we could be together, but John ultimately let concerns about Vi and "what everyone would think" thwart the plan. He wanted to keep everything hidden. But, things need sun to grow, and there was no sun

where we were hiding.

Looking back, I think we should have cared less and made sure I was a Hoya so we could be together. I think things may have turned out differently if we had.

We muddled through the first semester. I visited D.C. when I could, and John made trips back to Chicago when he could. But, that was not as often as I wanted, as he also had to visit Vi in Denver.

When we were together, things were awesome. When we were apart, things were difficult. Staying connected through landlines was difficult, especially when we were both busy and rarely had the same amount of time at the same time. When we talked, it was usually very late, when we should have been asleep.

I'd have been lost if not for Freddie, who took me in when Georgetown fell through. Other than John, Freddie was my best friend, my non-romantic life partner. And, he was tremendously solid, never emotional, erratic, or irrational. When I was ready to leap, he pulled me back from the edge.

John did not like that I was living with Freddie. But, he really had no room to complain.

Freddie satisfied the emotional hole John's absence left. We were always together: we took the same classes, ran together (Freddie was a fitness freak and got me into it), worked out together, and lived together. We even started adopting each other's mannerisms and inflections. Maggie called us "the Tweedles," after Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb and Dee. I insisted Freddie was Dumb and started calling him Dummie. He, in turn, started calling me Dee.

He also satisfied -- somewhat -- the physical hole John's absence left. I am physically needy -- I would later learn physical touch is my love language -- and Freddie did not mind satisfying that need. He let me rest my head on his lap. He let me play with his chest hair as we talked in his bed or mine. He let me run my fingers through his hair when he rested his head on my lap. We were physical, but not sexual. We hadn't been since the shower incident the summer before.

Still, many nights, we fell asleep in the same bed, talking, or with Freddie reading to me. Almost always, my hand was on his chest.

The first time, I was next to him, talking and looking at his chest. My look must have been longing, as he offered, "You can touch me, if you want. I like being touched."

I tentatively reached over, letting my hand fall gently to his chest. I stroked his nipple and played with his chest hair. When Freddie tucked his hands behind his head, I also played with the hair in his arm pit.

My recurring attention to Freddie's chest often aroused Black Bart. But, Freddie and I never acknowledged it. He never asked me for anything, and I never offered.

John got only a brief break for Christmas, and -- according to him -- he "had" to spend it with Vi and her family. I spent mine depressed, thinking of the ghost of Christmas past.

The second semester of your 3L year is a bore. Everything is decided. Even if you're competitive, there's really nothing left to fight for. I was coasting along.

I spent Spring Break in D.C. with John. Physically, we were fine. Actually, we were better than fine. We wore each other out, sexing all weekend and every morning before he left for work and every night when we got home. We couldn't get enough of each other. We branched out. We used food. We tried every position we could get to work.

John always asked if anything was going on with Freddie. I always answered truthfully.

The last full day of the trip, John seemed particularly blue. I was on the couch with my head in his lap, and I asked a question I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to, namely what he was thinking.

"I am struggling with where I am going," he said. "I have always imagined that I would get married and have children and live the perfect life. Now, I do not know if that is what I want at all. I love you so much."

"You can't have it all," I said.

"I know," he answered. "You have made that clear."

"Even if I hadn't," I answered, "you couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to anyone but you."

"I know."

John started tickling my face. "Sometimes, I want to grab you, steal away to an island, and live happily ever after."

"We don't have to go to an island to live happily ever after."

"I think for me we do."

"We don't. Together, we can have the life you imagine. I'll go wherever you go. We can be together. We can adopt children. We can make a family and a life together."

"I do not think we can."

"I know we can."

"Mace, I am not gay," he protested. "You may be, but I cannot be. I just cannot."

I knew he was kidding himself. But, I also knew he was not persuadable on the topic.

We did not make love that night. I couldn't be sure, but I think John was crying as I fell asleep.

He sobbed at the airport the next day when it was time for me to board. I hugged him good-bye. He held me tight, then kissed me, for everyone to see. I fretted the entire flight home. I thought the kiss may have been good-bye. I feared I knew what was coming, and I desperately wanted to avoid it. I just didn't know how.

It didn't take long. The phone woke me up at 2 a.m. that night. I reached for it, filled with dread. I knew who was going to be on the other end before I picked it up.

"Hello."

"Hey, Mace."

"Hey, Josie."

Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just listened to each other breathe.

"What's going on?" I finally asked. "It's 2 a.m."

"3 a.m. here," he corrected me.

"Regardless, what's going on?"

"I just needed to hear your voice."

We both paused. I thought I heard tears. I bucked up.

"John, are you calling to tell me it's over?" I asked.

"I do not want it to be."

"Then don't let it be. Don't do this."

"I think I have to. I am straddling two different worlds, and I am not living in either one. When I am with Vi, I want you. When I am with you, I feel shitty about Vi."

"You're making a mistake," I responded.

"You are probably right."

"I'm definitely right," I said. I started to cry myself. Neither of us said anything. We just listened to each other cry.

We couldn't stay on the phone forever. I broke the silence. "I love you, Josie. Always and forever."

"I love you, too, Mace. Always and forever."

"Be happy, John."

"This is not good-bye," John offered. "We will still be friends . . . . great friends."

"I doubt it. That never works. And, you won't move on if you don't let go. Neither will I. You'll always want to come back, and I'll always want you to come back."

"Can we talk about this?"

"Not now," I sobbed. "I need to go." It felt wrought and over-dramatic, but it was the most wrought and dramatic moment of my life, so I ended the call with a "Good bye, LOML." I hung up before John could say anything else.

It was not long before I heard a knock on my door. "Come in."

"I thought I should check on you," Freddie asked. "Good news never comes at 2 a.m."

"It's not. John called it off. We're done."

Freddie came over and sat on the edge of my bed. I cried into my pillow as he stroked my hair. I continued to cry as I felt him move in beside me. I rolled into him, put my face in his chest, and cried. We wrapped me up, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, Freddie was still holding me. I kissed his chest and felt for Black Bart. I was needy, and I wanted to be cleansed of the call with John.

"Not like this," Freddie said, turning his face from mine and grabbing my wrist. "But, you can tell me what happened."

I told him about the weekend. And, how I knew the ringing phone was John doing what he'd been too cowardly to do hours before in person.

"Mace," Freddie said. "He can't help who he is. He was raised a certain way. You were never going to change that."

"I thought I could. I almost forced him to choose. I was sure I'd win."

"I was sure you'd lose. People like John live their lives in chains. They may break a few, but there are too many for them to break free. They can wander only so far off the path of expectation. People like us have no chains. We get to choose our path and then walk down it."

"We're not so alike, you and me."

"We are, more than you think. We grew up different, but neither of us were raised with expectations about who we are and who we would be. Your parents couldn't set them. Mine just wouldn't."

I pushed Freddie onto his back and put my cheek on his chest. "Read to me," I said. He did, grabbing my book off the nightstand and picking up where he'd left off the last time. He stroked my hair as he did.

Sadness can be consuming. It was for me. I ached at the thought of John. When you're older, you realize things come and go, doors close and windows open, and challenges can be opportunities. When you're 22, you realize no such thing. When you're 22 and losing your first love, you realize nothing.

Freddie told me all the right things, but I wasn't open to them. I wallowed. I ate and slept little. I rarely went to class. I spent my days consuming the war, learning the ins and outs of scud missiles and watching Bill Redeker duck into bunkers while Arthur Kent -- the Scud Stud -- ignored the sirens and kept reporting.

I spent my nights curled up next to Freddie. I didn't even pretend I was going to sleep in my own bed. I climbed in next to Freddie, put my hand or my head on his chest, and sulked.

Freddie tolerated my intrusion into his bed and my affection for him. He let me tickle his chest and stomach and thighs while he read to me. He never asked for more.

John telephoned me a couple of times, which made things worse. The sound of his voice wounded me. Today, I could screen his calls, as my mobile would show the number. In 1992, I had no such technology, so I got caught answering the wrong call.

The Saturday before graduation, the Bunch went out to dinner to celebrate surviving being scared to death, worked to death, and bored to death, the three phases of law school. We all drank too much. We got emotional and nostalgic.

When the night ended, I joined Freddie in his bed. As we talked with my head on his chest, he tickled my back, and I tickled his thighs, each circle a little higher than the last. Black Bart was at full attention.

"Fuck it," he said, raising his hips and slipping his boxers off. I kept tickling higher, and Freddie spread his legs to give me full access to his junk. I added his balls to my circles and then his dick. I slid down his stomach and took the head of his dick in my mouth as I continued to tickle his balls. Freddie put his hand in my hair and encouraged me to take more of him, but I resisted. I wanted to work my way down slowly.

"Come on, Max," Freddie pleaded. "Suck my dick. It's getting to be too much."

I raised up on my left arm and took him down my throat. I loved this angle, as it allowed my to go deeper than any other. I slowly worked Black Bart in and out of my throat. Freddie started moving his hips in rhythm with me. He used his hand in my hair to control my pace.

"Oh my God," he said. "That feels so good."

Without thinking, I slicked my finger and started playing with Freddie's ass. To my surprise, he opened and raised his legs. I pushed my finger in to the first knuckle. I took Black Bart to the base and then pushed my finger in to the second knuckle. I made small circles around Freddie's head with my tongue and in his ass with my finger. He pulled me up and forced me back down. I could tell he was getting close. I took him all the way down a couple more times before he tensed, bucked, and filled my throat, gasping as he did. I kept going, milking every drop I could out of him. When he was done, I laid my head down on his stomach, letting Black Bart go soft in my mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Max. That was the best blow job I've ever gotten. That was fucking incredible."

I didn't say anything back. I fell asleep on his stomach.

When I woke up, I was on my right side, my head on the pillow, and Freddie tucked behind me. Black Bart was at attention, pressing against my ass. I reached around, expecting to feel him through his boxers. He was still naked. I took Black Bart in my hand and started swirling my thumb around the tip. "What are you doing," Freddie asked into the back of my head.

"I want you to fuck me," I said. "One time."

I thought I'd have to convince him, but I didn't. "Take off your underwear," Freddie urged, rolling onto his left side to fish a condom and lube out of the bedside table. I did, and moved to my back.

Freddie pushed in slowly. Once he had worked himself all the way in, he slid easily in and out, slowly working me into a sweat. He had been kneeling at my ass. When he moved over me, he went in even deeper, and he hit my prostate. I tingled all over.

"Right there, yes, right there."

"Oh, Max," he panted. "I'm about to nut."

Freddie, soaked with sweat, pulled out, yanked the condom off, and sprayed all over my stomach and chest. He soaked me. I was shocked when he dabbed some off my chest and put it in his mouth.

"I guess it is a little sweet," he said, grinning.

I grabbed my dick, intending to add my own cum to his. "I'll do that," he said, taking hold of my dick. I was surprised and titillated and shot hard, hitting the pillow and my face.

When we were cleaned up, Freddie offered that he had never shot as far as I had.

"I get pretty good distance," I said. "By the way, why didn't you finish inside me?"

"I don't like to come in a condom," he said. "And, I love spraying people with cum. It turns me on."

Part Eleven

Graduation day was celebratory for the Bunch. We met each other's families, took gobs of pictures, listened to boring speeches, and walked across the stage as our names were called.

At "Mason Raymond Davis, Magna Cum Laude," I stepped forward, took my diploma, and turned back toward my seat. I was stunned to see John in the back of the auditorium, leaning against the wall. When we made eye contact, he raised his eyebrows, just as he had when I first saw him, in the library during his orientation tour.

I walked past my row and straight to John. He opened his arms, and I buried myself in him.

"Congratulations, Carrot," he whispered in my ear.

"Oh, Josie, I can't believe you're here."

"I could not miss it," he said, and I immediately realized I had missed his the year before. "You look great in a black dress, by the way."

I assume they kept calling names. I didn't hear them. I was too caught up in the moment, holding John as tight as I could. We rocked back and forth.

"I need to kiss you," he said. We ducked into the vestibule, and John buried his tongue in my mouth. He took my breath away.

"Can we get out of here?" he asked.

"Not just yet. My family's here. We're all going to dinner tonight. I need to tell them I will meet them there."

I gave John the key to the apartment, and he headed out. As the auditorium emptied, Freddie got to me first.

"John's here," I said.

"I saw. Kind of a surprising development, no?"

"Very."

"Good luck, but be careful. You were just starting to be happy again."

"I know."

When I got to the apartment, John was in my bed. He pulled the blanket away to show me he was naked and hard. "I took a chance, Mace, that you and Freddie are not together."

"We're not."

"I'm glad. Vi and I aren't either."

"What happened?"

"I will tell you later. Right now, get your clothes off and get in here."

I tore my clothes off, dove into the bed, and pulled John over on top of me. We kissed and licked and sucked each other. As John delivered himself slowly to me and stared into my eyes, I was overcome with emotion.

"I love you so much, John. Always and forever."

"I love you, too, Mason. Always and forever."

***** As I write this 25 years later, I still love John. I still ache a little when I think about him and what might have been.

We didn't last. Life -- and his inability to embrace it -- interfered. I spent the summer in Chicago studying for the bar with Freddie. John went back to D.C. to finish his clerkship. He had missed out on the Supreme Court, but he had landed a job in the Solicitor General's office. So, he'd be staying in D.C. once his clerkship was over.

I went to D.C. almost every weekend that summer. When I could not, John came to Chicago.

After the bar exam, I headed to San Diego and my clerkship on the Ninth Circuit. We were almost as far away from each other as we could be, and long-distance relationships were much harder then than they are now. And, they're still hard.

John wanted me, but still only privately. Vi had broken up with him because of the distance between them, not because John told her about me or about us. John was no farther down the road than he had been.

While I was in San Diego, I met someone. It started innocently, at the gym. I didn't even know Juan -- John, Juan, there must be something in the name -- was gay until we were friends and working out together. I did know, however, that he was hot. When I first saw "Looking," I did a double-take. Richie looked exactly like Juan had looked when I met him, two decades earlier.

After about six months, I realized I was falling for Juan. Part of Juan's allure was that he lived openly. He was gay, and he didn't care. He didn't flaunt it, but he didn't hide it, either.

I took John to Freddie's wedding. After the reception, we were in bed, talking. My head was on his chest. Innocently, I asked "If you could marry me, would you?"

"Mace, can we talk about something else?"

I had my answer. It was either "yes" or anything else, all of which meant no.

I raised my head. "Why not?" I asked. "I'd marry you."

"Be realistic," he said. I let it drop.

I didn't sleep at all that night. When John woke up the next morning, I knew what I had to do. I made slow, sweet love to him, and then had him make slow, sweet love to me. As we recovered, I told John that what we had was not enough for me. He was, but it was not.

"I know, Carrot," he said. "But, it is all I can give you. If it is not enough, it is not enough."

There was no drama and there were no tears. We left Freddie's wedding friends and vowed to stay that way. I flew west knowing he'd never be in the back of the room, waiting to surprise me again.

I took Juan to John's wedding to Susan two years later. John introduced me as his best friend from law school. I introduced Juan as my boyfriend.

John came to my wedding to Juan last summer, after the Supreme Court's marriage equality ruling. He came alone. His marriage to Susan had not lasted. His marriage to Claire had not lasted. And, his marriage to Cheryl had not lasted.

As Juan worked the room, John and I sat and talked over gins and tonic. We were both nostalgic. John asked, "Do you ever wonder how our lives would have turned out if I had stolen you away to that island?"

"No," I said. "I'm living that life, just not with you."

"Touche, Carrot," John said. "Touche."