Lost and Found

Lost and Found -- Jason

I left Simon's house in a mixture of shock, remorse, and despair. I made it about two blocks before the images of his scars and the nightmare flashes of him lying on the gym floor, covered in blood, had me on my knees, retching. I had thought it was just a nightmare, brought on by my guilt over not being able to accept that I was gay. I thought the nightmares were my punishment for pushing away the best thing that ever happened to me. But they weren't nightmares. It was real. And then the memories came flooding back to me. I remembered lying on his bed, with him kissing and caressing my body. He made love to me with his mouth, moving over me, taking me places I had never been before. I remembered each moment of it, including the moment I came. And then there was the guilt and the overwhelming feeling that I had done something dirty, wrong. I got up and ran out of there so fast. But that night I relived it over and over. In my heart I knew that what had happened wasn't wrong.

Simon had come to my house the next day. When I opened the door, I saw how much he cared for me. We had been best friends from the time we were little. This was Simon. He was my friend. And I loved him. But all the talk my dad kept pounding into my head kept coming back to me, over and over. So I pushed him away when all I wanted to do was invite him inside and tell my parents that I was in love. But fear kept me from doing it. I sent him away.

Monday at school, I kept thinking about him, all day long. When we got to PE I was a wreck. I was so hard, remembering Friday night. I was doing some work on the weight machines and I needed a drink of water. When I got out onto the gym floor, I saw the basketball team practicing. I was mesmerized, watching Simon play. I saw the smooth skin and bunching muscles of his arms and chest move while he played. His chest was covered in a bunch of springy, golden hair. I didn't have any hair on my chest. He was truly unique; no one else had that much hair on his body in school. I was lost to the sight of him. I felt myself get hard, just staring at him. The other team was throwing free throws and he was standing guard when he saw me. He just sort of stared at me, then turned away to the game. I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him.

I waited for him in the locker room. But he didn't show up with the rest of the team. I got angry. So very, very angry and I waited for him. I saw him shower, watching the play of water pour over his shoulders and form trails through the hair on his chest. He was so beautiful. And all I could hear is the sound of my father's voice pounding in my head. This was wrong. What I was feeling was bad. I was wrong. I was bad. And if I am wrong, Simon is too. I watched as he approached me, not seeing me until he was almost on top of me. He went to move beyond and I lost it. I pushed him back and hit him. I didn't want to hit him, but I couldn't stop. When I pushed him against the wall, the mirror broke and he fell to the ground. He wasn't waking up. I needed to talk to him. And he wouldn't wake up. Why wasn't he waking up? I shook him. But he didn't wake up. I kicked him because he wouldn't wake up. I don't remember picking up the mirror. I still don't. I can see it in my mind, but I don't remember doing it. It was as if someone else's hand was holding the mirror, cutting into his flesh. The next thing I remember is being pinned down by one of the coaches. The next couple of hours are a blur. I was arrested and taken to the police station. The rest I remembered from before.

I was still sitting on the ground, kneeling in front of the bush I had thrown up in. I was shaking. I hadn't remembered that Monday before. I only remember from my arraignment and my mother holding my hand and telling me that I needed to take the plea bargain. Before I knew it, I was in jail. It was more like a hospital than a jail, but I was still in prison. But I didn't remember. Even after all the therapy, I still didn't remember until I saw the damage I had done to Simon. I know I was crying as I stood up and walked the last block home. I found my mother in the kitchen. She took one look at me and gasped.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

My mother tried to hug me. I just couldn't face her comfort. I pulled away. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't. When you didn't remember, I thought it was a blessing. I knew it would hurt you so much to know what had happened."

"You must have known that I would want to see Simon after I got out. Why didn't you warn me? He looked at me as if I was evil. He was terrified of me. I would never have gone if I had known."

"Jason, baby, I didn't know what else to do. You didn't remember it at all after you were arrested. I didn't know what else to do. We were able to do so little for you. We thought it was best."

"We?"

"Yes. Your father and I thought it would be best if you never remembered."

"Why did you divorce him?"

"I could never forgive him for what he did to you."

I just walked away. I went upstairs and sat on my bed. I must have been in there for hours, because my mother tried to talk to me several times. My chest ached with the guilt and remorse I felt. I seriously considered taking my own life, ending the pain and torment. But that would be the coward's way. Or maybe I was the coward in not being able to take my own life. I packed a bag and headed out, grabbing my coat and car keys. I crawled behind the wheel and left. I drove for hours until I reached Portland. I couldn't leave the state because of my parole, but I could put myself as far away as possible from where it had happened. I found a job, a woodworker's assistant to a carpenter craftsman. He didn't like that I was an ex-con, but he gave me a chance, telling me to be at work on time and not to screw up. I didn't. I made sure I was at work early every day. I stayed late. I worked through my lunch hour. I worked as long as I could each day, trying to stay busy. But I couldn't work all the time. But I wish I could. I wasn't really sleeping. I would only sleep when exhausted and nightmares always woke me. I think I was losing my mind. I stayed in a room in a boarding house. It was big enough for a bed and small closet with a bathroom and hot plate. It was more than I deserved.

Across the street from the boarding house was a church. Whenever I saw people leaving, they always looked so peaceful. There was serenity on some of their faces. I wanted to have some of that. I would give anything for a minute of peace. It was a long time, months, before I forced myself to cross the street. The church was well tended. The trees were lush and full. The garden nicely planted. The woodwork well oiled and cared for. It was a catholic church. After almost six months watching people come and go, seeking peace and most of them finding it, I found myself pushing open the door and walking inside.

I walked through the church, noticing the dark woodwork, lovingly cared for and well maintained. I saw the stained glass windows that let in some light but didn't take away from the somber atmosphere. I saw the confessionals at the side of the church. A couple of people were sitting in pews, kneeled in prayer. I looked at the altar, dark oak well oiled and cared for. Then I saw some flickering lights. I walked towards them. It was a small vestibule. I watched as a woman lit a candle and then crossed herself before leaving. There were benches to the side; I sat in one of them. I don't know where these people found their peace. I wasn't finding any.

I noticed a man walk into the vestibule out of the corner of my eyes. He had on black pants, shoes and shirt. His hair was cut short and it was a dark color. Then he turned to me and saw that he was younger than me by a couple of years. He looked at me for a couple of minutes before he walked over and sat beside me. I realized he was a priest.

"Are you here to listen to my confession?"

"No, I just thought you looked sort of lost and came to see if I could help." His voice was deep but soft and mellow. The kindness and gentleness of him evident in every word was like a balm on my battered senses.

"That's okay, I'm not catholic."

"Then why are you in a catholic church?"

"I watch people come out of here day after day, for the past few months. They always look so peaceful. I was hoping..." My voice broke. "I was hoping that I would find some peace in here."

I felt a tear slide down my cheek, followed quickly by others. I hadn't even realized I was near to crying. But my words were true. I was desperate to find a little break from my thoughts, a moment of hope. But I guess not.

"It's so quiet in here. It just makes my thoughts louder." I sniffed and wanted to get up and leave. I felt edgy and just wanted out of there, figuring I had made a huge mistake. But I didn't go. He reached his hand out and turned my face to look at his. He was taller than I. His hair wasn't a dark brown like I thought, but a deep red. He had the most amazing green eyes. The compassion in his gaze was my undoing and the tears I thought I had under control continued to slip out.

"Why are you seeking peace?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't sleep. I haven't slept in so long and I was hoping I could find a little serenity."

"What is your name?"

"Jason."

"Jason, nice to meet you. My name is Paul."

"I should go." And I stood up. He stood too. He was about six-two and had broad shoulders. Then he reached out and hugged me. He smoothed his hands up and down my back and whispered in my ear. "Be at peace Jason."

I pulled away from him and he asked if I would come back tomorrow. I answered honestly that I didn't know. But I tried to smile at him. He nodded at me and I walked past him. I left the church and actually felt able to breath. I didn't feel better, but I felt more in control. Just having Paul hug me, I hadn't allowed anyone to comfort me since I left Simon. I went home and crawled into bed and fell asleep. I slept through the night and my alarm clock woke me up in the morning. It's the first night I had slept through without having a nightmare. I felt rested and good. I went to work and actually smiled during the day. I was hoping that maybe I had turned a corner. The hope lasted through the day, but that night it was shattered.

I had a nightmare worse than any other. I was in the gym again, reliving every moment. It started out that I was hurting Simon. Then everything changed and it was no longer Simon, I was hurting Paul. I had noticed him in the church. He was tall and deceptively thin. But when he hugged me, I felt the hard planes of his body. For just a moment, I forgot about everything and just reveled in having someone hold me. Paul had red, red hair. He was tall and so kind. For just a moment I thought I could deserve to have someone in my life. But I was fooling myself. My nightmare proved it. It was my punishment.

After work that day, I found myself contemplating going back into the church. I just wanted to see Paul. He had hugged me and for that one night, all had been good. I found myself back in the vestibule, by the candles. It was a beautiful place, secluded and quiet. I felt the reverence of the place. And for one moment, I thought I felt calm. A peace washed over me. I took a deep breath, but the memories returned, never far from my conscious thoughts. I felt more than saw Paul sit next to me. He was a beacon, a lifeline. And I clung to the hope that he could save me; help me through this.

"I'm glad you came back Jason." I don't know why those simple words had me tearing up. But no one had been happy to see me in a long, long time.

"I'm glad I came back too."

"Are you still looking for peace?" And those words had me turning away. My breathing became heavy and troubled. I didn't want to cry. But I felt so damn lost. And I was also so very, very lonely. But Paul reached out and turned me to face him. He brushed his thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear. My breath caught at the simple, caring gesture. He had such a gentle smile. His eyes were a deep green so full of compassion. He was also very beautiful. He had dark red hair, cut close to his skull; his complexion was fair, but unblemished by freckles. His lips were full and he had dimples. I got hard. And that embarrassed me. He is a priest. I can't be hard over a priest.

"Will you tell me what is keeping you from peace Jason? Will you tell me why you look so lost?"

I panicked. He couldn't know. Ever. If he did, I would never be welcome. All that compassion, all that kindness would be gone. It was too new, too precious. I looked in his eyes. They offered hope. I wanted so badly to tell him, wanted to find forgiveness in his eyes. But I couldn't stand it if that hope disappeared.

"I can't. I can't Paul. If I do, I won't have any peace at all."

"I don't understand. God forgives all Jason."

"God may, but will you? I can never tell you." With that his eyes looked stricken. So I backtracked. "I can't yet. I will. Soon. I promise. Just let me have a few more days of peace. And then..."

"Okay. I will wait. But whatever it is, I can see it eats away at you. Don't wait too long, Jason. Please?"

"I promise."

I sat by him for a few more minutes in silence. Having him sit near me helped. For the first time in six months, I felt a moment of serenity. I let the compassion wash over me, feeling cleansed for the first time. And I felt something I hadn't felt for a long time: hope. I left a few minutes later, promising to return, knowing this time I would.

I came back to the church night after night, just after work. Paul would sit by me and talk to me for a few minutes. It was all I ever asked for. I only spent maybe a half hour there at a time, but it was enough. I found a sense of calm whenever I talked with Paul. The light and compassion in his eyes made me feel good for the first time in months if not years. But I also felt guilty. I still couldn't bring myself to tell him about Simon. I could tell him other things, easier things. Telling Paul I was gay was a snap. It's funny, but I couldn't face telling my father that I was queer and now, I say it to anyone who asks. Because failing my father for something I had no control over is nothing compared to the darkness and evil in my own soul. And like a selfish bastard, I just couldn't face having Paul turn from me, and he would, if he knew the whole truth.

He offered me such hope. Such warmth. Of course it is all based on a lie of omission, but it is still hope. The truth is, I'm falling in love with him. I think I have been from the moment he sat down beside me and watched me cry. He didn't condemn me. He didn't shun me. He offered me warmth and compassion. He is so beautiful. His red hair and warm, caring green eyes seem to light up a little more when he looks at me. If it weren't for the fact he was a priest, I could almost hope for something more. Even with my nightmares, I still dream about him from time to time. Not all of my dreams are scary. Some of them are downright sexual. And that makes me feel even guiltier. He is a priest, not an object for my lust.

That night with Simon was the first time I ever had someone hold me, touch me. And it was also the last. I spent almost seven years in prison. I fought off a few guys who attempted to take what I wasn't willing to give. Another inmate offered his own body, but I didn't want it. There was so little privacy; I even got out of the habit of masturbation. But nothing could stop my dreams. Most of the time they were vague, shapeless images of raw, sexual energy. Every once in a while, an actual face would join with the body, but rarely. But in the past week, I have had a couple of wet dreams interspersed with the nightmares. Each one of them had Paul in them. I could feel his hands on my body. I could feel his mouth taking me. I could taste his skin and feel myself pushing into his body. He was so warm and moist. I've never actually made love to someone, putting myself inside. But I have dreamed of it. If I had met Paul anywhere but the church, I could almost believe we would come together. It was a nice fantasy, one that would keep me warm once I finally told him what I have done. And I will tell him. I have to. Tonight.

I walked across the street and entered the church. I was shaking. Within moments this new feeling I had was going to be over. But I determined to be honest with myself and all I dealt with once I learned the truth. I went to the vestibule, our usual spot. Paul was sitting there, staring at the candles. He looked a little lost. I sat by him, looking at him.

"Now you are the one who looks lost Paul."

"No, just thinking on something."

I swallowed hard, so loudly; I could hear it echo in the small room. I raised my hand to smooth back my hair, but it shook too bad and I clasped my hands in front of me. "It's time, Paul. If you want to listen, I'll tell you."

He smiled at me and stood. He reached out his hand to me. I hesitated a moment but I took it. This was it. He led me through a door in the main part of the church and we walked down the corridor. He led me to a small office. He pushed open the door. Inside were a small desk and chair and a sofa. He sat at one side and pulled me down to the other. I was still shaking.

"Before I say anything, I want you to know that your kindness and friendship have been the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time."

And with that, I started to tell him everything. I started with the night of the funeral of Simon's mother and the kiss we shared. I explained how that moment made me realize what was so different, what set me apart. I told him about how I pushed Simon away over and over. I told him how lonely I was with my best friend missing from my life. Then I told him about the night he made love to me with his mouth. Tears rolled down my face when I told Paul about how much I wanted to tell my family about the new love I had found. Then I explained about my cowardice and anger. I was openly sobbing when I told him about that horrible Monday in November, so many years ago. I left out none of the details. I wouldn't look at Paul's face, but I heard his breathing beside me. When I got to the part about prison and then going over to Simon's house to see him when I got paroled, I lost it and started bawling. I wound down when I told him how I hadn't remembered what I had done until I saw the damage. My last choked words told Paul about my conversation with my mother and moving to Portland.

When my words died out, I stood and walked towards the door. I didn't look back, I couldn't. I was reaching for the door when his voice stopped me. I still couldn't turn around. I shook, knowing I needed to face his condemnation. I was about to be ostracized from the one place I had found peaceful. My hands were trembling while I tried to wipe away the tears. I couldn't hide behind their blurry tracks. And I turned to face Paul. There were tears in his eyes and when I looked at him, I watched one of them fall, slowly tracing the contours of his face. That sight hurt more than anything else I have ever seen. I couldn't bear to know that I caused him pain. Because I really did love him even though I didn't deserve it and it was impossible, it didn't stop me from loving him.

I watched as Paul stood. He walked slowly towards me. And I braced myself, knowing I had no recourse but to let him do what he will. But I was shocked when he hugged me. He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me slightly. His extra three inches in height put my nose right at his throat. The gentle, tender gesture had me break down and cry again. It had been so long since anyone had touched me. I clung to him and cried some more. Some way, some how, Paul didn't hate me. He may not want to ever see me again, but he was kind enough to offer me comfort. When I was cried out, Paul pulled me away from him and looked in my eyes. He had cried too. His green eyes were brighter and his lashes were spiked from the tears. I gathered my courage, enough to speak.

"You don't hate me?"

"No. I hate what you did. I hate the circumstances that led you to do it. But I don't hate you. I couldn't."

Paul led me down the hall to a bathroom so I could wash up a little. My eyes were puffy and my nose was all red. But I felt better. Not perfect, but a little less alone, a little less wretched. When I left the bathroom, I smiled shyly at Paul and he walked me to the door of the church. He stood and watched as I crossed the street to my boarding house. I waved at him before I went inside. I lay down on my bed, and stared at the ceiling for a while. The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had slept the night through again.

I felt different. Not bad and not necessarily good, just different. I wasn't as jumpy that day at work. My boss noticed the difference. He told me that he had had his doubts about hiring me, but he was now real glad he did. He told me to take Friday off and enjoy the three-day weekend. As I walked home from work, I decided to go see Paul again. When I got to the church, I headed for the vestibule like always. I sat down and waited. I was here at the usual time, but Paul didn't show up. I waited for a good twenty minutes and was worried about him. I thought about seeking out one of the other priests and asking about him. But I saw no one and left. I felt kind of lost. I crossed the street and trudged up the stairs to my room. There was a man standing outside my door. He was wearing scuffed, lace-up boots, well-worn, faded jeans and a v-neck shirt. He had a leather jacket hooked on a finger over one arm. He was facing away from me. His legs were encased in that soft denim so invitingly. His muscular, broad chest was showcased to perfection by the soft white cotton. He was tall, about six-two. His hair was dark. From the light outside the window, I could tell there was a wealth of hair pouring from the V in his shirt. Then he turned towards me. I almost fell down. Paul!

"Hello, Jason."

"Paul? What are you doing here?"

"I am taking the weekend away to make a few decisions. I'm going to spend it in my grandfather's house. I was wondering if you wanted to join me?"

That kind of stopped me. Join him? It was going to be a form of torture. I thought he was handsome in his priest uniform. How would I resist him looking like this? My heart beat a little faster and I felt myself thickening at the sight of him as he shifted his feet, emphasizing a decent bulge in the faded denim. But he's a priest. It doesn't mean anything. I agreed. I went in and grabbed a few items and we set off in my car. We drove out of Portland to the east. We ended up outside of Troutdale, just twenty minutes away from home. We pulled up in front of a little house. I asked if his grandfather would mind a guest. Paul laughed and told me that the house was his, left to him by his grandfather. I was embarrassed. But he laughed it off. We unloaded the bags and a few groceries. We went inside and ordered a pizza. We sat in the living room and ate and talked and had a really good time. We didn't talk about last night at the church. After a couple of hours, we were both yawning. So he showed me to my room and then where to find towels. I took a shower and went to bed. Prison got me used to sleeping in my underwear and a t-shirt. But living on my own the last few months, I slept in the nude. I saw no reason not to do the same here. I drifted off to sleep. A few hours later I was enmeshed in a nightmare. I couldn't wake up. I was in the gym again, but this time I was cutting up my boss. I cried out and was wrapped immediately in Paul's arms. I guess he had heard me crying out and came to make sure I was okay. I shook hard and grabbed hold of him. I didn't cry, but I was shaken from my dream. He stroked my back and I soon calmed, only to become aware that Paul wasn't wearing a shirt. I became aware of how good he smelled. He smelled like soap. My face was pillowed on his chest and it was covered in a mass of soft, downy hair. It was so thick; I couldn't see the skin underneath. I felt the muscular planes of his back under my fingers. Each breath he took rubbed more and more of his hairy front against me. I got hard, real hard. I pulled away. There was moonlight pouring in from the window. I saw all of Paul. He was naked and just as hard as I. I was shaking again, but this time from arousal. I looked in his eyes and they were just as hungry looking as I felt. Before I could think about it, I kissed him. His lips met mine slowly, tentatively. If he had met my hunger with hunger I might have not thought. But his response was so much slower than mine. Then I remembered that he was a priest. I pulled away and hid my face. I guess now I am just about as unredeemable as I can get. First I almost kill my best friend, now I try to corrupt a priest.

"I'm sorry Paul."

"Jason..."

"No, look. I'm sorry. I know you can't. My god, you are a priest. I can't believe I did that. You must just think I'm evil."

"Stop that right now! You are not evil. And for your information, there is no collar on me."

"Yeah, now."

"No. I haven't taken my vows yet. There was no white to my collar Jason. Meaning I'm not a priest yet. When I met you, I was wrestling with my vocation. It wasn't right for me. I was told to take this weekend to make sure that I didn't want to take vows. When I get back on Monday, I will be released from the church."

"You aren't a priest? You aren't going to be a priest?"

"No and no. I decided to become a priest because I didn't want to tell the world that I was gay. I come from this big Irish family. Priests are common, gays are not."

"Oh."

He chuckled. "I tell you I've decided to leave the church because I've fallen in love with you and all you can say is, 'oh'?"

"Wait, you didn't say that you were in love with me."

"Oh. I guess I forgot that part."

"You love me?"

"Very much. With all my heart."

"But why? How? Knowing what I did?"

"You are not the same scared boy anymore Jason. Besides, you need me. And I'll let you in on a little secret: I need you too. Now is the part where you tell me how you feel."

"Of course I love you. I just didn't think that this was possible. I didn't..."

"Good, stop thinking. I want to make love with you."

That stopped me. I started wringing my hands. What if I hurt Paul too? "Will you tie me up Paul?"

He paused. "Is that something you like?"

"No. I just want you to be safe." He laughed at me until he realized that I was serious. He looked in my eyes and I saw the tears form. He blinked rapidly, but one escaped, trailing down his cheek.

"Do you trust me Jason?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust yourself?"

"No."

"I do. I know you won't hurt me."

With that he was kissing me. He lay beside me on the bed and started running his hands over my skin. He scraped my nipples and moved his hand lower and lower until he reached my shaft. He encircled it with his fist and moved on me. His movements were gentle, but clumsy. I stopped his hand and turned to face him.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I thought if I was going to be a priest, it would be best to never know."

I kissed him, pulling him into my arms. Paul ran his hands up and down my body, commenting on how strong I was and how toned I was. I explained that there wasn't much to do in prison, so I had worked on my body. I didn't have any tattoos; I hadn't wanted any. I lifted the blankets so we could finally touch along our whole bodies. His body was covered in hair, soft and springy. My body had practically none. It took weeks to grow my goatee. I had a smattering of pubic hair and a little under my arms, but I was mostly hairless. All that hair on him was like extra wood for my fire. It rubbed and scraped against my already sensitive skin. It was heaven.

As we kissed and moved our hands over the other, I stayed on my back, pulling Paul on top of me. I let him move and let him direct the flow of our lovemaking. I didn't want to pressure him and I didn't want him to be afraid of me. I was determined to never again have someone fear me. He lay on top of me, with one thigh wedged between mine. Our cocks lay next to each other, nested in the downy thatch of soft hair on his belly. I felt him instinctively push against me, feeling his thick shaft rub against me, feeling him grind himself into me. I heard his moans and realized that I was adding some of my own. It was wonderful, the sensation of having someone move over me, holding me, rubbing my body with his. He moved faster and faster over me, and I felt myself tingling with impending release. Paul pulled back from kissing my neck so I could look in his eyes. His face was tight with desire. He was so hard and so turned on. His breath was panting. I felt the sensation of his body thickening, he was getting harder and his breath hitched. Then he cried out and I felt a warm flood hit my stomach, flowing around my shaft. I thickened harder and felt myself let go, shattering in ecstasy. Each wave that passed through my cock I called out. My pleasure was so intense, so strong. Then the spasms stopped and I felt Paul collapse against my body. My arms went around him and I cradled his head against my shoulder. We were both trembling. I just wanted to hold him forever.

We lay there, his body half on mine. The sex had been phenomenal, beyond anything I had ever known. But the holding afterwards was almost as good. It was sweet and poignant. Neither of us slept, we just held each other; brushing a kiss against whatever body part we could reach without moving too much. This was so much more than I thought. In all my dreams, I never thought that this would be a part of it. I just had no idea. Time really had no meaning as we lazed away the time, stroking idly with a hand or a kiss, sated and warm. Eventually we dozed.

I awoke the next morning and stretched big and loud. I heard Paul laugh and turned to him, he was sitting by me on the bed and smiling. He had the sheet draped delicately around his hips, over his lap. He was watching me, looks like he had been for a while. I smiled big and reached a hand out to cup his face. I pulled him down and met his lips with a kiss, slow and gentle, almost playful. When we parted, we were both grinning.

"Did we do everything right last night, Jason?"

"What do you mean? I thought it was pretty damn right."

"I mean we didn't do anything physical. We just kind of, I don't know, rubbed against each other."

"And this is wrong?"

"No. I just thought that you might be used to more."

"I'm not used to anything. Last night wasn't my first time, but it was my second."

"So you have no idea either?"

"Oh I have ideas. But no practical knowledge."

With that he grinned and told me he was glad we would be learning together. Put that way, I was glad too. I'm glad I didn't take the easy lay in prison and really glad I fought off the rapists. I pulled him down to me and started kissing him again. We rolled against each other for a few minutes before Paul started kissing down my body. He took one of my nipples in his mouth and played and explored for a few minutes. Then he moved lower. I started to panic. This is how it started. I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up and flipped him over. I moved down his body, moving lower and lower until I could take him into my mouth. I kissed and nibbled, licked and sucked for a long time. I had to catch my breath and fight back a gag when I would push down to far. But I loved having him in my mouth. I loved his taste and the texture of all that soft skin against my tongue. I wrapped my tongue right under his crown and kept swirling it around him. I felt Paul's deep moans as I worked harder and harder against him. I felt him thicken and cry out as he pulsed into my mouth and down my throat. I tasted and swallowed every thick, creamy drop of him. I tasted him and loved each moment. I pulled up and looked in his eyes. He had a dreamy, sated look and a silly grin on his face. I couldn't stop myself from kissing him, sharing his flavor with him. He met my kiss and wrapped his legs around me, pulling me against him, adjusting his body, encasing my hips between his thighs. My hard cock rested in his crack, the head rubbing and dripping against his entrance. I was twitching and trembling from my leashed desire. Paul kept pushing against me, twitching his ring and inviting me inside. I forced myself to go slow. I pushed against him in slow, gentle pulses. I would push and stretch him, but barely enter. Then I would go forward a millimeter or two each subsequent push. Then I breached him and his ring clamped on to the underside of my flared crown. I waited, watching his face, looking for signs that he wanted to stop. I saw none and within seconds, he relaxed and moved his hands down to my ass and pulled me deeper. In mere moments I was deeply imbedded to the hilt. I waited again, feeling him stretch and adjust to my invasion. The slight movement of his inner body was almost my undoing. Feeling that warm, slick channel adjust to me was more sensation than I had ever known. I was so close to tripping over the edge. But I took several deep breaths until I calmed. Then I moved.

I glided back and forth over his body, feeling Paul's legs clamp me, helping me rock into him further, harder, deeper. I felt sweat start to sheen on my body and watched as it beaded on his forehead. I moved down and kissed him, long and hard, feeling all the hair on his chest graze against me. I felt him hard and steely, wedged between our bellies. He was wet and sticky and I could feel him twitch each time I drove hard and deep. This was too much; I was building way to fast. I felt the hard tingles up and down my spine, letting me know it was almost over. I felt my belly tighten, my testicles raise, my cock get harder and thicker. Then the first pulse sent my essence deep into him while I called out my pleasure, screaming it out. Five, six, seven heavy spasms shook my body, propelling my semen out of my body, coating the inside of my love, my lover. I collapsed against Paul's sweaty, heaving chest still buried deep inside. I slowly came to, my senses returning. I felt something hot and sticky coating my stomach, grateful that he had found release too. I looked up into Paul's eyes and saw the same wonder I felt reflected there. He kissed my forehead and then tilted his head back and laughed. It was infectious and I joined him. When the laughter faded, I was hard again. So was Paul. This time I moved faster, more sure of myself. He gripped me harder, matching my undulations, moving with me. It was over quickly, both of us shuddering hard in completion.

We got up and showered together. I felt myself loosening up, relaxing. I always felt comfortable around Paul, but this was as if I was finding peace within myself. Perhaps actually making love with someone, professing my love and having it returned was what I needed. With that undying support you can only get from your soul mate, your love, do you find peace. We ransacked the kitchen, feeding our hungry bodies, building up energy for what we knew would come. We stopped our exploration from time to time, to eat, to sleep, to shower, and sometimes to just hold on, letting the emotions ride us, knowing that we were loved and supported and safe in the other's arms.

Since the commute wasn't that bad, we decided to live in his grandfather's house. He got a job with the state and worked in the office in Portland. He would get discouraged from time to time, but more often than not, felt that he made a difference. He sure did in my life. After a few months, it was as if the past didn't matter anymore. The nightmares came less and less each day. I was in love. I had someone to hold, to touch. We were insatiable. Each morning and several times each evening we would come together, coupling our bodies, hot and hungry. Pushing us over the edge into ecstasy over and over. I couldn't get enough. And when he had a cold, I held him while he coughed and sniffled, tucked him into my arms and never let go, holding my raging lust for him at bay. But the moment he felt better, I was on him, holding his hips hard while I drove into him, pounding faster and harder, feeling him cum once, twice, three times before I let go and followed him over the edge.

It was almost a year after we got together before I would let him take me in his mouth. I could let him fuck me for hours on end. I could suck him until he came ten times without stopping. But the idea of him taking me in his mouth had me scared. But I let him one night, when he told me how important it was to him. He moved so gently on me. He took such care of me, nipping and nibbling with his lips, wrapping me in his hot, wet tongue, wringing pleasure from me. It took scant minutes before I was shuddering and melting against his tongue. I was shaking from it. I had never known such intense feeling, both physical and emotional before. I started to cry, knowing I was a fool, equating a simple act of love with my loss of control. Paul held me and rocked with me, not knowing why I was so upset. I explained it all to him, letting him know that I knew why I did to Simon what I did.

I took out my anger on Simon, not because he did or didn't do what I wanted. I couldn't face my father. I couldn't tell him he was full of shit. I couldn't face knowing I was a disappointment. And because I wanted to tell him, force him to see me and acknowledge me, I beat up my best friend, my first love. I now know that it could have been anybody in the locker room. All I saw was my father and his face when I was carving up Simon. Because I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth, I was gay. Paul just held me through my tears and told me he suspected as much.

It took him awhile, but I agreed to go see Simon one last time, to ask him for his forgiveness. I learned through my mother that Simon's father had moved to San Antonio. Paul and I flew to Texas to see him, to help me put this behind me. I was so nervous. I threw up before we even left our hotel. We drove through miles and miles of homes before we got to the address for Simon and Brian, his lover. When we got there, I knocked on the door with Paul standing behind me. If he hadn't been there, I know I would have chickened out and never come. The door opened and Brian stood before me. He looked different when dressed. He looked at me with shock and I stopped him from slamming the door in my face. I explained that I just wanted five minutes of Simon's time, and then I would leave, forever. He let me in and went upstairs to get Simon, explaining to me that he was studying for a final and that he would be down in a minute. I was shaking. Paul took my hand and squeezed it. I waited, pacing slightly until Simon came downstairs with Brian. He looked different too. He looked stronger. He wasn't scared of me anymore. For that I was glad.

"Simon, I know you don't want to talk to me, but I just want to say my peace and then leave."

"Okay."

"I can never give you an explanation as to why I did what I did. I didn't remember it until you showed me the damage. If I had, I would never have bothered you."

"I know."

At that I smiled. "You always did know me better than I knew myself. I don't want to get into the reasons. But I want to apologize. I'm not looking for you to forgive me. But I had to tell you, face to face, how sorry I am. There is no excuse for what I did, but I had to ask anyway."

He was silent as he faced me. I felt Paul squeeze my hand again. I swallowed hard. I watched Brian reach for Simon's hand and hold him. I am so glad he had found someone. I didn't know him, but he seemed good to Simon and obviously loved him deeply. His eyes softened every time he looked at Simon. Simon cleared his throat.

"I have thought long and hard about that day. I often wondered why. I have a feeling it has to do with your dad. He always wanted you to be stronger, tougher. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"It took a lot of courage for you to come here. I admire that. I can forgive you because I have moved on. I no longer fear you. I can't let that day rule my life anymore. So yes, I accept your apology."

Tears welled in my eyes. "Thank you." With that we left. Paul drove us back to the hotel. He didn't say anything to me. He just let me think. My hands were shaking. When we got up to the room, I started trembling. Paul took me by the hand and undressed me than put me to bed. He stripped and crawled in beside me before cradling me to him. He just held me until I stopped shaking. It was over. Now I can move on. When I had stopped shaking, Paul rolled me onto my back and moved between my legs. He parted me with one swift thrust of his hips and nestled into me to the hilt. I arched my back at his invasion, feeling myself quicken. He moved so slowly, gliding over my body, letting the soft hair of his body caress me. I kneaded his smooth, warm skin of his back and butt with my hands and he continued to move. He stroked me, stoking my pleasure. We built up, only to have him stop, breathing hard, waiting for the heat to calm. Then he would push into me again. He did that three times, built us to the edge then pull back. When he went to stop a fourth time, I gripped his ass in my hands and dug my heels into the back of his thighs and forced him to continue, humping myself against his cock, taking us both over the edge, feeling him deep inside, pumping his soul into me as I spilled my essence against the both of us. He held me tight as I fell asleep, probably the deepest I had slept in the past three years, since that day the nightmares proved to be true.

We returned home to Oregon the next day. Will I ever forget what I did? No. Never. Can I live with what I did? On most days I can. But every once in a while, the memories return. Having Paul by my side to love me helps. In fact if it weren't for him, I have a feeling I would have either done harm to myself or lost my mind. Simon forgave me. I don't know how, but he did. When the memories do cloud around me, Paul is always there, willing and happy to fuck them away or hold me until the shaking stops. Will my life be perfect? I hope so. But it's already pretty damn close though.