My First Year with Kevin

The following is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The story contains graphic descriptions of sex between men, and anyone who is forbidden by law to read such material must exit the story now. This story is being posted to the Nifty Archive for the enjoyment of its readers. It may not be posted or distributed by any other medium without the written permission of its author.

My other works in the Nifty Archive include Unusual Christmas and Nick's Adventures, both in bisexual/high school, First Mate and Twin Spin in gay/incest, The Dancer and Call-Boy Journal in gay/encounters, and From Slave to Houseboy in gay/authoritarian.

E-mail comments are always welcome.

My First Year With Kevin

Chapter 16

The flight out was good, and Kevin and I talked about how we would handle my step-dad's acceptance of the two of us.

"I think it has to be unconditional for both of us," he said, "or we never go back."

"How will we know," I asked.

"Well, at the end of the visit, we'll ask. 'Do you accept Matt and me unconditionally as gay men who are in love?' If they both say 'yes,' we'll be back; if either one says 'no,' we won't be back. That's pretty simple to me."

"I know my mom will say 'yes,'" I said, "but I'm pretty sure he'll say 'no.'"

"Are you comfortable with those terms," he asked me.

I thought for a long while. I hadn't really wanted to go on the trip in the first place, so it was okay with me, I finally decided. When I told Kevin my decision, he kissed me quickly on the cheek to seal the covenant. Kevin and I were both dying for a smoke as soon as we got into the terminal building. I knew my way around there pretty well, so I took the lead.

"Let's go outside and smoke," I said. "It'll be ten to twenty minutes before our luggage is unloaded."

"Oh, man, that's the best idea I've heard all day," Kevin said.

"Is my mom picking us up," I asked. Kevin had really made all the arrangements, through Frank's secretary, of course, so I really didn't know any of the details.

"No. We're renting a car. I wanted wheels of our own while we were out here."

"Great idea. That way we can escape whenever we want to. I wouldn't advise a whole lot of unpacking, just in case we have to make a fast break."

Kevin laughed when I said that, but I was at least half serious. I had no idea how Morris would react to having a faggot step-son and his faggot step-son's lover under "his roof."

When we finished our smokes, Kevin lit up again.

"We've got time," he said, when I looked at him funny.

He was right, so I lit a second cigarette, too. There were a bunch of people standing around the door smoking, and one of them was a really cute boy about our age.

"Did you check him out," I asked Kevin.

"Yep. And he's gay."

"How the hell do you know that, man?"

"Gaydar, brother, gaydar. He's been sneaking looks at us since we got out here."

I let my eyes catch his, and he kind of smiled a little. Yep. Kevin was right as rain, I thought.

We finished our second cigarettes and went inside the terminal to claim our luggage. It all arrived, which wasn't too surprising since we hadn't had to change planes. Then we went to the rental car place-Avis-and gave them the purchase order and a credit card for security. The law firm was apparently paying for our car. I later learned that the law firm paid for the trip, too, as well as for Frank's and Denis'. It's nice to be the fourth-generation senior partner/owner in a very prosperous law firm.

Kevin wanted me to drive, since he had no idea of where we were going. It would take a good half hour to get to my house ('Their house,' I should have said. My house was in New Orleans.) without major congestion. I realized too late that I should have taken a piss before we left the airport.

"You're nervous, aren't you," Kevin asked me on the freeway.

"Babe, I'm so fucking nervous I'm about to wet my pants."

"Really?" There were pure devil mischief in that question. "I can help you, you know."

"Not now, okay?"

"Okay." He had probably only been kidding, but Kevin was perfectly capable of taking out my dick and letting me piss in his mouth on a freeway. I knew it, and he knew I knew it.

We drove for all of ten minutes before the congestion started. There must have been an accident or breakdown ahead of us, or road construction, for that matter, because we slowed and then stopped. We stayed in one place for a good five minutes or more.

"How you doing in the piss department," Kevin asked.

"Not so good, dude. I think I need your help here."

Without a word, a glance, or, apparently, a second thought, he had my fly buttons popped, my dick out and in his mouth, and I started pissing. I was embarrassed at first, but it really felt good having his mouth around my dick as I let out my stream of urine. Kevin did a damn good job of taking and swallowing all of it as fast as I released it, and not a single drop got on me or the car seat. When I was finished, I expected him to let me loose, but he had other plans. He started sucking my dick, and it got hard almost immediately.

"I want you to shoot cum, okay? It'll really relax you," he said. At that point, I was in no mood or position to argue. He went back down on me, and for the next ten minutes, while I inched along, he gave me a stupendous blowjob. I finally came hard, very hard, and shot my load into his mouth. He swallowed every bit of it, of course, and then kind of cleaned up the last little bit that clung to my PA ring before putting me away and buttoning me back up.

"That was fucking awesome, man. That was like the stuff you read about in stories."

"Good. I enjoyed it. And it took away that little nagging hunger I had. Cum is rich in protein, you know?" He said that like a teacher lecturing in class.

I burst out laughing, and he joined me. I didn't give a shit if every trucker around us had seen what he had done.

The half-hour trip to their house ended up taking an hour and ten minutes, but I was a lot less nervous than I had been. Kevin had been right.

When we got to the house, my mom's car was in the driveway, but Morris' wasn't. I assumed he wanted her to have some time with me before he came home to make a scene.

Mom greeted me with much love and many kisses. She said how much she had missed me and how good it was to have me home. She even said she thought I had grown a little. She cried, of course, but I didn't even mist up.

"It's your home, Mom, not mine. Kevin and I are your guests." I knew that was cold even as I said it, and I felt ashamed of myself, but she hadn't exactly gone out of her way to keep in touch.

She made over Kevin and said how much he looked like his mother, her friend. That was bullshit. Kevin was a carbon copy of Frank, and he didn't look anything like the pictures of his mother I had seen.

"Are you boys hungry," she asked, after the greetings were out of the way.

"Matt might be," Kevin said, "but I had a good nutritious snack on the way here."

It was all either of us could do to keep from bursting out in raucous laughter.

"Well, why don't you get unpacked and settled in. I had the maid make up the guest room for you, Kevin. Matt can show you where it is."

"That won't be necessary," he said. "We'll just both bunk in his room."

Mom didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Kevin was establishing the terms of the visit, and that was just exactly what Frank had advised.

"Come on," I said. "I'll show you where we'll be."

Kevin followed me through the house and down the hall to what used to be my room. I opened the door to let him in first. When I stepped in, I was stunned.

"I'm not fucking believing this," I said.

"What?"

"This isn't my old room. They've gotten rid of everything in here that was mine, and it's been completely redecorated. This is really pissing me off."

Kevin didn't say anything. Instead, he put his things on the bed, turned to me, and put his hands on my shoulders.

"This is why I'm here, Babe. I'm your family now, remember? And our house in New Orleans is your home."

I was trembling, I was so angry. Why did they have to go and get rid of my furniture, my TV set, my stereo, my computer?

"Calm it down, now, Baby," he said. He rubbed my cheek. Then he started rubbing my shoulders. "Damn, you're tight," he said.

"I am so goddamn fucking pissed off I could scream," I said. Kevin had never seen me enraged, but he damn sure did then.

He repeated verbatim what he had said before: "This is why I'm here, Babe. I'm your family now, remember? And our house in New Orleans is your home."

"Kevin, I don't think this is going to work out," I said. "I haven't been in this fucking place more than fifteen minutes, and already all the old, mean memories are back."

"Let's give it two days, Babe, okay? If after tomorrow you can't stand it, we're out of here."

I was so angry I couldn't talk. Kevin sat on the bed and pulled me down onto it with him. He started unbuttoning my shirt. I wasn't sure where that was going, and I wasn't exactly in an amorous mood.

"Kevin, I've never refused you before, but not now, okay," I said.

"Backrub, Babe. Just a backrub. It'll relax you, and, God knows, you need a little relaxing right now. Take off your shoes."

I acquiesced to a back rub, but I secretly hoped it would turn into more than that. What better way to foul the nest that to fuck on their brand new bed?

"Okay."

Kevin took off his shirt and shoes, too, and he positioned me between his outstretched legs. Then he started on my neck and shoulders. His hands weren't rough, but they weren't soft little-old-lady hands, either. But the strength in his hands was ferocious, and he attacked my knotted muscles like a professional masseur. After working my neck, shoulders, and upper back, he made me scoot toward the end of the bed. He pulled me back onto him so he could work on my pecs. No amount of scented oil, incense, and relaxing music could have made the experience any better for me.

After a long time, he asked, "You're hard, aren't you?"

"Yeah. You know I am."

"So am I."

"I know."

"Want to do something about that," he asked.

"What do you think?"

"I think you do. I know I do."

I got up and locked the bedroom door. I moved over to the bed, and Kevin finished undressing me. He pulled down his jeans and briefs in one movement without standing up. He slid the covers down under him and took my hand to pull me to bed. He started it by kissing me with heat and passion.

"You want top or bottom," he asked. That was rare; usually, we just both seemed to know.

"Which one is more queer," I asked.

I knew he knew where I was going.

"Well, they're both pretty fucking queer, but Morris would probably think bottom is more queer," Kevin said.

"Then I want bottom."

Kevin wasted no time in satisfying my wish. After a few preliminary swipes at my hole with his tongue, he entered me. We were so used to one another by then that my ass opened for him with no more trouble than my mouth or arms did. He fucked me slowly at first, hitting my prostate on every stroke. I was on my back, and he leaned over to kiss me and to tongue-tease my nipples. When he knew I was close, he pushed me way back and lowered himself onto my cock with his mouth. In just a couple of minutes, my ass began contracting, setting him off, and we fired loads into one another. After he pulled out, Kevin cleaned my ass with the end of the top sheet and got up beside me in bed.

"I sure could use a smoke," he said.

"Me, too. So let's smoke."

"Is there an ashtray?"

"Probably not," I said, "but we can use the wastebasket. I've done it before."

"Me, too," he said, and we giggled.

After our cigarettes, we dressed and went out into the family room. By then Morris was home making himself a drink in the kitchen. He had obviously been golfing.

"Did you boys get squared away," Mom asked, cheerfully.

"Yeah, we did, but what happened to all of my stuff," I asked.

"What 'stuff,'" Morris asked from the kitchen.

By then he was walking into the family room.

"Well, my furniture, my TV set, my stereo, my computer, the pictures that were on the walls. That stuff."

"That wasn't yours. It didn't belong to you. Besides, you had shit for taste."

"Well, if it wasn't mine, whose was it? Yours?"

"Yeah, mister. Mine." I hadn't expected a warm welcome, but I never expected that kind of belligerence right off.

"Bullshit, it was here before you ever started sniffing around my mom. She bought that stuff for me with the help of the money my dad sent every month. Not you, mister."

I was getting angry again, and I wanted to be in control. He was making me lose it.

"By the way, I'm Kevin Smythe. You must be Mr. Henderson." Kevin's tone was friendly and respectful. When Kevin extended his hand to shake hands with Morris, Morris ignored it.

"No, thanks," Morris said. "I don't have any idea where that thing's been." Then, after a terribly awkward pause, Morris said to Kevin, "So you're the girlfriend. Or is it boyfriend and Mattie, here, is the girlfriend?"

"We're partners, Mr. Henderson. Lovers. We're both male."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you're both he-men."

"Mr. Henderson, I think you might be just a little drunk. I know I've gotten drunk on the golf course. Actually, I think it improves my game a little. Maybe even a lot."

Goddamn, my boy was really going out of his way to be nice to Morris, and I knew he was doing it to spare my mom embarrassment. How could I not love somebody like that?

"Oh, so you play golf?"

"Yes, sir. I've played since I was ten, but I don't hold a candle to Matt. My dad thinks he's got the natural ability to play college golf, maybe even go pro, eventually."

"Well, I can't deny that. He can put a ball in a hole, but I guess that's what you fellas specialize in."

I tensed up when he said that, and my mom just about died of embarrassment. Not Kevin. He laughed.

"That's great. I guess you've got us pegged, if you'll pardon the pun, Mrs. Henderson."

Morris thought for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. "You, I like. In fact, I'll even shake your hand on that one."

"Er, no thanks," Kevin said. "I just don't know what hole you've last had that one in."

Again, Morris roared with laughter. "Touch^Â," he said. "Fair is fair. Well, let me go get cleaned up so maybe Kevin will shake my hand." Then, looking at Kevin, "I might be able to like you, in some sort of perverted way."

"Perverted is what I like best," Kevin shot back, and, again, Morris howled.

"Kiss my ass," Morris said.

Kevin looked at him in all seriousness and said, with an absolutely straight face, "lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the ...."

Before he could finish it, Morris was once again doubled over in laughter. "Make these boys some drinks, Tonya. I think we might actually have some fun tonight." And then he was off.

"Jesus Christ," I said. "How the fuck did you pull that off? He actually likes you."

"Watch your language, bo-ah; there's a lady present," Kevin said, in a mock Southern accent.

Mom got up all excited and kissed Kevin squarely on the lips. "Oh, thank you, Kevin. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He really does like you. Maybe we'll be able to...." She didn't finish the sentence, but I knew she was going to say, "to get him to like Matt." "What would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a martini, if you have the fixings. Otherwise, just gin on the rocks," Kevin said.

She looked a little surprised but didn't say anything. "And you, Matt?"

"Bourbon and 7-Up or Sprite would be nice. Otherwise, a beer."

"You were so fucking good with him. He really does like you. I can tell. And he really was half-lit. He gets that way when he plays golf. A lot of other times, too."

"It's my Southern charm. I might not have a Creole name, but there's a lot of Creole blood in my veins."

"Creole," I asked. I had never heard any reference to that before.

"Yeah, Creole means something like 'native' in New Orleans. The movies have made it into a synonym for someone with Black blood or something, but in New Orleans, 'Creole' means something like 'old aristocrat.' That's me. You ever wonder why that vein in my cock looks blue when I'm hard? It's because I have blue blood."

I lost it and crumbled into laughter just as Mom came in with drinks for us and herself.

"What did I miss," she asked.

"You don't really want to know, Tonya, believe me," Kevin said.

Mom disappeared into the kitchen again and brought out a large tray of hors d'ouevres. We both dove in. After ten minutes, Kevin took out his pack of cigarettes.

"Do you mind," he asked Mom.

"Of course not. Here's an ashtray."

He lit up and handed the pack to me. I took one out and lit up, too. I could tell Mom was just a little nervous about that, but she seemed to have no problem with Kevin smoking.

I decided not to ignore her look of distress.

"Mom, I smoke. Okay. I have since I was fourteen. I'm now nineteen. Can you deal with that?"

"But your father...."

"My father smokes," I said, "and I smoke any time, anywhere I want to at home around him. We're your guests. Treat us like you would any other guests."

Just then Morris entered the room, cleaned up and obviously a lot more sober than he had been. His shower must have really done him some good. He kind of sniffed, like he was smelling smoke. He looked at me, and I read contempt on his face. He looked at Kevin, and I read approval.

Kevin ignored the whole thing. "So, Morris, what'd you shoot today?"

"A ninety-eight," he said.

"Wow, that's not bad," Kevin said. "For me it would be a miracle. I'm more in the one-twenties."

"Have you had lessons," Morris asked with interest.

"Yes, sir. Many, many lessons. I just don't have it for golf."

"Well, what are your sports? I can tell you're an athlete from the way you're built."

"Football and baseball. Last year I tried wrestling, but I had gotten a late start, so I wasn't very good. I didn't even go out this year."

"What positions?"

"Well, quarterback in football and third base in baseball."

"You any good?"

"His school won the state championship last month, with him as quarterback. Is that good," I asked.

Morris looked him over. "A fag state championship quarterback. Well, doesn't that destroy some stereotypes."

"I'm good with my hands. What can I say," Kevin responded.

Morris broke up in laughter. Even my mom laughed a little on that one.

"You know who to ask about that," Kevin asked.

"No, who," Morris asked. He looked suspiciously at me.

"My deep receiver."

Morris cut his eyes to me again. That time there was something less than charity in his glare.

"He's already married, and his wife won't let him play college football.... Gotcha."

Morris laughed heartily at that one. Kevin was being incredible with the puns and the sexual innuendoes. I was loving it, Morris was loving it because he thought he was so funny, and my mom was loving it because Morris was actually being a gentleman, for once, in my presence.

We had a second drink, and Morris was impressed at Kevin's choice of gin on the rocks. When he asked me my preference, Kevin interrupted.

"What he really likes is Sex on the Beach. Do you know that drink?"

"I've heard of it," Morris said, "but...."

"Let me do it for him," Kevin said. "I'm probably a good bit better at it than you are, anyway."

They walked into the kitchen together, Morris laughing his ass off. He slapped Kevin's ass, but it was just two jocks being playful with one another. God, who would have ever thought Kevin could make a friend out of Morris in less than an hour.

"Oh, Matt. He is sooooo cute," my mom said. "I can really see how you'd fall for him."

"You like him, Mom?"

"Oh, very much. He's in control here, there's no doubt about that. And have you noticed that he's been nothing but pleasant? That's a real gift. God, that's a gift. Don't let him get away from you, Baby, if you really want him."

I almost fell out of my chair. I couldn't believe my own mother was saying that. Damn, what a turn-around. I wondered if she were taking Prozac.

"There will be a lot of other men, and women, too, after him. Hold on, Matt, if he's for you."

Kevin and Morris came back in with drinks, both laughing. Kevin had concocted something that he said was called Sex on the Beach. I had heard of that drink but had never had one. I tasted it, and it was sweet and good. Kevin had what looked like a scotch, but without any ice.

"What are you drinking, Babe," I asked, and I regretted saying that the instant it came out of my mouth. Nobody seemed to notice it, though.

"Morris has a bottle of twenty-four-year-old single malt scotch that is to kill for. Not die, for; kill for. You sleep with a gun under your pillow, Morris?"

Morris laughed with obvious glee.

"Anyway, this is primo, primo, primo stuff. You want a taste?"

"I can't appreciate that like you can. You know that."

"My dad started me on single malt when I was ten," Kevin said. Everybody laughed. "Seriously, he gave me one malted milk ball every day and said one day it would mean something to me. Little did he know, in more ways than one."

Morris was in the middle of taking a swallow of his drink when Kevin said that, and he started laughing and choking at the same time. He got the choking under control in an instant.

"Kevin, you are one of the funniest people I've ever known."

"Of course I'm funny. Have I ever denied it?"

More laughter.

"You asshole," Morris said, between laughs.

"Oh, you say the nicest things," Kevin lisped in an imitation effeminate voice. "Actually, I prefer Shithead, but Asshole will do."

Morris and my mom thought that was hilarious, and, I have to admit, I laughed pretty hard with them. I had seen Kevin in his game of dozens with Dave Browning the summer before at "sex camp," but I had almost forgotten how quick he could be.

As we sipped our drinks, Morris asked us what we planned for college. We told him the whole scenario about FSU and Harvard.

Morris was very impressed about FSU scouting Kevin.

"When will you know something," Morris asked.

"Well, we've already been accepted at FSU and UNO," I said.

"No, I mean about the football deal."

"I know they had a scout at the Newton game," Kevin said, "because I met him."

"You didn't tell me that, Babe." That time I said "Babe" on purpose, and I didn't give a shit if Morris found it offensive, which he apparently didn't.

"I know. I just realized that. So much happened that night, I guess it just slipped my mind."

I, of course, knew what he was talking about, but nobody else questioned him on what had happened that night.

"Have they requested tapes of your games," Morris asked.

"Yes, sir. That I do know, and they have."

"They'll review those during January and February, probably. Any other schools interested in you, Kevin?"

"Well, I know that LSU had scouts at a couple of our games, but I don't know if they were looking at me or somebody we played against. So did Georgia Tech and the University of Miami."

"Same games for all of them," Morris asked.

"No, sir. Different ones. Tech and Miami have asked for tapes, too."

"Hello," I said. "What's all this about?"

"I didn't tell you because I just found out the last Friday of school, and we had already made our minds up about what we were going to do, Babe. I wasn't keeping secrets. You know that. Plus, I forgot about it until just now."

Morris looked a little uncomfortable when Kevin said that, but we simply ignored him.

"And what about Harvard? Have you guys got the grades and scores for there," Morris asked. That was the most interest he had shown in me in all the years I had lived with him, but I knew his real interest was in Kevin.

"Yes, sir, we do. It's a crap shoot, though. The fact that both of our dads went there and both of our moms went to Radcliffe helps a lot, but we look like brothers or something on paper-same last name, same address. Different schools, though, and that's a plus. We opted out of early decision to see what football might bring us."

"So, you guys are committed to going to the same college, no matter what," Morris asked.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. No question about that."

"You don't have to call me 'sir,' Kevin. You're not in the Navy, and I'm not an officer anymore."

"I know you're not, but that's the way I was raised, Morris. I say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' to Frank and Denis all the time. And always to my teachers. It's just the Southern way of showing respect, I guess. I don't mean anything military by it."

Morris was silent after that, and I could tell he was thinking.

"Mom, these hors d'ouevres are really good. What is this cheese," I asked, trying to fill in the conversation.

"Why, thank you, Matt. The cheese is Double Gloucester."

"Yes, ma'am, they're great," Kevin said, as he sliced off a big chunk of cheese and popped it into his mouth on a cracker.

We made small talk for a few minutes longer. Then Morris chimed in.

"Who figured out this whole college scenario, anyway?"

"We did," I said. "On a plane from Boston to New Orleans."

"I've just been going over it in my head, and I figured some lawyer had done it. It's very lawyerly."

"Y'all are both lawyers, aren't you," Kevin asked?

"Yes," Tonya said.

"Well, our dads said the same thing."

"Well, they're right. That's pretty shrewd, I must say. Is your father a lawyer, Kevin?"

"Yes, sir. He actually owns the practice my great-grandfather founded. It's called Smythe and Associates."

"Are you shitting me," he demanded.

"No, sir. Not intentionally. Why?"

"Because I just read a law review article about a very big case involving oil rights that a firm by that name handled."

"It was them. It took place in Houston, and Matt and I went out there last summer for a few days right when they were settling. Who wrote the article," Kevin asked.

"I think the guy's name was Kellogg Hunt. That stuck with me because I had a mental image of him taking aim on a corn flake."

We all laughed.

"Yeah, that's Mr. Kelly, Matt. Do you remember him from the party?"

"What'd he look like," I asked.

"Well, kind of middle age, maybe thirty-five, balding, sort of roundish. No, hell, he's fat."

"Yeah, I think so. Hell, I met so many people that night, I would never be able to keep them all straight in my head."

"What party are you guys talking about," Mom asked. We explained about the big black-tie gala.

"We never get invited to those kinds of affairs," Mom said. I sensed a bit of longing in her voice.

"You guys actually own tuxes," Morris asked.

"Yes, sir. We'll use them ten or twelve times during the Mardi Gras season."

"For what," he asked.

"For balls," Kevin replied, "only these will be the dance-with-me kind."

Morris had a cracker and a huge chunk of cheese ready to pop into his mouth when Kevin said that. Apparently, Morris inhaled it, and it got lodged in his windpipe. He was, all of a sudden, choking to death.

Kevin recognized the signs right away and was on his feet in an instant. He got his arms around Morris and really punched into his stomach. The cheese came flying out of Morris' mouth. He coughed a little, but he was okay.

"Goddamn, boy. You just saved my fucking life. I was a goner if you hadn't done that."

"Yes, sir, I know. That's why I did it."

"Jesus Christ, Kevin. You saved my life."

"Yes, sir. I know."

"Holy shit," he said. Cough, cough, cough. "And the whole time I was thinking a queer had his arms around me. It was, like, in an instant."

"If that was a problem for you, sir, we could do it again, and I wouldn't get up."

I started laughing, and I couldn't stop.

"Shut the fuck up," he barked at me.

"Whooa, Morris. You were just thanking me for saving your life, and now you're ragging Matt because he thought that what you said about a queer holding you was funny. As that self-same queer was saving your life? Let's evaluate the logic here, dude."

There was perfect silence in the room. Kevin sipped his drink, but nobody else moved or said anything. Kevin lit a cigarette.

Finally, Morris spoke. "I'm sorry, Kevin, for thinking that. It's an old habit, but I see from you boys that it's one I'll have to break. I knew you and he were lovers when you came here, and I wanted to ride you and give you a hard time. I wasn't prepared for such a manly, masculine guy as you."

"What about Matt? Do you think he's not manly or masculine? Do you think he's a limp-wristed faggot?"

Another long silence.

"No, I don't because he isn't. That's why I was so surprised when we found out he's gay."

"We come in all shades, sir," Kevin said. "Some who'd save your life, others who wouldn't."

Another long, uncomfortable pause.

Finally, "You guys are rocking my world, and it isn't easy for me."

"Do you have something you want to say to Matt about that outburst a few seconds ago," Kevin asked.

"What are you talking about," Morris asked, apparently genuinely confused.

"Oh, I think it was something like screaming 'shut the fuck up' at Matt. Did anybody hear that besides me?"

"Yes. You're right. I apologize, Matt. I know I was rude. I know I should have said 'shut the fuck up, please.'"

Kevin laughed heartily at that joke, and Mom and I smiled weakly. I knew the apology was insincere and mitigated by the joke, but at least Kevin made him acknowledge his rudeness.

"And you," he said, pointing at Kevin, "must have balls the size of coconuts. I was a fucking captain in the Navy."

"I'd offer to let you see them if it was just us guys here, but..."

"I can't beat you, I see. You're pretty damn quick, for a fag."

"Any you're pretty damn smart for being just a captain."

"That's it. I'm out," Morris said. "Let's go eat."

"Matt and I will follow you in our car," Kevin said.

"Come on and ride with us," Morris said.

"No. We might want to do some sightseeing after dinner. We'll take our car."

"Suit yourself."

"We're going to Caf^Â Merlot, Matt," Mom said. I knew where that was, so following really wasn't necessary.

I couldn't wait to get Kevin in the car.

"Oh, Babe, I am so fucking proud of you. He damn sure does not know what to make of you. Nobody has ever refused to be bullied by that son of a bitch before."

"Are you feeling good about this so far," Kevin asked me.

"I am feeling very good about this so far. And I can tell you're having fun."

He just grinned in reply.

The restaurant we were going to was one of the nicer ones in town, and, lucky for us, we were seated on the deck overlooking the ocean so we could smoke. After another round of drinks, we ordered. The food was wonderful, and I was stuffed. I was sure Kevin was full, but I was equally sure he could have eaten a second dessert, if one had been offered.

After almost two-and-a-half hours, Morris settled up with the waiter. I tried to sneak a peak at the tip he wrote on the credit card statement, but I didn't manage that. It might have been a very generous one, for all I knew, but he had always impressed me as a stingy tipper.

We decided to walk around a little to see the sights in the area. As we were walking, I heard the sound of someone running behind us, and it was getting closer. I figured it was just some guy out for his daily run. All of a sudden, though, I saw my mother's shoulder lurch forward. Then I saw the guy running off with her purse. Kevin saw it, too, and he took off in hot pursuit.

"We need to call the police," I said.

"My phone is in my purse," Mom said. Then Morris remembered his and dialed 911.

Just about the time Morris was explaining about what had happened and where we were, Kevin caught up with the guy. The guy was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and Kevin grabbed the hood. When he did that, the guy tried to keep running, but Kevin pulled him down. Kevin grabbed for the purse, and I saw the guy pull something out of the pouch of his sweatshirt.

"Oh, God, no," I screamed. I thought it was a gun and my baby would be killed. I soon realized it was a knife, instead of a gun, when the guy started slashing at Kevin.

"Oh, I wish he would let him have the damn purse," Mom said.

He didn't, though. Instead, after one particularly vicious and very close swipe with the knife, Kevin kicked the son of a bitch in his balls. The guy went down, and Kevin started kicking the shit out of him. Pretty soon the guy wasn't moving.

It had all happened so fast that none of us had thought to go help Kevin. At that point, though, I ran to my love. He had his hand on his side, but he was holding the purse over his head, grinning. When I got there, I realized his shirt and hand were covered with blood; his blood.

"Baby. Kevin. You're bleeding. He cut you."

"I know. That's why I stomped his ass. The dumbass motherfucker."

Mom and Morris got to us by then, and we went through the whole thing about, "Oh, Kevin. You're bleeding." all over again.

By then, other pedestrians who had actually witnessed the whole scene came up to us. One guy, who looked about twenty-five, said he was a doctor, and he wanted to see the wound. He made Kevin take his shirt off, which was cut and ruined. The doctor moved him over under a light so he could take a close look. Kevin's nipple rings glistened in the light, and his tattoo was fully visible.

"It's really nothing. It'll take maybe five stitches, but he does need some attention. Frankly, I'm more worried about the other guy."

The doctor whipped out his cell phone and called for an ambulance. They got there about two minutes before the cops showed up.

The ambulance guys, EMT's really, wanted to examine the wound.

"That's pretty bad, man. We need to get you going immediately. I wonder if we need to start an IV," the first guy said to his partner.

Before the partner could answer, the doctor spoke up. "Look, guys, I'm a thoracic surgeon at San Diego General Hospital. I examined the wound. He'll need a few stitches-my guess is five or six-but he doesn't need an IV. In fact, the bleeding has already stopped. You guys might want to direct your attention to the guy lying there on the sidewalk. This boy kicked the shit out of him. I saw the whole thing."

The EMT's rushed over to the other guy, no doubt eager to get an IV going on him.

"By the way, I'm Sam Kent, and that was a hell of a risk you took. But I rather admire bravery." He shook Kevin's hand.

"Kevin Smythe. And thanks. It was more instinct than bravery, though."

"Come on. Get in," one of the EMT's said to Kevin.

"I've got an office two blocks from here. I can take care of you with no waiting, no forms to fill out, no puking kids and crying babies to deal with. What do you say."

"I'm going to stick with Dr. Kent," Kevin said. "But thanks a lot, guys." They took off.

Meanwhile, the cops had made the crowd disburse, which they did readily once the ambulance was gone. One of them radioed somewhere to say a "perp" was being taken to St. Francis Hospital and that he should be arrested as soon as he's done there.

The other officer had been asking questions of people who had seen what had happened, including the Hendersons. Mom was stunned, I could tell, and Morris was going on about how brave "young Kevin" had been. They questioned me to see if I had anything to add, but I didn't. In ten minutes, their work was done, Mom had her purse back, and everything was cool.

"Dr. Kent has an office near here," I said. "I'm going with Kevin to get some stitches. We'll be home after while," I said.

Morris came up to Kevin and hugged him. "Thanks, son," he said. "Coconuts."

Kevin, Morris, and I howled with laughter. Mom hadn't heard the comment, so she stood there looking dazed, and Dr. Kent didn't know what we were laughing at, even though he had heard Morris' statement.

"Come with us, Morris. I'll show them to you."

"Asshole," Morris said, punching Kevin affectionately on his bicep.

"No. Remember? I told you the nickname is Shithead."

Morris and I laughed really hard. Even though he didn't get the full implications of the joke, Dr. Kent laughed, too.

After Mom and Morris had gone, Kevin pulled out his smokes from his pants pocket and lit up. Then, out of habit, he offered the pack to Dr. Kent.

"How dare you, young man. I'm a doctor."

"Oh, sorry." Kevin started to throw his away, but Dr. Kent said, quickly, "But I'll damn sure take one." Kevin lit it for him.

"I didn't think doctors were allowed to smoke," Kevin said.

"No. Patients aren't allowed to smoke. Doctors can do whatever the hell they want to. We're gods, remember?" Kevin and I laughed. I could tell the guy really liked Kevin, and I liked him for liking Kevin.

"Well, let's go," Dr. Kent said.

"Doctor," I said, "our car is in the next block. Let's drive to your office."

"Please call me Sam," he said.

"Sam, our car is in the next block," Kevin said, and Sam laughed. He evidently saw the humor and irony that Kevin intended. We walked back to the car, and I drove us to the office. It was a hell of a lot further than two blocks, but it was relatively close.

Once there, Sam was all doctor. He scrubbed his hands, cleaned the wound, gave Kevin a tetanus shot, and took a close look at it under a high-power light.

"Kevin, I could put some stitches in this for you, but it's really only a skin wound. I'm going to suggest using tape to close it. That way you won't have to come back for me to take the stitches out.

"Will I have a scar," Kevin asked.

"Ummm. You've got a point there. Stitches would pretty much guarantee no scar."

"Then I want the tape. I want a scar from my first knife fight."

Sam and I laughed, and Kevin knew he was cute.

"Leave that on for three days, and you'll be good as new," Sam said.

"Thanks, Sam. You're a pretty cool guy. But I guess you know that."

"I wish my ex thought so," Sam said.

"Is she pissed at you, Sam," I asked in my innocence and naivete.

"He," Kevin and Sam said in unison.

I'm sure I blushed as red as the blood that was on Kevin's shirt.

They laughed, and I felt even dumber.

"Come on, Babe, don't be embarrassed. Some guys got it, and some guys don't?"

"What," I asked.

"What we talked about before, Matt. Gaydar. I've known Sam was gay since I first saw him. And he knew we were. Are. Whatever."

"But how do you do that," I asked. I genuinely wanted to know.

"Some guys got it, and some guys don't," Sam said. "By the way, Kevin, are you in pain right now?"

"Nope. Are you?"

"Very funny, asshole."

"Shithead."

That broke all three of us up.

"Very funny, Shithead. Seriously, does it hurt? Say, when I do this?" He placed his hand on the bandage and pushed hard.

"Fuck, yes, that hurts."

"Okay, then I won't do it," Sam said.

"Well good, doc, 'cause you seen what I done to the last motherfucker what hurt me," Kevin said in his imitation Southern drawl, "and I ain't above doin' it to no faggot doctor, neither."

"Do ah detect a slight Suthern lilt to your voy-ce, Kevin? Ah'm from the Sou-eth ma own sef. Shreveport, Loozeana. Where are y'all from?"

Kevin instantly switched from Southern to working-class New Orleans. "Ahm frum Noo Awlins, but Matt, heah, is frum San Diego. We live in Noo Awlins, nah, 'dough."

"God, you are too good," Sam said. "But seriously, are you in pain?" Sam took out his prescription pad and started writing.

"Oh, yea-us, Doctah Sam." Back to Southern. "But ah think a drop or two of burrbon and the love of a good ma-an would cure me. Not yo-ah 'feel-good' elixiahs."

"Aw was just gonna prescribe a little boibon fo ya," Sam said, switching to the New Orleans dialect. "You a fuckin' good looking guy, ya know? An wat's dis shit awl ovah ya? Dis looks like a cock and bawls, man." He started playing with Kevin's right nipple ring, and I knew that was a come-on. I wasn't that dumb.

"Sam," Kevin said.

Sam stopped fooling with the nipple ring.

"Maybe another time after we've gotten to know you, but not now, okay?"

"Sure. Let's go get that drink." Sam handed me the prescription. "Make him take it if it hurts, okay? It probably won't, but you never can tell. And if you want some unsolicited advice, be good to him. This guy is precious."

"I will. On both counts. And thanks. Do we owe you anything?"

"A drink and the pleasure of your company should just about cover it," he said. "And I don't mean just tonight." He winked at me, and, for once, I got what he meant.

Sam gave Kevin a "doctor's shirt" from a closet of clean ones in his office, and off we went.

We walked to a little bar that was just down the street from the office. On the way Sam brought up an interesting question.

"Kevin, you were hard by the time I got to you, weren't you?"

"Yeah. I was."

"Why," Sam asked.

"It was the excitement of chasing the guy and of fighting with him. I always get hard when I get excited. I guess you could say excitement excites me."

Sam and I both laughed.

"I've heard of that before, but I'd never seen it before tonight. Does it just happen when you're kicking the shit out of somebody, or does it happen at other times."

"Oh, it happens all the time. I got hard Christmas morning opening my presents."

"Did you," I asked. "I didn't notice."

"Well, not really hard, just kind of semi-hard. Pretty much everything has a sexual component for me. Fights really turn me on; not that I've had that many, of course. But I've had a few, and I've always gotten rock hard."

"When did it happen, and why didn't I noticed it, Kevin," I asked.

"Recently, but I really don't remember the details of when or where. Anyway, let's change the subject. This is boring me."

By then we had gotten to the bar.

"I'm the designated driver, sick boy," I said, "so you drink all you want to."

"It's a damn good thing you are, cause I couldn't find my way back to your house if my life depended on it," Kevin said.

"Their house. My house is in New Orleans, remember."

"Right, Babe. I remember."

"This sounds like a story," Sam said. It was, and we spent the better part of the next three hours telling it. He asked questions, was amazed we were still both in high school, and generally got to know us.

"Okay, so what about yourself? What's your story," Kevin asked.

"Well, I was born and raised in Shreveport, went to college in Shreveport, went to medical school in Shreveport."

"Medical school? I thought you could only go to medical school in New Orleans," Kevin said.

"No. LSU has a branch in Shreveport, including a medical school."

"Cool. Live and learn," Kevin said.

"Oh, how profound," Sam said.

"You've found a pro," Kevin said, instantly. It took Sam and I a second to catch on to his play on words, but we both laughed.

"You really aren't mentally handicapped, after all, are you?"

"No, and I also knew that was true of you when you finally laughed at that word play, after five minutes of trying to figure it out."

"Oh, no. I figured it out in an instant. It took me five minutes to accept the fact that you had the intelligence to say something that clever."

"You're pretty cute, you know that," Kevin said.

"Excuse me," I said. I was teasing, of course, but I wanted to assert myself.

"Don't you think he's cute, Matt?"

"Of course I think he's cute. But that's the kind of statement to a doctor that leads to free prostate exams on a daily basis."

"Oh, I get those anyway."

"Daily? So you're the top man," he asked me.

"No. It's about two-to-one or three-to-one, him on top. That's just more of his bullshit."

"Well, look, guys, I'm really having a good time, but I have to cut open a chest at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and, if it were your chest, you'd want me well rested and fully sober. I'm going to have to say good night."

It was only a little before midnight, but I respected Sam's obligations, and he was right: I would want him rested and sober if he cut my chest open. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to get in touch with him.

"Please call me. And I'll call you. I'm lonely, guys. I only came out here because of this guy I was with, and now it's over. I need friends. I could always relocate to New Orleans."

"We'll call, don't you worry, dude. And thank you so much for everything," I said.

"Thank me? Hell, this is the most fun I've had in six fucking months. Night, guys."

Kevin fell asleep in the car on the way home, and I woke him enough to get him to my room. I helped him undress, which really only meant taking off his shoes, socks, shirt, and pants, and he was sound asleep by the time I finished brushing my teeth.

The next morning we woke up around eight o'clock. I leaned over to kiss Kevin, and then I asked how his side felt where he had been cut.

"It's a little sore; that's all," he replied.

I started rubbing his chest and playing with his nipples.

"Ummmmmm," he said. "Don't stop, Babe. That feels soooooo good."

I got on my side and took his right nipple into my mouth. I toyed with the ring in it, and that turned him on further. Then I started softly and gently rubbing the bulge in his briefs.

"Take them off me," he said, meaning his briefs. I did as ordered. Then my mouth headed south to his cock, and I sucked him until he was about to pop. I took my own briefs off and got into position between his legs. I raised them over my shoulders and ate his ass clean. He loved for me to do that, and it was a pleasure I was only too happy to give him.

"Take me, Matt," he said. That meant he wanted me in him right at that moment. I dropped a load of spit onto my cock and slowly inserted it into him. There was no pain, of course, but there was a look of ecstasy on his face. I started fucking slowly, but I quickly picked up speed. We found a comfortable rhythm and continued our intercourse for a long time. Finally, Kevin said he was getting close.

"Shoot cum for me, Babe," I said. "I want to feel you shoot."

I didn't have to wait more than a few seconds. I felt Kevin's entire being contract hard around my cock, and he shot eleven distinct volleys onto his chest. I came in an instant after the first one, and I unloaded into him.

After I pulled out, I got up to get a towel and a warm, moist washcloth to clean him up. I took care of his ass first, and then I cleaned his chest. While we were smoking, he asked me how I was doing with Morris.

"Well, he really seems to like you, but I feel really uncomfortable every time he makes some crack about sex."

"Yeah, I know you do. I've been working my ass off to try to make a joke out of things he doesn't really mean as a joke."

"I wonder if he heard us making love," I said.

"Do you care if he did?"

"Not unless he says something about it. Then I'll care."

"What could he say," Kevin asked.

"Oh, he'll think of something. Don't worry. But I'm not going to take it, if he does. I'm going to stand up to him. If it comes to an argument, let's leave. Okay?"

"It's okay with me, dude." He kissed me tenderly on the lips. "Let's get a shower. Oh, shit, I forgot about the bandage. It'll get wet."

"Let me go get a plastic bag or something to cover it." I got out of bed and slipped on my jeans. I didn't bother with a shirt because I knew I'd only be gone a few seconds.

When I got to the kitchen, Morris was at the table drinking coffee. He looked up at me.

"Where's your shirt," he asked in a gruff tone of voice.

"I just came in here to get a plastic bag to cover Kevin's bandage so we can take a shower."

He looked at me again. "Come here," he ordered. I walked over to him. "What's this shit all over your titties? You look like the fucking fairy godmother or something. What are you, some kind of drag queen or something?" He flipped one of my nipple rings up and down a couple of times, and I backed away.

"Don't you fucking move, fag-boy. Come here to me."

"No. You're not touching me."

He stood up and walked over to where I was.

"I'll goddamn sure touch you if I want to, Miss Priss." Saying that, he went for my chest. I knocked his arm away.

"How dare you hit me, you fucking faggot."

Just before he hit me I screamed out "Kevin!" as loud as I could. I heard Kevin come running. He turned the corner from the hall, all stark naked six feet of him, just as the first blow hit me. Morris had time to get in a second one before Kevin grabbed him from behind. Kevin flung him to the floor, and I was afraid he was about to kick the shit out of him like he had done to the guy the night before.

"Kevin," I screamed. "No. Don't hit him."

I guess the panic in my voice penetrated Kevin's anger because he didn't kick Morris. Instead, he grabbed him by his hair and made him get up. Kevin pushed him into a chair, and it was all Morris could do to keep from falling out of it to the floor. Kevin moved closer to Morris, and Kevin's dick, which had started getting hard, as it had in the night before, was right in front of Morris' face. I hoped and prayed nothing would happen.

Morris must have noticed Kevin's PA ring for the first time, and, I'm sure without thinking, he reached out and touched Kevin's dick. Kevin didn't pull back or anything. He just stood there.

"Suck it," Kevin said.

When Morris heard that, he dropped Kevin's penis immediately.

"You were so interested in my balls last night, Morris. Here they are, man. Lick 'em."

Morris started to get up, but Kevin pushed him down hard. I grabbed Kevin.

"Babe, let's get out of here," I said, and Kevin left the kitchen with me. On the way out, Kevin said loudly, "I ought to kill that motherfucking closet queen. He wanted me. He touched my cock," Kevin said. "He actually touched my cock. Mister Homophobe of the Year touched my cock."

"I know, Babe. I saw him. There's no question that you won that round. But we've got to get out of here. Get dressed," I said, when we were back in our room.

Kevin slipped on jeans and a tee shirt in an instant, and, in less than five minutes, we were sitting in our car with Kevin behind the wheel. As we were backing out, Morris came running out the front door.

"Matt, won't you even wait to say goodbye to your mother? She'll be devastated if you leave. What will I tell her?"

"Tell her the fucking truth, you fuck. And I will, too," I screamed. "You made a pass at my boyfriend, and my mother needs to know that." I hoped every neighbor on the block heard what I screamed. I wanted Morris to suffer.

I had no idea where my mother was, but I assumed she was either shopping or running errands. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed her number.

"Hey," she said. "Are the boys up yet?"

"Mom, this is me. Matt. Kevin and I are leaving. I would have liked to tell you goodbye, but Morris and I tangled this morning. He hit me twice, and he made a pass at Kevin by taking his penis into his hand. I don't know what's up with you two, but that's between the two of you."

"Oh, God. He hit you?"

"Yes, he did, but Kevin saved me from the worst of what he would have done. I won't be coming back to San Diego as long as he's a factor, Mom."

There was a long pause, and then I heard her crying.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Mom, but I will not let that man show me contempt. I'll stay in touch. Bye." I broke the connection. "Did I do the right thing," I asked Kevin.

"I think you did exactly the right thing. You really didn't want to come on this trip, anyway, did you?"

"No, I really didn't."

"I'm sorry I forced the issue, man. I really am. Can you forgive me?"

He looked at me, and there were tears in his eyes. I started crying then, too, both for him and for my mom.

"Babe, you didn't do anything wrong. You and Frank and Denis were just concerned about me and my relationship with my mother. You guys had no way of knowing. I love you for bringing me here, I love you for protecting me this morning, I love you for saving my mom's purse last night, and I love you for being you."

"Do you love me for saving Morris from choking," he asked.

"Let me get back to you on that," I said, and he laughed.

We went to a fast-food place for breakfast, and we sat out on the terrace so we could smoke. After we had eaten and had lit up, Kevin broached the subject of what was to happen next.

"You want to see if we can get a flight back to New Orleans today," he asked.

"Sure, but we've come pretty far to not see some of the local sights. Don't you want to go to the zoo? Or we could drive upstate to L.A. or San Francisco."

"I've been to both L.A. and San Francisco," he said, "but I wouldn't mind hanging around here a couple of days. You want to check into a hotel and do some sightseeing?"

"Sure," I said. "We can call Sam Kent to see if he wants to hang with us, if that's okay with you."

"That'd be great. I really liked him. Where should we stay," Kevin asked. "Some place really nice."

I, of course, had never stayed in a hotel in San Diego, but I knew what some of the nicer ones were. We got a phone book from the payphone that was on the terrace, and we called a couple of them. The nicest one, the St. Vincent, said they had a vacancy, so we made reservations. I gave them a credit card number and asked about check-in time. They said they were ready for us now, if necessary.

We threw our trash away, Kevin went back inside to use the restroom and to get another cup of coffee, and then we were off.

Once we had checked into our room, Kevin mentioned that we still hadn't showered. I called the concierge desk to see if they could help with a plastic bag and some tape, and there was a boy at our door in less than five minutes with what we needed.

Kevin and I showered separately because it was a tub shower and not a shower stall. Once we were showered and shaved, we dressed for the day. I looked at my watch, and it was only eleven o'clock. It seemed that a whole lot had happened since we had awakened at eight. We got in touch with Sam Kent and had a good time with him the two days we stayed in San Diego. There wasn't any sexual stuff involving him, but Kevin and I both felt we had made a good friend that we wanted to keep up with.

At Kevin's insistence, I called my mom from the phone on the airplane on the way home to New Orleans. She said she was sorry we couldn't stay longer, but she also said she understood. We decided to stay in touch. After that, though, we were back in New Orleans and back to our regular lives.