Swimming Pool Eyes

Swimming Pool Eyes

by

Little Dan

It was late at night and I was walking the streets down near the docks. Because that's where they hang out. Down near the docks.

Yeah. They were here all right. All around me. I could practically smell them. The smell of 'gay.' There was one standing in a doorway. There was one on the corner, looking across the avenue at the dark river. They were all so casual. Like they were just out for a stroll, or for a little walk. But they were really out for some dick. I touched my dick through my pants, and felt it harden reassuringly at the thought of the evening ahead.

Now one was passing me, and he was giving me the eye, but he was a little older than I like, and a little fatter. Now another one was giving me the eye. Still not what I'm looking for. Hell. They all gave me the eye, because I was big and tall and strong and good-looking, not like these wussy little gay sissies. I was every faggot's dream boat. Now another one. Still a 'no.' I kept walking.

Some loud rock music blasted out of a waterfront dive. I wouldn't go in there. I would meet him here on the street, in the dark, where no one could see. Another one passing. Not yet.

But here come's a guy. Not so bad. Maybe just what I'm looking for. Kind of neat and pleasant looking. An easy kind of guy. Yeah. Maybe him.

I moved into the recessed doorway of a dark storefront and pulled out my cigarettes from my jeans pocket. I stuck one in my mouth and waited. He was approaching the store front. Now he was passing the doorway. He knew I was standing in the recess, but he pretended like he didn't see me and was about to walk past.

"Got a match?" I asked him.

He turned toward me, and we looked at each other. I knew he liked what he was seeing. You could tell it in his eyes. And he was just what I was looking for. A young guy, about my own age, but smaller, and not as masculine as me. He was nice looking, and not too swishy. I mean the average person might never have known, but I could smell them out. The 'gay' smell. And besides, what was he doing walking around the deserted streets near the docks late at night? Yeah. He was looking for dick, all right. And I had dick. I would give him dick, and maybe a little something extra. Yeah. That was my M.O.. First the dick. Then the extra.

"I'm sorry. I don't smoke," he said.

"You know something. I shouldn't smoke either. It's stupid." And I threw the cigarette down onto the sidewalk and ground it under my foot. Actually I didn't really smoke. I just used the cigarette as kind of a stage prop. It was a good way to start a conversation.

"Nice night," he said.

"Yeah. Getting a little cold."

"Maybe you should go into the bar and warm up," he suggested, nodding to where the loud music was coming from down the block.

"Nah. I don't drink. I just like to walk around a little" I told him.

"Yeah. Me too," he said. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come out and take a little walk. Get a little fresh air."

"Yeah. That sometimes helps," I told him. "You live around here?"

"Two blocks over on Deasey Street," he told me. "You live around here?"

"Me? No. Hell, no. I live way across town."

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "But I guess I should really get going. It's getting late and I have to work in the morning."

"Oh," he said. "Maybe you would want to come over to my place for a drink?"

"I told you I don't drink," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah. Well, maybe a cup of tea or a glass of cold cider or something?"

"Yeah. Cold cider sounds real nice," I said.

"Nicholas," he said, stretching out his hand. I didn't take his hand, and I didn't answer him. I was not going to tell him my name, and I was not going to bother to make up a name to give him. I just needed to do my thing, and then I would have no more use for Nicholas.

We walked two blocks over and one block further in from the river. We got to a building with big brass doors leading down three steps to a locked steel door, where you would get buzzed in, but Nicholas pulled out his keys.

We took the elevator to the fourth floor, and proceeded down the hall to Nicholas' doorway. He turned the key. We went in. It was a crappy little one-room apartment in a very old badly constructed building, but he was probably paying a lot of money for it. It was still better than the crappy rooming house where I was living.

He went into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He actually came out with a glass of cold cider for me. I took it and tipped it at him before taking a few swallows. Good cider. Fresh pressed. Not that crummy bottled kind.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed, as that was the only furniture in the apartment except for a small table and some wooden chairs. I sat down on the bed and finished my cider. I handed him my empty glass and he took it into the kitchen. He came back and we looked at each other. I eased back until I was half lying on the bed, but my feet were still on the floor. As I eased back, my pants pulled tight and displayed a tantalizing bulge. He looked at it. Then he looked back into my eyes.

"You're very handsome," he told me.

"Yeah," I said.

He sat down next to me, and his left leg touched my right leg. I leaned back a little more. I was really offering him the bulge. What the hell was he waiting for? Finally, his hand came up and began to stroke the bulge through my jeans.

"I just bet you want to suck my dick," I told him.

He didn't answer. He just kept stroking me. I raised my hips slightly to press the bulge into his hand. Finally he got the message and got down on his knees between my legs, which were still on the floor. I could feel and hear the zipper being drawn down, and now he was reaching in, and feeling my hard cock, because I hadn't worn any underwear. It was much easier for them to get to my cock if I wasn't wearing underwear.

He eased it out the zipper and began to rub my erection around his face and over his lips. Then his lips opened and sucked my prick into his hot mouth, and he started to suck up and down on it.

And I was feeling.....rage. This little faggot was on his knees sucking my dick. This pervert had dared to put my prick into his faggot mouth. And this wasn't the first time he had committed such an abomination. You could tell that he was well-practiced in the art of sucking cock. That filthy little cocksucker. And he was going to make me come. Come into his dirty cocksucking mouth. That dirty cocksucking queer was sucking the cum out of my balls. I pushed his head down on my dick till it was choking him, and just as my juices shot out into his faggot throat, I balled up my fist and let him have it.

He screamed. I hit him again. He kept screaming. I kept hitting. Then I heard banging at the door.

"What's going on in there?" a man's voice asked.

"Help," he screamed. "Help me."

They started slamming on the fucking door. They were trying to break it down, which wouldn't be hard to do in this crummy building. And he was crying and screaming. I knew they were coming in, so I had to do as much damage as possible before they got me. This fag had to be punished for sucking my dick. I hit and hit and twisted his arm behind his back, and he passed out at my feet as they broke in the door. There were three big guys, and they overcame me and held me, and one of them called Emergency for the police and also for an ambulance. I tried to fight them off, but they managed to hold me down until the police came.

I was booked and charged and I was up for some real heavy jail time, but they told me they had this new experimental program for people like me, and if I enrolled in the trials, they would try to get me off on probation. I said, "Fuck, yes."

They made me stay in some kind of half-way house with a lot of losers, and the next Monday they came and collected me and we drove over to the fancy part of town and took me into the office of some Professor Nathan Stoner.

I had to wait a few minutes, because this Professor Stoner was in the other room probably doing his experiment on somebody else. And yeah. Finally the door opened, and this young tough guy came out, and I knew that the other guy, the older guy with the gray beard must be the Professor.

"Won't you come in," he told me, and stood aside as I entered the inner office. He motioned for me to sit in one of the two armchairs. He sat facing me.

"So you like to beat up homosexuals," he observed.

I gave a little laugh.

"You think it's funny?" he asked me.

"No," I said. I had to try to pretend to be cooperative.

"Why do you like to beat up homosexuals?" he asked me.

"Because they creep me out," I told him.

"I see," he said. "And do you go out of your way to do this?"

"No. I don't go out of my way. If a guy comes on to me, I let him have it."

"This young man you hurt, who is now in the hospital with multiple contusions and a broken arm. You did not go out of your way to hurt him?"

"No. He came on to me," I said.

"But you were in his apartment. Why were you in his apartment?"

"He offered me some cold cider, and I was thirsty. That's why I was in his apartment."

"And while you were drinking the cold cider, this young man sexually molested you?"

"Exactly," I explained.

"And how did you feel while you were bashing him. Did you enjoy it?"

"No. I was just pissed off."

"I think maybe you enjoyed punching him and hurting him," he told me. "I think maybe you got a thrill out of it."

"No," I said.

"A sexual thrill."

"No."

"I've treated other young men like you," he told me. "How can you enjoy hurting people? I just can't understand it."

"Me neither," I admitted.

"Would you like to not feel that way anymore?" he asked me.

"Sure," I said. Because that was what I was here to say.

"Very well then," he told me. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Why?" I asked him.

"I'm going to give you a hypodermic needle."

"I'm not taking any fucking needles. I hate needles."

"That's an important part of the treatment. I'm just going to give you a drug which will totally relax you. It will make you feel wonderful."

"No. No." I told him, and started to get up.

"Very well then," he told me. "You are violating your probation and I will have to tell the authorities, and they will put you away for a very long time, and you can beat up all the sex hungry men in the State Prison."

I sat back down. I rolled up my sleeve. He had me. What was I to do?

He walked over to a cabinet, and took out a prepared syringe and a cotton swab and some alcohol. He came over next to my chair, and sterilized my arm. Then the needle went in. The fucking thing hurt. I hate needles. Then I rolled down my sleeve and he put the syringe down and sat facing me."

"How do you feel?" he asked me.

"Fine," I said. I didn't feel anything. Except I did feel a little warm and a little comfortable.

"Now look into my eyes," he told me, and I did, and his eyes were black and sparkling like two deep pools way off in the forest, and then the water in them was swirling and swirling.

"You are very relaxed," he told me. "So, so relaxed. Do you feel relaxed?"

"Yes," I said, and my voice sounded like it was coming from a thousand miles away.

"I think you would like to sleep," he told me.

"Uhhh," I said, trying to nod my head, because my voice had gone too far away to call back.

"Yes, I will let you sleep. Sleep will be good for you. We all need sleep, but as you are falling deeper and deeper into this wonderful restful sleep you will continue to hear the sound of my voice."

"Uhhh," I said.

And then I don't know what happened, because the next thing he said was "You are to come back here for another treatment a week from today. Same time. You did very well today."

"I did?" I asked him. "You mean it's over?"

"Yes. For this week."

"But what happened?"

"I gave you a first treatment. Don't you remember?"

"No," I said. "You mean the needle?"

"In a way," he told me.

I didn't know how I had done well, but if I had, great. I left.

Later that night, I sneaked out of the halfway house. The old compulsion had returned. I needed to beat up a fag. I needed my fix. I went down by the docks again. That really was the best place. I passed a lot of them by. Not really my type. Too old. Too fat. I knew what I wanted. And then I saw him.

"Got a light?" I asked.

"Yes I do," he said, and lit my fucking cigarette. I started coughing. I'm really not a smoker.

"Nice night," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I love to walk by the river on nights like these."

"Yeah, me too," I told him. "You live near here?"

"A few blocks over," he told me.

"I sure wouldn't mind a cold beer. You got any beer?"

"Yeah," he said. "I like beer too. It's in the refrigerator."

"Great," I said, and we started walking toward his place. When we got into his apartment, I kind of stretched out on the open convertible sofa and leaned back so that my pants could stretch over my bulge. That was my M.O., my bulge. I could see he was looking at it hungrily as he walked toward me, holding out a bottle of cold beer. I took a swallow, and leaned back a little more, bulging, bulging, and I started to seductively run my fingers over my fly.

"Did you want me to do something for you?" he asked me, nervously. He was afraid of making the first move.

"Well, yeah. You could suck my cock a little. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, and he was on his knees between my spread legs, and I heard and felt the zipper coming down, and his hot hand reached in and grabbed my stiff one which was right there, because I wasn't wearing any undershorts, and he drew it out, and I felt his hot mouth close over it.

The dirty little cocksucker was sucking and sucking and the cum was building in my balls, and it felt great. I mean really great. I love to come, but when I smash the cocksuckers with my fist, it feels even better.

He could tell the cum was building in my balls, and he was sucking wetly and hungrily and making noises, and I balled up my fist, and my cum started to shoot out into his mouth. And my arm wouldn't move. I don't know why that was. My arm wouldn't move. It was like I really didn't want to hit him so much.

"Was that okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah sure," I told him. "Super. You give great head. Listen. I gotta be going." I stood up and zipped up my pants and walked to the door.

"Maybe you could come over for another beer some time?" he asked me.

"I don't think so," I told him. "I'm really into women. But that was great." Then I left. I didn't wait for the elevator. I just ran down the stairs. What was wrong with me? I mean I love to shoot my juice and all that, but it's so fucking exciting to beat on them as they're swallowing it.

The next Monday Professor Stoner asked me "Did you beat up any homosexuals this week?"

"No, sir, I didn't." I told him.

"Did you meet any homosexuals this week?"

I decided to be honest. "Yes I did. I met this guy and we went up to his apartment for a cold beer and he wanted to give me a blowjob, so I let him."

"And you didn't flatten him?"

"No, sir. I did not."

"Why is that do you suppose?" he asked me.

"I don't know. I thought I was going to hit him and then I didn't."

"That's very good," said Professor Stoner. "Roll up your sleeve."

I rolled up my sleeve and let him inject the stuff into my vein, and then we were sitting face to face again and I was staring into his dark swirling swimming pool eyes.

"You look very tired," he told me. "It would be good for you to get a little sleep. But try to listen to the sound of my voice, even while you are sleeping. Okay?"

"Uhhh," I answered, and I knew that my head was lolling.

"That was very good," he told me.

"You mean it's over again?"

"Yes. Treatment number two."

"How many treatments are there?" I asked him.

"We'll see," he told me. "Be back here next week same time.

And two nights later I had a similar experience to the one I'd had the week before. I went down to the docks and let this gay guy pick me up and take me home and suck my cock, and I didn't even roll up my fist. Something was happening to me.

I reported for treatment number three, and took another dip in the dark swimming pools.

"Is it over?" I asked.

"Yes. You know that poor young man you hurt, Nicholas Reed. You really injured him. It's going to take months for him to mend. You broke his arm, and you caused some slight internal damage. What a shame."

"Yes," I said. I was starting to feel a little guilty. I had been thinking about Nicholas. He had been a nice boy. He hadn't done anything to deserve what I had done to him.

"Next week same time. Treatment number four," he told me.

"Yes," I said. I mean I really didn't mind the treatments. They were actually very restful. I always felt very good after the treatments. And somehow I was feeling better about myself than I had in a very long time.

I was lying in my cot in the halfway house reading a girlie magazine. Well, not actually a girlie magazine. A fuck magazine. I liked to see the guys fucking the girls. That was really hot. And then I started thinking about Nicholas. What had I done to poor Nicholas? I wondered if there was any way I could make it up to him a little. No. That was ridiculous. How could I make it up to him? But I couldn't get him out of my mind.

I found myself walking in the vicinity of Deasey Street. Right near his building. Maybe I should apologize to him, I thought. No. He wouldn't even see me. I had hurt him. He would be afraid of me. He would call the police. But I kept walking toward his building. I went in the outside door and rang the buzzer. I heard his voice on the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"It's Chester Grange," I said.

"Who?" he asked.

"Chester Grange. I'm the guy who beat you up."

"What do you want? To beat me up again? Get out of here, before I call the police."

"No. Please. I feel very bad about what I did. I wanted to apologize," I said through the intercom.

"Go away," he said. "You're crazy."

"Please, please forgive me," I said, and now I was sobbing into the intercom. "Let me come up and apologize. I'm so sorry."

"You apologized. Now you can go."

"No, please," and I was really crying now. "I want to see you. I want to really apologize. I swear I won't hurt you. Please."

And then the buzzer rang. I was so surprised I almost didn't push on the door in time. He was letting me in.

I took the elevator up and went to his door. He was standing there in his pajamas. He looked pathetic. He was all black and blue. And his right arm was in a cast. I had really hurt him. Why had I done such an awful thing?

He had the door half closed so that he could slam it and lock it if necessary.

"I'm so sorry," I told him.

"You really hurt me," he told me. "You bruised my kidney too. I can't even go shopping or cook my food. I have to ask my neighbors to help me."

"Please forgive me. I'll do anything I can to make you forgive me."

"Just go away. It hurts for me to stand too long. I have to get back to bed."

"Let me help you," I told him. I wanted to help him so badly. To make it up to him in some way. "Let me help you back to bed," and I pushed on his door and moved inside. He had very mixed feelings about all this. You could see that. I didn't know how to let him know how sincere I was.

"Here. Let me help you," I said. And I eased him across the room into his bed. His face was very white. But also black and blue. He closed his eyes. You could see he was in pain.

"Let me go out and get you some dinner," I told him.

"No. That's all right. The girl down the hall usually brings me something later."

"Let me. Please. Let me. There's a Chinese place down on the corner. Would you like me to bring you some Chinese?"

"No. Please. It was very good of you to come."

"I want to bring you some Chinese," I told him. "On me."

"Later, maybe," he said. "I'm not hungry right now."

I looked around and his apartment was really a mess. Of course, he hadn't been able to clean it. I decided to clean it.

"I'm cleaning your apartment," I told him.

He protested, and I insisted, and I finally made him tell me where the pail and the bleach and the brushes and the dustcloths and the mops were.

"You just lie back and rest," I told him.

He lay back and closed his eyes, while I went about the task of making his small apartment spick and span. Two hours later I went out and brought back some Chinese for the two of us. I sat on his bed, and we both ate. While we were eating there was a knock on his door.

"Olga?" he asked.

"Yes," said a young woman's voice. "Are you ready for dinner?'

"Open the door," he told me. I opened it and saw a pretty young woman standing there. She had obviously just gotten home from the office and hadn't had time to change.

"Olga," he told her. "This is Chester. He's the man who did this to me."

Her face darkened and her mouth gaped.

"He came to apologize. He's very sorry. And he brought me up a Chinese dinner. We were just eating."

"Are you going to be all right?" She asked him.

"I hope so," he told her.

"I won't hurt him," I swore. "I'm only here to help."

Finally and reluctantly she went back to her own apartment, and Nicholas and I finished our Chinese. I took out the garbage and tossed it down the disposal, and came back to the apartment. There was a television at the foot of his bed.

"Let's watch television," I suggested.

He didn't answer. He just switched on the set. It was a ballet on Public Broadcasting, but that was all right. If that's what he wanted to watch. I sat back against the headboard on the other side of the bed, and we lay there side by side watching Giselle or something like that.

After the ballet, I knew it was time to leave and get back to the halfway house, and besides I could see he was tired, so I left.

But I started coming back every day and cleaning for him, and shopping for him, and I brought up Chinese dinners. And we watched television every night until it was time for me to go back to the halfway house.

I told Professor Stoner what I had done at the next session.

"Very interesting," he said. "And why do you suppose you are doing all this?"

"I hurt the guy. It's up to me to help him get back on his feet, isn't it?"

"Of course," he said, and I got another syringe and another swim in his eyepools.

And then I started to get these strange lonely feelings. I would be lying on my cot at night, and I would be missing Nicholas. What was that all about? He really was kind of cute and sweet. I almost felt as if I wanted to cuddle and kiss him. A guy! So ridiculous! I mean, I'm not a fag. I like to kiss the ladies. But he seemed so vulnerable, and now he was depending on me a lot, and I kind of liked that feeling. To be needed.

One night after the eleven o'clock news, I said "I wish I didn't have to go back to the halfway house. It's so lonely there. I wish I could stay here with you."

He looked at me as if I were crazy, and I think he still didn't trust me.

"Could I stay here with you?" I asked him. "I won't touch you. I promise you."

"Okay," he said, a little uncertainly. "But my neighbor, Olga, knows who you are. If anything happens to me..."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't lay a hand on you. I swear. I won't touch you."

I stripped off my clothes, and I was just in my underwear, because now I was wearing underwear. I was not out trolling for a fag. I climbed into my side of the bed.

"Night," he said.

"Night," I answered.

He turned off the bedside lamp and we both went to sleep. And it felt so comfortable being there with somebody. I could feel his warm body near me under the blankets, and it was a nice feeling. I never thought I could sleep all night with anybody, but it wasn't so bad.

I told Professor Stoner that I had stayed over at Nicholas' apartment.

"And how did you feel about that?" he asked me.

"How did I feel? I don't know. It was okay."

"You didn't want to beat him up during the night?"

And then I realized. "No. No. I didn't. I like Nicholas. He's a nice guy. We watch television together. I don't want to beat him up. Maybe I'm changing."

"Maybe," he said. "Roll up your sleeve."

The next time I went over to Nicholas' apartment, I brought some hamburger meat and some salad in a bag and some dressing. He stayed in bed and told me how to cook it in the little kitchen off his one room apartment. I had never cooked before. It came out pretty good. I served him in bed, and I brought my plate to the bed and sat upright against the backboard next to him eating.

"What would you like to watch?" he asked me.

"You want me to pick the program?"

"Well you've been watching all my programs. We could watch something you'd like to watch once in a while."

He was such a decent lovely guy. This is the kind of guy that I had been battering. I was so ashamed. We were sort of becoming like buddies or something. It didn't even matter to me that he was a fag anymore. I really liked him.

After dinner I washed the dishes and we watched a detective show. I really liked that better than the ballet, and Nicholas seemed to be enjoying it also. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, when it would have been time for me to go home, I asked him "Can I stay over again tonight?"

I saw a funny flicker in his eyes. He winced a little. He still didn't trust me. What could I do to make him trust me? I was a different person now. Maybe it was me, or maybe it was Professor Stoner, but I wasn't the same guy who beat him up. "Can I?" I asked again.

"I guess so," he said.

I got undressed and got under the covers next to him, same as before, and he turned out the light. After a while, I knew that he was sleeping, so I kind of sat up a little and looked at his face in the light that was coming through the window. I kind of wanted to touch his face, but I was afraid that I would wake him, so I lay back down and tried to fall asleep. It was hard. I was so conscious of him next to me. I wanted to pull him close, and feel his warm body against mine, and maybe smell his hair. And I was feeling a little lustful also. The way I used to feel when I was going out to fagbash. I reached down and touched my erection. Wow! I really needed to fall asleep.

I knew that I should be telling Professor Stoner about my emotions, but I was too embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't want him to think I was a fag or anything.

The next time I stayed over, Nicholas had fallen asleep facing away from me, and I was facing his back. I think I was half dozing, and that I unconsciously put my hand around his chest under the blanket. Suddenly he jumped and sat up.

"What are you doing?" he asked me.

"Nothing," I told him.

"You touched me."

"Sorry. It was in my sleep."

"Please don't touch me," he told me.

"Okay," I said, but I wanted to touch him. I wanted to touch him so badly. "Please. I won't hurt you. I swear it. I like you." And then I started to cry like some stupid baby.

"I'm sorry," he told me. "I shouldn't have said that. I really know you won't hurt me again. It's okay." And then he put his arms around me and gave me the biggest hug, and all the time I'm crying like some stupid baby.

And then we kind of looked into each other's eyes, and before I knew it, he had leaned forward and put his lips over mine, and we were kissing. And I knew then that it was just what I wanted. I eased my tongue into his mouth and stroked it around, and down below I was hard as anything. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to hold him and cuddle him and love him.

As we were kissing, he reached down and touched me. "You're hard," he said.

"Yeah," I said. And then I did the strangest thing which I had never done before. I reached down. "So are you," I said.

"Yes," he answered, and we started to kiss again, and our two bodies were laced together, and his chest was against mine, and his prick was against mine, and I had never felt so excited. Our arms were locked around each other's bodies like we never wanted to let go of each other, but finally he pulled his mouth away from mine and asked me "Do you want me to kiss it for you?"

"You don't have to," I told him.

"I want to," he answered. "But I'm still sore. I have to move down on the bed very slowly. Maybe you could help me."

I helped him into position and he began to suck on my cock, and it felt so nice. Really nice. He was being so tender. And I didn't have any desire to ball up my fist. I was enjoying what he was doing. He was sucking me and sucking me. It was great. I knew that I was gonna come in his mouth, but I had done that before, so I just let it blast, and made a satisfied "Aaaahhhh," as it shot out.

Then I helped him back up onto the pillow, and we pulled the covers back up, and now I was lying right up against his back, and when I put my arm around his chest he didn't say anything this time. And we were both trying to fall asleep, but there was a sexual tension there that was keeping us both awake.

My cock was getting stiff again. So soon. And it was pressed against his butt. I mean, he had pajamas on, but my cock was pushing into the crack anyway.

"Do you want to put it inside me?" he asked me.

"I never did that before, but yeah, I guess so. Would you like that?"

"Yes. I want you inside me. Please."

I got a lot of spit on my hand and rubbed it around my dick and slowly pressed forward, after pulling off his pajama pants. The walls of his ass were squeezing around my dick, and it was so hot and so tight. I had fucked a lot of pussy, but this was a different feeling. This was so intimate.

"Is it okay?" I asked him.

"Yes. It feels wonderful," he told me, and wriggled his ass back upon my dick. We were side by side, but eventually I eased him over and I was lying on his back and I really started to fuck. What a feeling. And he was making all kinds of pleasure noises. It was so great. I started to kiss his neck and lick his ear. And then I knew I had to say it. I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I love you," I told him.

"I love you," he said, and we were both crying. Fucking and crying. Crazy guys.

"You're so handsome," he whispered. He had told me that once before.

"I know," I told him. "So are you."

"I am?"

"Yes," I said, and he really was. He was beautiful. Just a delicate little package in my hands that I could hold and cuddle, that I could kiss and make love to.

"I'm gonna come," I said.

"Come inside me," he said, so I brought myself to completion lying on his back. We lay there for a few minutes, in a post-fuck cloud of satisfaction. His ass muscles were still gripping onto my dick. I started to withdraw.

"Don't take it out," he told me.

"Okay," I said. And then he started to move us around so that we were both on our sides again, and his hand went down, and I knew that he was jacking off with his good hand, while squeezing onto my dick with his asswalls. It was hard for him with one arm still in a cast.

"Let me do that for you," I offered.

"Really?"

"Yes. I want to," I told him. And I reached around his waist and took his prick in my hand and I was still a little stiff inside him, so I fucked him as I jacked him, until he groaned and I felt his hot sticky milk shoot out onto my hand.

I didn't get up and go into the bathroom to wash. I lay there with my cock nestled in the warmth of his body, and we fell asleep. And that's the way we spent the whole night.

Little by little Nick got better and was able to go back to work. I had pretty well run out of cash by then, and naturally I had lost my old job because of you know. But luckily Nick was able to get me a job at the advertising agency where he wrote ad copy, even though I would only be working in the mailroom. I was grateful. It would have been hard for me to get a job without his help. After all, I now had a record.

We decided to pool our resources and take a larger apartment together. Professor Stoner said it would be all right. And yes, I do know that I'm a fag, but so what? I love Nicholas, and I am happy, and we are together.

Professor Stoner says I must take the treatment every week for the rest of my life, that there could still be a hidden danger lurking inside me. And I certainly wouldn't want to hurt my baby. So I go every week and look into those swimming pool eyes, and know that everything will be okay. Professor Stoner told me that as I am younger than he is and will probably outlive him, or if he is sick or anything, I am to go to the Mesmermentis Institute. Yeah. That's what it is called. My case is on record there, and they will know how to treat me in the event that he is unable to.

Tonight I cooked hamburgers again, in our new kitchen, and Nick and I sat across from each other at the little table, with the candle glowing between us, and in the semi-darkness, I stared into his eyes, and it was almost as if they were swirling. Just like Professor Stoner's. I just sat there eating my hamburger, and gazing crazily into Nick's swimming pool eyes.