The Dancer

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance it bears to real people or events is purely coincidental. This work contains graphic depictions of gay male sex, and anyone who does not meet the legal definition of an adult in his or her political jurisdiction must leave this work now. This work is being posted to the Nifty Archives. It may not be posted to any other medium without the written consent of its author.

The Dancer

Chapter One

I showed up at the address I had been given by Ben, the guy who runs the service, right on time. He had told me it was a gay party, so I was fully prepared to strip completely naked and jerk off. That was standard fare at gay events, and, frankly, they were my favorites. Now and then the guest of honor and I would spend an hour behind closed doors, doing whatever he wanted to do, but that was relatively rare.

When I rang the doorbell, the guy who had talked to Ben answered it.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Brian. The stripper."

"Oh, come on in. Damn, you're right on time. I'm Bernie. The guest of honor is Paul. It's his birthday, and he just turned forty."

"So, what do you want me to do," I asked. "Did Ben explain the options?"

"Yes, he did, and I think we want the jerk-off package."

"Cool," I said.

I loved doing the jerk-off package. For one thing, it cost two hundred bucks, instead of a hundred, so I made a hundred and fifty instead of fifty. For another thing, I really enjoy showing my stuff and jerking off in front of other guys. It usually happened that several would join me, and the whole room would sometimes turn into a giant orgy. That was cool.

That night it was a pretty large party, it looked like, as I glanced into the house and patio beyond. There were probably sixty guys there, and I pretty much figured it would turn into something wild. I set up my tape player and got ready to perform. Bernie showed me into a bedroom where I was to wait while he and a few other guys herded everybody into the living room for my act.

I'd been doing that kind of entertaining for about six months at that point. I had turned eighteen in October of my junior year of high school, my parents learned they were being sent to Afghanistan by Physicians International a week later, and together we decided I was old enough to stay in New Orleans on my own until I graduated from high school. I went to an all-boys Catholic high school that was supposed to be one of the best in the country, and they knew I'd never get the kind of education in Afghanistan I could get there. I had been dating an older guy for a couple of months--he was twenty-six to my eighteen--so I figured I'd do what he had wanted me to do and move in with him. My parents had arranged a pretty generous allowance for me, and I really didn't have to work. But shortly after they moved, I had gotten the chance, through Don, my boyfriend, to work as a stripper.

I had the body for it, that's for sure. I was six feet tall, weighed 180 pounds of almost all muscle (less than 5% body fat, thank you very much), and I had an uncut cock that was fully six inches long and five inches in circumference when it was soft. I worked several nights a week, and I usually made anywhere from five hundred to a thousand bucks a night, depending on tips and the kinds of shows they wanted. A lot of my work was with women, especially for bachelorette parties. If I fucked the guest of honor, I got three hundred. If I just stripped and danced in my g-string, I got a hundred. Either way, I had to give Ben $50. At gay affairs, the same rules applied, although there was the jerk-off gig for $200. If a guy and I went into a bedroom for real sex, it cost $300. My pricing structure was pretty elaborate.

Anyway, Bernie got all the guys inside and gave me the signal to start. I went out in really tight, really faded 501's, a tee shirt, and tennis shoes. I sang dirty lyrics to the music that played on my tape deck, and, gradually, I stripped to just a g-string. Then I rubbed my cock in the face of the guy who was being honored, and I got hard, as always. That happened to be a Friday night, and I had already fucked a girl at her birthday party an hour before, but I had no trouble boning up for this guy, who looked every bit of forty.

Anyway, I danced and sang, did the bump and grind, and, as I looked around the room, trying to draw the other guys into it as fully as possible, I noticed one of the coaches from school. I made eye contact with him and winked. The other guys noticed it, of course, and they went wild. The show went as it usually did. I got completely naked, got harder, and jerked off. I let the guy suck my cock a little bit, and that just about brought down the house. I wondered what the neighbors must have been thinking. The whole thing was over in forty-five minutes, and I stayed for another half hour walking around complete naked. I had a drink, as I usually did, smoked a cigarette, flirted with the guest of honor, and otherwise earned my money. When I left, Bernie gave me four hundred dollars, two hundred for the fee and two hundred for a tip.

I had some time to kill before my next appointment, so I stopped at McDonald's and got a Big Mac, fries, and a coke. Shit, I was working, and that was my lunch break, even if it was ten o'clock at night.

The next place was an all-girl bachelorette party, and all I did was a simple strip to my g-string. They paid me, gave me a fifty dollar tip, and I went home. It had been a pretty good night. I had made seven hundred bucks, after I gave Ben his cut, and I was happy with that. Damn happy, in fact.

Don was waiting up for me, as he always did on weekend nights.

"So, how'd it go," he asked, after he kissed me hello.

"Great. I did okay tonight."

"You want a drink," he asked.

"Yeah. Make me a scotch, will you?"

"One scotch, coming right up."

"What did you do tonight," I asked.

"Watched a movie on HBO, and then I surfed the Internet a while. I found a site that had some really cool .wav files. You'll have to listen to them."

Don was basically a computer nerd. He had a master's degree in computer science, and he worked as the systems administrator at a huge hospital. He knocked down $120K a year, and he was investing money hand over fist.

"Anything unusual about tonight," he asked.

"Not really. I fucked a birthday girl, jerked off for a middle-aged gay guy, and did the g-string routine for a bride-to-be. I made seven hundred bucks, though. Clear profit."

"Damn," he said. "I wish you'd teach me how to sing and dance."

That was a standard line between us. Don was a muscle stud and could have easily brought in a thousand bucks a night with his looks and build. The trouble was, he was uncoordinated as hell, when it came to dancing. Put him on a racquetball court or a golf course, and he was an all-star. Ask him to dance, and he was two left feet. Plus, he couldn't sing for shit.

"I saw a teacher from my school tonight. At the gay thing," I said.

"Did he recognize you, do you think," he asked.

"Oh, yeah. We made eye contact, and I winked at him."

Don laughed. "You should wink at him the same way every time you see him at school from now on," he said.

"I will. He's a P.E. coach, and he's pretty fucking cute. He was one of the younger guys there tonight."

"Well, don't let him mess with your mind, whatever you do."

"No way will that happen. If any mind is messed with, it'll be his."

Don and I went to bed around one. We made some serious love that night, and we had a good time. I really loved that guy. Still do, in fact.

I had to work again on Saturday night. I only did two weekend nights in a row once a month, and Don understood and accepted it. I got home around eleven, though, and we went out to eat. Sunday would be our day together, even if it didn't start until we woke up at noon.

Monday morning came much too early for me. Don and I had gone to bed early enough, but we fucked our brains out until after midnight. When our alarm clocks went off, neither of us wanted to get up.

But, life had to go on. We always made coffee and set the pot on a timer the night before. We were both hard as we made our bed, but those hard-ons were from having to piss, not from passion. Don had first dibs on the shower, so he stumbled into the bathroom and bathed. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, went outside and pissed in the yard, came in and turned on the TV, and settled back to watch the first part of the Today Show. I lit up my first Marlboro of the day, and settled back to watch Katie and Matt tell us about all the shit that was going on around the world.

By 7:20, Don was out of the shower and dressed for the day. He had on a navy suit, a red tie, and a white shirt. He looked so damn good I thought I would pop a woodie right there. I didn't, though, at least not a full one. I went in and took my shower and dressed for school. By the time I came out at 7:45, he was gone for the day. I had another cup of coffee and another cigarette. That would have to last me till break at 10:30, when I would buy a couple of sausage biscuits from the Burger King vendor in the cafeteria.

The school day went as usual. Math first period, English second, recess, and so on through my schedule.

And then came seventh period and P.E. That was usually my favorite period of the day. I loved sports, although I didn't play for the school, and I always enjoyed whatever physical activity the coaches had planned for us on any given day.

The school I went to was really strict, and the coaches minced no words in talking to us. We were in a volleyball unit at that time, and I played a hell of a good game.

"Maxwell," Coach Tate shouted, as the class was finishing. "You gotta run the bleachers. You can't get away with that shit."

Damn, I thought. I didn't realize he had seen me double hit the ball.

"Yes, sir," I shouted back. "How many, sir?"

"Thirty, Maxwell. Hit it."

Thirty, I thought. This fucker wants to kill me. The usual punishment for a rule infraction was three times.

"And I'm gonna watch every fucking one of them, Maxwell," he said.

Damn.

Well, I got started. Don and I worked out three or four times a week, if I wasn't working, and I was in really good shape. Running the bleachers was tough, but I knew I could handle it. True to his word, Coach Tate stood on the gym floor and counted for me. He let me off with only twenty, though, and I was about half dead.

"Let's go," he said.

He led me into the locker room.

"Get undressed," he said.

That was the usual procedure. I would take a shower, get dressed, collect my books from my locker, and go home.

I got undressed to go to the shower, but Coach said, "Not so fast. I want you in my office."

Jesus Christ, I thought. So I double hit a ball. I cheated, and I was wrong. But hadn't I been punished enough?

He led me into his office stark naked. Being naked didn't bother me, but I wasn't sure where this was going. Coach Tate was fat and ugly and not at all well built. If he wanted sex with me, it would take real effort on my part. Frankly, I was too tired just then to put out.

I started to sit in a chair in front of his desk.

"Stand up. I didn't give you permission to sit down."

I did as I was told.

Instead of going behind his desk and sitting down, he came and stood in front of me.

"How old are you, Maxwell?"

"I'm eighteen," I said.

"Don't you mean, 'I'm eighteen, coach'?"

"Yes, sir, coach. That's what I meant. I'm eighteen, Coach."

"What's all this shit on your chest?"

He was referring to my nipple rings, of course. Some of the guys had teased me when I had gotten them a few months before, but nobody commented on them anymore. He flicked them up and down a couple of times, and I felt myself starting to get aroused. No way did I want this fucker to get me hard, but I couldn't control the reaction.

"Coach, please take your hands off me," I said.

"I thought you might like that, Maxwell."

"I like it a lot, coach. You're starting to make me hard." Then I decided to see if I could take control of this situation. "Is that what you want to do, coach? To give me a hard-on?"

"That will arouse you sexually," he asked.

"Yes, sir. Look at my cock, sir. Can't you see it's getting bigger and harder? Can't you see you're giving me an erection." He looked down at my cock, and he saw that, indeed, it was getting hard. I didn't mind it, but I didn't want him to know that. "What are you, some kind of pervert?" I decided to play it up big. "Oh, God, coach. That feels so good." I said that in what I thought was my sexiest voice. "I've never seen anything like this," he said. "Since I had my nipples pierced, it's like they're hard-wired to my penis. If you play with them, sir, that gives me an erection."

"And what is this all about," he asked, running his hand over the tattoo I have just above my pubic hair line. I keep my bush cut short and shaved around the edges so it won't show in a g-string. I had had the tattoo put on a couple of months before. It was a small butterfly, very colorful, and he was fingering it.

"It's a tattoo," I said.

"Well, I can see that, shithead. Why do you have it there?"

"Business reasons, sir," I said. In a few seconds he took his hand away.

This guy was married and had two kids. His son had graduated the year before, and I knew him. I stood there in front of him half hard.

"How come you're eighteen and only a junior," he asked.

"That's a long story, sir," I said. "I spent the first eight years of school in France, and, when I came back here, they put me a grade lower than I was in in France because they didn't think I could speak English all that well."

"Do you speak French," he asked.

"Yes, sir. Do you?"

"Shut up. You know I don't."

"Sorry, sir. I just thought...."

"Is that why your cock is uncut? Cause you were born in France?"

"Uncut, Coach?"

"Uncircumcised. You know what the fuck I meant, Maxwell."

"Yes, sir. I guess so. Although I was born here in New Orleans. I thought all guys looked like me." I was fibbing big time, but I couldn't let this guy get away with that without putting him through the ringer.

"No, Maxwell, you're the odd man, here. Like you haven't noticed."

I didn't say anything, but I looked him squarely in the face.

"Pull the skin back," he said.

"I beg your pardon, coach," I said. I had heard him perfectly well, but I wanted to play with his mind a little.

"You heard me. I want to make sure you can retract it all the way. You uncut guys have to be especially careful when you bathe to make sure you clean that thing properly. You can't do it if you can't pull the skin all the way back."

I grabbed my cock in my left hand and held it at the base. I worked the skin back and forth with my right hand. I could see that Coach Tate was boned up under his sweats, and I was enjoying the hell out of it. I also got a lot harder, as rubbing your cock will make you do.

"If I keep doing this, I'll get as hard as you are, coach," I said. Then I winked at him.

"You little shitass. You got some mouth on you."

"I don't mind doing it, coach. And you can play with my nipples some more, if you want to. I don't mind getting hard for you. We can even jerk off together, if you want to. Or you can jerk me off. Or even suck me off. I love having that done to me, coach."

I could tell this guy was hot and bothered, and that he didn't know quite what to do with a kid like me.

"Coach Matthews has seen me jerk off. You should ask him about it. My cock gets really big, and I shoot a whole lot of cum. Do you like my hard meat? This really feels good, coach. I love jerking off, and I especially like doing it for another guy."

He was fiddling with his hard-on, but it looked like it was more to get comfortable inside his jockstrap than to play with it.

"You want me to keep on retracting my foreskin, coach? Or are you satisfied I can do it okay."

"Yeah. Cut it out and get the hell out of here."

I dropped my cock, but by then it stood straight up on its own. I didn't turn and run, though. Instead, I stood there watching him look at me. I knew he wanted to touch my cock, maybe even suck it, but I also knew he knew that was out of bounds. I tightened my butt muscles a few times, and my cock bounced up and down.

"Coach, why the fuck did you get me in here," I asked.

"Watch your mouth, boy."

"Ten minutes ago you were fondling my nipples, and then you made me just about jerk off. Now you're gonna get on me for saying 'fuck'? I might not be a minor, sir, but I'm still your student."

"What? Are you going to blackmail me? Is that it, you little shit?"

"Sir, I'm not the one who ordered me in here naked. I'm not the one who played with my nipples. I'm not the one who told me to jerk my cock."

He had a pack of Marlboros and a lighter on his desk. I didn't know if they were his or some he had lifted off a kid. I reached over and picked up the pack. I opened the box, popped one into my mouth, and lit up.

"I hope you don't mine if I smoke. I haven't had one since early this morning."

He was speechless at my audacity.

"So, you never did answer my question. Why did you make me do all of that? Do you find me attractive? It's okay if you do, man. A lot of guys do."

This poor guy was in agony. I figured Matthews had told him he had seen me at the party the previous Friday night, and I even thought the two of them might have something going on. I knew he spent a good portion of every day supervising a lockerroom full of naked high school studs, and, if he had any gay or bi tendencies, it must be a killer for him.

"You're a very striking boy," he said.

I started rubbing my cock again. A long string of precum dripped onto the floor. "And?"

"And just that. Please leave now, Brian. And please don't tell anybody about this. I should never have done what I did. I'm sorry I punished you, too, by making you run the bleachers." I could tell he was extremely nervous at that point and that I was in complete control.

"I needed the exercise, coach." With that, I flicked my butt out the open window behind him, turned around, and walked out.

I went into the shower room and turned on four of the shower heads. I wondered if he was watching me. The shower room was right next to his office, and there was a rumor around school that the mirror in the shower room was really one-way glass so the coaches could keep an eye on what went on in the showers without having to be present in the room. There was a curtain on a wall right next to the two desks that faced each other in the office, so the rumor was plausible.

My cock was still rock hard, so I decided to do something I had thought about a hundred times. I lay down on the floor of the shower room right in the middle. Steam was rising all around me. My cock stood up over my stomach about six inches, parallel to it. I had to piss, and I had always wanted to piss on myself and then jerk off. It's tough for me to piss through a hard cock, but, in a few minutes, after a good bit of concentration, my stream started trickling out. After a few seconds, it shot out with its usual force, and the stream landed high on my chest, right below my chin. I took my cock in my hand and sprayed myself all over with my piss. As I had imagined, it actually felt pretty good.

When I had finished pissing, I started stroking my erection. I have pretty good control over my ejaculations. I can make a beat-off session last a long time, or I can get it over with pretty quickly. Since I thought he might be watching, I decided to take a long time. I don't usually moan when I jerk off, but that time I did, really loud, in fact, for Coach Tate's benefit. I started thrusting up into my own fist after a while, and, pretty soon, I let my cum fly, and it splashed all over my chest. I scooped up as much as I could, walked over to the mirror, and wrote the name TATE on the mirror with my cum. I did it backwards so he could read it easily, if, in fact, he was watching. I then finished my shower, dressed, and went home.

That night, over dinner, I told Don everything that had happened.

"Whoooa, man," he said. "Are you going to tell the principal?"

"What would you do? If I told the principal, he'd probably expel me for being an exotic dancer. That isn't exactly consistent with the goals of the school, you know, and this isn't a public school where you have things like constitutional rights, and all. Plus, it would ultimately be Tate's word against mine, and he's been there a long time."

"Yeah, you're right. Shit, Brian, I don't know what I'd do. Maybe nothing."

"That's what I'm figuring. I've got the goods on Tate and Matthews, now, if I ever need to use 'em. And there were like sixty witnesses to Matthews' being at that party."

"You said Matthews was cute. Is Tate?"

I burst out laughing. "Yeah, like any bald, fifty-year-old guy with a forty-eight-inch waist. He sets a horrible example of a tight masculine physique. He must have a huge cock for me to even see it hard past that stomach of his."

Don laughed with me on that one.

The rest of the week went on as usual, with no more encounters with Coach Tate. I danced Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights, and, altogether, I earned $1,800.00 that week. It was kind of hectic, balancing school, work, homework, and Don, but I managed. The next week was Spring Break, and I was eagerly looking forward to that.

Don took the week off. He got six weeks of vacation a year, but he rarely took any of it. That week, though, we went to Panama City Beach in Florida, and we had a blast. We discovered there was a nude beach not far from where we were staying, and we went there every day to tan our hides. At night, we made the club scene. All things considered, it was a perfect vacation. When it was time to go back to school, I had pretty much forgotten all about Coach Tate, Coach Matthews, and all of that shit.

The first day back at school was hell, of course. I desperately wanted a cigarette by ten the first morning. I had been smoking any time I wanted to the week before, and I was paying the price of withdrawal. Seniors were allowed to go off campus for lunch second semester, and that day I snuck out with some of them so I could smoke. I was a bad boy.

Coach Tate wasn't there for seventh period P.E. that first day back. He and his wife had gone to visit their son at Duke University, and they weren't back yet because of some airline glitch. Coach Matthews took the class in his absence. I had only seen him a few times on campus since that party I had danced at, and every time I saw him I winked at him as I had done that night. He usually turned a couple of shades of red and pretended he hadn't seen me. I got a kick out of watching him squirm.

In general, though, I didn't have anything against the guy, but he did something during that class that really pissed me off. There were three effeminate guys in the class. When one of them missed a hard spike in a volleyball game, he shouted, "Get it. What are you, a girl?" The other guys laughed, and I could tell the boy was embarrassed really badly. I made up my mind right then to get his ass. After class, I hung around in the gym by myself shooting baskets with the volleyball until I figured everyone was out of the lockerroom. Then I went in and showered. I didn't get dressed, though. Instead, I went into the coaches' office to talk to Coach Matthews, stark naked. I had a small tape recorder that I used in class sometimes if a teacher was lecturing too fast for me to take good notes. I turned it on "record" and wrapped it up in my towel, which I took with me.

"Hi. You mind if I come in," I asked, as I knocked on the door. He was doing something in his grade book. When he looked up and saw me naked, he did a double take.

"Why aren't you dressed," he asked.

"Cause I just got out of the shower, man. Besides, you've seen me naked before. I've got nothing to hide from you or be ashamed of."

He blushed a little.

"I've been wanting to talk to you since you saw me dance at that party a few weeks ago."

"Look, er, Maxwell, is it? I really don't have time to talk right now."

"Yes, you do."

He got an exasperated look on his face. "Okay, what?"

"Well, are you gay?"

"Er, I can't see how that could possibly be any of your business," he said.

"Well, ordinarily it wouldn't be. I am, by the way. I'm gay. Or bisexual, maybe. I live with a guy who is my lover, but I fuck girls, too. Not romatically but as part of my job as a dancer."

"Er, ..."

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

"Son, how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen. I'll be nineteen in October. How old are you?"

He didn't answer right away, but in a few seconds he said, "I'm twenty-three."

"Man, we're almost the same age. Cut the 'son' shit, okay?"

I grinned at him, and he sort of smiled in return.

"Okay, Brian."

"That's better, man. You got a smoke on you?"

"What?"

"You heard me. I know you smoke because I saw you smoking that night. You got a cigarette I can bum?"

He reached into his brief case and tossed a soft pack of Malboros on the desk. I took one out.

"You got a light?"

He handed me his lighter and fired up one for himself.

"Now what is it you want from me, Brian? Yeah, I'm gay. I have been all my life. So what?"

"So nothing," I said, "except that you and Coach Tate make fun of effeminate guys."

Silence.

"You guys act toward them like you think they're gay and that being gay is like being the scum of the earth."

More silence.

"It's gotta stop, man. You've got to stop razzing those guys. They can't help the way they are, and you fucking well know it. You embarrassed the shit out of that kid today, and you only added to the humiliation he has to put up with every day from the other guys."

"Well, no guy has to be effeminate."

"Oh, man. Get a life! I probably know three hundred gay guys, and maybe fifty of them are effeminate. Some more than others, of course. But you can't judge a guy by the way he holds his wrist. Surely you know that."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you and I are gay. And so is Coach Tate, I think. We happen to be the masculine type of gay guys, so nobody thinks we're gay. Those poor fuckers who are limp-wristed may or may not be gay. But we know we are, man. So why pick on 'em?"

"I do it to keep my image up." He spoke softly, almost apologetically.

"Well, you don't need to, man. What's your first name?"

"Eric. Why?"

"Just wondering. That's a real masculine name. You're a real masculine guy, well built, very cute looking."

He smiled when I said that, but blushed a little, too.

"You didn't think I had noticed," I asked.

"Well..."

"And you think I'm cute, too, don't you?"

He didn't say anything.

"Don't you think I'm cute?"

"Yes. I think you're very cute. And very hot."

I started toying with my foreskin.

"And if you don't stop doing that, I'm gonna cream my pants."

I laughed, and he finally saw the humor in what he had said and laughed, too.

I turned around to shut and lock the office door. I looked behind the small curtain that was right over the desk, and, sure enough, it was a window into the shower room. I could still see the faint outline of TATE spelled out in my cum.

"What the hell are you doing," he asked.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm just letting you know I'm ready if you are. You want me, don't you?"

"God, Brian, don't do this to me. You know I want you. But I'd lose my job so fast it would make your head swim if anyone found out that you and I had sex anywhere, much less here."

"Well, I'm damn sure not going to tell. And I figure you won't. Does Coach Tate know you're gay?"

"Yes. And you're right. He's gay, too, or bi. We ran into each other at a gay bar when I was a sophomore in college. I had gone to school here, so we already knew each other. When he hired me, he said he was glad to be out to someone at school and that he and I would get along fine."

"You guys ever do anything?"

"Oh, shit, man. Don't ask me that."

"I take that to be a 'yes.'"

The whole time this conversation was going on, I was rubbing my foreskin back and forth over the head of my cock. By then, I was rock hard, and the head of my cock was slick with precum. I walked around to where he was sitting and stood in front of him. I didn't say anything, but my cock was in a place where he could take it into his mouth if he wanted to with minimal effort. A long string of precum dripped off the end and onto the floor.

I could tell the guy was in agony. I knew he badly wanted to suck my dick. His hand moved toward it tentatively. Then he took it and licked the head under my skin.

"Oh, man. I've always wanted to do that. I've never been with an uncut guy before."

"Did you like doing it," I asked coyly.

"Yeah. It's so soft and smooth, but hard at the same time."

"Stand up," I said, and he complied.

"I see you're boned up pretty good here, Eric." I started rubbing his cock through the tight polyester shorts he was wearing, and he moaned audibly. I pulled his shorts down, and he stepped out of them. He was naked underneath, no jockstrap or anything. "Let's take care of each other," I said, as I pulled him to the floor.

We quickly got into the sixty-nine position, and we were slurping and sucking on each other in an instant. He was definitely a moaner, and I did my share of moaning, too.

"God, you suck good cock," I said.

"You ain't so bad yourself," he said.

We continued sucking and slurping each other for a few more minutes. He pulled off me and told me he was about to come. I did the okay sign with my hand to let him know I'd take his load. He put my cock back in his mouth, and, within seconds, we both came. We licked each other clean, and then he kissed me. I returned the kiss with as much passion as it had been given.

"You're a great guy, Eric. So how about letting up on the fem guys?"

"I'll try, Brian. That's all I can promise. It's an old habit, though."

"Old habits can be broken, though."

"I know. And I know you're right. And look, let's don't do this again, okay? Let's wait until you graduate. Then we can have a giant suckfest. I know Tate will want in on it, too."

"Okay, Eric. One more kiss before I go?"

He leaned forward, and we kissed deeply.

"That's enough, now. If we do that again, I'll be hard again in no time," he said.

"Sure, coach." With that I picked up my towel and tape recorder, and left the office.

Don's brother Mike, who is also gay, often ate with us on Monday nights. I'm not sure why or how it started, but he was there that night. After dinner, I told them the story of what had happened at school and played the tape for them.

"Jesus Christ, you're a ballsy guy," Mike said.

"Well, I'm proud as hell of you, Brian," Don said.

"Oh, me, too," Mike interjected. "I just don't think I would have had the balls to do that."

"What are you going to do with the tape," Don asked.

"Nothing. Unless Eric doesn't stop making fun of guys."

"What's this guy's full name," Mike asked.

"Eric Matthews. He's twenty-three. Do you know him?"

"His voice sounded really familiar to me," Mike said. He, too was twenty-three.

"I know. It sounded familiar to me, too," Don said. "Wasn't there an Eric Matthews who lived down the street from us when we were kids?"

"There damn sure was. We were pretty good friends, too, he and I. We never did anything sexual, but he sure was cute. I'll bet it's the same guy."

"Damn. Wouldn't that be a coincidence," I said. "Did you know he was gay?"

"I sure didn't. Hell, I haven't thought about him in years. I'd like to meet up with him again, though," Mike said. Mike had had boyfriends off and on over the years, but he was currently looking.

"We could have him over," Don said. "He knows all three of us, so it won't be awkward."

"You want me to ask him," I asked.

"Sure," Mike said. "You never know what might develop."

Coach Tate wasn't there the next day either, so Eric had the class again. Ordinarily, seventh period was a planning time for him, and he got roped into taking over for Tate. The class went extremely well. I saw him talking privately with the guy he had insulted the day before. They shook hands when the conversation was finished, so I assumed Eric must have apologized. The boy was smiling when he rejoined the group. Later, I saw him talking to one of the other effeminate boys who was a friend of his, and they did a high-five at the end of their conversation. I was proud of Eric for apologizing, especially since I hadn't even mentioned that.

After I showered and got dressed, I went to the coaches' office.

"You got a minute?"

He smiled. "Yeah, but leave the door open."

I laughed.

"Did you apologize to that kid for yesterday?"

He nodded. "I thought about what you said all last night, and I felt really stupid and guilty. Thanks, Brian."

"Listen, the reason I came in here wasn't really about that. Last night, my boyfriend and his brother and I were talking about you, and. . ."

"Is this going to embarrass me?"

"Oh, no. I told them what happened, though. It turns out, they both know you. Or, at least, they think they do. Don and Mike Eubanks? Do those names sound familiar?"

It took about a second for him to remember. Then he broke out into a broad grin. "Do they? I had a crush on Don for years when I was a kid. I never imagined he was gay, though."

"Well, he is gay, and he is spoken for. By me."

"Damn."

"Mike's gay, too. We were wondering if you'd like to have dinner with us sometime."

"Mike's gay? You're shitting me."

"I'm not shitting you. What about dinner?"

"Man, I'd love to. When were you thinking?"

"How about tonight," I asked.

"Sure. That would be great. God, I can't believe it. The Eubanks brothers both gay, and you and all..."

"Seven o'clock good for you?" I wrote down our address.

"Sure. I'll see you then."

I called Don from my car phone and told him Eric had accepted. He sounded genuinely pleased and said he'd call Mike. We talked about the menu, and we decided to make it simple. I would stop at the grocery store on my way home and pick up some nice steaks. We'd cook those on the grill, bake some potatoes, make a salad, steam some broccoli, and serve a cake from the bakery.

Eric got there promptly at seven. Mike was already there, as were Don and I, and we settled down for drinks. Eric and the brothers got reacquainted, talked about guys they had known, and generally decided they had all been fools not to come out to one another back in the eighth grade. I did the cooking, and, if the compliments were sincere, everyone enjoyed it. Mike and Eric left together to "go have a drink," but Don and I were pretty sure what would really happen that night. The next day in school, Eric thanked me for a wonderful evening.

"Mike and I are going to see each other again," he told me.

"That's great. You're both really nice guys, and I hope you enjoy each other."