The Truth

Jesus said, "...you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John 8:32

In modern times, an anonymous, but equally wise man said, "ALL MEN must know the truth to make a GAY MAN free."

THE TRUTH

BY: MOORE

PART TWO

CHAPTER FIVE

Several months after the anniversary dinner Steven Rogers was made a vice president at the investment bank where he worked. Along with the promotion came the assignment to conduct an on-site financial review of Music and More, a company he'd been following. His company was prepared to make a substantial investment if Steven's report was favorable. Norma was pleased with the big increase in Steven's salary, angry that he'd be away for her parent's annual Memorial Day party at their house on Long Island.

"How long will you be gone?" She asked as he packed his bag.

"Two days, maybe three."

"Three days! Don't they know it's a holiday?"

"This is a big opportunity, Norma, and I don't want to blow it. I discovered this company, I want to visit the store and talk to the people...try to understand, huh?"

Norma stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She barely acknowledged Steven when he came out, suitcase in hand, ten minutes later. "I'll call you from the hotel when I get to Utica, okay?"

"You'll be busy, don't bother."

The long drive cooled off his anger and after a good night's sleep he was looking forward to his meeting at the offices of Music and More. Introductions were made, Rogers met over a dozen men over coffee and danish. The faces and names blurred together in his mind. Two men remained when they got down to business.

"I'm impressed with the top line growth," he told John Stokes, the chief financial officer. "Cash flow's negative, but better than last quarter. What's the projection for the next fiscal year?"

John Stokes, a thirty year old Harvard MBA, was a big, ruddy faced fellow. A man's man, his hunting buddies called him. Women found him irresistible and he enjoyed a very active sex life.

"Negative again in 1974," Stokes stated honestly. "Because we'll be investing heavily in new locations. In two years we plan to have stores on thirty college campuses and after that, with your firm's money financing the expansion, there'll be a Music and More on every campus in the country."

Steven joined in the laughter. "And profits? You plan on making any money with my firm's money?"

"Millions," came back the swift reply from Peter Kurlinger, the sixty year old president of the company. "College kids'll pay up for the latest albums and tapes of their favorite groups. My teenage grandchildren spend a fortune on music."

The discussion continued through lunch and beyond. At four o'clock Steven called things to a halt. "Let's continue tomorrow, gentlemen, I'd like to see the store this afternoon."

He waived off Kurlinger's offer to join him on the store visit. "Thanks, Peter, but I'd rather go as a regular customer, not part of an official tour." Alone, he could evaluate things for himself, talk to the employees and customers to get a feel for the business.

Steven Rogers taste in music ran towards Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett. Other than the Beatles, he hardly recognized any of the names on the huge number of LP's, cassettes and eight tracks that Music and More carried in stock. "Impressive," he said, more to himself than to the employee artfully arranging a display of Bruce Springsteen albums.

"You think so?" The young man said without looking up from his task.

"Yes, I do. Look at all this."

"It could be better."

"Really? How?"

His eyes were the first thing Steven noticed when the young man turned to face him. They were so captivatingly blue and the dark eyelashes so long that Steven had to force himself to look away. "How could it be better?" He asked again as the fellow rose to his feet.

"Andy Wagner, I'm an associate here. You really want to know?"

"Steven Rogers, investment banker," Rogers said, taking the extended hand in his own and holding it a bit longer than necessary. "Yes, I really do since my firm is considering a substantial investment in the company."

Andrew Wagner, a brilliant twenty one year old undergraduate student with a double major in psychology and marketing, gave Steven Rogers a subtle, yet careful look. He saw a good looking man...a desirable man a few years older than himself...and a wedding ring. The longish handshake and initial stare at his eyes had not gone unnoticed.

Andrew Wagner was a homosexual. Quiet, discrete when the situation required it, open and often promiscuous with other gays. After years of anguish and torment he was completely at ease with his sexual orientation. High school had been particularly difficult because of his low self esteem, he'd nearly dropped out. And he'd done some very foolish things to gain acceptance with a group of boys who used his vulnerability and ended up violating his trust.

All that changed the summer before his senior year when, at the unofficial suggestion of his forward thinking guidance counselor, he began an exhaustive research project on the history and psychology of homosexuality. The completed project, worthy of a Ph.D. scholar, opened his eyes to a great many things. Not the least of which was the understanding that homosexuality was not a disease.

"I was born feeling this way, Dr. Harris, born a homosexual," he confided in his counselor. "You too, huh?"

"We'll keep that between us, shall we?" George Harris replied with a wink. "You've got a brilliant mind, Andy, use it. Make something of yourself."

Andrew Wagner succeeded beyond his own expectations. He was still an active homosexual, even promiscuous at times. But now he understood what drove him to shallow relationships with other gays and what fueled his weakness for straight men. Though he rarely let sex interfere with his studies or goal of becoming a psychologist.

"I've done a study of the business," Andy said. "Would you like to hear about it, Mr. Rogers?"

"Call me Steven, okay? And yes I would."

Steven listened closely for the better part of an hour, impressed with Andy and his views on the music industry and retailing.

"Have you discussed any of this with management?" Steven asked. Music and More could benefit greatly from Andy's insight, which in turn would benefit Steven's position in his firm.

"I tried, even drafted a detailed proposal, but no one in the front office wants to see it." What Andy didn't say was that no one took him seriously because it was rumored that he was a homosexual.

"I'd love to see it. Do you have a copy here at the store?"

Steven failed to notice the fleeting smile that crossed Andy's face or the twinkle in his blue eyes or the slight swelling behind the fly of his well pressed khakis. This is too easy, Andy thought as the dull evening he had planned suddenly brightened. His sixth sense about Steven Rogers said maybe, the wedding ring he wore hadn't stopped other married men from enjoying his sexual skills. Andy decided to go with his instincts. If I don't get to suck your cock, Mr. Rogers, he thought, at least I'll have some fun trying and a laugh watching you scramble out of my apartment.

"I have the proposal at home and I'd love to show it to you. My place is close by, ten minutes by car."

The thought that he was being picked up never entered Steven's mind as he followed Andy home in his own car. He was taken with the charming young man, but this was strictly business.

"Drink?" Andy offered after showing Steven around the one bedroom apartment.

"Yeah, sure. What have you got?"

"Hard or soft?"

"Hard's good, it's after five. Have you got any scotch?"

Andy couldn't resist a doubled edged reply. "Coming right up. Hey, sorry about the heat...the AC's busted."

"It is hot in here."

"Take off your suit coat and loosen your tie." Take off everything, he thought to himself. "Get comfortable while I get the drinks and the proposal."

Andy dashed into his bedroom and stripped down to his bikini briefs. Down boy, he thought, scratching his balls and adjusting his thin, silver cock ring. We don't want to scare Mr. Rogers away before we make our move. He put on a cut-off tank top that ended well above his naval and was stepping into a pair of jogging shorts when he made the decision to forego the underwear.

Steven did a double take when Andy returned with the drinks in one hand, a thick binder in the other and a very obvious bulge in his crotch. "I decided to get comfortable too," Andy said as he placed the binder on the coffee table. He looked directly into Steven's eyes for a long moment, then slowly let his gaze wander down to Steven's crotch. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I, ah, no." Steven pointed to the binder to draw attention away from his own slightly aroused state. "Is that your proposal?"

Among others, Andy thought, opening the binder.

Steven had trouble concentrating as Andy, sitting across from him, flipped through the binder. His eyes kept drifting between Andy's handsome face and well muscled stomach, and the thin trail of hair that disappeared into his shorts. Steven suspected that Andy was not wearing underwear, a suspicion that proved correct when Andy sat back in his chair and spread his legs.

"I should go," Steven said nervously while staring at the testicles that had slipped out the leg of Andy's shorts.

Andy adjusted his position slightly which caused the head of his penis to join his exposed balls. "Stay a while longer, have another drink while we discuss another proposal."

"I uh." Steven's brain thought one thing, what he felt at this moment and what came out of his mouth quite another. "Well, maybe one more."

A confident Andrew Wagner was bare chested when he came back with the second round of drinks. This time he sat next to Steven on the couch and made his not so subtle move. "I'm gay," he volunteered, resting his hand on Steven's thigh."

"I kind of thought so," Steven replied, shifting slightly to relieve the growing stress in his crotch.

Andy moved his hand to the cause of Steven's discomfort and squeezed the bulge lightly. "I'd like to propose that I take care of this for you."

The pick-up might still end badly with a black eye or a bloody nose, and the echo of goddamn queer ringing in his ears. It had happened to Andy before even when all the signs, as they did now, pointed to success. This guy wore a wedding ring and guilt might cause him to react violently or just take his stuff and leave.

Steven shivered under Andy's light touch. He did feel a touch of guilt, but not about Norma who was the furthest thing from his mind. It was Larry he thought about as his penis grew fully erect under Andy's hand. What would Larry say?

Andy was further encouraged by Steven's growing erection and continued silence, but still proceeded cautiously. "I think you're thinking what I'm thinking," he said, rubbing lightly. Then moved his lips close to Steven's ear. "If it's okay with you, Steven," he whispered, "I'd really like to suck your cock."

Steven Rogers didn't say no and he didn't say yes. All he said between short little breaths was, "Hurry."

In the twink of an eye, Andy had Steven's pants and shorts down around his ankles. One moment more and he had the length of him in his mouth. Not a moment too soon because nothing less than an act of god was going to stop Steven's orgasm. The quick, explosive ejaculation of semen hit Andy in the back of his mouth. Though caught unaware by the force and the volume of the blast, Andy recovered quickly, controlled his gag reflex and let the oyster of semen slide down his throat.

Wow, Andy thought as Steven thrust up into his mouth and unloosed a second and third volley of sperm. This guy packs quite a load. Andy swallowed it all. Then, grasping firmly to the lower half of Steven's cock, he savored the weaker spurts and dribbles, holding the warm semen in his mouth as the climax sputtered to a mutually satisfying close.

Steven, gasping for breath, remained hard in Andy's sperm-slick mouth. A few deep sucks and tongue twirls from Andy and he was ready to climax again. Andy sensed it too and he purposely toyed with Steven's cock and balls. Several minutes of exquisite oral torture had Steven thrashing on the couch and begging for a second release.

Andy backed off. "What's the rush to cum?" he said. "Make it last."

Steven took a moment to catch his breath before responding. "I feel like my balls are going to explode."

"Feels great, right? Being on the edge?"

"Incredible. You're incredible, Andy."

"So I've been told, but we've only just begun. The blow job was just the beginning...I can hardly wait to feel your cock in me."

Steven hid his shock and excitement behind a nervous laugh. He and Larry never spoke like this, so candidly about gay sex. Larry never sucked his cock like Andy had either. This was like his fantasies, better even because Andy was real. "You don't mean, uh..."

"In my ass, yeah," Andy piped up when Steven hesitated. "Better, tighter than any woman you've ever been with."

Andy lowered his head and kissed away the precum that had bubbled from the tip of Steven's penis. "Suck it, please," Steven pleaded, thrusting up as Andy toyed with his cock. "I'll do...oh my god, yes that feels so good."

All that remained for Andy to discover, to make this a truly memorable encounter, was to find out if Steven would reciprocate. Andy frequently came on to interesting straight guys, luring them back to his place for a drink or to watch a game. It was fun, a challenge, albeit slightly dangerous if he didn't select his targets with care.

The key to reciprocation was to get the guy's clothes off and get him into the shower shortly after the first blow job. Soapy, wandering hands and slippery naked bodies rubbing together...almost anything could happen.

"Why don't you take off the rest of your clothes?" Andy suggested. "You'll be more a lot more comfortable."

"You think?"

"Absolutely. C'mon, get naked and we'll take a shower to cool off before you fuck me."

Steven stripped quickly, shedding all but the last of his fears and inhibitions with his shoes and knee-high socks. His first look at Andy's erection put him over the edge. Hard again, he followed Andy to the bathroom and into the stall shower. Andy washed him from head to toe, sucked his testicles briefly, then held out the bar of soap to see if the fish would take the bait.

"My turn," Steven gasped, taking the soap in his trembling hand.

Steven got as far as Andy's hairless chest before dropping to his knees. He gently stroked Andy's erection, examined the cock ring and hefted Andy's tight scrotum. Andy waited patiently while Steven explored his crotch, warding off the urge to climax. When Steven kissed the very tip of his penis Andy knew that his patience was about to be rewarded. What he didn't know was how well.

Steven gave it his all; kissing, licking, sucking until a pleasantly surprised Andy was shaking like a leaf. "I'm close," he warned. "Very close."

Straight males could be cajoled into fellatio, Andy's research had revealed, and retain the ability to rationalize the act afterwards. Ejaculating in a straight guy's mouth was dicey. The warmish spurts and unique, lingering taste of semen in his mouth could quickly turn a straight guy nasty. "I'm close," Andy said again. "You better back off."

Steven backed off, but only long enough to kiss Andy's drawn up testicles before catching Andy's eye. "It's okay, Andy. I know what's coming and I want it," he said, placing his hands on Andy's thighs.

"You're sure?" Andy teased, backing up a step. Surprised first by Steven's wandering hands and then by the pleading tone in his voice as Steven leaned forward.

"I'm sure, please, I want you cum," Steven said into Andy's blue eyes. The embodiment of every fantasy he'd ever had was at hand. "I want to suck your cock...I want you to cum in my mouth."

"You're one helluva cocksucker," Andrew Wagner shouted as his orgasm hit. A final deep thrust and he gave Steven Rogers exactly what he wanted.

Satisfied for the moment, they dried each other with one threadbare towel, then padded naked into the bedroom. They lay side by side on the narrow bed, exhausted from their efforts, but showing signs of an imminent recovery. Steven placed his left hand on Andy's half hard penis and asked why he wore the cock ring.

"Because it feels good," Andy responded, then asked a question of his own. "What about your ring? Are you really married?"

"Yeah, I am," Steven chuckled. "Almost four years."

Andy was surprised, even doubted the truthfulness of the answer. He knew closeted homosexuals that wore wedding rings as a prop to fend off awkward or embarrassing questions and the unwanted advances of single women. The naked man in his bed, fondling him...the man who had sucked his cock so well and swallowed his sperm...this man was no stranger to homosexual sex.

"Shit, I forgot to call her."

Andy, skeptical, took the phone off the night table. "Here, use my phone."

Steven dialed his home number, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. Norma couldn't see him, but the idea of speaking to his wife from a young man's bed; naked and with the taste of semen still fresh in his mouth was totally off the wall. He was about to hung up when the machine picked up with Norma's voice message.

'You've reached the home of Norma and Steven Rogers. Please leave a brief message after the tone.'

He left a short, cheery message, then started to laugh.

Andy laughed with him because he'd also heard Norma's message. She was not only real, but really the wife of the man in his bed. "She doesn't know, does she?" He asked.

"Not a clue."

"When did you start? Before or after the wedding?"

"A few years before. A friend from high school. He's married too and our wives are best friends. What about you, Andy? When did you find out that you were a homosexual?"

"I've always been a homosexual," Andy replied. "Sexual orientation is determined at conception...It's in our genes. How you find out that you're gay and when you have sex with a guy for the first time is a different issue."

Andy briefly explained his research to a very interested listener. Born a homosexual, Steven thought, intrigued by the idea. "Okay then, how did you find out?"

"By looking at Playboy magazine," Andy said. "The women did nothing for me, unlike my best friend who went crazy over their breasts. We were thirteen years old, junior high, and the pictures of naked women left me cold. One issue had a naked guy with the girl, no dick showing, but my dick turned to stone. I jerked off with that picture for months."

"I used an ad for Hanes underwear," Steven volunteered with a laugh.

Andy edged closer to Steven, ran his hand along the inside of Steven's thigh and under his testicles. "I confided in my friend, swore him to secrecy. After I told him I thought I was a homosexual, he laughed in my face and he never spoke to me again. He spoke about me though, before he moved away, to an older boy who let me know that he knew my secret and what he expected in return for his silence."

"Blackmail, shit. What did you do?"

"What he wanted, a hand job, but not for the reason you're thinking. I couldn't be blackmailed because I wanted to do it. Touching his cock, jerking him off was half of my wet dream come true. Sucking his cock the following day, making him cum in my mouth, was the other half. He told his twin brother and that's where it stopped, blowing just the two of them until I got to high school."

Andrew Wagner rarely spoke about his high school years. He did so now despite the emotional anguish it caused because he wanted to share his experiences with Rogers. They'd only just met, but he felt closer to Steven Rogers than to any person, gay or straight, he'd ever known before. And further, he felt he could trust this man who had put his trust in him.

"I was a common slut my first three years in high school," he began. "The go-to-guy for a blow job when you were feeling horny and felt like blowing a load. Why jerk off like a kid...deal with the sticky mess, everybody quickly realized, when good old handy Andy Wagner's faggot mouth was always willing and available to suck your cock and swallow the spunk from your balls? I spent more time on my knees in the locker room than a Roman Catholic priest in church, more time with a hard dick between my lips than a two buck whore. I ate enough cum to fill a thousand rubbers."

Steven hugged a trembling Andy to his breast. "You don't have to do this."

Andy kissed Steven and said, "I want to tell you..I need to, okay?"

"Sure, Andy, I'll listen if you need to talk."

"I voluntarily sucked off the football team, some thirty guys. Blew them all the night before every game. And blew them all again after each win...in the locker room if it was a home game, in the back of the bus if we were the visiting team. We had a good team," Andy said with a chuckle. "I sucked a lot of sweaty, post-game cocks and took a lot of ribbing from guys I mistakenly thought were my friends."

Rogers grew sad and angry as Andy described at length the sexual harassment he had endured. Grew aroused by the mental image of thirty naked teenaged boys with hardons and the closeness of the naked young man in his arms.

"Not one single boy called me Andrew or Andy anymore. I answered to cocksucker and faggot and queer...scumbag was popular for a while, until junior year when the girls objected to that name."

"Girls?"

"The giggling girls who watched me go down on their boyfriends. The few easy, more adventurous girls who had sex with their boyfriends, using condoms. They laughed while I sucked, called me a faggot or queer, not cocksucker much because they were probably doing it too. They thought the word scumbag was nasty."

Rogers was appalled and painfully erect. "Girls watched you?"

"It was pretty embarrassing for me and them at first, but I guess the boyfriends wanted them to learn from the master cocksucker. We were all getting older and wiser, straight guys were finding girls for straight sex. I was the only homosexual in a small town and fewer guys needed or wanted blow jobs from the queer boy. Bad for their macho image, I guess, getting sucked off by a fag. It was far more embarrassing, humiliating really, watching money change hands for the use of my mouth."

"No."

"Oh, yes," Andy said, "My good friends sold my services, pimped me for cash like a street walking whore. Ten dollar blow jobs at the truck-stop motel on the interstate, no charge for seconds. Ten, twenty, thirty drivers...who could keep count. Beer and pretzels on the dresser, a regular all-night party in the cocksucker's mouth and everybody came from miles around. When the room got to hot and stinky from sweat and cum, they'd haul me outside and hose me down with piss while it aired out. I got a buck for every driver I sucked off. The rest of the money went to the guys that drove me there. I didn't have a car."

"Stop, Andy, no more. I'm so sorry."

"Let me finish," Andy said. "There's a happy ending."

Rogers forced a smile and nodded.

"I had sunk so low that the only way was up. Dr. George Harris, my guidance counselor and a closeted homosexual saved my life. He saw where I was headed and bravely came out to me. We had sex once, tender loving sex for one beautiful night, then he guided me back to what he called a normal homosexual existence in a homophobic world."

Andy was finished now, he had nothing more to say. Steven cradled him in his arms, showered him with kisses, and then, driven by forces that welled up from within...they made passionate, tender love.

"This is so right," Andy said, wrapping his legs around Steven's waist. "Hold still for a minute. I want to feel you inside me, remember this moment."

Steven Rogers had never felt such pleasure or felt so close to another human being in his life. Far more than his cock was inside this very special young man. "I love you," he whispered as they easily moved together as one. "Love you," he cried out loud at the height of his climax, as his love and life giving semen flowed deep into Andrew Wagner.

Barely recovered from his climax, Steven rolled to his back, pulling Andy on top of him. "Make love to me now," he said nervously.

Andy knew the answer, but asked the question anyway. "First time?"

"I feel like a blushing bride."

"I'll be gentle, dear," Andy laughed. "Deflowering virgins is my specialty."

Steven laughed too. "Take me, darling, ravish me," he joked. "I want to have your baby."

Andy prepared Steven carefully with his mouth and generous amounts of Anal-Eze before easing one and then two fingers into his rectum. "I'm okay," Steven hissed through clenched teeth despite the burning sensation. "I thought it would be worse."

Andy withdrew his fingers and reached for a condom. Steven shook his head no. "Fuck me, lover boy, I'm on the pill," he joked through his tears.

"It'll be easier on you, less painful if I use a lubricated condom," Andy said, hovering between Steven's trembling legs. Steven wouldn't allow it.

"No condom," Steven insisted, spreading his legs even wider. "I want to feel your bare cock inside me as deep as you can go. I want your semen in me, not in some condom, millions of your sperm a part of me forever."

Steven got his wish and after Andy's climax they shared every physical intimacy that two human beings could share. Freely, without the least bit of shame or hesitation, pleasuring each other unselfishly until their sweaty bodies were spent. And then they talked. Talked and laughed for hours like an old married couple. And when they could, when erections returned with a little oral encouragement, they coupled again for the sheer joy of being inside each other.

Exhaustion finally overcame desire and they slept. Like innocent babies they slept, safe and secure in each others arms until Andy's alarm clock went off at six.

"Last night was wonderful," Steven said for the third time as Andy refilled his coffee cup.

"And this morning?" Andy asked, leaning across the table and playfully kissing Steven's nose. "You didn't like the blow job?"

Steven took Andy's face in his hands and kissed him on the lips. "This morning wasn't too bad either. Waking up with my cock in your mouth, your cock in my face...I could get used to a morning blow job from you, and the taste of your sweet cream before I've had my coffee." Steven sipped from his cup and set it back down on the table. "I know it's not possible, but I'd like to cancel my meetings and spend the day with you."

"With me or in me?" Andy said, rising from his chair. He was naked, erect, as was a smiling Steven who rose and followed close behind. Andy knelt at the foot of his bed, forearms resting on the mattress. He wiggled his rear, seductively and shuddered when Steven's probing tongue found his anus.

"You're a fast learner," Andy said over his shoulder when Steven spread his cheeks with one hand and guided his cock home with the other. "Your dick's got a mind of its own."

"Had a good teacher," Steven said between short and long strokes. "I don't know about your great ass, but my ass will never be the same. I've lost count of the times you've been inside me. You're gonna fuck me after I cum, right?"

Andy took his hand off his hard-on before answering. Steven's cock in his ass, grazing his prostate, had him close to a climax and he didn't want to cum. "Absolutely."

Steven showered alone in Andy's shower. Shaved with his razor and brushed his teeth with Andy's toothbrush. "What time do you have to be at work?" He asked, hanging Andy's towel on the rod.

Andy leaned forward from his seat on the toilet bowel, playfully kissing Steven's cock and balls before answering. "I have to be at the store by eleven. I'm supposed to work until seven, but I'll get somebody to cover for me so I can be back here by five. This little bad boy'll be up and ready to party by then."

Steven stepped back, laughing. "Kiss my dick once more and I'll never get out of here."

Steven had to leave Utica by seven o'clock. Make the long drive home and still arrive at a reasonable hour. Norma said she'd wait up when he called her this morning. She had something important to tell him, something exciting that she wanted to tell him in person.

"I hope it's a divorce," Steven had said to Andy after relating the conversation. "Then I'd be free to marry you. Well, live with you anyway because marriage isn't possible. Nobody's ever going to marry a homosexual couple."

"Possible or not I'd say yes if you asked me to marry you, Steven. I won't wear a white dress or carry a bouquet of flowers, but I'll love you for the rest of our lives. Jesus, I can hardly believe it. I picked you up at the store for a little gay sex...hoping to blow you, never thinking that I'd blow you and fall in love with you."

Steven walked out of the bathroom and started to dress. "We'll have two hours then, he said, "To make love, before I have to leave. Two hours that may have to last a lifetime."

"Oh, no," Andy protested. "You'll be back to Utica on business. I'll drive down to New York for long weekends. Maybe take a job there when I'm finished with grad school. We'll see a lot of each other, discretely, but we will see each other again."

They shared a final passionate kiss at Andy's front door. A long, lingering kiss. A forbidden kiss between two homosexual men that had met by chance and fallen hopelessly in love.

"Don't read this now," Andy said, handing Steven a folded sheet of paper. "It's a little something I wrote for you. It's not very good, but it says what I feel."

Steven was twenty minutes late for his meeting at Music and More. The dense fog didn't help, he'd nearly driven off the road at one point, but it gave him a valid reason for being late.

The three men gathered around the conference table talked about the freakish weather while coffee was served, then got down to business. Steven quickly mentioned a number of ideas that he'd learned from Andy, all of which were met with great enthusiasm.

"I can't take the credit," he admitted. "One of your employees, a fellow I met at the store yesterday. He's the one you should thank and be talking to when I'm gone."

"One of our people?" Kurlinger asked with surprise. "Who, what's his name?"

Rogers had given it a lot of thought on the drive from Andy's apartment to the office. Andy had advised against it. "They suspect I'm a homosexual," he warned. "You'll be putting yourself at risk if they ask too many questions. You've got a lot to lose, Steven, if they suspect anything about you."

Rogers weighed Andy's valid concerns and set them aside. He was thinking with his heart and driven by love. He felt he could handle any questions and he wanted to promote Andy, have him recognized for the brilliant young man that he was. Kurlinger's question was simple enough, Roger's response was intentionally vague. "Andrew, I think," he said evenly. "I didn't get a last name."

"Easy enough to find out," Kurlinger said, picking up the phone. "My secretary has all the personnel files. "Mary, hi, it's Peter," Kurlinger said into the phone. "Do we have an Andrew at the Main Street store? No, no, I'll hold on while you check."

A police siren wailed outside while Kurlinger waited. Two more high pitched sirens caused all the men to look out the window just as an ambulance and patrol car sped through the fog past the building.

"I wonder what's going on," John Stokes said to Rogers. "All those sirens...sounds like the third world war has broken out."

Kurlinger hung up the phone and turned to Rogers. "Wagner's his last name. We have an Andrew Wagner on staff."

Rogers nodded, noncommittally. His heart fluttered though at the sound of Andy's name.

"The fag!" John Stokes shouted above the din of yet another siren. "Andrew Wagner gave you those ideas?"

"John," Kurlinger said with a pained look on his face. "Do you have to use that offensive word? And its only been rumored that this fellow is a homosexual?"

"Fag, homosexual...whatever," Stokes said. "I wanted to fire him as soon as the rumors started, before he molested some kid in the mens room. The attorney's wouldn't let me for lack of proof and some legal nonsense about discrimination. Can you believe it? I mean, what's this country coming to when a goddamn faggot..."

"John, please."

"Excuse me, Peter, when a goddamn homosexual has rights."

"We have to follow the law," Kurland warned his young, homophobic financial officer.

Stokes shrugged off the older man's warning and gave Rogers, his contemporary, a man-to-man wink. "What does the law want, huh, before I can fire a fag? An 8 x 10 glossy of him kissing a guy? Or, if that's not enough, maybe a color photo of Andrew Wagner on his knees with a dick in his mouth?"

Steven cringed inwardly, Kurland grimaced in disgust at the coarse language. He was about to respond when his secretary rushed into the office. "Yes, Mary?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Peter. The police just called. There's been a terrible accident."

"That explains all the sirens, but why did they call us?"

"One of our employees was killed on the way to work. His car went off the road...the fog's pretty bad."

Steven looked at his watch, it was after eleven. Andrew must already be at work, he thought, so why was a knot forming in his gut.

"Who was killed?" Kurland asked, concerned that it must be one of his key people. Why else would Mary interrupt an important meeting.

"It's so weird," Mary continued, "a crazy coincidence because you just asked me about him not five minutes ago."

Steven Rogers bolted from the office before the name Andrew Wagner formed on anyone's lips.

Andrew Wagner had no family. There was no one to contact, no reason to delay, so the simple funeral was held the following day. Steven Rogers sat alone in the back of the all but empty church. A few of Andy's friends showed up, no one from the company, and an elderly man who dabbed at his teary eyes during the short service. Rogers, feeling hollow inside, had no tears left.

He had held himself together long enough to confirm Andy's death at the police station, long enough to check back into his hotel. He kept his grief contained long enough for a quick call home to tell Norma of his change in plans. And then he collapsed.

"Why, why," he sobbed over and over in the dark room as a river of tears ran down his cheeks. "Andy, Andy, Andy," he cried aloud, clutching a pillow to his breast as though it was Andy in his arms. Rogers rocked back and forth on the floor until dawn.

Roger's torment was even more unbearable because he couldn't share his grief with anyone. Their time together, though short, had fused them together as one. It was far more than the single night of great sex they had shared. The greatest love of his life was dead and he could not share his overwhelming grief or his few memories with another living soul. He couldn't talk about Andy, talk about how much and how deeply he loved another young man. Who but another homosexual could understand the depth of his loss. Guilt on top of the grief weighed heavily on his mind as the service concluded and the coffin wheeled away to the waiting hearse.

Rogers closed his eyes as a new wave of grief washed over him. He didn't see the elderly man approach and he jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to startle you. My name is George Harris."

Rogers didn't recognize the face, but the name seemed vaguely familiar. "Do I know you?" He asked.

"We haven't met, Mr. Rogers...you are Steven Rogers, yes?"

"Yes," Rogers said cautiously as Harris sat in the pew beside him.

"We don't know each other, but we know..." Harris choked up for a moment..."knew someone in common. Someone who loved you very much."

"I don't know what you mean," Rogers said anxiously, ready to bolt from the church when he suddenly remembered the name. "You were Andy's counselor in high school?"

"Yes, that's correct. Andrew told me he told you about our relationship." Harris put his arm around Rogers' shoulder. "He told me everything."

"When, how?" Rogers said quickly. "What did he tell you?"

"Andrew called me early yesterday morning before he left for work. He was so happy on the phone and he wanted to see me. I arrived this morning and heard the terrible news on the radio. He told me everything, Mr. Rogers, how you met and spent the night...and how you fell in love."

Rogers blanched. "I, uh," he began and then fell silent.

"Please don't worry, I have no wish to embarrass you or cause you distress. We both loved him dearly. We will bury him together and remember him for the rest of our lives."

Rogers drove Harris to the cemetery, then brought him back to his hotel room where they talked about Andy until midnight. Harris accepted the offer to stay the night, accepted and returned Rogers kiss when he climbed into the queen size bed. "I'm an old man, Steven," he said as Rogers slipped a hand inside his boxer shorts. "I haven't been with a man for a very long time."

Harris raised his hips allowing his shorts to be removed. Rogers, already naked, fondled him gently, and was impressed by the size and firmness of the elderly man's cock. "Be with me tonight, George, for Andrew. Let me love you like Andrew would love you if he were here."

Rogers didn't wait for an answer before kissing and licking his way down the man's naked body and taking him in his mouth. He thought of Andrew as he sucked the cock that Andrew had once sucked. He thought of the way Andrew smelled and tasted, and the silky feel of his wet cock as it slid easily between his lips and touched the back of his throat. You're one helluva cocksucker, Steven; Andy's cry just before his first orgasm, was repeated by George Harris as he suddenly climaxed in Rogers' mouth.

They made love throughout the night. In Andy's memory, and whose spirit seemed to rejuvenate George Harris. You're one helluva cocksucker too, Rogers thought after cumming in the old man's mouth.

"I'll pay for this in the morning," Harris said with a chuckle as Rogers withdrew from his semen-filled ass and impaled himself yet again on the old man's raging dick.

"Let's keep in touch," Harris said in the car on the way to the airport.

"We will, George, definitely. And maybe get together for sex and to remember Andrew."

CHAPTER SIX

Andrea and Wagner Rogers, identical twins, were born seven months after Andrew Wagner's death. Norma, two months pregnant when Steven and Andrew met, agreed to the names when she saw how adamant Steven was. Her attitude would certainly have been different had she known that her twin baby girls were named after her husband's deceased, homosexual lover.

"Wagner is actually a pretty name," she said in the car on the way home from the hospital. "How did you ever think of it?"

"Just came to me," Steven replied, blinking back a tear.

"I suppose Andrea will be called Andy for short."

"I suppose." I knew I will, Steven thought. Andy and Wagner, my two new loves to fill the gaping hole in my heart.

Steven Rogers showered the babies with love and attention. Norma, tired quickly of motherhood and hired a nanny to attend to their needs. She spent most of her time decorating the big house they'd bought in the suburbs, shopping for clothes and lunching at the country club. Steven worked hard, opened his own investment business and made more money than even Norma could spend. New clients flocked to invest their money with the man with the midas touch. All the more reason to be circumspect in his private life.

As the weeks, months and years passed, the hole in his heart caused by Andy's death slowly began to fill. It never filled completely, George Harris' death a month after he'd come to the girls' fifth birthday party reopened the wound. Two of the three men he'd loved and had sex with were dead. Only Larry Franklin remained, and he lived three thousand miles away.

Fantasy and masturbation, fueled by gay magazines and gay sites on the internet became the extent of Rogers' sex life. Replacing his surfing laptop and anonymous email account with new ones when the viruses and spam made the old ones unusable was a semi-annual event. Gay bars and clubs were out, too public. Escort services were unreliable and buying the services of a boy off the street and taking him to a hotel, though tempting, was too risky to seriously consider. Adult book stores with their private video booths offered the opportunity for anonymous sex with like minded men. The stores were all so dirty and dingy and inhabited by men whose hands he'd fear to shake.

He discovered Max's place on a Saturday shopping trip with Norma. Located next to an expensive antique store in the Village, Max's was unlike any other adult book store Rogers had ever seen. He returned on Monday. Max Chompsky the owner and by the strangest coincidence, a close friend of George Harris...and equally discrete.

"George spoke of you often before he died," Max said. "First name only and nothing of where you lived or worked, just well, you know."

They had lunch together, laughed a lot and cried a little. Rogers ended up sharing his innermost secrets, desires and fears with the compassionate older man.

"I know that it's risky," Steven responded to Max's repeated words of caution. "I could be arrested and end up sharing a cell, to say nothing of my ass with some homophobic bubba. The young ones are like a drug and I'm powerless to resist. If I can't have a young boy, then..."

Max listened without comment, nodding occasionally as Rogers explained what he wanted and needed from males past the age of consent. Sexual enslavement, humiliation, degradation; requests he'd had before from men like Steven Rogers. Closeted, middle aged men with wives and families; from wealthy men with positions of great power in industry and government. Men with a great deal to lose if their sexual preferences, to say nothing of their outrageous fantasies were made known.

Max Chompsky made no judgements and he kept his views to himself, responding with a simple, yes I can arrange it, when Rogers was done.

Max arranged the first of many sessions for Steven in his secure, but spartan video booths on Tuesday. His name was Hank, a slim, slightly effeminate, eighteen year old boy from a small town in Kentucky. Hank's step-dad had sent him packing the very day he caught him with a travelling salesman in the back seat of the man's car.

"Good fer nothin' faggot!" He roared as the boy scrambled from the car with his pants around his ankles. Hank wore no shirt, shoes or underwear. "Goddamn bitch slut you is, boy, jus' like yer momma 'fore she run off."

Hank travelled all the way to New York with nothing but the threadbare clothes on his back. Hitch hiked with truckers mostly, paying his way and paying for greasy truck-stop burgers with his body.

Max found him early one morning, sleeping with the homeless men in the alley behind his store. Hank's shoes were long gone, stolen, and the rags that barely covered his body were filthy. Max took him in, cleaned him up and found him a home with a lesbian couple he knew. Hank readily agreed to "help" Max's friend.

Twice each week, in a refurbished booth reserved for his use alone, Steven Rogers realized his fantasies with the most aggressive males that Max could find and properly train. Sexual orientation was less important than ethnicity and economic status. Blacks, Latinos and other minorities from New York's slums, gay or straight, made good candidates. The opportunity to "fuck whitey" was compelling enough. To get paid to do so was like winning the lottery.

The qualities Max sought in a potential partner for Steven Rogers and others like him was the desire and ability to dominate another human being.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"I'll call the college boy," Max said in response to Rogers' request. He felt badly that he'd been unable to arrange a preteen boy for Rogers' birthday. All of his contacts made some version of the same tasteless joke, 'Ask the church for a kid, Max, the priests have first crack at all the young boys.'

A disappointed Rogers entered his private booth and stripped down to his thong. The mirrored wall reflected his image, until he hit the switch which allowed him to see the young black man in the adjoining booth but kept his identity unknown. "What's your name?" Rogers asked, hoping that Max had trained this one well. Too often they just read from the script like a second rate actor, adding nothing of themselves to the role.

"You can call me master or sir," the young man responded with a snigger and an air of commanding superiority. "I'll call you faggot or cocksucker...pussy boy if you beg me real nice and I decide to fuck your queer, scumbag of an ass."

Steven Rogers trembled in anticipation.

"Down on your knees, white boy, where a fag cocksucker belongs in the presence of a real man. Show me proper respect or forget about sucking my dick."

"Yes, master," Rogers sighed with undisguised pleasure. His cock rose, stretching the thong obscenely as he went down to his knees on the padded floor. The strip of cotton between his cheeks rubbed his anus which added a physical element to his sexual arousal. Max had done very well with this one: the firm, haughty tone in his voice, the degrading language; Rogers felt wonderfully low, submissive, humiliated...and incredibly excited. He put his mouth to the hole and said, "I'm on my knees for you, master. May I suck your cock now, sir? Please."

"Why? You useless piece of shit."

"Because I'm a fag, master, a worthless cocksucker to be used by real men like you. A mouthful of sperm is all I deserve."

"A cum eating scumbag? A pig?"

"A pig, yes, master. Please use me for your pleasure."

"You can suck my fuckin' black balls, faggot. Do a good job on my nuts, cocksucker, and we'll see about you suckin' my dick."

Rogers opened the adjustable glory hole a little bit wider to allow the loose testicles fully into his booth. The lower hanging ball fit easily in his experienced mouth. He suckled it gently, rolled the large ball expertly around his mouth with his tongue before trying for number two. The second ball, higher in the sack and larger than the first was a challenge. Rogers feared the young man would climax prematurely and he'd lose the first and biggest load of semen. He could see the precum already forming from the stimulation of his ultimately successful efforts to stuff a ball in each cheek.

Saliva drooled freely from Rogers stuffed mouth, soaking his chest and running down into the wiry hairs that covered the fellow's butt. "You're making a sloppy mess, nutsucker. I'm gonna turn around now, white slut, and you know what you're gonna do?"

"Kiss your beautiful, black ass, master?" Rogers said hopefully, thrilled that the fellow hadn't cum. There was still a good chance that the dick would be in his mouth when the climax occurred.

Steven Rogers enjoyed three glorious, mind blowing, semen spewing orgasms during the hour long session of humiliation. One more than he usually had with a single male, but this was a most unusual and creative fellow with a cruel sense of humor and a cutting sadistic edge.

He got the first load of the fellow's semen on his chest rather than in his mouth. He wanted it so badly, begged the fellow to cum in his mouth; all he got was derisive laughter and a squirt of warm urine.

"Life sucks for a faggot, huh, cocksucker?"

Rogers looked up from the sperm on his chest and said, "Yes master."

"How was he?" Max asked, filling two glass with scotch.

Rogers had showered, tended to his battered, abused body before joining Max in his office. He sat down gingerly and picked up his drink. He took a sip and said. "Wonderful, Max, you trained him perfectly. I've rarely been so thoroughly used and so well by a man."

Max nodded, raising his glass in a toast. Secretly he was baffled, at times appalled at Steven Rogers' attitude. The physical side of homosexuality he understood, sex felt good no matter who you had it with. The psychological side was far more complex and Max was a simple man. He'd seen perverse, deviant behavior during his years in the business, but the man sitting across from him redefined the words.

Rogers finished his drink and rose up stiffly. "He was wonderful, book him again, Max. But I'm not giving up the young boys, so you'll keep looking, right?"

"Of course, of course. Maybe next week. Do you want today's tape?"

The audio system installed in Rogers' booth was state of the art. The six hidden mikes picked up every spoken word; every slurp, splat, sigh, gasp and moan. Even the sound of flesh slapping wetly against flesh was digitally recorded to be enjoyed again at a later date. Rogers considered video, but dismissed the idea as being too risky. A lost or misplaced DVD could spell disaster.

"A great birthday party, Norma," Rogers said when the last guest had departed. "Too bad Andy and Wagner couldn't be here. I miss them so much, away at school. We should have pushed them harder for NYU or Columbia so we could see them more often."

Norma sipped her cognac and studied the amber liquid for a moment before looking up from the glass. "Where were you this afternoon, Steven? I called Nancy at your office and she said you were out. And your cell phone was off too. I left three messages."

Having great sex, Rogers thought, fingering the tape in his suit coat pocket. "Meeting downtown with a new client. I forgot to check my messages, sorry. Was it anything important?"

Rogers had checked his messages, returning a birthday call from his daughters and a similar call from Larry Franklin. Norma's calls were nuisance, some outrageously expensive thing she wanted to buy or a social event she wanted him to attend.

Norma finished her cognac and sank deeper into the overstuffed sofa. "I had an appointment with the gynecologist today. The test results came back."

"And?" Rogers said warily. Norma was past the age when her periods should have stopped. The cramps and staining were probably nothing, delayed menopause according to her doctor, but needed to be checked out. "And?" he said again, crossing the large room to sit next to his wife of almost thirty four years.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Diagnosis to death in a year, Larry. The surgery went well. The chemo and radiation seemed to work, but the cancer came back and she didn't have a chance."

Larry Franklin put his arm around his oldest friend and searched for words of comfort. "You doing okay?"

"Today was difficult, the funeral service and all the well-meaning people trying to console me and the girls. I'm glad that's behind us so we can try to put our lives back together. Andy and Wagner are having a rough time, guilty for being away at school during Norma's illness I suppose. I have to be strong for them."

"When do they go back?"

"This afternoon. A six o'clock flight out of JFK."

"I'll stay with you tonight then, so you're not alone."

Rogers' didn't even try to stifle the laugh that Larry's offer caused. He laughed so hard and for so long that tears came to eyes, tears that he did not shed for Norma. "What's so funny, Steven?"

"Remember," Rogers gasped, holding his side. "Remember what we used to do to be alone together? The stories we made up, the lies we told and the crazy places we'd go...to have sex. I..." Steven could not continue, laughing hysterically as the memories came flooding back. Larry joined in just as the girls came into the room.

"We heard you laughing all the way upstairs," Andrea said. "Is everything alright, daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart, everything is fine. Larry and I were laughing at the things we used to do as kids and when we were first married. Is the taxi here."

"Not yet, daddy," Wagner said, "soon. Are you sure you don't want us to stay another day? Maybe you shouldn't be alone."

Larry Franklin left shortly before the girls had to leave for the airport. Rogers thought about having sex with him again, dismissing the idea as being impossible. Too many years had gone by, Rogers was not the person he was and he couldn't tell Larry the truth. His daughters too, lovely reminders of his brief romance with Andrew Wagner...the one true love of his life. He couldn't tell them the truth either....or could he?

Maybe not everything, Rogers thought, but one thing.

Rogers did not turn on the lights in his den, preferring to sit in the dark, naked, with his drink and his thoughts while waiting for his private line to ring. He was a little bit sad when he thought about the last months of Norma's life. Not sad or grieving that she was gone, only that she had suffered.

Then he thought about his daughters, laughing out loud in the darkness when he thought about the brief conversation they'd had just a few hours ago. Andrea and Wagner, silent and solemn as he took their hands in his and told them he was gay. Their reaction to the news stunned him as nothing before in his life.

"That's all you wanted to tell us, daddy?" Andrea had said with a sigh of relief. "That you're gay?"

Rogers had nodded, searched his daughter's lovely faces for the look of shock he expected to find.

Wagner had squeezed his hand affectionately. "We thought it was something terrible. Like you were sick or something."

Rogers took a deep breath, his first in minutes. "It's not?"

"Oh, daddy, Wagner and I have known that about you for years. Lots of people are gay."

Rogers waved goodby to his girls as their cab pulled away, shouting I'm free as it drove out of sight.

Steven Rogers was a happy man when he picked up his private line. Max Chompsky was returning his earlier call.

"Yes, yes, fine," Rogers said into the phone. "The girls left hours ago."

Max had good news judging by the smile on Rogers' face and the burst of arousal in his crotch.

"Max, you're the best. How soon can you get here?"

"Thirty minutes? Drive faster."

Rogers was anxiously waiting by the front door when Max drove up the long circular drive. He appeared to be alone in the car, Rogers saw with huge disappointment. He wasn't.

It was late, well passed the passenger's usual bedtime.

"What happened?" Rogers demanded angrily, sticking his head through the car window.

Max pointed to the rear and turned on the dome light.

Rogers gasped, heart thumping in his chest as he followed Max's finger. Fast asleep in the back seat, clutching a large teddy bear to his bare breast with one hand...his small penis with the other, was a beautiful boy.

CHAPTER NINE

The proceeds from the sale of Rogers Investments Ltd. went into trust funds for Andy and Wagner. Rogers already had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes.

The Saville Row suits, the handmade cotton shirts and silk ties, the Italian shoes and Sulka boxer shorts; all donated to the Salvation Army, were replaced with khakis, T-shirts, sandals, jock straps, bikinis and thongs. The expensive watches, rings, cuff links and other fine jewelry was sold; Steven Rogers donated the proceeds to charity. The slave set: leather cock ring and matching collar; rings for his nipples and ears, Rogers purchased it all for less than a hundred dollars. The rose tattoo on his buttock was a gift from Franco, his twenty six year old live-in lover/master, who decided on the design and its placement.

Franco made all the important decisions for Rogers who submissively did what his master told him to do. They had sex when Franco wanted sex; the two of them alone or, more often, Rogers with other men under Franco's supervision. On your knees, cocksucker, sent Rogers scurrying to the floor. Have at him, guys, brought a smile to his face.

Soon, all men knew the truth about Steven Rogers...he was free.