Why?

Chapter V An Unveiling

After Jess moved, I was miserable. We called each other at least twice a week for the first month or so. I missed him so much and related that to him. It was not just the sex I missed--I missed talking with him--I missed our meals together--I missed waking up in the morning with him next to me.

Charles Reynolds, a colleague in the counselling area commented that I seemed so subdued lately--that I seemed depressed.

"Guess I am . . . . a bit," I allowed.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked solicitously.

"Thanks, but I'll get over it."

As the weeks passed, I did get back to some normalcy. But, there was that nagging accusation of Jess', "You have trouble admitting your feelings . . . . trouble committing."

I realized that Jess was right. God knows, I tried. . . . but . . . .

I decided that maybe I needed some help confronting this problem. I sure as hell didn't want to go through the turmoil of an unwanted break-up again! The few years that I had been in Indy, I had met a number of counsellors and psychologists through my work.

I decided to contact Dr. Del Wadsworth, a psychologist. We had met several times at professional meetings and I had seen he and his wife a few times at an occasional party. We seemed to hit it off. Del was a laid back guy whom I respected. I made an appointment and began to see him, professionally. I quickly revealed my concerns. He was probing in his questions and non-judgemental--a total professional.

Once he asked, "Do you have trouble reconciling the apparent fact that you're bisexual?"

After a moment's thought, I answered, "No . . . not really." Then I continued, "My . . . my associations have been most pleasurable . . . . " It wasn't that I was skirting the issue. "I have always enjoyed the physical side of my associations immensely. The question of 'right or wrong' was never an issue . . . . never a moral or ethical issue. I really have accepted the fact that I enjoy the physical contact with both men and women. It no longer presents a conflict in my mind. Also, I have enjoyed the non physical, talking, walking, doing things together."

"'No longer' . . . Did it ever?"

I thought, and answered, "Well, maybe at first. But until my last association, all the other . . . men had the same . . . predilection."

"You mean, bisexual?"

"Yes."

"And the women in your life?"

"The same."

Del had a way of probing, not prodding, and then he always asked a most pointed question.

"Brad, you have used the term 'association' a number of times in referring to your relationships. What does that word imply to you?"

Damn! What a question. "Mmmm, Two people coming together. . . . "

"And?"

"Having sex. . . . "

"And?"

"Doing things. . . . "

"Brad the term 'association' generally refers to an organization of people who have similar interests or purpose. Would you agree with that?"

I though, "Mmmmm, Yes, I guess so."

"In your 'associations' you open up to a point. Is that true?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"When that point is breached or threatened, you back away. Is that true?"

"Yes, I guess I do."

"Why?"

Del, by his gentle probing and questions caused in me not a revelation, but a growing awareness of the 'whys' of my problem.

At the first session, I had related my high school violation. He seemed to pass over that rather quickly. Our sessions were always exhausting for me. I told him that once. He smiled and stated that peeling away the hard crust is always tiring.

Then He suggested, "Brad, I have a number of patients who have similar problems. Several have been molested as children--emotionally, sexually. I have started a group session . . . . I think you might benefit from it."

I wasn't sure how, but, . . . he was the doctor.

"There are a few parameters for the group . . . rules, if you will. First, I insist we maintain anonymity among the members. I feel that's important. You choose a name, any name as long as it's not yours and that is who you are known as within the group. Second, I, and we, insist on truthfulness . . . no bullshit! If you are asked a question and don't want to answer it at the time--then merely state that--no fabrication. And, third, I insist upon active participation. No just sitting like a bump on a log."

He finished, "This group is made up of men, only. I feel that it is more effective this way. Women' problems, although similar, have different consequences." And he added, "Do you understand."

Such parameters were nothing radical, nor was the make up of the group.

"Yes," I answered, nodding my head.

The sessions were held Thursday night in a nondescript room attached to his office, cream colored walls, venetian blinds on the window and six metal folding chairs in a circle. Not what I would call, "Well decorated!" But, then it served the purpose. Besides Del and myself--I used the name Richard in the sessions--there was a middle aged, nervous guy called 'Bob', two guys about my age, one called 'Steve' and the other 'Jack' and, finally a younger guy--probably in his early twenties named 'Jim'.

As we each introduced ourselves the first time we stated what we wanted to accomplish in these meetings. Actually we introduced ourselves at every meeting.

When it came to my turn, I stated, "Hi, I'm Richard, and I would like to be able to make a commitment and not be so . . . . aloof!"

"Aloof! What the hell does that mean?" exploded 'Steve'.

I was a bit taken back. I soon learned that within the group there was little pretense and 'Steve', especially brooked little that was not clearly stated. Jack glanced at me and shrugged his shoulders.

It seemed that Del had guided us so that each session focused upon a particular individual in the group. Focused, but not to the exclusion of the others. The meetings were free flowing and were often harsh. Del guided us through them and often acted as referee when things got too rough.

Other than myself I learned over a period of time that the others had difficult, maybe impossible situations in their younger years. 'Steve' had been verbally abused and belittled by a father who can only be described as a looser in every way. A priest did a number on 'Bob', the quiet one when he was a devout altar boy with thoughts of entering the priesthood. Jack had been molested a number of times by an older uncle as a young kid. And, 'Jim' probably had the saddest situation--he had been both physically and verbally abused by his mother. We were a group to behold!

There was no rule stated or implied that our association was limited to the group meetings. Although, I assumed that tacitly Del felt that for the time that should be so. When the meetings were over we each went our own way.

'Steve', 'Bob' and Jack had their session--so to speak. I was the next on the list. When Del opened that particular session he began by asking, "Richard why do you think you have trouble committing?"

To be truthful, I really didn't know, at that point. I was bombarded by questions by the other members of the group. I answered them as best I could and was completely open.

I remember 'Jim' asked, "I assume that your relationships were with women."

'Steve' tore into 'Jim' harshly, "Why assume that? Stupid!"

I responded, "To answer your question . . . No, they were not all women."

"Is your problem with commitment due to your ambiguity?" prodded 'Steve'--he was like a bulldog.

"Ambiguity?" I queried.

"Yeah, obviously you swing both ways! Can't you make up your mind?"

"I don't think my . . . . sexual preference is the root of the issue." I retorted.

"Shit! The root is you don't know whether you wanna fuck a cunt or an asshole!"

'Bob' jumped in partially in my defense, "That's stupid! You want things to be black and white," he stated to 'Steve'. Then he added, "Life isn't that simple. Stupid!"

"Tell me about it!" 'Steve' snorted and slumped into one of his frequent quiet periods.

'Bob' turned to me and asked, "If, as you say, you are not concerned about . . . your . . . sexual preference, why, then this commitment thing? Have you ever had . . . a . . . difficult experience . . . relationship?"

'Steve' snorted derisively.

"I guess we all have," I admitted. Then I generally related my high school profanation.

"Excuse me," 'Jack' stated and got up and left.

Often times--during these sessions one or the other of us would leave to go to the bathroom or have a cigarette. So that was nit unusual.

"How do you think that might have affected you?" Del probed.

"Probably with a sore ass!" 'Jim' stated--half in levity, half derisively. 'Jim', always gave the impression of a macho hard ass!

"Besides that," Del attempted to refocus the discussion, "How do you think you were affected?"

For another thirty-five minutes the "discussion" continued. Then, as usual, Del stated. "Time's up, gentlemen. See you all next week."

I was drained, exhausted, wrung out! I went home, took a hot shower and flopped into bed. I overslept the next morning and got to work a half hour late. That day was not one of my best.

It's Saturday, I went to the nearby mall for a quiet lunch and some grocery shopping. As I was ambling along, I heard, "Hi, Richard."

I turned. There stood 'Jack.'

I responded, "Hi, Jack," and added, "How are you." A required social nicety!

"OK," he answered flatly. After a moment's pause, he asked somewhat lightly, "Hey, want a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, why not?"

We went to the Coffee Bean, ordered and took a seat in a booth. We chatted briefly about nothing in particular. Another required social nicety! Meeting Jack here was not a problem. However, our association,to this point, was highly artificial--the group, I mean. We had no experiences in common. That was the difficulty.

There there was another uncomfortable pause. He searched our minds for suitable, inane topics.

Then the bomb dropped!

Head lowered, clutching his coffee, 'Jack' asked quietly, "You are Brad Pedersen, right?"

I was totally dumbfounded. I thought our names were anonymous--unknown. That was part of the group's parameter.

"Yesss," I answered slowly trying to fathom this.

'Jack's' next statement was so low, I was sure I didn't hear it.

"What?" I asked, as if in clarification, "What did you say!"

A bit louder he repeated, " I am Dane . . . . Dane Reynolds."

I'm sure the blood drained from my face. I wanted to scream, but I didn't. I wanted to beat the holy hell out of him, but I didn't. I merely took a five dollar bill from my billfold, flung it on the table and stalked out. I even forgot to get my groceries that day.

To say I was in turmoil is untrue. Chaos, utter confusion, searing anger reigned in my mind. I returned to my apartment and proceeded to get stinking drunk. Sunday I woke up with a classic hangover. I stood in the shower for a half hour and felt somewhat better, but spent the rest of the day lounging in front of the TV, trying to blot out the day before. I wasn't all together successful. The next three days were a bit of a blur as I leadenly went through my duties.

I had considered calling Dr. Wadsworth and canceling out of the group. It would be the easiest way out. But, I must admit, the group had done me some good and, difficult as it was, I always looked forward to the sessions. So Thursday night I arrived at 8:00, on the dot. I was the last to arrive.

Del nodded a greeting and aid, "Well, gentlemen, let's start."

We, as usual introduced ourselves, again.

Then Jack/Dane said, "If you don't mind," he said to the group and Del, "I would like to say something. first. I know that this is Jim's session . . . but it's important."

Del said, cautiously, "All right."

I couldn't look at him, so I focused on one of the windows.

"Something happened when I was seventeen . . . "

A shudder assaulted my body.

"I was kinda . . . . arrogant . . . "

"What's new?" 'Steve' broke in.

Jack/Dane's head whipped towards 'Steve' and spat out with incredible vehemence, "SHUT UP and let me finish!"

'Steve' was wide eyed . . . and remained silent.

"As I was saying, I was arrogant and angry. I guess I have been angry most of my life. But I did something then that was . . . . stupid . . . . just, fuckin stupid." He paused, but no one said anything. I was clammy with sweat and a little nauseous.

Then the words poured out. "I was on the swim team . . . and there was this other, kinda skinny kid that . . . I hated. Hated because he came from a nice home. Hated because he had a nice family. And, hated because he seemed . . . normal . . . everything I wasn't."

He stopped, gulped a couple of times and continued. "One afternoon after practice, he stayed late as usual--I stayed behind and . . . . when he went into the showers . . . I followed him . . . . and . . . . and . . . I don't really know why . . . . raped him . . . fucked his ass." He began to weep silently.

Then everybody's eyes jerked towards me, including Del's. I was shaking and I'm sure ashen. It was as quiet as the grave in that room for a couple of seconds. It was intolerable.

"Let's take a fifteen minute break," Del suddenly announced.

'Steve', 'Bob' and 'Jim' left the room quickly.

Jack/Dane and I remained, immobile. Del gazed at me, "It was you?"

I nodded my head.

"Did you know prior to tonight?"

Again, I nodded my head.

"For how long?"

"Since Saturday," I murmured.

"How did you find out?"

I merely glared at Jack/Dane.

Turning to Jack/Dane he asked, "Do you want to tell me?"

Jack/Dane confessed that he had not recognized me at first, but after the last session, my session, and especially after my revelation to the group, he finally recognized me. He got sick and had to leave. He told how we had bumped into each other at the mall and all the rest.

"I see . . ." he commented. Silence again reigned in that room.

Then, "Can we go on with the session?" Del asked quietly. I nodded my head and so did Jack/Dane.

He went to call the others back into the group.

"I'm sorry," Jack/Dane said,

I did not respond. The group came back and took their chairs, a bit apprehensively.

"Shall we continue?" Del asked in as neutral a voice as he could muster.

Neither Jack/Dane nor I contributed to 'Jim's' session.

Finally, "Time's up, gentlemen. See you all next week."

As I was leaving, Del came up to me and asked, "Do you think a couple of private sessions might be useful?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I think I need them," and left.

Then he walked over to Jack/Dane who was still glued to his seat, and I assumed asked him the same question.

At our first private session Del asked, "How did you feel when he revealed who he was."

I told him my reaction.

"How do you feel now?"

"I still would like to clobber him!"

"You said before, in our preliminary sessions, that you wanted to kill him. Do you still feel the same way?"

"No," I answered simply.

"Why?"

"It's not worth it."

"Why?"

"WHY? Damn!" I exploded, "Can't you ask a different question?"

Del merely sat impassively.

After a couple minutes, I realized that I had to answer his question, and to tell the truth, I really didn't know why, completely.

"I suppose . . . . because it's now so much water over the dam!"

"Is it? Is it that simple?"

I was getting exasperated, pushed into a corner! "No! . . . . It's not simple!" Then, "What the fuck! 'Jack's' life was no bed of roses!"

"Why should that bother you?"

"Because he raped me!"

"Why?"

"Fuck! Probably because he was raped!"

"Mmmmm!"

He continued to probe, sometimes gently, sometimes not so gently. It seemed that his questions revolved around Jack/Dane and my reaction both then and now. Much of the time I must admit, I was hostile.

Two weeks later, two group sessions later and during our third private session, a session in which I felt not so threatened and almost calm, Del questioned my response during the previous group meeting. Steve had been particular caustic towards Jack/Dane. His reaction bordered on verbal abuse, unnecessarily so.

I had interjected then, "Hey, man, why don't you back off a bit. Why confront all the time."

Steve turned on me, "Ahh, So you're taking the side of the guy who fucked you?"

"No," I answered calmly, "But, sometimes you can get farther . . . by being a bit mellower."

"Why did you react that way?" Del asked.

"I suppose 'cause he had backed Dane into a corner, unnecessarily," I replied.

Towards the end of the session Del observed, "Brad, you seem less defensive."

"Mmmm," I mused, "I hadn't noticed," I added with a smile.

"And," he continued, "Did you realize that today was the first time you referred to Jack by his real name?"

"Had I?"

"I think you have made some real progress. Maybe it's time you struck out on your own."

"You're cutting me adrift?" I commented and smiled. Truth was I was more at peace with myself, and my anger towards Dane had approached pity and acceptance--although not total.

"Not adrift," he added, and now he smiled, "You now have a paddle!"

"Hah! Only one?"

"You can't have everything."

"What about the group meetings?" I queried.

"That's up to you, but . . . . Brad, I'm going to be a little unprofessional . . ."

My eyebrows arched, questioningly.

"I'm not sure that they will be worth your while, entirely, But, I think you would be a benefit to the other members."

Several months later, and again at the mall, I saw Dane looking in the window of one of the shops.

I walked up to him, "Hi, Dane."

He turned and smiled cautiously. I had not called him Dane before, always used 'Jack' in the sessions.

"Hi, . . . Brad," he said, unsure.

"How about a cup of coffee?" I asked, lightly.

"Sure," he said with relief in his voice.

We went to the Coffee Bean, ordered our coffee, sat down and started to chat.

After a few minutes of light chatter, Dane turned serious and stated, "Brad, I've got to thank you for this."

"For what?"

"Inviting me to have coffee with you."

"Hell, coffee's not that expensive," I snorted, trying to defuse his seriousness, or maybe avoiding it.

"I meant . . . Hell . . . " he stammered, "After what happened . . . . I guess it means you . . . have forgiven me . . . accepted . . . . You know?"

I took a deep breath. I needed to control these emotions just now. I needed to say the right thing. I needed to be honest with myself and with Dane.

Looking at him, I started, "Forgive? . . . . I suppose I have. You had your reasons . . . . No, not reasons . . . . I guess what you did was a result of what had happened to you." He dropped his eyes from my gaze. I continued, "Accept?" Slowly and calmly, I stated, "No, Dane, I can never accept what happened . . . . any more than you can accept what your uncle did to you."

He looked up and his eyes were moist, I resumed, "But, I think I have the courage . . . the ability to put it behind me and go on with my life . . . . somewhat healed and whole. I hope."

He nodded in understanding.

Again, a couple of months later, it became obvious during the group sessions that Dane was making real progress. Also, I noticed that I no longer was receiving a bill for the group sessions from Del's office. I assumed that I was emancipated.

After one of the sessions I asked Del, "Would it be improper for me to . . . to ask Dane for supper?"

"Why do you want to do that?"

I smiled and answered, "Why? Why not."

Del chuckled. He knew that the question 'Why' often rankled me during our sessions. Now I was turning the tables.

I continued, "It wouldn't be unprofessional since he's not one of my patients . . . . Or, since you're no longer billing me . . . . Does that make him my patient?" I knew the answer.

"No," he smiled, "But, I am interested in why you want to do that."

"Well, we've had coffee a couple of times . . . and it was obvious . . . from our conversations that he needed some . . . affirmation . . . that I . . . don't blame him . . . entirely. We've talked about it a couple of times," Del's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. I continued, "I told him that I suppose I forgave him, but I don't think I can ever accept what happened."

"I understand. And, you want the dinner to be a tangible form of your . . . excusing what happened?"

"Not excusing," I stated, "But, no longer condemning."

"I understand." Then, as if as an afterthought, "Is that the only reason?"

"Yesss . . . what else?"

"Revenge?"

"Revenge? Hell, no! Why would you say that?"

Del's eyes bored into me--trying to search out any ulterior motive. "Brad, are you . . . interested in him?"

"Shit! You know I have always thought you were incredibly perceptive . . . Now I wonder!"

Del sat back, held up his hands in surrender and laughed. We had come to regard ourselves as colleagues, maybe even friends. The patient/healer relationship had moved towards a professional friendship.

"Mea culpa," He stated with a grin.

I glared at him and then broke into a smile.

After the group meeting that week, I stopped Dane outside, after the others left. "You busy tomorrow night?"

He looked surprised and answered, "No."

"How about dinner?"

"Well . . . Yeah . . . Sure." I could see he was a bit confused, apprehensive.

"Good! The Olive Garden, say . . . 7:00?"

"OK . . . Sure."

"See you then," I stated as I walked towards my car.

"OK," he answered and just stood there as I retreated to my wheels.

I can imagine the confusion in Dane's mind at that point. As I drove home, I mused over the obvious change in him these past weeks. No longer the arrogant bully--the swaggering intimidator. In our infrequent association over the past weeks, he had been almost deferential towards me. Never assertive, almost shy, retiring. It was strange, because his reactions to me were in conflict to his physical persona. He had not grown in height much since High school, but he had filled out a bit more--mostly muscle from what I observed--and he wore a closely trimmed beard and moustache. Guess it was the latter that foiled my immediate recognition of him during the first group sessions.

Friday we met at the Olive Garden. The first few minutes were a bit strained, but after a drink and idle chatter, things slid into a normal mode. We leisurely consumed or meal and talked in between mouthfuls. We avoided the obvious--high school and the group. I learned Dane had received a degree in engineering. That surprised me a little. I didn't remember or even care about his academic prowess before. Obviously he was no dummy. His present position was his third. He stated that he had had problems with authority. Who hasn't from time to time? It was here in Indianapolis that he decided to seek some professional help--hence Dr. Del Wadsworth.

"Guess we all have our problems coping in one degree or another," without obvious reference.

"Yeah, Some of us better than others."

"Maybe we all have different modes of approach."

"Mmmm!" he mused.

"I was shit in math--barely passed--would make a lousy engineer!"

He smiled.

"Well some times . . . . our foundations . . . . are not conducive to easy change."

"Yeah, But somehow we manage . . . if we have the . . . ambition . . . the drive!"

"True."

We finished and as we exited the restaurant, Dane turned to me held out his hand and said, "Brad, you probably will never know what this evening has meant to me." We shook hands. and he finished with, "Thanks."

I gave him a friendly hug and we went to out respective cars.

The next morning, about 11:00 there was a knock on my door.

"Wonder who that is?" as I padded to the door. Opening it I was confronted by a floral delivery man.

"You Brad Pedersen?" he asked'.

"Yes," and he handed me this arrangement of daisies in a wicker basket.

The card read merely, "Thanks, Dane."

It was just before Thanksgiving when I decided that my attendance at the group sessions was no longer as productive as it had been in the beginning. I decided to quit attending. I called Del and transmitted my decision.

"I understand,"then he quipped, "Must cut into your busy social life."

"Don't I wish!"

That Friday night, Dane called. "Missed you last night."

"Thanks, I decided my being there was no longer productive. I'm retiring." I said lightly.

"Mmmm! Don't we peons even get a vote?" he wisecracked.

"Nope!"

"Damn!"

"That's life!"

"OK," then he added, "Mind if I keep in touch?"

"Not at all," I answered honestly.

A week after Thanksgiving, Dane called, "You have plans for Saturday week?"

"Let me check my social calendar," I joked, then immediately answered, "Nope, I'm free!"

"Shit! Well I'm having a little pre-Christmas party . . . . mostly folks from work . . . ya know . . . boring engineer types. Thought you'd liven things up!"

"Oh? And, what does that mean?"

"Nothing, Brad. Just thought you might enjoy it . . . . and I need to pay you back."

"For what?"

"The dinner!"

"Now who's full of shit?"

"Hah!" came his reply.

"Sure, Dane, what time?"

"After eight?"

"OK, I'll be there."

"Thanks," and he hung up.

Now I was never really a party hound. Some people thrive on them. I preferred small get togethers, six or eight people, something quiet, preferably dinner where we could talk and not worry about 'mixing.'

Friday came, I dressed and drove to Dane's apartment. He lived on the north side, I left at eight and it was about twenty minutes before I arrived. Dane met me at the door, he was voluble and a good host introducing me around. That was nice, but futile as I'm the world's worst at remembering names. There must have been about twenty there, mostly couples and a few singles.

He placed a glass of punch in my hand, I tasted it, "Damn! What is this?" I asked.

"Artillery Punch," he informed me.

"What's in it?"

"Everything!" he announced, and added, "Careful!"

"I will be!"

I mixed obligatorily, sipping lightly on the potent concoction.

By eleven o'clock, and two glasses of punch, I felt I had done my duty. I had been talking to the Woldorphs--Ted and Janice--he was a colleague of Dane. They were friendly, and Janice was quite attractive--in fact she was a knockout. When I announced my intentions, they too said that they were leaving as well. Dane thanked me for coming, we shook hands, and I left.

As we were walking out I commented. "Nice party, but that punch is dangerous."

"That it is!" replied Ted, then added "You have far to drive?"

"West side," I allowed.

"Ahh! D.W.I. alley," he smirked.

"Yeah, gotta drive carefully," I chuckled.

"Brad, why don't you come up for a cup of strong coffee?" Janice suggested.

"That's not necessary."

"No problem," she stated, "We just live in the next building," She took my arm, adding, "I won't take no for an answer."

Actually a cup of coffee sounded good.

"OK."

"Good," Ted announced.

We entered their apartment. I noticed that it was a mirror copy of Dane's.

"Honey, you fix the coffee," Janice cooed, "I wanna change out of this dress."

Ted offered me a seat, excused himself and went into the kitchen. I could hear him preparing the coffee.

About three minutes later he returned and as he did Janice walked into the room as well. She was wearing the thinnest black negligee imaginable. Her considerable charms were clearly visible under her thin covering.

To say the least, I was taken back, almost shocked.

Ted walked up to her, fondled her firm breasts and cooed, "Mmmm! Baby, love this negligee."

"What have I gotten myself in for," I wondered. Her appearance and his fondling had the expected result in my groin.

As if I wasn't there, she slowly unzipped his pants and hauled out his hardening cock. Ted's hand traced their way down to her pubic 'V' and and a finger disappeared into her slit. Janice groaned in obvious delight as her hand quickly brought his cock to erection. Deftly she undid his pants and slipped them off as she slid to her knees and swallowed his swollen muscle.

Tend groaned, then turned his face to he and stated, lasciviously, "Janice gives the best head ever!"

Unconsciously my hand glided to my growing bulge. The tableau and the punch was doing a number on me.

"I think he wants some, honey," Ted murmured to Janice.

She moved from his throbbing cock and quickly between my legs. Leadenly and with no small amount of anticipation, she opened my fly and scooped out my hard cock!

"Oh, honey," she murmured to Ted, "It's a nice one." That said she swallowed nearly all of it. Ted was right! She was astonishing in her ability

She tugged at my pants, I accommodated her by lifting my hips off the sofa, she peeled my trousers and briefs off in one fell swoop! I had so quickly become completely eroticized, I could not believe it. Yet I groaned is delight as she continued to suck me.

Ted stripped off his shirt, laid on his back and crabbed up between her legs. I can only imagine his tongue was doing what it liked best. Janice groaned, her ass squirmed and she bobbed even faster on my turgid pole.

"Jeeze!" I gasped.

Quickly she popped off my cock and rolled onto the carpet, her legs spread and knees flexed. Her fingers were continuing what Ted's tongue had started.

"Fuck me," she demanded.

I wasn't sure who she was talking to.

Ted glanced up at me and asked, "You wanna go first?"

"Think, maybe you'd better," I allowed. I had never been in a three way and I wasn't aware of the rules, if there were any!

Quickly he assumed the position and slid his considerable member into his wife's waiting pussy.

"Oh, Yes," she screamed, "Do me baby! . . . Fuck me hard."

He complied.

She reached up, grasped my pole and drew it back to her mouth!

"Ahhh!" I groaned as she swallowed me whole.

There I was with my cock in her mouth, facing Ted who was pounding away. He glanced at me and smiled lasciviously.

"You like my cock, Baby?" he asked Janice.

"Uh huh," came from her stuffed mouth.

"You like Brad's cock?"

Pulling off me she declared, "Oh yes! It's wonderful!" Then she added, "You wanna try Honey?"

"Yeah," he answered as his eyed dropped to my saliva moist cock.

"Stand up . . . . for my Honey," she commanded.

I obeyed. My feet bracketed her head and my cock jutted towards Ted. He gobbled it up and she started to play with my balls!

"Gawd!" I gasped.

There I was standing over this woman who was playing with my balls, my cock in her husband's mouth and his cock plowing her cunt! Damn! My legs started to tremble from the sheer pleasure and the situation.

Then she made a startling request. "Brad, baby, why don't you shove that hard thing into Ted's ass. I know he would love it, wouldn't you Honey?"

"Uh huh," came from his stuffed mouth.

I was frozen in place.

"Go ahead Brad . . . . Ted want's you to fuck him!"

I was still immobile.

"Tell him Honey!"

Ted backed off my cock and rasped, "Fuck me Brad! . . . . I wanna feel this thing in my ass."

I complied to his wish, his demand, knelt between their legs, noting his hole was already lubed, I slipped my cock in.

"Ahhhh!"

Two hours later, I was completely exhausted and totally sated. I finally got my coffee and wandered to me car! I got home at 1:30 a.m.

My phone rang at 11:00 that morning.

"Hello?"

"Morning. Guess you got home all right."

"Yeah," I answered, "later than I expected."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, had coffee at the Woldorphs."

"Oh, damn!" he stated and continued, "Brad the reason I called is you left your scarf and gloves here last night."

"Mmmm! Didn't think I was that out of it!"

"You going the the mall this afternoon? I could give them to you then. I need to do some shopping."

"Hadn't planned on it . . . feeling a bit fragile," I admitted. "You mind dropping them of at my place? It's kinda on its way to the mall."

"Sure, what's the address? Can do it after I shop"

At three o'clock there was a knock at my door. I opened it to Dane.

He handed me my scarf and gloves, "Here. How you feeling now?"

"Better, thanks. Won't you come in? I make a mean cup of coffee! Got some hot now."

"Not like Ted and Janice, I take it?"

I grinned, "No. You had their coffee?"

Dane shrugged and smiled, "Yep! I guess I should have warned you . . ."

"Why? I'm a big boy!"

He chuckled and explained, "Well, didn't want you to think that all my friends are so . . . . accommodating!"

"Accommodating? Think 'versatile,' VERY versatile is a better word," I said with a snort as I went to the kitchen to pour the coffee.

"Yeah, true," he agreed.

I returned with two mugs of steaming coffee.

We sat there sipping our coffee and chatting. Dane finished, stood up and announced, "Better get going."

"Glad you came by. Now that you know where I live . . . drop in sometime." That was a typical mid-American request. Southerns say, "Y'all come back sometime." Except in the south if you ever did drop in they would be wildly surprised. Mid-Americans mean it.

"Thanks," Dane said. "You know, Brad . . . you have been really great. I appreciate it . . . more than you know." He was terribly serious now and I sensed he was on the verge of . . . .

I knew what he meant, but the truth is that over the past few months I have come to know the real Dane. He's not a bad guy!

"Think nothing of it," I said and gave him a friendly hug.

He returned the hug.

"Umph," that vocalization that denotes surprise and acceptance and emotional release escaped from his throat.

He hugged me even closer and I thought I felt his lips graze my neck. I'm one of those people that when someone kisses my neck . . . I go all jelly inside. Involuntarily my hips flexed as I held him.

Quickly he stepped back. A weak smile on his lips. I tried to be as neutral as possible, but I was never one who was able to mask my reactions. I had never had any inclinations towards Dane since our . . . . rapprochement. I don't know why I acted, physically, the way I did--maybe it was sensual residue from the night before.

His glance tried to read me, read my reaction.

Then, quietly he stated, "Brad, I want to give you something . . . ."

"What?" I asked, sotto voce.

"A gift . . . . for which I want . . . . no return."

I was confused. My face mirrored that.

Dane stepped up to me and tentatively cupped my crotch. I did not move. That was the reaction he had hoped for. Quickly he dropped to his knees, lowered the jogging pants I had been wearing and sucked my cock into his mouth. I watched . . . half mesmerized . . . in another world . . . out of body. But his mouth and tongue soon focused me on the here and now! I gasped and luxuriated in the sensations that shot through my being.

Soon I felt those inexorable feelings rise in my loins and travel up my spine, causing my whole body to spasm.

"I'm gonna cum!" I gasped.

Dane increased his speed.

Then: "ARGHHH!"

He backed away after the last spasm, pulled up my joggers, stood and stated, "My gift to you." Then he moved to the door and started to open it.

"Dane!" I said as I quickly moved to him. I enfolded him in my arms and kissed him on the lips.

Again I heard, "Umph!"

We broke apart and he quickly exited. I stood there mystified. My mind was in turmoil.

I called him Sunday morn and asked if he could come over that afternoon. "We need to talk," I explained.

"Is 3:00, OK," he asked tentatively.

"Yeah. See you then."

He arrived and almost immediately we plunged into a difficult conversation.

"Why did you do that yesterday?" I asked

"I owed you something."

"You owe me nothing!"

"I owe you my . . . sanity . . . my peace of mind!"

"That form of payment was . . . inappropriate, I think," I stated flatly.

"I think not."

"We differ there I guess . . . still I wonder why?"

"Virgin for a virgin," he said cryptically.

I again was mystified. Then it dawned on me! I was astounded. I stared at him wide eyed. I tried to verbalize, "You . . . . You have never . . . ."

"Brad I have never sucked . . . . a guy's cock . . . 'til yesterday!" Then contritely he added, "I owed you that!"

I shook my head, half in disbelief, half in confusion. We just sat there, across my coffee table, looking at each other, pausing in our conversation.

"How did you know . . . I would accept your . . . . payment?"

A slight smile crossed his face, "Well, there are two reasons. First, your revelations in the group . . . you know . . . your bisexuality . . . ."

"And, the second?" I asked.

"Well, last year, think it was September, I saw you at The Run . . . . with this guy . . . . in the woods . . . ."

"The Run? You saw . . . what?"

"Well, I had been hiking in the woods, found these rocks . . . decided to rest. It was a beautiful day. Then I heard some voices and peeked around the rock . . . and saw you two . . . making it. Then I saw you in the dining room that night."

I remembered the guy nodding and winking at me. "But, how did you know it was me?" I demanded.

"Didn't know it was you, personally! But recognized you at the group as the guy in the woods."

Again, I shook my head, half in disbelief, half in confusion. There there was another pause. Then the bomb dropped . . . again! As I look back, Dane had that peculiar ability to shatter my composure.

He sat back in the chair, gripped the arms, looked directly at me and stated, "I know I probably don't have the right to say this . . . . but . . . . since the beginning of our . . . . friendship, I have developed an affection for you. Don't get me wrong--it's not the hots--but I really, really like you."

I was dumbstruck!

"Just thought you should know it!"

I said I was dumbstruck, and it continued.

"Sorry if I upset you," and he stood and walked to the door and let himself out.

The click of the door shook me out of my lethargy. I ran to the door, opened it. Dane was about to descend the stairs. I called out, "Dane."

His face was flushed as he turned towards me.

"Please, come back."

He re-entered my apartment.

"Can we talk about this?"

We talked. We talked for two exhausting hours. Our rapprochement strengthened.

Finally, I confessed, "I'm exhausted . . . can't talk any more!

"Me too. Better get going."

I walked to the door with him.

Dane said, "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

"I want to kiss you."

I smiled and hugged him and kissed him.

That little sound from him, "Umph," and his tongue snaked into my mouth. What was to be a simple kiss turned into a passionate mini marathon.

Then he was on his knees again unzipping my trousers. I raised him up and suggested, "Let's go to the bedroom."

There we kissed, and caressed and sucked. It was gentle but passionate--a good first step. Cum spattered and completely at ease, Dane suggested, "Lets take a shower . . . I sure need it."

"Me too," I snorted.

We walked to the shower, I adjusted the temperature and we stepped in, closing the glass door behind us. Slowly we lathered ourselves and each other. As you can imagine, we paid special attention to each other's cocks.

Dane turned towards the flowing water to rinse himself off. I watched the water flow down his back and over his firm ass. I stepped up and put my arms around his ample chest and hugged him.

"Mmmmm!" he moaned as I fondled his nips with my cock wedged in the cleft of his ass.

"Sooo nice,"I murmured.

"Yeah," came the answer.

He rotated his hips causing me to gasp, "Ahhhh!"

"Fuck me, Brad," he whispered.

Then a thousand lights flashed in my brain! I was transported into another, alien world. I took my hard cock, positioned it against his ass hole and shoved it all the way in!

"AAHHEEEE," he screamed.

Once, twice . . . . then, seven, eight times, I rammed my cock deep into his ass and unceremoniously shot my load!

When the lights ceased flashing, Dane was slumped in the corner of the shower, gasping and trembling.

"Oh, my God," I whispered, stumbled out of the shower and sank to the floor. Then I screamed, "WHY?"

Dane merely stared at me. Tears streamed down his face. They were running down my cheeks too.