Why?

Chapter VI A Battle

The next part of this . . . is written in the third person, as it is easier for me, easier for me to try to fathom my actions and reactions. Distance makes analysis easier.

As Brad sat there trembling, Dane slowly got up, slowly walked out of the shower, dried himself and left. Not a word was spoken.

Brad sat there, cross legged for long minutes. The tears ceased flowing, but his face was a leaden mask. Slowly he got to his feet, stepped back into the shower and turned the cold faucet on full blast. The cold water pelted him unmercifully. He didn't seem to notice or react! It was only after he began to shiver that he turned off the water, took a towel and briskly rubbed his body dry.

Wearily, he climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep. He had not bothered to check the door, a normal procedure, nor had he turned off the lights. There were few times in his life that Brad could not sleep. He found sleep healed and restored his strength, especially in times of stress. This was a stressful time.

Suddenly he was awakened by the bedside phone. He jolted out of sleep and lunged for the receiver, the same time he glanced at the clock--10:00 a.m.!

"Damn!" he said to himself, then, "Hello?"

"Brad?" He recognized Charles' voice--his colleague at Bassingers.

"Yeah."

"You all right?"

Quickly Brad sought an excuse. "Actually, no. Think I caught the flu. . . . . Meant to call but just woke up. Will probably be out another day."

"You need anything?"

"No, thanks. Just sleep . . . . and orange juice . . . I have plenty of that."

"OK, Well if u need anything, call."

"Thanks, Chuck."

"Bye," and Charles rang off.

Brad had not considered taking time off. He had plenty of sick leave accrued, so that was no problem. He got out of bed, padded into the living room, turned off the lights, checked the front door--it was closed and locked--went to the kitchen where the half-full coffee maker was still on from last night and poured himself a concentrated cup of day old black coffee. As an automaton, he went back to his bedroom, placed the coffee on the bedside table, disconnected the phone jack, and crawled back into bed.

He laid back, clasped his hands behind his head and began to consider what had happened the evening before. Desperately, he attempted to make sense of what had transpired, more precisely, of what he had done.

Time after time he tried to reconstruct that period of time, particularly the obscene tableau of the last few minutes. Time after time he met a blank wall in his analysis. He attempted to approach his problem without passion or emotion, but that was futile!

Several times throughout the day he heard the phone ring in the kitchen. He disregarded it. He wanted no contact with anyone at this time. He spent the whole day in the subdued light of his bedroom.

Finally, natural inclinations took over. He suddenly realized that he was famished. He had not eaten since Sunday noon. He rose up and again padded to the kitchen where he constructed a massive ham sandwich and devoured it. The coffee maker had been emptied earlier, so he made a new pot of coffee, strong! He stood there 'til the last drop had filtered down, filled his cup again and returned to his bed.

The sheets were rumpled and softened from over twenty-four hours of constant occupancy. He seemed not to notice. He then tried to clear his mind. He went back to his high school days and painstakingly, step by step, reconstructed those things, those relationships, those contacts that he felt were important--right up to Sunday evening. It was time consuming and, ultimately exhausting.

Again, several times he heard the phone ring in the kitchen throughout the evening. As before, he ignored it. He fell asleep.

Brad woke early the next morning. His body was refreshed, but his mind was still in turmoil. As he swung out of bed, he detected a light musty odor. He had not showered since Sunday and had spent nearly thirty hours in his bed. Quickly he showered, stripped his bed and spent the rest of the morning in a frenzy--cleaning the whole apartment. He stopped long enough to phone Charles to tell him that he would not be in that day, but probably would the next. He had donned a pair of jogging shorts and a t-shirt to go the the communal laundry in his building . There he spent an hour washing and drying his clothes.

Twice that morning the phone rang, but he ignored it. He was not quite ready to return to the realm of the living!

Brad fixed a light meal at 1:00, consumed it and then sat down in the living room and turned on CNN.

About an hour later he was jolted back to reality by a knock on the door. He wasn't going to answer it!

Then he heard, "Brad? Brad, are you there?"

He recognized Del's voice.

"It's Del, Del Wadsworth. . . . "

Brad had been considering calling Del. This was fortuitous, providential. He moved to the door, looked through the security peep, seeing Del, he opened the door.

"Hi, I was going to call you . . . " Brad said sheepishly.

Del walked in, turned and asked, pointedly, "Are you all right? I've been trying to contact you since yesterday." He exuded both concern and annoyance.

"Well . . . . actually . . . . No! I feel like shit!" Brad stated flatly.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Guess I should," he stated as he walked to the sofa and sat, motioning the chair opposite for Del.

"What's he matter?" Del queried.

Quietly, almost dispassionately, Brad related the events of the past few days. He left no stone unturned, told all. When he had finished he merely sat there gazing at Del. Much of the time Del had watched Brad, then towards the end he closed his eyes as he assimilated and arranged the information Brad transmitted.

Then Del's eyes opened and he looked directly at Brad, "And, what conclusions have you reached?"

"None! None . . . at this time."

"Well . . . . it may take time. But, you must resolve this . . . . not just for yourself . . . there are others involved as well."

"I know. God, I know!"

"Maybe it would be easier . . . . if . . . . you had some help . . . . reaching a conclusion."

"You mean you?"

"Not entirely . . . . Brad, I must tell you, you probably have guessed already, I was aware of what happened. Dane had called me yesterday. He had been trying to phone you, but you didn't answer. He was concerned . . . very concerned."

Brad's eyes didn't leave Del. He flushed slightly.

"Brad, Dane wants to see you . . . to talk . . . He's in my car now, outside."

Brad's eyes widened.

"No," he uttered in panic, "I can' see him now . . . ." Then came the plea, "Please!"

"All right, I understand. But! You must see him, contact him . . . . or at least, take his call!"

"I will," Brad stated in contrition, "I promise."

"All right, and also promise me that if things get to the point that you think you can't cope, you will call me."

"I promise."

Del left and strangely, Brad went to the window and watched Del get into his car. He saw Dane too. He sobbed once, then got another cup of coffee.

An hour later the phone rang.

He wanted to ignore it, but he could no longer do that."

"Hello?"

"Brad?" Dane asked.

"Yes."

"Are you all right?" Brad fought for an answer. Again, "Brad?"

"I'm here . . . . I guess the real question is . . . . Are you all right?"

"Physically? I'm OK. But, I'm worried about you! Are you all right?"

"Physically, I'm fine . . . . "

Then he asked, "Brad, can I come over?"

Brad took a deep breath and answered, "Dane, I'd rather you not. I need some more time."

"OK . . . . I understand."

Brad could tell by the tone of voice that he didn't understand or was upset, or both.

Then, "Can I call you?"

"Of course," Brad answered.

"OK, Bye then."

"Bye."

Brad hung up the phone and flopped down on the sofa!

Wednesday he went to work and performed his duties dutifully! The same can be said of Thursday as well.

The shock of his actions was wearing off. He was returning to his normal routine, normal considering his actions the past Sunday. Dane had called both Wednesday and Thursday nights to inquire after him. He did not press. Brad was somewhat relieved after these calls, relieved that Dane called at all.

The time spent at home was consumed with the returning of his logical thought processes. The emotional trauma had lessened considerably. Still there was an incomprehensible miasma shrouding him.

Friday, after work, Brad took an early supper at a small cafe near Bassingers. He got in his car and drove west on the freeway. Driving always seemed to relax him. After an hour he turned north to the small city of Brazil and then east on the four lane state highway back to Indianapolis. Skirting the north side of the airport, he headed north again on the belt line. Soon he drove into the parking lot outside Dane's apartment building. Brad turned off the ignition and sat in his car for long minutes.

Taking a deep breath, he mounted the stairs to the second floor and knocked on Dane's door. Momentarily it was opened.

Dane was a bit surprised, but more, he was pleased. "HI!" he said brightly.

"Hi," answered Brad, "Can I come in?"

The shook hands briefly. "Of course."

Dane led the way to the living room and they sat down, facing each other. There was a moment of silence.

Gazing intently at Dane, Brad said, "Dane . . . can you ever forgive me . . . . what . . . ."

Dane raised his hand as if stopping Brad's statement. "You've been forgiven . . . . days ago."

Again a moment of silence.

"What I did was . . . horrendous . . . uncalled for . . . monstrous . . . obscene . . ."

"You've . . . been . . . forgiven," Dane repeated, a bit more forcefully, emphasizing each word.

Brad stopped again, his gaze still locked on Dane.

Then he asked, quietly, "Why?"

Dane merely shrugged his shoulders.

Brad stood up. These few minutes had been terribly exhausting.

"I should be going," he announced.

Dane stood and stepped up to Brad and hugged him. It was a way of physically underlining the fact that he had forgiven him.

The frightful pain of the forced invasion he had experienced that Sunday coupled with what he had begun to feel for Brad scorched his being. He had collapsed in the corner of the shower and let the warm water flow over him as he fought the searing pain. Violent emotions wracked his brain. Brad's scream caused him to turn his head and observe his tormentor. There he sat, trembling, cross legged in the middle of the bathroom, his face a mask of horror, whimpering.

He stepped out of the shower. Pain still flowed through his body as did the feelings of being betrayed. Quickly he toweled off, dressed and left. Brad was still sitting in the floor. When he returned to his apartment, he drew a hot bath and sat in if for over an hour. A hot bath had always had an emotional and physical salutary effects upon Dane. It relaxed him and soothed him.

That night, as he fell asleep, he had already opined the basis of his profanation. His mind began its healing process.

They hugged quietly, hands un moving, heads bowed against the other's shoulder. Dane lifted his head and kissed Brad simply on the cheek.

Brad broke his hold and stepped back, quietly he stated, "I want you to . . . fuck me."

Shocked, Dane said, "No."

"Yes!" Brad countered with some vehemence.

"NO! Brad!"

Brad stepped up, held Dane's face in his hands and planted a long probing kiss on Dane's lips. Dane tried to move away, Brad held tight. Finally, Dane submitted to the probing kiss--he did not fight it.

Again, "Fuck me."

Dane answered, "I can't!" In part this was true. Brad's contrition, his remorse created emotions, feelings other than sexual desire in him.

"Why?"

"I . . . just can't"

Brads hand snaked down to Dane's crotch, and immediately he sensed the reason. Slowly, gently, he fondled that limp mass and again kissed Dane with gentle persuasion.

"Don't," Dane gasped.

Brad continued, employing every trick at his disposal. He realized that what he was doing was a passive rape, but it was the only way, . . . in his mind!

Soon, he heard the familiar, "Umph," and he began to sense a swelling. He grasped the zipper tab and drew it down.

"Please . . . not now!" He backed away.

Brad stepped back up to him, groped for the burgeoning muscle and gently freed it.

"Oh, gawd," Dane gasped. This time he kissed Brad squarely on the lips, as if in resignation.

Brad's body, emotions were likewise transmuted to a growing desire. He slipped down and took Dane's substantial tool into his mouth.

"Ahhh!" Then Dane grasped Brad's bobbing head and backed away, saying, "Not here." He lifted Brad and led him to the bedroom.

There they quickly undressed. Then Dane said, "NO! . . . . I can't do this!"

Quickly Brad drew him to the bed and continued what he had started in the living room. Soon Dane was beyond total conscious control. He was gasping and rigid. His cock throbbed and jerked. Brad realized he had won this small battle. Hastily he lay on his stomach beside Dane, spread his legs and whispered, "Fuck me," again.

Dane knew that there was no retreat. Brad had brought him to the pinnacle of desire. But, he also knew that this victory could also be disastrous. He reached over and turned Brad onto his back and crawled between his legs. Brad's cock flopped against his thigh, completely detumescent. He reached down and began to fondle that beauteous thing. Soon it began to lengthen.

Brad sensed that he might loose the battle. In that position, he brought his knees up and spread his thighs wider. Again, he uttered, "Fuck me."

Dane, who had not spoken a word for long minutes, stated quietly, "I will." Then he bent down and Drew Brad's hardened cock into his mouth.

"Ahhhh!"

Knowing that if he were to truly win, he had to proceed carefully. Dane's same-sex experience had been somewhat meager. But, he knew that his desire, his affection for Brad was somehow real and important. He had been sucked, he had sucked--well, Brad for the first time--he had fucked willing partners, but he had never, willingly allowed himself to be fucked until that disastrous Sunday. That was the extent of his same-sex experience! Yet, the two or three guys he had penetrated willingly, had schooled him somewhat. One had asked Dane to tongue him. He rebelled at that, but he had used his fingers skillfully, allowing his erstwhile partners to relax a bit before he penetrated them.

With Brad . . . . !

He grasped Brad's thighs and pushed them towards his chest. This action rotated his hips, bringing the rigid cock in contact with Brad's belly and brought into full view that puckered hole. Brad was not particularly hairy--the normal profusion on his legs, crotch, pits and a sprinkling on his chest--but his hole and surrounding areas were devoid of hair.

As stated, Dane had never rimmed a guy before. He had found such an action somewhat repugnant, although when he was thusly ministered to--he was ecstatic. Dane took a deep breath in an attempt to conquer his disinclination, bent down, extended his tongue and circled that tight opening.

"Ahhhh!" Brad gasped.

The fact that his action brought such an intense, instantaneous and obvious delight to Brad, coupled with the neutral taste, caused him to continue.

"Oh! Gawd!" Brad groaned.

Dane continued, probing tentatively. Brad began to twitch and his tight hole spasmed. Dane backed off, reached for the lotion on the bedside table, poured a liberal amount onto his fingers and slathered it over the quaking hole.

"Ahhhh!" Brad gasped again.

Slowly, Dane inserted a finger into that tight hole.

Again, "Ahhhh!"

With gentle deliberateness he began slow penetration and withdrawal.

A low, satisfied "Mmmmm."

Dane sensed that the initial tenseness in Brad had lessened. He was sure of it when Brad grasped his knees to support them.

Faster and deeper he plunged his finger. Brad's head began to whip back and forth in obvious delight.

Slowly, carefully, Dane inserted a second finger and continued as before--slowly at first and then deeper and faster.

"Oh! Yeah!"

Soon Dane sensed that that muscled gate had relaxed to a considerable degree.

"Fuck me, Dane. I want you to fuck me." Brad gasped.

Dane withdrew his fingers, re-anointed that quivering hole and rubbed a liberal portion on his hard cock. Carefully he crawled up to that offered hole, grasped his cock and rubbed the head over the puckered opening. Brad tensed.

"Relax . . . . take deep breaths . . ." he suggested.

"Yeah," Brad answered and he complied. He had remembered Prof. Kim's admonitions the first time.

Carefully Dane applied pressure. The gate held fast. Then Brad pushed against that hard cock-head and suddenly, it popped in.

"Ahhhh!" escaped from both men's lips.

Dane held his position for a minute then slowly pushed forward a bit.

"Ahhhh!" escaped from Brads throat.

"You all right?"

"Yeah . . . it's OK!"

After a while, after slow, gentle insertions, Dane was completely imbedded.

"Oh! Gawd," he said as he was now completely incased by that hot, lascivious tube.

Then slowly he withdrew part way, and then reinserted his throbbing cock all the way in Brad's hot fuck-tunnel. He continued this slow in-and-out-and-in-and-out motion for long minutes. Neither men spoke, only moaned and gasped at the sensations. Dane started to move faster in-and-out.

"Oh! Yesss!" Brad finally vocalized.

Then, Dane bent over and kissed Brad on the lips.

Brad let loose of his knees and wrapped his legs around Dane's waist as if to draw him in further.

"Oh, Brad . . . . you feel so good . . . you make me feel so good!"

"Mmmmm!" was the only response.

Normally, in the past when he had fucked his willing partners, Dane had reached orgasm relatively quickly. Now, he merely revealed in the process and the sensations.

After a few minutes of this delicious probing, Dane withdrew.

"Why?" Brad asked, then, "Did you cum?"

Dane bent over again and kissed Brad. "No," then, he simply stated, "I want you to fuck me!"

"No . . . "

Before he could finish, Dane kissed him again and began to fondle the now soft cock, bringing it back to its former hardness.

"Yes!" Dane stated, authoritatively.

Brad then complied with the same gentleness as he had just experienced from Dane

Long minutes later he rolled off Dane and lay beside him panting.

"You didn't cum!" Dane half accused.

"Mmmm! Neither did you!" he murmured simply with a smile.

They turned towards each other and embraced--feeling each other's warmth and sweet breath. Although not sated, they were both content and at peace with themselves. A massive, high, seemingly impenetrable wall had been breached. Individually, they had conquered their demons and to together they had been victorious.

Dane whispered, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Mmmmm!" Brad answered sleepily.

The both drifted into golden sleep.

Saturday I awoke, utterly satisfied and at peace. I turned to my side and gazed at Dane still sleeping there. I smiled to myself as I noticed a bit of drool running into his carefully clipped beard. I slipped out of bed, went to the bathroom for my morning piss, rinsed my mouth out, rubbed tooth paste over my teeth with my fingers, rinsed again and slipped back into the bed.

He opened his eyes, turned and slowly focused on me.

"Good morning, " I said.

"Morning, " He murmured, rubbed his face, rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom.

A few minutes later he padded out of the bathroom and crawled in beside me. We snuggled and then began to talk of things past. I find it most interesting that there we were two healthy men with equally healthy libidos lying in each others arms nude and talking.

I mentioned that to Dane with a smile.

He returned the smile and stated, "We have plenty of time . . . . I think . . . . for our physical explorations . . . . don't you think?

"Yes," I said simply.

Our conversation was more in the form of a confession and an emotional purging. We talked openly of what had happened in high school, the trials that Dane had suffered prior to that, last Sunday--we held nothing back.

Finally we were quiet.

"You know what time it is?" Dane asked.

"No."

"10:45," he announced and continued, "You know what I want?"

"I'm afraid to ask," I grinned.

"Hah! You're a hopeless romantic," he responded, "And, a bit horny, I think." Then he announced in mock seriousness, "I need a cup of coffee, you pervert!" With that he jumped out of bed and walked to the kitchen. I followed.

"Pervert? Pervert! Look who's talking . . . . making coffee in the nude with your tally-wacker hanging out!"

He laughed uproariously, gave me a kiss on the cheek and a swat on the ass. Actually, it was a bit amusing seeing him preparing the coffee in his state of undress. Dane, as I have mentioned, is considerably masculine in appearance and demeanour--quite natural for him. Guess I am too. Up to now I had generally observed him dressed. Dane was not what you would call a fussy or modish dresser. But, his present state was amusing. He got the mugs down from the cupboard and retrieved the cream from the fridge.

He turned to me and stated, "I normally don't eat anything for breakfast." Saying that he got a bottle of honey off the shelf walked over to me, grabbed my limp cock and squeezed a portion of the thick honey on my cock.

"But with you, I'll make an exception." He dropped to his knees and licked the sweet substance off--my reaction to all this was most normal! I rose to the occasion.

He stood up, grinned as he glanced at my burgeoning cock and said, "See. I told you . . . pervert!" Again he laughed and walked to the coffee maker.

"You gonna leave me standing here like this?"

"Why not?"

"Damn!" I walked over to him cupped his ass and let my finger snake inward.

"Mmmmm!" he moaned, "Better than coffee," and pushed his ass back towards me.

"Better than coffee? . . . . No, I don't think so!" I poured my coffee and went to the living room, stating as I went, "Turn about is fair play!?

"Pervert!" he snorted.

"Degenerate!" I shot back.

We both laughed.

I guess our past together and separately had held enough seriousness. We tended to be light hearted when together--good natured repartee. That is not to say that we didn't have our serious moments. We did. There was, by necessity, a lot of accommodations to be made. Sometimes they were difficult.

Dane had stated that even though he had experienced several same-sex liaisons, they were generally one way--he allowed himself to be sucked or he fucked the guy. But, there was never any emotional attachment.

As we spent more time together, he would often state that his feeling for me as a man was so alien to him but so compelling. He had always considered himself a macho, straight male. Yet, here he was, wanting to hold me and to have me hold him--wanting to kiss me and to have me kiss him, wanting to caress me and to have me caress him, wanting to enter me and wanting me to enter him.

Both of us were passionate by nature. Certainly, my passion for him was becoming monumental. Yet, I realized that to let it have full sway might be ultimately ruinous. I suspect that Dane felt the same way. We proceeded carefully, one step at a time.

Several months after our rapprochement, we were lying in bed one Friday evening, after a glorious coupling. The room was lit by the setting sun and the shadows and forms were soft. Maybe the softness was part of the post-orgasmic afterglow.

Dane queried, "Can I ask you a question?"

Whenever he made that request, I knew that something revelatory was about to transpire. Guess the same can be said of me when I asked the same question of him.

"Sure, what?"

"What are the things you might expect in a relationship?"

Now there was a pregnant question!

"Mmmm!" I mused, then listed, "Companionship . . . trust . . . Yeah, trust is important . . . similar or at least compatible likes . . . respect . . . understanding . . . and . . . friendship . . ."

Quietly he probed, almost sarcastically, "No passion?"

I squeezed him, "That goes without saying."

"Oh, good! I don't want a monk!"he snorted.

I understood the implication of his initial question. "Have I acted like a monk?"

"None that I know," came the retort.

We lay quiet for a minute or so, digesting.

"And . . . what about a . . . commitment?"

I knew, or at least suspected, that this would be the next query.

"What do you mean?" I wasn't trying to be evasive. Guess it was my . . . former nature surfacing.

"What would you expect from a commitment?"

I thought long and hard about this one. "Well, there are the obvious . . . technical considerations. . . . "

"Technical?"

"Yeah! Where to live, and what to do about the furniture and kitchen stuff. Then there's the division of labor . . . "

"Division of labor?" he snorted.

"Who's going to cook, who's going to do the dishes, who's going to do clean . . . that kinda stuff."

"Damn! You make it sound like a business merger."

I laughed. "Well . . . . they may not be the most important things, but they do have their place . . . kinda like a foundation."

"What about the . . . nontechnical things?"

"Well, I guess the main thing is the willingness to set aside the individual for the combined . . . not to deny the importance of the individual, but to realize or accept that the joining of the two is equally important. If the relationship is to flourish . . . certain accommodations have to be reached . . . willingly."

"Accommodations?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Well, and here I'm referring to two guys . . . "

"I'm glad of that!"

"Shit!" I laughed and continued, "If they both tend to be . . . . assertive . . . ah . . . tops. There will have to be some accommodation!"

"Ya mean like . . . . even days on, odd days off?" he said jokingly.

"That could be a solution," I answered seriously. "But, some accommodation has to be reached."

At the point Dane turned towards me, supporting himself on his elbow. He was serious, I could see.

"Brad, I think you know how I feel about you!"

"Yeah! I know."

Dane had announced a couple of weeks earlier that he felt he was falling in love with me. Strangely, I didn't panic when the declaration was made. But, I was hesitant to declare the same.

He continued, "And, we both tend to be . . . . ah, to prefer . . . . to assume . . . . Shit! What I'm trying to say is that we both lean towards being tops!"

I guess he was right there. However . . . .

I stated, "Yeah, but there's where the accommodation comes into play. I don't mind . . . sometimes . . . . I want to bottom for you . . . because of . . . . how I feel for you."

"I know, I feel the same way."

"I do it because I want to. I do it because of how I feel for you."

"I know."

"That's what I mean by accommodation. It doesn't mean that we have to change, just that, from time to time, we want to."

Again, we lay quiet for a minute or so, digesting.

"What about monogamy?" Dane asked.

"What about it?"

"Do you think a commitment ought to be monogamous?"

"Again, that depends upon the commitment, I think. If both partners want monogamy. No problem! If both partners want an open relationship. No problem! If their opinion is mixed . . . then an accommodation has to be reached and if it isn't . . . . then there could be serious problems. . . . "

"How do you feel about that?"

"About monogamy?"

"Yeah."

"I would want a monogamous relationship."

"Whew!" Dane vocalized and added, "Me too!"

I smiled, reached for him and enfolded him in my arms. We lay like that for long minutes, reveling in the closeness. I knew what Dane was getting at. I knew what he really wanted to say. I knew that he took this tack because of me.

Then I stated, "I gotta go!"

"Why? It's Friday!"

Dane's voice echoed concern even a bit of panic.

"I know, but, I've a couple of things to do at home."

"Oh! OK."

Dane's response was perfect. He was not about to enslave . . . neither was I. We both respected each other opinions and occasional need for privacy.

I sensed that he was disappointed. But the truth was . . . I did have things to do at home, away from him. I drove home thinking about our conversation and how Dane felt about me. I needed time to think, alone!

I needed to consider things . . . without Dane's presence, without his powerful influence on me. Sometimes that is necessary.

I sat on my sofa and considered all that I knew and tried to ponder the unknowns as well. At 11:00 p.m., I reached for the phone. I usually don't phone this late. But . . .

"Dane?"

"Yeah."

"It's me."

"Yeah, I know."

"I have something to tell you."

"Oh?"

"I needed time to think . . . . and I wanted to tell you something, but not face to face. . . ."

"Well?" I sensed apprehension in his voice.

"I know how you feel about me . . . . that you are . . . . falling in love . . ."

"Yes . . . "

"Damn! This is so hard to say . . . ."

"Just say it Brad! Get it over with!" There was an edge to his voice.

"Dane . . . . I'm falling in love with you . . . ."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Dane?"

Nothing.

"Dane! Are you there?"

Nothing. I hung up the phone, bewildered and just sat there.

Exactly eighteen minutes later there was a knock at the door.

It was Dane, beaming, laughing as he rushed in and hugged me. He kissed me hard. He seemed ravenous.

Finally, breaking and gasping, I said, "No! Wait!"

He looked a bit alarmed.

"The door!" I rasped.

It was wide opened. Dane chuckled, quickly closed the door, turned and stated, "Man! Your going have a time tonight that you won't forget." Again he enfolded me in his arms and proceeded to make his statement true.

It was 11:00 Saturday morning when I awoke. We had spent several hours in exhausting, passionate couplings. Dane was still sleeping, half covered, midst the hair on his chest I saw dry clots of cum. I looked down and observed the same on my chest and belly. We had not bothered to shower--we fell asleep exhausted from our sport. I slipped, quietly out of bed and went to the bathroom. I was standing in the hot shower when the glass door opened,

"Mind some company?"

"Not at all, " I said turning towards him, and added, "You're a mess!"

He just rubbed his hand over his torso and chuckled. Soon he was covered with lather and I washed his back, carefully and thoroughly, leaving no crease or crevice unattended.

"You are bad!" he murmured.

"My turn!" I said brightly and turned to have my back washed.

His hands roamed over my back and down to my buttocks. Lightly he cupped them and then ran his hands over them and slipped a finger into my crease. It was so sensuous. I began to become aroused. Then he slipped his arms around my chest and drew me to him. I felt his thunderous cock wedge itself into my ass-crack, pointing upwards. I rocked my hips. Dane gasped. A hand slid down to my cock and grasped it. I groaned. I arched my back 'til his cock slipped between my legs and brushed past my puckered bud.

"Ahhh!" we both groaned.

I began to move my hips forwards and backwards over his thigh-trapped cock. He moved his hand from my cock and brought it around and slid it down my crack and fingered my hole. I stopped my rocking and luxuriated in his fingering. Neither of us spoke.

"Ahhh!" I gasped as he slid a second finger in and began to trace his tongue around my ear and neck. I was quivering with desire. His two fingers slid in and out, eroticizing my spasming tunnel.

Finally, he whispered in my ear. "Can I?"

My answer was to thrust my hips backward. I felt his substantial cock-head rub back and forth over my bud. Then he exerted a bit of pressure and the head popped past the muscled gate.

"Ahhh!"

He held it there until I pushed back signaling my readiness. He slid in further and waited. Finally, he was completely buried in my ass. I bent over a bit as to allow for complete penetration. He grasped my hips.

Slowly, gently he began that primal movement--in and out.

"Ohhhh!" I began to groan as his movement and his stuffing pole began to infuse me with the most delicious feeling.

He would withdraw all but his bulbous cock-head and then slide it all the way back in, again and again.

"Oh, Yeah!" I gasped, and added, "More."

Slowly he began to increase the speed of his pistoning rod.

"Yes, Yesss!" The sensations he was engendering in me were not entirely new, but their intensity was. My desire was monumental. My reactions were phenomenal.

Suddenly he pulled out with a pop, and sat with his back against the shower wall. I turned, confused.

"Sit on my cock," he stated. His eyes were glazed with passion.

I bracketed his hips and sat down upon that upstanding, throbbing cock. I leaned back against the opposite wall and lifted my legs--bracketing his head. He began to thrust upward.

"Oh! gawd," I gasped. The sensation was incredible--the angle of his penetration coupled with my own position in those cramped quarters was phenomenal.

Again and again he lunged upward, off the floor, into me. Sweat mixed with the shower. I was pelted externally and internally. I had never, never experienced such sensations. I know now it was the angle which brought his cock-head against my sensitive prostate. I was gasping. Dane was gasping.

Without warning, hundreds of lights popped against my minds eye. Without the normal preamble of feelings, I was catapulted over the edge. I was spiraling out-of-control. My whole being suddenly tensed and then that cosmic, elemental, primal explosion!

"Arghhh!" I shouted.

My whole body spasmed violently and then . . . . copious amounts of lustral cum shot and spewed out of my upstanding, untouched cock. It was amazing! Fantastic! Incredible! Marvelous!

My sphincter contracted again and again 'round Dane's hard, thrusting cock.

He yelled, "I'm . . . . gonna . . . . CUMMMM!" and then, "OH! GAAAAWD!" As he arched off the floor, lifting me with him

And, I felt his cock lurch again and again in me. He fell back to the wet floor, panting.

We remained in that position for long minutes, then slowly we untangled ourselves, stood up, embraced and kissed gently. The water flowed over us.

Then he said, with a smirk, "Remind me not to take a shower with you again . . . you're too dangerous!"

I chuckled, "Look who's talking!"

Our normal habit over the past few months of restrained love making was thrown out the window that week end. We were insatiable. Chapter VII Epilogue

A month later, Dane and I had moved in together. We decided that our first social thing together was to invite Del to lunch.

Del was not surprised at the invitation. He was not surprised that Dane and I had managed to connect, although he found it a bit ironic! He was not surprised that a commitment had been made. I guess he had greater faith in me than I had initially.

One of the most ironic things in our commitment, our relationship was in the accommodation. Since we both tended to be the initiator, assertive, a top, we assumed that this would be a point of friction. It wasn't! As we look back now, we see a pattern. There would be days, weeks, sometimes even months when either Dane or I would take the lead, only to surrender it willingly to the other. There is no question as to whom is the dominant one. We are partners. Sure, there are some things in which Dane takes charge--he is better in the financial aspect than I. I am more adept in dealing with the minutia than he.

We both tend to become exasperated, and from time to time, 'fly off the handle.' Our disagreements have been quite verbal, never physical, and we never 'hit below the belt.' And, one thing we have learned--we never go to sleep with out neutralizing whatever it was or is that causes our disagreements. Making up has its advantages.

I still marvel at what has developed between Dane and me! I marvel at the joy I feel in our commitment.

Why? It's obvious!