I had my hand around the base of his cock, and I worked my mouth up and down, trailing my tongue in a circle around his head every time I reached the top. I couldn’t remember ever being more turned on in my life. I was dying to kiss him and pull all his clothes off him and fuck him—or have him fuck me, I didn’t care which. But he certainly wasn’t ready for that yet. So I just kept sucking and licking and pumping a little on the bottom of his shaft with my fist. He was definitely responding, pushing into me and moaning. I noticed that his hands kept reaching for me, but then he would pull them back and clench them at his sides again. Finally one landed on my shoulder and touched my hair a little. I remembered my birthday, the way he had held me against the counter with both of his hands in my hair, and I knew what he wanted.

I stopped just long enough to say, “You can grab. Just don’t push,” before returning to sucking him.

He actually gasped out, “Oh Jesus, thank you,” and his hands both gripped tight into my hair. He didn’t push. Actually, he didn’t have time. As soon as he grabbed me like that, he groaned, and he started to come. Despite being caught off guard, I managed to swallow fast without choking and kept sucking until the tremors had stopped.

Only then did it occur to me that I didn’t really know where to go from here. My own erection was begging for some attention, and I tried to talk it down. What had happened felt less like sex and more like stress release, like letting steam out of a pressure cooker. I knew I couldn’t expect any kind of return.

His fingers pulled out of my hair, but before I could stand up, he slid down the wall to sit in front of me with his face buried in his hands. He leaned into me, just barely. I started to put my arms around him, but that made him tense up immediately, so I settled for one on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.

I felt like I had to say something, but had no idea what. “Matt?” And then I heard his breath catch again. Not like before. A torn, shuddering breath—and I realized he was crying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

“I’m so ashamed.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.

My heart fell a little. My intention had certainly not been to shame him in any way. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“No.” He took a deep breath and then said in a rush, “I’m ashamed of how much I liked it. How good it felt. How much I wanted it. How I want it to happen again already. Nothing, with any girl, has ever felt as good as that. It was….” His arms slid around my waist and held me tight. “Oh God, Jared….” The despair in his voice was enough to break my heart. But there was something else in his voice too. Something that sounded like awe.

“We don’t need to talk about that right now. You’re exhausted. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I think what you really need is some sleep. What do you think?”

I was talking to him like I might talk to a scared child, but it seemed to work. He took another deep, shaking breath, let go of me, and stood up, turning away from me while he got his pants back in place. He wouldn’t look at me, but there was no anger in his face, only sadness and confusion… and just maybe relief. “Yeah, I think I could sleep now.” But he wasn’t moving.

I stood up too and gently turned him around and pushed him toward the bedroom. He went, but then he stood there looking at the bed with something like terror in his eyes.

“Take the bed,” I said gently. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

I tried not to feel hurt at how relieved he looked. He stripped down to his shorts and climbed into the bed. Once again, I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what he needed to hear right now. That I loved him? That my heart was breaking for the pain he was in? That I was sorry for pushing him, or that I wanted nothing more than to climb in beside him and make love to him all night? What I settled for was, “Well, goodnight.”

I was at the door headed for the couch when I heard him quietly say my name. “Jared? Will you lay here with me? I don’t want you to go.” He was facing away from me, still not able to turn around and look at me.

“I’ll do anything you need me to do. But….” I hesitated. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I hardly dared to hope.

“I’m sure. Just lay here with me. Nothing else. I really just want you close. That’s all.”

“Of course.” That did leave me with a quandary of what to do about my clothes. To undress first felt like it would be adding a level of pressure I was sure he didn’t need right now. On the other hand, I didn’t really want to sleep fully clothed. I stood there for a second, telling myself I was a fool for worrying about it. I finally pulled off my shoes and socks and T-shirt but decided to keep my pants on and climbed in beside him. I lay facing his back. We would have been spooning except for the foot of empty space between us. He sighed. Even from where I was, a foot away, I could feel some of the tension leaving him.

“Just a little closer, okay? I want… I just want to know you’re here.”

I moved a little closer, so that I was almost against his back, our skin barely touching. My own body was responding to the nearness of his smooth back. I made sure that part of me wasn’t against him. He didn’t need that right now. I put one arm over him. “Sleep now, okay? We can worry about everything else later.”

His breathing was already slowing down, and I thought he might already be asleep when he said quietly, “Thank you.”

What I thought was, I hope you still feel that way in the morning. What I said was, “Anytime.” And then he was asleep. I was awake for a long time after that, wondering what was going to happen when he woke up. Then, in his sleep, he shifted closer, leaning back against me, and made a contented sigh that made my heart break all over again. I wrapped my arm tightly around him and told myself to take my own advice. We could worry about everything else later.


I AWOKE once in the night and got up long enough to use the john, brush my teeth, and take off my damn jeans. When I got back into bed, he immediately moved back into my arms, although he didn’t say a word. When I woke in the morning, I was surprised to see that he was still there. He was normally such an early riser that I had fully expected him to be gone by the time I woke up. The slight tension in his back and the sound of his breathing told me that he was awake. He had to be able to feel my morning erection pressing against his back side, but he didn’t move away.

“You were talking again.”

I laughed. “What did I say this time?”

He hesitated for a minute and then said quietly, “You said my name.”

Still he hadn’t moved. I asked, “How do you feel?”

A deep sigh, and then: “A lot better.”

“And how do you feel about this?” I tightened my arm around him a little to let him know what I meant.

And I knew he was smiling although his voice was very quiet when he said, “A lot better.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“I’ve been awake for a while, thinking. And I realized a few things.” He stopped for a moment, and I waited. “I dated quite a few girls over the years. I was attracted to them, and I even cared about a couple of them. But I never loved any of them. And the relationships just weren’t ever very satisfying. They always seemed like more trouble than they were worth. And so I gave up. I decided that I just wasn’t really cut out for it, that I liked being a bachelor, and that I wasn’t ever dating again. And actually, my life got a lot easier after that.

“And sometimes I would be physically attracted to other men. But it wasn’t ever anybody I really knew, so I ignored it. I didn’t want those feelings, and I buried them down deep inside of me until they were gone.

“And things were okay for a while. But you know how it is. Pretty soon, all of my friends were married. And I always felt like a fifth wheel.” Yes, I did know how that felt. “The only time I wasn’t the odd man out was when they were trying to hook me up with someone, and that was worse. So I started making excuses, quit hanging out with them. And one day I woke up and realized that they were gone.

“So I changed jobs, and I moved here. And I met you. I was so tired of being lonely, and I was so glad to finally find somebody to just hang out with.”

I squeezed him when he said that and whispered, “Me too.”

“All summer, we had so much fun together, and I was so happy to have you. And that happiness just kept growing. It got bigger and bigger until it was all I thought about. Every day when I woke up, I couldn’t wait to see you again. It was such a great feeling. And I guess I’m an idiot, because I truly didn’t recognize what it meant.” He stopped, but I knew he wasn’t done. “And that would have been okay, too, except then, just out of the fucking blue, there were the, well, the urges that went with those feelings. Strong urges. And that was something I honestly had not expected at all. They caught me completely off guard. Well, I don’t think I need to tell you, it freaked me right the fuck out.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” But I said it teasingly. “And how about now? Does it still freak you out?”

“A little. Not as much. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it the past few weeks. It’s been hard for me to get used to the idea of being with another man, but….” He stopped for a second, and I could hear a smile in his voice when he went on, “I think last night helped quite a bit.”

I smiled too. “I’m glad I took that chance, then.”

“Me too.” I could tell by his voice that he was blushing. “But I don’t mean just that. I woke up a couple of hours ago, and my first thought was that I should leave before you woke up. But I realized I didn’t want to leave. I realized….” He paused for second, took a deep breath, and said, “I really like being here.”

“You’re always welcome at my house. You know that.”

“No. I mean”—and I felt his hand on my arm, where it was wrapped around him—“I like being here.”

“Oh.” Here in my bed. In my arms. Was that really what he was telling me? My heart was suddenly racing. Once I thought I could keep my voice level, I asked, as casually as I could, trying to hide the insane hope that was suddenly flooding through me, “Are you saying that you want to be with me?”

A pause, and then, his voice full of amazement, he said, “I think maybe I want to try.”

I held him tighter, my forehead against the nape of his neck, and tried to just concentrate on breathing for a minute. I felt him there against me, so big and strong and yet so vulnerable. Could this really be happening? I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted so much to kiss him, to touch him everywhere, to shed what little clothing was between us, to spend the whole day in bed with him. But I also knew this was a big step for him, and I didn’t want to push him. My erection, which had gone down as we had been talking, was suddenly back, and I didn’t know if I should be trying to hide that fact from him or not.

“Jared, say something.”

My voice was shaking. “Like what?”

“What do you want?”

“Matt.” I tightened my arms around him, kissed his neck, and slid one hand up his smooth stomach to his chest. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

He sighed and relaxed into my arms. I kissed his neck some more and let my hand explore his chest and then his stomach. My fingers found that amazing trail of hair leading down from his navel and started to follow it. He moaned a little as my fingers moved lower. I reached down and put my hand over the bulge in his briefs, felt his erection jump against my hand. And suddenly, before I even knew it, he had jumped out of bed like he was spring loaded and started putting his pants on.

“Shit. Matt, I’m sorry….”

“Don’t be sorry.” His cheeks were red with embarrassment, but he looked right at me, so I knew he meant what he said. “You don’t need to be sorry. Just… not yet, okay?”

The words “not yet” sounded so much like a promise that my heart swelled. “Okay.”

“I’ll make coffee. You can have the shower first.”

There was a cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter when I emerged from the shower. He was staring into the fridge with a frown on his face.

“Why do you have so much mustard, anyway?”

“It’s Eddy Mac mustard.”

“What?”

“You know—Ed McCaffrey. He used to play for the Broncos. He makes mustard now, and the money goes to some charity. I was trying to do my part.”