

### The Rick&Jerry Series: Complete Edition

### Books One through Seven

By Karl Five

Copyright 2018 Karl Five

**Smashwords Edition**

**License Notes**

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Author's note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DATE with a BRIDGE

DATE with a ROCK

DATE with a TOWN

DATE with an ARTIST

DATE with the PAST ]

DATE with DISASTER

DATE with a FESTIVAL

DATE with a BRIDGE

It seemed that nothing was going to go right for me that day. I had finally made the decision to end it all and jump off the Neuse River Bridge.

I'm on my way up Route 17, only a couple of miles out of Jacksonville, when my car engine sputters and dies. I coast onto the shoulder, then try several times to get it going again. The starter does its best, but the engine only makes a few feeble attempts before it gives up completely. The gas tank is nearly full, so that isn't the problem.

Well, it figures, doesn't it? Sometimes you just can't catch a break to save your life.

I get out of the car and open the hood. I'm a man. I should therefore be able to fix cars, right? Wrong. Although I'm familiar with the principle behind internal combustion engines, the real thing is nothing to me but an incomprehensible tangle of grimy wires, greasy metal, and viciously whirling belts and blades. Seems I've always been better at the theoretical side of things rather than the practical side.

Nevertheless, I feel that I have to at least make the effort, before I begin hiking back along the highway to J'ville. (And yes, I have a cell phone, but it's one of those prepaid plans, and I'd used up all my minutes several days ago.)

It takes a bit of fumbling around just to get the hood up on my Scion xB, but when I do, everything looks the way it always has to me. Just the usual collection of wires, belts, and various odd-shaped metal contraptions. Somehow I've always felt that there should be a big flashing arrow indicating what's wrong and where it can be found, but there never is.

Although I stand with one hand on the upraised hood, staring down at my recalcitrant engine, I really am not seeing the motor at all. Instead, I'm stewing over the events that led up to my final decision, piling bitterness on top of despair until my own thoughts threaten to topple over and suffocate me.

I glance back down the road toward J'ville and Camp Lejeune, one of the biggest Marine Corps bases in the country. I'd spent the last couple of years in J'ville. It isn't the best place in the world for a gay guy, but it isn't the worst place either, considering the huge number of young, healthy, and mostly good-looking Marines in the area. Of course, most of them are strictly heterosexual, but not all of them, to say the least. There's only one gay bar in town, but ever since the military finally decided to accept gay, lesbian, and bisexual folks, things have begun to change for the better.

Hard to believe I'm actually leaving, both the town and my life.

Well, if I can't get my car started again, I'm not going to be leaving anything. I don't know for sure how far it is to the outskirts of town. Probably just a few miles. But I never was much of a walker.

I sigh. That's part of the problem, isn't it? If I were still much younger and more handsome, I might not have been making this trip to begin with. Youth and good looks are at a premium in the gay world, and I'm not in my twenties anymore.

Of course, there's also the fact that I'd been laid off from my job as a CT Tech at Camp Lejeune, and I haven't been able to find another one. CT technologists are a glut on the market just now, so despite all the resumes I had sent out and the very few resulting interviews, I was still unemployed even after my Unemployment Benefits ran out. After that, all my hopes started running out, along with what little savings I had.

But enough of that. Back to the non-starting car and the side of the road. I stare north up Route 17, glumly reflecting that this puts a definite crimp in my plans. The Neuse River Bridge is at least 40 minutes further on and I had timed my departure in order to arrive right after sunset, since I've always thought that would be a good time of day to die. Very dramatic to leap off a bridge into the flaming colors reflected in the water by the dying light of the western sky, right?

At the rate things are going, I'll be lucky to get there by midnight. And there won't even be a full moon tonight. Even the universe seems to be against me.

"Hey, buddy! You got car trouble?"

Although there's no hint of threat in the voice, I nearly jump out of my shoes at the unexpected words coming from behind me.

"No shit, Sherlock," I reply, covering my startlement with sarcasm as I turn to face the stranger who's walking up along the side of the road. Highways can be dangerous these days; no telling what sort of weirdoes you might run into.

This one doesn't appear too scary, although he's definitely taller than I am and far more imposing, with the hint of a military bearing in the way he walks, despite some rather shabby and worn-looking clothes. He's probably somewhere around my age, and he's carrying a good-sized backpack, but this certainly isn't a hiking trail. Homeless? Or just another wanderer hitchhiking around the country?

He gives me a smile and glances down at my car. "Want me to take a look at it?"

I step out of the way and wave a hand at the engine. Maybe I've lucked out and he's a hotshot auto mechanic. "Sure. Why not?"

He pokes around under the hood while I just stand there and watch. Whatever he may be, he's certainly not hard on the eyes. If I'd encountered him in a gay bar, I probably would have tried to pick him up. I tend to be attracted to the more macho types, and he definitely fits into that category.

I give a mental shrug. Even if he were gay, he wouldn't give a wimp like me a second look. A military type with a body like that could have the pick of the crop.

He touches the dangling end of a small rubber hose, then brings his fingers up to his nose, sniffing. "This is your fuel line," he informs me.

I shift my head, trying to bring the right part of my bifocals to bear so I can focus. I hate the damn bifocals. Wearing glasses is bad enough, but bifocals? Please!

The engine is in shadows, so it takes me a minute to figure out what's what, but, yes, that hose is obviously not connected to anything and fluid is dripping out of it. Now, why hadn't I noticed that?

He slides the hose over a short metal pipe that's nearby.

"Should have a clamp to hold it in place," he adds. "But you can deal with that later."

Or maybe not, I think, as long as the car gets me as far as the bridge.

"See if it'll start now."

Obediently, I get back into the car and turn the key. With only a bit of hesitation, the engine comes to life.

With a satisfied nod, my Good Samaritan closes the hood carefully, turns away, and begins walking along the road.

I lean out the window. "Thanks a lot, pal! Where're you headed?"

He waves one hand vaguely at the highway. "That way."

Nothing like having a definite destination in mind, is there? I think to myself. Oh well, being a drifter is no crime. Or maybe it is, when you consider how vagrants are often treated these days.

What the hell, I figured I could be rid of him before I reached the bridge. Or, on second thought, this stranger would make a fine witness. He could tell everyone what happened. I was sure he wouldn't be able to stop me. When we reached the right place, I'd be out of the car and over the railing before he even knew what was going on.

"Want a ride?" I call out.

He actually takes a moment to consider before replying. "Yes. Thank you."

Taking off his backpack, he stows it behind the seat and gets in.

It's a good thing my Scion has a fair amount of headroom. If I'd had one of those low-slung little compact cars, his head would have just about hit the roof.

Putting the car in gear, I drive carefully back onto the pavement.

"My name's Jeremy Langsten," I offer. "Jerry, for short."

"Richard Garner. Rick, for short. Pleased to meet'cha, Jerry."

Yeah, definitely New York.

"So – uh -- are you really not going anywhere in particular?"

"I've been searching," he says, "for something I'm beginnin' to think I'll never find."

"Yeah? Welcome to the club. I've been doing that for most of my life."

I hadn't intended my words to sound so bitter. They just came out that way. I see his eyes flicker sideways as he studies me, even though I keep my gaze on the road. I'm used to watching people watch me. You get a lot of practice doing that in the bars.

I wonder what he sees. Can he tell I'm gay? Most people seem to be able to. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a swish or a flaming queen. I'm just one of those guys that can't quite pass for straight, even if I try. I don't know what it is, but people seem to know. Maybe I'm too neat or prissy or something.

As a child, I was the class bookworm and sissy boy, uninterested in sports and all those guy things. Your basic 98-pound-weakling, if you're old enough to remember those Charles Atlas ads -- until the years accumulated and my pants started getting a bit too tight around the waist. Oh, you still couldn't call me fat. But the slender, willowy, pretty boy I once was is gone for good. The fact that it happens to all of us is no consolation, when the one it's happening to is you.

And especially if you're a gay guy. You only think women have it tough in this regard. At least a mature woman is accorded some small measure of respect by our society. But an aging fairy? Forget it! I'm not saying this is right. I'm only saying it's reality.

Of course, if you've got lots of money, you can buy respect, and what passes for love, same as you can in the straight world. But I have neither youth nor riches, and it's going to be all downhill from here on out. Or at least it feels that way just now.

As I've already said, that was a big part of the reason I made a date with the bridge. I didn't want to wait until I was a pitiful old geezer out on the streets. Better to end it now, while I still have a few shreds of dignity left.

Okay, so maybe getting old without a decent job, and soon to be out of money, doesn't sound like a very good reason to off yourself. But, tell me, have you ever been there?

No job for almost a year, the only man I ever really cared about long dead, many if not most of my old friends also dead of AIDS.

Do you know just how dark it gets, when nobody seems to want you for anything? Sooner or later, you don't even want yourself. Have you watched your money trickle away, with no prospects for getting more in the future? Have you felt the panic that eats your soul at the thought of being poor in this so-called affluent society?

Perhaps you have, and you've been able to cling to hope and courage just the same. Well, I couldn't. As I've already admitted, I'm a sissy and a coward. When the darkness in my soul got just too dark, I chose what I thought would be the easy way out.

Look into your own soul on those awful nights when you lie awake and stare wide-eyed into a dreaded future, your heart pounding in panic and your thoughts unable to turn away from whatever constitutes your own particular nightmare; when the sun doesn't rise no matter how long you wait, and the world around you grows teeth and claws. Then tell me you don't know what I'm talking about.

Even as these thoughts run through my mind, Rick sits silently watching me drive. "Something wrong?" he asks at last.

"You wouldn't understand."

"You might be surprised."

He's making me nervous. "I didn't ask for your understanding, did I now?"

"No. You didn't. Please excuse me."

Polite bastard, isn't he? I'm rude, and he apologizes. Now I really feel bad.

It gets quiet then.

The silence doesn't seem to bother Rick, but eventually I couldn't stand it any longer.

"So how about you? What are you doing in these parts?" I ask. Easy way to make conversation: ask the other person about himself.

"I've been in Jacksonville for about a week. Came down on a sailboat."

"You own a boat?" My estimation of my passenger goes up a couple of notches.

The idea seems to amuse him, since he gives a short laugh. "No, I don't. The owners needed someone to help bring the boat down from Maine."

"You can sail?"

"Yep. Learned how to do it as a youngster."

Although I keep on facing the road, my eyes slide sideways, glancing at his profile. He seems to be gazing into the distance, smiling slightly to himself.

"So where do you call home?" I probe.

"Nowhere -- and everywhere."

Cute. But what it meant was that he's living my own worst nightmare: to be homeless. Guess that's a lot of people's worst nightmare, these days.

Then it occurs to me that he might justifiably decide to play tit for tat and start asking me questions that I didn't want to answer, so I left it at that.

For a long while we drive again in silence. If I'd been alone, I'd probably have turned on the radio, just so I wouldn't have to listen to my own thoughts. But I figure that might annoy my passenger.

We pass through the little town of Maysville, with its 25 mph speed limit along the main street, and then continue up Route 17.

At this rate, it won't be more than half an hour before we'll reach the bridge. I was running out of miles, and out of time. But that was what I wanted, wasn't it?

We got most of the way to Pollocksville when I passed the sign for the upcoming rest area. I turn off at the exit. Yeah, I still intend to keep that date, but the closer we got, the more nervous I became. And when I get nervous, I have to visit the little boys' room.

This is one of those upscale rest areas, with vending machines and generous bathroom facilities. It covers a lot of ground also, with picnic tables scattered around the well-kept lawns, and cars and trucks parked in separate areas. Even the entrance is unusual, in that you first have to drive a short way down a cross road to get to the combined entrance and exit to the rest area itself.

Once this had been a popular cruising area for gay guys, both military and civilian, since it isn't all that far from Camp LeJeune and Cherry Point, two of the biggest Marine Corps bases. But that had been a good many years ago, before the AIDS epidemic, when the gay community learned that unprotected, promiscuous sex could equal death. It isn't nearly as busy these days, but you could still find some action here, now and then.

Even so, I couldn't help smiling at the memories I had of this place.

With all the drugs we have these days, AIDS isn't the rampant killer that it used to be. But still, does anyone really want to take medication for the rest of his life, especially considering that the price of those pills could bankrupt anyone who isn't filthy rich? I sure don't.

As it happens, I was one of the lucky ones. I'm still HIV negative. By all rights, I should have been dead by now, since I hadn't always practiced safe sex.

The idea that I'm living on borrowed time is kind of funny, considering I'm now on my way to pay off what I've borrowed.

The rest area is virtually deserted, the only other vehicle I can see being an electric-blue pickup endowed with several extra tons of chrome over in the truck lot.

"You gotta go?" I ask Rick, as I cut the engine.

He shakes his head, so I leave him in the car and walk along the path to the bathrooms. Everything looks the same as I remember it, but tonight only ghosts are hanging around the urinals and stalls.

By the time I finish and am walking out the door, my head is down, along with my thoughts.

"Hey, faggot! What's happening?"

That catches my attention. I glance up and find myself confronted by four young men just outside the door. They hadn't been there when I went in. The one who had spoken to me lounges against the wall, beer can in hand. I ignore them and try to just walk on past.

Needless to say, I don't get too far before someone blocks my way. This one has a pretty face, but the muscles bulging under his faded T-shirt belie any sense of softness.

"Jimmy asked you a question, pal," he says, sneering. "It ain't polite not to answer."

"I'm not a faggot," I lie cautiously. They probably won't believe me, but it's worth a try.

Pretty Boy laughs and shoves me backwards. I stumble against the third man, who grabs my arm, hard.

"Sure you are," he growls. "We've seen you in the gay bar. You even made a pass at me once."

Had I? I look him over. I can't remember the face, but he's well-built and pretty good-looking. Just my type. I may well have hit on him. The Top Hat Club attracts straights at times, especially if the drag show is going on. I usually avoid straight men, but anything's possible, if you're drunk enough. And I've been drunk enough on occasion, especially since I lost my job.

But I could hardly admit to that, under the circumstances. I shake my head, looking Handsome straight in the eye in order to appear as confident as possible. "Nope. Never saw you before in my life."

"He's lying. I think he needs a lesson in honesty," the fourth guy says, catching my other arm. He's younger than his friends. Probably still in his teens and trying to impress the older men.

I don't bother to protest. I know what's coming. It's happened to me before. Begging won't help and sweet reason won't impress them. I'm about to get my ass kicked big time.

Of course, if I'd thought fast enough, I might have been able to get hold of the little cylinder of pepper spray I carry on my key chain. But it's too late now. My keys are in my hip pocket and my hands are already out of action. I never do think of things like that in time to use them.

Jimmy laughs as he tips the rest of the beer in his can onto my head. They all laugh.

Then Pretty Boy takes up a position in front of me. His left arm draws back, fist clenched at his side. As he steps forward into the punch, I manage to pull back and turn as far as I can in order to give with the blow and keep him from connecting directly with my solar plexus, at the same time tightening up my abdominal muscles.

Having the wind knocked out of you is no fun; I'd prefer bruised ribs.

He doesn't seem to notice that his blow hasn't quite connected, so I do my best imitation of being hit in the stomach, doubling over and gasping for breath. The gasp is real enough. Even off center, that hurt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his right fist coming at me. Pain explodes through the side of my face, but again, I go with it as well as I can, letting my head turn. I taste blood, and deliberately allow my mouth to go slack so the blood will run down my chin.

That might fool them into thinking I'm hurt worse than I am. If he doesn't hit me in the face again, my glasses might not get broken.

If I had any guts, I would spit in his face, but that would only encourage them. I found that out a long time ago in grade school. Bullies don't change a lot when they grow up; they just become capable of inflicting more serious damage.

The others laugh and cheer Pretty Boy on . I ignore their taunts, watching covertly for the next blow so I can be ready. I wasn't prepared for what happened next. Not by a long shot.

Pretty Boy cocks his arm back for another punch, but before he can deliver it, he stumbles abruptly sideways and lands sprawled out on the grass. I'd been so focused on my attacker that I hadn't even seen Rick kick him, but my brain held an afterimage of my erstwhile passenger pulling his foot back and then planting himself in front of me.

"Let him go," Rick says softly to the two punks who still hold my arms.

They look at each other uncertainly and may have obeyed, if Pretty Boy hadn't been already back on his feet and charging at Rick from the side.

I start to yell a warning, but I could have saved my breath. Rick simply steps backward at the last minute, leaving Pretty Boy to careen past him and run full tilt into the wall of the building.

This is too much for Handsome. Releasing my arm, he steps forward and takes a swing at Rick, who brushes the fist aside as if he were shooing away a fly. When Handsome tries again, Rick grabs his hand, twisting it in and around and bending the wrist into what must have been a painful angle, judging by the expression on Handsome's face.

"I don't wanna hurt you. Let my friend go and we'll leave."

"No way, mister," Handsome says through clenched teeth. He jerks his knee up, aiming for Rick's groin.

He has no more success with that maneuver than he'd had with anything else. With a quick twist and a sweep of one leg, Rick knocks the other man to the ground.

He looks at the youngest punk, who still holds one of my arms. Raising one eyebrow questioningly, Rick holds out his hands, palms up, fingers motioning the boy to come on. He smiles in a strange and almost scary way, lips spread back from his teeth and a hard glint in his eyes.

The youngster shakes his head and literally shoves me into the arms of my rescuer. Pretty Boy still sits against the wall. Blood runs from his nose, but he wipes it on his sleeve. He looks about ready to get up and give it another try.

Rick turns me around and starts us back towards the car.

I try to say something clever, but that only makes more blood ooze from my mouth. On some television shows and movies, you can knock someone around and they don't even get bruised, much less bleed. That's not how it works in real life.

Rick half carries and half drags me toward the car.

I never heard anyone coming up behind us, but Rick must have. Whipping his head around, he kicks backwards. I turn just in time to see the youngest of my attackers double over and collapse.

We reach the car without any more trouble.

"Want me to drive?" Rick offers.

"No. I can manage."

My right side hurts a lot, especially when I take a deep breath, and I know my face looks ghastly. With the tip of my tongue, I can feel the gash inside my cheek, where the skin had been cut against my teeth. But none of that bothers me, not now.

To hell with the pain. It's only my body that hurts. My mind is somewhere else. I had just seen my would-be attackers laid out like so many rag dolls. For the first time in my life, the bullies had gotten what they so richly deserved.

As I slide in behind the wheel, I wipe my bleeding mouth on my shirtsleeve and turn to Rick.

"That was terrific! Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Oh, duh, Jerry! You already figured him as ex-military. "I mean, were you in the Army or something?"

"Or something," he says with a smile. "The Marine Corps. Retired not too long ago, after I did my twenty years." He pulls a bandanna out of one of his pockets. "Here. Use this on your face instead of your shirt."

Absent-mindedly, I do as he suggests.

He leans toward me, one hand probing along my side. "Take a deep breath. Does this hurt?"

"Ow! Yeah."

"You may have broken a rib."

"Nothing that hasn't happened before," I reply, trying to sound unconcerned. "So I guess you learned all that karate stuff in the Marines, huh? Sure wish I had your courage."

"It doesn't take courage, just training."

I shake my head. "I couldn't learn to do that. Not in a million years."

"In a million years, one may learn many things." He hesitates, then adds with a sort of a smile in the words, "Not all of them good."

"Yeah, I guess you're right about that." Belatedly, I realize we're still sitting here in the car and time is going by quickly. I turn the key, hoping to hear the engine start. When it does, I shift into gear and pull out of our parking spot.

"You know, I studied karate when I was a kid. I was terrible at it." Funny, I hadn't thought about that for years, but the words just popped out of my mouth.

"Why did you want to learn karate?"

"I didn't. My dad made me take lessons. Thought it would make a man of me." I smile and shake my head again. "It didn't."

We're headed to the exit, and would soon be on our way down the highway. But I'm not really thinking about our destination. I'm still focused on what had just happened.

"I sure enjoyed seeing you wipe up the floor with those punks!"

Rick says softly, "There is no grace in victory. The one who glorifies it must revel in bloodshed."

It sounds too pat, as if he were quoting something. "Where'd you get that?"

"It's from the 'Tao Te Ching'."

"Oh. I think I read that a long time ago, when I was going to the community college in Boston. Mostly, I guess I agree, at least in my head. I'm not a violent man." Now, there's an understatement! "But when you've seen the bad guys win way too often, like I have –"

He nods. "I understand."

Then a pair of bright headlights flashes into my rear view mirror, coming up fast from the exit of the truck parking lot.

"What the fuck?" I exclaim.

Rick had already swung around in his seat and was staring out the back window. "Shit!" is all he says.

I step on the gas, but it's way too late to make any difference. The truck swings around past me and screeches to a stop, ending up sideways on to us, blocking the exit.

I brake and swerve to the right side of the road, hoping not to skid right into the truck.

"Pull over close to the bushes," Rick says grimly.

I didn't even think, just did what he said.

The car had barely come to a stop when Rick opens his door and is halfway out. "Come out this side."

I lever myself painfully over the gearshift and stumble to my feet next to him just as the doors to the truck open.

Rick grabs my arm, pulling me rapidly behind the bushes that line the roadway.

"Stay here and keep quiet," he whispers, as he turns back to the parked vehicles.

He means to take them on by himself.

"Rick, no –" I grab his arm, but he literally shrugs me off. Then the space beside me is empty.

Well, why shouldn't I stay put? I'm no fighter. That had already been established. I squat down in the shadows, carefully pushing a few of the branches aside so I can see what's going on.

Our erstwhile assailants pile out of their truck. Jimmy and the youngster are carrying baseball bats and Handsome has a tire iron in one hand. I see Pretty Boy slide a pistol into his pocket. These folks are looking to do some serious harm this time.

Faced with the real thing, I more or less forget I had been planning to be dead tonight anyway. Perhaps if I duck way down behind this bush, they won't notice me.

I didn't have to worry. Rick deliberately lets them see him, stepping out from the cover of the low shrubs as he runs into the trees behind them, away from where I'm hiding. They fall for it, following him into the woods.

_Jerry, are you going to let him save your ass again?_ I ask myself in disgust. _Yes, I answer. Rick has the training to deal with this. I don't. He'll be fine._

This doesn't satisfy the voice in my head. _I don't care if he's Bruce Lee. One unarmed man doesn't take on a mob like that. Not and come out of it in one piece. Go help him._

_Oh, shit!_ I tell myself as I concede the point.

Right. I'm going to help him. How? My ribs already hurt just from the exertion of climbing out of the car, and I'm no match for even one of our attackers. Big help I'll be.

Then I remember the little cylinder on my key chain. I reach into my back pocket, praying I hadn't left the keys in the car in my haste to get out.

When my fingers close on the plastic case that holds my pepper spray, I smile. Pulling it out, I twist the top so that it's unlocked. If nothing else, I should be able to even the odds a little with this.

As silently as I can, I creep through the undergrowth in the same direction Rick had taken.

Not unsurprisingly, the first thing I find is the kid. He'd apparently gotten snagged in some catbrier, judging by the way he's cursing and slashing with his bat at the thorny vines that were caught in his shirt and jeans.

I'd probably never get a better chance. Without even allowing myself time to reconsider, I step up next to him and spray him right in the eyes with my secret weapon.

The boy drops like a stone, clutching at his face. I guess he was trying to scream, but it comes out as more of a suffocated gurgle. If I hadn't known pepper spray isn't usually lethal, I'd have been afraid he was in real trouble.

As it is, I grin smugly as I leave my very first victim writhing on the ground behind me.

There's clearly something going on further into the woods, because I can hear angry voices and people stomping around. The others must have caught up to Rick. I could only hope he was having as much luck against them as he'd had last time. Maybe he won't need any more help from me.

It must have been the adrenaline kicking in, because I'm not afraid as I sneak closer to the melee. I'm also not conscious of any pain, and I know that can't be right. Time seems to stretch out in the odd way it has of doing when you're in a dangerous situation. The world around me takes on a terrible clarity.

Keeping to the cover of the bushes, I arrive just in time to see Pretty Boy charge directly at Rick. Jimmy lies sprawled out on the ground, but he's already trying to get up. He pulls a hunting knife from his belt. Meanwhile, Handsome is holding the tire iron raised above his head, watching for an opening.

Rick goes down under the weight of Pretty Boy's attack, but I see him put one foot up into the other man's belly as he rolls backwards, so it was with no very great surprise on my part when Pretty Boy flew head over heels -- or should I say heels over head? -- over Rick. He crashes to a landing almost on top of where I'm crouched behind a myrtle bush.

I move hastily aside, keeping one eye on Pretty Boy as I watch the rest of the action.

Rick is on his feet again and ready as the other two men attack, almost simultaneously. He simply steps out of Jimmy's way, grabbing his hand and twisting the knife free as he charges past, now off balance and unable to stop himself from tripping over Rick's outstretched leg. Rick ends up in a half crouch just as Handsome rushes forward, the tire iron already aimed at his head.

Rick ducks in and under the blow, effortlessly levering his opponent up and over. Handsome hits the ground flat on his back, the air knocked out of him.

Damn, but Rick makes it look so easy! It's almost as if he were dancing instead of fighting. I'm totally caught up in watching him, but as he turns to confront Handsome once again, I realize that Pretty Boy has regained his feet and is standing almost next to me. Not only that, he now holds a pistol pointed at my friend's back. Unless Pretty Boy is an exceptionally lousy shot or Rick can dodge bullets, he won't even see it coming. It would be all over for my knight in shining armor.

There was no time for me to argue with myself. I take a deliberately noisy step out of the shadows and give Pretty Boy the eye, asking in my most provocatively swishy tone, "Hey, good-lookin', wanna fuck?"

Fury contorts his face as he spins toward me. I sincerely hope there's more pepper spray left in my little cylinder as I raise my hand to aim it at his eyes.

I'm too slow. Pretty Boy catches my wrist in a grip I know I can't break.

He grins and squeezes my hand hard, certain that he has me at his mercy. I do my best not to scream as pain lances through my captured wrist, determined not to drop my sprayer.

"At least your friend over there can fight like a man, faggot. You're not even worth a bullet," he sneers. Flipping the pistol around so he holds it by the barrel, he swings it up above his head.

As the gun slashes down towards my face, I raise my foot and kick him as hard as I can in the knee. If I'd had time to think about it, I never would have done it. It was pure instinct.

No, not instinct: memory. I'd practiced that particular move many times in my long-ago karate class, never actually believing I'd do it for real.

Much to my surprise, Pretty Boy collapses, screaming and clutching at his knee. His pistol lies forgotten on the ground. Going down on one knee, I give him a shot right in the eyes with my trusty little keychain decoration, then gingerly pick up the gun.

When I regain my feet, I find Rick standing next to me, holding the tire iron and the knife. His attackers both lie on the ground, neither one appearing to be conscious.

He looks from me to the man at my feet. Pretty Boy is simultaneously struggling to breathe and scrubbing at his eyes with his hands, as he thrashes around bellowing curses.

"Let's get gone before we have to fight them off all over again," I suggest.

Rick isn't quite ready to leave it at that. He puts the knife in his pocket, then squats down and quickly checks my gasping victim.

"He'll be all right, but his knee's dislocated."

I shrug. "Then let his friends take him to the hospital. It isn't far from here. He was going to shoot you in the back, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed," Rick says shortly, glancing down at the gun in my hand. "Unless you know how to handle firearms, Jerry, I suggest you give that to me."

"It's all yours." I hand it to him and turn away, ready to head for my car.

Rick stops. He nudges Pretty Boy gently with his foot. "Now's your chance to see what true victory is like."

"What do you mean?"

"He's helpless. You could kick him again. Or hit him with something'." He offers me the tire iron he still has in one hand.

This is a new thought to me, but not an entirely unpleasant one. "Yeah. I could do that, couldn't I?"

Rick just nods.

I take the tire iron, because that seems to be what he expects me to do. I can't read the expression on his face.

For all I know, he'll bash Pretty Boy himself if I don't. After all, the man had tried to kill him.

I look down at my prospective victim. He has recovered his senses enough to notice me standing over him, but his eyes are streaming tears and he's still fighting for breath, not to mention suffering from the damage I had done to his knee. I smile, letting him know the tables had been turned.

For as long as I can remember, Pretty Boy and all the others like him had made my life miserable. Now I had a chance to get a little of that back. All the years and all the bullies. Boys older and bigger than me, men stronger than me. All the gays beaten, and even sometimes killed, because some men like Pretty Boy just couldn't handle the fact that we existed.

Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I can stop him from ever hurting one of us again. Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I can bash some understanding and tolerance into that thick skull. Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I would succeed in getting rid of all the fear and hatred I've learned to keep locked inside my heart for all these years.

Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I can fracture his skull and cause sufficient brain damage to turn him into a vegetable. Goodness knows, I've seen things like that often enough in my job as a CT tech.

Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I can kill him.

Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I'd succeed in turning myself into the same kind of dishonorable and vicious coward that he is.

Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I can turn myself into something no better than my enemy.

I toss the tire iron aside.

"I think I'll pass on this one," I say, not sure what response to expect from Rick. Had I just proved to him what a wimp I am?

Apparently not, since he smiles and puts his arm around my shoulder as we walk back to my car. I must admit it feels really good to have his arm around me, even if he's probably just as straight as the men who had attacked us.

The truck is still blocking the exit from the rest area, but I'm able to drive over the 20 or so feet of lawn and go carefully out the entrance.

When we're once more back on the highway, Rick asks me, "Is victory still so sweet to you, Jerry?"

"No," I say slowly. "No, it's not. Yeah, they deserved what they got. But –"

"There's always a 'but', isn't there?"

I nod. "Seems to me a wise man once told me 'There is no grace in victory. The one who glorifies it must revel in bloodshed.' "

Grinning, I add, "Did I get that right?"

I can hear the amusement in his voice when Rick replies, "Yeah."

Then he turns serious. "Why didn't you stay in the bushes like I told you to?"

"Because, damn it, you got me out of trouble once already. And I didn't want you to get hurt."

He smiles slightly. "I wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Well, maybe not. But then again, Pretty Boy had been behind him with the gun, and Rick hadn't seemed as if he'd noticed, despite what he'd told me. But maybe he would have nailed Pretty Boy anyway, gun or no gun. Maybe he really is that good.

"It's not only that," I go on, not sure if I can put the rest of what I'm feeling into words. "If you save my ass — and don't get me wrong, I really appreciate it – I'm not really saved at all."

I'm groping for words here. "No, that didn't come out right. I mean, unless I can do it for myself, even if I got the shit knocked out of me in the process, it really isn't any good. I've got to stand up for myself, not hide behind someone else."

He looks at me strangely but says nothing, so I blunder on, still searching for the right way to put it. "I'm not saying you shouldn't defend other people, if you're able to. But sooner or later, they have to defend themselves, don't they? They can't just give up and quit."

Why not, Jerry, old boy? That's what you're planning to do, isn't it?

Rick doesn't say anything. We continue on in silence.

By the time we get to Route 70, it's already getting dark. That wasn't how I'd had it planned. I was supposed to die at sunset. Well, there's nothing to be done about that now. Nighttime will just have to do, with the lights of the bridge sparkling in the water below. Maybe the moon will be up.

I glance at the pinewoods on either side of the road, the graceful branches spread with gossamer webs of shadow and dusk.

Damn! Seeing it all for the last time seems to have turned me into a poet. The world has no right to be so beautiful. Not now, when all I want is to leave it behind.

It isn't very long before the exit to the Neuse River Bridge appears in the glare of my headlights. I signal for the right turn.

Almost before I know it, we're coming up on the spot where I intend to pull over and jump. Not only is this the highest section of the bridge, but it's just past another entrance, which means there's an extra right lane to allow time for the cars to merge into the main traffic. I figured I could come to a stop near the end of that lane without causing an accident.

I slow down, checking the rearview mirror. Nothing. Hitting the hazard button, I come to a screeching halt as far off the main road as I can, leap out of the car and head for the low railing.

My hands grasp the metal rail and I have one foot up on the top of the concrete barrier below it. I get one glimpse of the flat black water below before I'm abruptly jerked backwards and held in a tight grasp.

"Let go of me, damnit!!"

"What do you think you're doing, Jerry?" Rick's voice is harsh and fierce, one arm locked around my upper arms and chest and the other around my neck, pinning me back against him. Furious, I fight to get free, kicking at his shins and trying to pull his arm away from my neck.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

"Don't be a fool."

"You can't stop me!"

"No? Just watch me."

I feel the hard muscles flex in the arm he has around my neck, but there's no pressure on my windpipe, just the sides, where the carotid arteries —

When I come to again, I'm sitting in the passenger seat in my car, tied hand and foot with Rick's and my belts. We're parked at the dead end where the old Neuse River Bridge used to be, before the new one had been built in 1999.

Rick sits next to me, looking out at the scenery. "Tell me why."

"Not your business," I mumble resentfully.

"Tell me anyway."

So I do. I tell him everything, except, of course, how attractive I think he is and how much I want him in bed with me.

During all that time, he just keeps staring out over the water, as if he were fascinated by watching the darkness fall. Somehow, that makes it easier for me to talk to him.

When I finally run out of words, all he does is nod once and say, "Okay."

"Okay? That's it?"

He turns to me at last. "What do you want me to say? 'Aw, you poor little fairy, what a tough life you've had. You've got every reason to off yourself.' How's that? Better?"

I turn away from the scorn in his voice. "Uh – no. That's not what I had in mind."

Grabbing the back of my head, he makes me face him. "Now, listen up, buddy," he says, his voice intense and full of bitterness. "I've known men who had really good reasons to wish for death. Some of them killed themselves. Some of them didn't. Either way, they had my respect."

"So is that it? You don't think my reasons are good enough?"

"Not by a long shot. And the method you chose is almost laughable."

Did I just see a flicker of amusement in those dark blue eyes? "Why?"

"For one thing, that bridge isn't nearly high enough to do the job. It's only about 70 feet above the water, hardly a lethal distance, unless you just hit wrong and break your neck. If you seriously want to die, you'll have to do better than that."

I have no answer, so I just sit there frowning. "Untie me," I finally demand. "And get the fuck out of my car."

"All right. But only if you'll answer a couple of questions when I do."

"What are they?"

"You'll see."

Rick gets out. He opens the passenger door and unties the belts around my wrists and ankles, handing one back to me and securing the other around his waist.

"Stand up," he says, half lifting me out of my seat. "Now come along."

He leads me across a sandy field, empty except for some patches of grass and straggling bushes.

The only thing that's left of the old bridge is a concave retaining wall that had been beneath the first span of the bridge. A railing made of rusting pipes still stands some of the way around the structure, but a lot of sections are missing.

Rick leads me to a place where the railing is still reasonably intact, just about in the middle of the curving concrete wall.

From there, we can see the entire length of the new bridge, along with the silhouette of New Bern on the far side of the wide river. The lights start coming on even as we watch. To the right and up the river, the long railroad trestle is still visible in the growing darkness. High above us, stars are making their appearance, and a waning moon looks down from its place in the western sky.

My eyes are drawn to the bridge, with its endless flow of cars and trucks scurrying across like ants. Red lights mark either side of the channel, which runs underneath the highest part. Where I had tried and failed to jump.

Just then, Rick finally speaks up.

"You really want to die?"

I nod resolutely.

"Very well. If you can convince me that death is more beautiful than this," he says, waving a hand at the view over the water and the starry sky, "I'll grant your wish myself."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"No? There are already too many people who've died by my hand. So what if they may have been trying to kill me at the same time? They're still dead, and all of them wanted to live. Why should one more make any difference? Especially one who claims he doesn't wanna live?"

I'm in no shape to consider rationally what he said. If I had had time to think, I may have been able to argue with his logic.

But he doesn't give me time. He takes the pistol out of his belt and looks at it, considering. "No, a gunshot might draw attention." Replacing the gun, he takes out the knife he had taken from one of the gay-bashers. "A knife would be much quieter."

Before I knew what was happening, he's holding me against his chest, one hand clutching my hair and pulling my head back, while the other holds the knife poised to cut my throat.

"Don't worry, it'll be over fast. I'll make sure it doesn't hurt much," he reassures me, his voice dead calm and level.

For endless moments, I'm left staring up at the glittering stars and the moon. That would be the last thing I would see. And the last thing I'd feel would be the warmth of his body hard against my back.

And his stiffening cock. Can he really want to screw me? Or is it just something that happens when he kills someone?

Did it matter which it was? After all, one word from me and I'd be dead. I'd never see these stars again, or the wondrous universe in which they exist. I'd never hold a man in my arms and feel the incredible ecstasy of sex. It would all be over. Forever and ever. Amen.

"Quit now, or stand up and fight back. Which shall it be, Jerry?" he asks in a harsh whisper, his mouth next to my ear.

I start to cry. "I can't do it. I'm a coward, a sissy –"

"You could have remained hidden from the men who attacked us, and yet you didn't," Rick reminds me gently. "Now tell me, what do you really want?"

Before I can even think about it, I blurt out, "You."

He nods. "You got it. Come on."

I'm still totally astonished when he releases me and then takes my arm and leads me back across the field. As we keep going past my car, he says, "There's a motel right over there, beyond the boatyard. It's nothing to look at, but they probably don't charge a fortune."

As it happens, I'm pretty familiar with the Curtis Motel. It had once been at the foot of the old bridge, along with a couple of other businesses. Now, it's a rundown, one-story place in a style that had disappeared long ago. The small swimming pool is full of weeds and goldfish, and the whole building badly needs a paint job. I knew the rooms weren't much better, except that they were clean and well maintained. And definitely inexpensive.

"My car," I object as we leave it behind at the dead end.

"We'll move it later. Don't worry. By the way, I'm sorry I knocked you out like that back on the bridge. If we'd stood there arguing, we could've caused an accident."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

When we check in, the lady at the desk looks at me a little longer than is necessary. That's when I realize I must be a bit of a mess. I probably have a black eye and a nasty bruise beginning to show on the side of my swollen face.

"Uh – I had to stop real short on the bridge, and my head hit the steering wheel," I lie, as Rick fills out the registration card. "Guess I look kind of gruesome, huh?"

She nods. "Do you need a doctor?"

"Oh, no! I'll be fine once I get cleaned up. I take blood thinners, so I bruise real easily."

She still seems a bit concerned, so Rick helps me out. "We were just lucky that the car behind us stopped in time. Could've been much worse. Not much leeway on the sides of that bridge, you know."

"You're sure right about that, Mister –" she glances down at the card -- "Garner. Been some pretty nasty accidents up there, especially when the weather's bad."

She smiles kindly as she hands over the key. "Room's right around the back, boys. Have a good night."

"Blood thinners?" Rick asks, as we walk around to our room.

"Hey, it was the only thing I could think of at the moment. After all, I work in a hospital. Well, I mean, I used to work in a hospital."

"What do you do?"

"CT tech. You know, CAT scans."

"Yeah. Had a few of them myself, over the years."

By then we're at the door to our room.

The first thing Rick does when we get inside is take me in his arms and pull me up against him. When I wince at the pressure on my ribs, he slides his arms down further, his hands now holding only my ass.

I had to ask. "You're – gay?"

He sounds amused when he answers, "Would I be hugging you like this if I wasn't?"

He's still halfway erect, and I'm getting there myself.

"Uh, no, I guess not."

He kisses me again, but carefully, mindful this time of my swollen face.

"Full disclosure, Jerry. I've been with women and men. I prefer men, but in the end, it mostly depends on the person."

"Well, I'm definitely gay, but I have felt attracted to the occasional woman now and then, even if I haven't followed through with it so far," I admit.

Under other circumstances, I'd have already been down on my knees with his cock in my mouth, but that isn't going to happen, thanks to Pretty Boy's punch. I won't be giving any blowjobs anytime real soon.

And as for anything more strenuous, my possibly broken ribs continue to remind me that breathing might be about the only thing I could safely do right about now.

Great. I have a very desirable man here with me in a private room, with his stiff dick pressed against my groin, and I'm not sure what I'll be able to do for him. Now what?

Rick solves the problem for me. Locking the door behind us and closing the curtains, he starts stripping off his clothes. He steps out of his briefs but leaves his T-shirt on, which struck me as rather odd, since he clearly wasn't embarrassed at being naked. His cock stands at attention, with the folds of white fabric hanging down at either side.

He looks at me looking at him. I'm sure I'll start drooling at any moment. I've seen bigger dicks in my life, but his is a respectable length and width. I honestly prefer something close to normal, since being fucked by a man who's hung like a horse, no matter how good it may look in the porn movies, can be mighty uncomfortable. Bigger really isn't always better. At least, not to me it isn't.

I lick my lips and swallow. Considering his trim and well-built body, I almost don't want to get undressed. While I'm only a couple of inches shorter than Rick in height, the best I can say for the rest of me is that I'm rather on the scrawny side, and maybe a little bit too broad around the middle. Even my cock is slender, rather than wide.

Almost reluctantly, I get out of my clothes, very conscious of Rick's eyes on me, even though the room is fairly dark by now.

The first thing he says is, "You're one of the lucky ones."

"Huh?" Now what on earth could he mean by that?

"You weren't circumcised."

"Oh, right. My father didn't think it was necessary. He wasn't cut himself."

"Wish my folks had thought the same. Oh well, I guess one works with what he's got. Not much choice, at this point."

I'm not too sure why he seems to prefer uncut dicks, but I sure wasn't going to complain.

He turns on the light next to the bed. "Lie down here and let me see how badly bruised you are. I don't want to hurt you."

That sounds awfully – clinical. He'd either worked in the medical field or he'd spent a lot of time in the hospital somewhere along the line.

I feel a little self-conscious flat on my back on the bed with the light on me, but it gets worse when he kneels down and just looks at me. My overwrought penis twitches every time Rick touches my face, feeling along my cheekbone carefully.

"Any loose teeth?" he asks.

I poke my tongue around a bit. "Nope. Just the cut inside my mouth."

When he probes the darkening bruise on my left side, my penis does more than twitch.

"I guess you're up for some action, as long as we take it easy, huh?" he concludes.

I'm not sure if that was meant to be a pun or not, so I just nod.

Turning off the light, he lets his hand wander down to my groin. Encircling my half-alert cock and tightening balls in his palm, he squeezes and pulls over and over in a slow rhythm, almost hard enough to hurt, but not quite.

I gasp with the sheer pleasure of being handled by someone other than myself. For too long now, there had been only my own hand.

He keeps on doing it as he tells me, "As far as I know, I'm not HIV+ or anything like that –"

"I'll take your word for it."

"I don't want you to take my word for it. Unless or until we know each other better, we use condoms when needed. I saw what happened to too many people in the military, gay or straight, when they got careless. No kind of sex is completely safe in every way, but some things are safer than others. I like the odds to be in my favor, whether the risk is pregnancy, AIDS, or something relatively mild, like herpes. "

"You'll get no argument from me," I tell him. "As far as I know, I'm clean also. But there have been a number of men over the years, and sometimes unsafe sex."

It's actually a relief to find someone who insists on protection, even if it does cut down a little on the sensation. I'd rather live with that than with the alternatives, but not all of my partners have agreed with me. And I haven't always had the courage to insist.

Rick keeps right on working my equipment, but his other hand reaches over to his discarded clothing. The next thing I know, his mouth slides down over my cock along with the condom. I suck in a breath and let my head fall back.

I've more often been on the other side of a blowjob, so this is an unexpected delight.

Wanting to touch the one who's doing this to me, I reach down for his head, holding it in my hands and running my fingers through his hair. A part of my mind idly registers the hard ridge of scar tissue on the back of his head, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of the hot mouth sucking me, the slight scrape of teeth every now and then, his fingers circling the base of my cock while his other hand keeps working on my balls. At this rate, I'm not going to last very long. I want to just let go, but I also want this to last forever.

And I want to be able to do something for him at the same time. Grabbing Rick's hair, I hold him still. "Come up next to me. I want my hands on more than just your head."

His mouth releases me, but only for a moment, as he shifts himself around so that we're head to foot, his cock just about in my face. "Is that the head you want?" he asks, not even waiting for an answer before he has me in his mouth again.

I roll over onto my uninjured side, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt anywhere. Since my mouth wasn't in working order, we couldn't do a proper 69, but I can at least get my right hand free so I can wrap it around his shaft. I feel the swollen veins against my palm as I run my hand up and down the entire length of hot flesh. The distinctive scent of a man's genitals only adds to my desire.

I try to hold back, wanting him to come with me. Then his hand moves back to my asshole and two fingers go inside, reaching for that sweet spot where the prostate is located.

"Oh, yeah, yeah! Rick, make me –"

That's as far as I get. Clenching my teeth to silence what could have been an anguished moan, I unload my cum into the fervent clutch of the condom in Rick's mouth. I come so hard it feels as if my insides want to turn inside out.

"Damnation!" I whisper. "Nothing should be allowed to feel that good."

I hear Rick chuckle at my remark.

As he releases my exhausted dick and slides the rubber off, I redouble my efforts to bring him to orgasm also, squirming around until I can get my other hand into the action, then reaching behind his tight sac to find the bulge in his perineum where the root of his swollen penis could be felt, just beneath that small scar-like ridge that runs from balls to anus on every man. I use my knuckles to press down against that sensitive area, while I work his cock even more frantically with the other hand, tapping the exposed head sharply against my uninjured cheek with each stroke, until I feel the convulsive spasms of his ejaculation begin.

Considering Rick's insistence on safe sex, I refrain from directing his cum into my mouth, letting it spurt down onto my chest instead while I watch and continue to milk him dry.

I'm dimly aware of the wavering and strangely high-pitched moan that accompanies his climax. It's almost spooky, as if he were a ghost, not a man.

For several minutes, we both lie there trying to catch our breath. Rick is the first to recover enough to sit up. That's the first time I see that shit-eating grin he always has on his face when he's either very turned on or very satisfied.

"Why don't you take a shower?" he suggests. "I'll go get your car and park it outside."

I don't really want to get out of bed, but I have to admit that I badly need to get clean, after the rather strenuous events of the day.

"Fine with me."

He turns on the bathroom light, retrieves his jeans from the floor and pulls them on, then disappears out the door.

For a brief uneasy moment, I wonder whether that might be the last I'd ever see of him, and of my dear old Scion.

Before that old familiar sick feeling that I had been deserted can truly take hold, I force myself out of bed and into the shower.

The hot water stings my bruised chest and face, and the body I see in the mirror when I'm finished and put on my glasses again looks even worse than I had imagined. When I turn my head to get a view of the left side, I look like a cross between a raccoon and a chipmunk, with a black mask-like circle around my eye and my cheek puffed up as if I'd stored a couple of nuts inside. I touch it experimentally with a finger, but the pain isn't as bad as I expected. That's a plus.

Lower down on my other side, my chest is colored in varying shades of purple and blue. I take a deep breath. It hurts, but more like soreness than sharp pain. If a rib is broken, at least it isn't complaining about it much. There's nothing to be done for simple rib fractures anyway. Given time – and no more encounters with gaybashers – it would heal on its own.

Rick sticks his head in the bathroom door. "Okay, buddy. Stop admiring yourself and get out of my way. It's my turn to shower."

"It's all yours," I reply, as I step aside to let him in. Once again, he's naked except for his T-shirt. He doesn't take it off until his back is toward me and he's about to step behind the shower curtain.

I didn't ask, just finished drying myself off and going back into the bedroom. I pick up my clothes and hang them up, tidy up the bed as well as I can, then climb back in under the covers, anticipating the joy of having Rick join me.

Instead, I promptly fall asleep.

Sometime later, I wake up, badly needing to take a piss. Rick's sound asleep, curled up on his side and facing away from me. When I get back into bed, I can't resist the temptation to scoot over and lie against him, the fabric of his white shirt warm and somehow very reassuring against my body.

How long had it been since I had slept in a bed with someone else? Maybe not since Alex had died? Could it have been that long? No, surely there had to have been a few times since then, hadn't there?

I start to drift off, letting some of the pleasant memories of my long-dead lover flow through my half-dreaming mind.

I'm almost asleep when Rick starts twitching. As he turns over onto his back, I scoot out of his way. He's panting heavily, and seems to be struggling against something, as if he wanted to move but couldn't. Suddenly, he sits up, his eyes still closed but an expression of horror on his face.

"Oh shit, no, no, no!! Please no!!" he says in a sort of a soft scream, if such a thing is possible. Then he just sits there, shaking.

If this is a dream, it's one hell of a bad one.

"Rick?" I say tentatively. I reach out and touch his shoulder, hoping to wake him up before it got worse.

In less than an instant, he turns and pins me down with a hand at my throat, the other hand drawn back as if he held a knife or something equally as lethal.

"Rick," I manage to say. "Stop it! It's a dream! Wake up!"

Luckily for me, he does. Shaking his head as if to clear out the images he's seeing, he stares blankly at me for an endless moment, then lets me go.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Rick covers his face with his hands and starts cursing.

I'm not sure what to do. I knew he could be dangerous. Nevertheless, I couldn't stand to hear his voice, tortured, harsh and full of fury, but at what I didn't know.

Ready to pull back immediately if need be, I stretch out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. "Rick?"

No answer, but also no movement directed against me.

Gathering my courage, I move over next to him and put my arm around his waist. Then I just sit there in silence and wait to see what will happen.

After a while, the curses die out. Finally, he draws a shaky breath and asks, "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine."

"There have been times when I've –"

I stop him. "You scared the shit out of me. That's all."

I'm sorely tempted to ask him if he wants to talk about it, but something inside warns me not to do that. If he wanted to tell me, he would. If not, it's not my business to intrude. I don't know him well enough for that.

He puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes gently. "Sorry about that. Thanks for waking me up."

"No problem. Let's go back to sleep, huh? I'm exhausted."

I expect him to let me go and turn away, if he's willing to do as I suggested at all. Instead, he lays back and pulls me down alongside him, his arm still around my shoulders. I get as comfortable as I can, all things considered, and settle down quite happily beside him.

The next thing I know, it's almost morning, with a dim and uncertain gray light just managing to force its way through the curtains covering the window. Rick's arm is still beneath my head, but he's obviously asleep, breathing slowly and softly as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Would it be safe to wake him up? Or would I be better off just lying here?

I decide on the second option, at least for a while. However, with his very nice body so close to mine, I can't keep the memories of last night's sex out of my mind.

My breathing quickens, and I can almost feel the blood trickling into my limp penis. Just sort of a pleasant tingling sensation, but I knew only too well what that would turn into, if I let it.

Do I dare? I glance over at him again. Something on the nightstand on his side of the bed catches my eye. Even without my glasses, my nearsighted eyes can recognize the small square packets for what they are. Either they were left over from last night, or Rick had put them there after I fell asleep, so they'd be ready for use in the morning. I convince myself that he'd meant the condoms to be used this morning. Besides, what's the worst thing he could do? Beat me up? Somehow, I doubted he'd do that.

Then I'm struck by another dilemma: Do I dare to look under that T-shirt he insists on wearing? My fingers fairly itch to lift the fabric and satisfy my curiosity. My first thought is that it might be a tattoo that he didn't want anyone to see. Maybe it was some weird design, or maybe it was the name of a past lover.

No, I have no right to do that, no matter what it is. But just running a hand over the shirt could do no harm, especially since it would allow me to touch his nipples. I could rub them and tease them easily enough through the thin cloth. That would be a fine way to wake him up, aroused and ready for action. At least, it always was when Alex did that to me.

My hand steals carefully out from under the sheet and skims over the left side of his chest. When I felt the tip of his nipple, all I do is lay my open palm over it to see if I get any reaction.

All he does is take a slightly deeper breath, so I move my flat hand in small circles over his pecs until I feel the small nub of flesh tighten noticeably.

He's still sound asleep, so I slide my hand across his chest, looking for the other nipple, planning to give it some attention also.

But there's no nipple to be felt, only some uneven ridges of hard lumpy flesh.

The muscles of his chest tighten abruptly, as I would have reacted if someone had touched my bruised face.

My hand retreats, almost as fast as if I'd touched a hot iron, but I'm not ready to give up entirely. Instead, I continue to work on his left nipple, using a light squeezing motion as I resume my circling, a little harder this time.

Rick doesn't wake up right away, but something else sure does, judging by the way the sheet gradually develops a nice bulge between his legs.

Encouraged, my hand moves down to his groin and I take hold of the bulge, sheet and all, stroking slowly and easily. I'm enjoying having him at my mercy, so to speak.

But that doesn't last much longer. The next time I look up at him, his eyes are open and he has that shit-eating grin on his face.

Thus encouraged, I pull the sheet off us both and go to work a little more directly.

"You'd better stop that, Jerry, or it'll all be over before you know it," he warns me teasingly.

I stop abruptly and sit up. "Don't you dare. I have other plans for it."

"Really? Like what"

"Hand me one of those condoms and I'll show you."

He does and I do. Once his cock is enclosed in latex, I get up on my knees. "You wouldn't happen to have some lube, would you?"

If not, I was ready to mount him anyway, even if I had nothing better than my own spit to ease the way.

"Here." He tosses me a small packet.

I catch it and glance at the label. "Oh my, some of the good stuff. I thought the Marine motto was 'Always faithful', not 'Always prepared'."

He gives a short laugh. "It is. 'Be prepared' is the Boy Scouts."

"Then I bet you were a Boy Scout too," I jest.

"Actually, I was."

"That figures." By now his dick is covered with the slippery gel. I swing a leg over him and kneel, rubbing the leftovers on my yearning asshole, just before I lower myself down onto him.

It takes a little doing on my part, as it's been awhile since I'd taken a cock up my ass, but by the time I'm finished, I'm kneeling astride him reasonably comfortably, with my own cock aimed at his belly button.

"You're going to have to do most of the work from here on out," I tell him.

"Sure it's not gonna hurt your ribs?"

"Not sure, but let's do it anyway. I'll hold myself up a little, but you do the fucking, OK?"

"Oh yeah. A-OK."

He moves carefully at first, and then harder and faster as we both start getting into it.

Each time his hips come up, he nudges my prostate. Combined with the fullness in my ass and my hand jerking my own cock, I come first, watching with great pleasure as my cum pumps rhythmically out onto his lower body. Some of it even lands on the now-infamous T-shirt.

Rick is watching also, a tight smile creasing his face. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and grabs hold of my hips with both hands. He sets to work pumping me in earnest for a while, then pulls my hips down hard as he shoots his own load.

Some part of my mind wishes that the thin latex of a condom wasn't standing between us, as I would've liked to have known he'd filled me with his seed. But this is the stern reality of sex in our times, unless you're willing to be monogamous and long-term faithful.

I stay on top of him for as long as I can, using one hand to smear my cum around on his belly until the dark curly hair is all slicked down against the skin over his hard muscles. He seems to be enjoying it, just lying there with his hands clasped behind his head and looking relaxed. I try slipping my fingers under the edge of his shirt, but I withdraw immediately when I feel him tense.

I'm half hoping he'll get hard again, but that doesn't happen.

"I guess we're not teen-agers anymore, are we, buddy?" he finally says.

Taking the hint, I disengage myself and get off the bed, shaking my head and saying despondently, "Alas, it would seem we aren't. Oh well, it's about time we have some breakfast, don't you think?"

Not much later, we sit in the Hardee's that's just a short way up the street from the motel, devouring our fast food with relish, since we had missed dinner last night. I get a few stares from the help due to the now-even-darker purple bruises on my face, but no one says anything.

We're too busy eating to talk much to each other. But there was a thought running through my mind the entire time. If I wasn't going to die just now, what was I going to do? Turn around and head back to Jacksonville? Why? There's nothing left for me there.

I wasn't at all sure of what would happen next.

After we finish breakfast, we walk back to the motel and gather up what little we had in the way of belongings.

When we close the door to the room and head towards my car, Rick seems to be hanging back a little, as if he wasn't ready to assume I'd continue to want his presence. Or maybe he was the one who didn't want my company.

I didn't know which it was, but I opened the passenger door first and gestured for him to get in. He would either accept the invitation or not, but I was determined to extend it anyway. If we were going to part ways here, it wouldn't be my doing.

He gets in.

"So where do we go from here?" I ask, as I sit down behind the wheel.

He shrugs. "It's your car. You tell me. I have no particular place to go, and I get the impression you don't either."

I consult the map in my head. I wasn't born here, but I've lived in this part of North Carolina for a number of years, so I know my way around.

"How about we go west?" I suggest. "There are some nice mountains in that direction, if we drive far enough."

"Sounds good to me. As long as you're not plannin' to jump off one of those mountains. I'm not all that fond of heights."

"Don't worry, if I do, I won't take you with me." I hoped to pass it off as a joke. "Deal?"

Rick smiles and gives a short laugh.

"I do have to ask you something serious though," I tell him.

"Ask away."

"If I hadn't chickened out last night, would you really have cut my throat?"

He thinks about that for a long moment before he replies. "Probably not."

"Probably not?!" I exclaim.

He grins at me. "Relax, darlin'. Just kiddin'."

"Darlin'?"

He puts an arm across my shoulders and kisses me.

"I'll explain about that someday."

Which meant to me that he'd still be around when that "someday" came.

I start the car and drive back over the bridge, with barely a thought of what might have been if I hadn't met up with Rick. I head west on Route 70, into the unknown future. But this time, hope rides with me.

####

DATE with a ROCK

So once I had decided not to kill myself, Rick and I started driving west. We stopped at the first auto parts store we encountered and Rick bought a clamp to fasten my fuel line securely in place. That much I probably could have done by myself, but I just watched him do it.

I couldn't help thinking I'd have been dead by now, if the fuel line hadn't gotten disconnected and stranded me by the roadside on my way to the Neuse River Bridge. Instead, Rick came along and got my car started, so I had offered him a ride.

I won't go back over all the details. Suffice it to say that without Rick there to stop me, my attempt at suicide would likely have been successful.

But all that was yesterday. Today, we're heading out of New Bern together in my car. Where are we going? All we've decided on so far is the general direction: west.

By late morning, we're approaching Raleigh. We had both been pretty quiet until then, exchanging a few casual remarks, but little more. After the stress of the previous evening (not to mention the sex we had shared later on), neither of us had gotten the greatest night's sleep, so we were both pretty tired, despite the breakfast we'd had at Hardee's, and the several cups of coffee that had come with it.

Now, however, it's time for a decision.

"So," I begin, "do we want to go directly west from here on I-40, or shall we take another route?"

Rick shrugs. "I guess it's as good as any other direction. If we go back east, we'll run into the Atlantic Ocean. If we go too far north, we'll hit the megalopolis stretching from DC to New York City. I don't much care for big cities, and I'm guessing you don't either."

I nod. I'd been living as far outside of Jacksonville as I could, and still commute to my job. And Jacksonville isn't exactly a big city. It's a town totally dominated by Camp Lejeune, one of the largest Marine Corps bases in the country.

"South is just going to get hotter and hotter," I point out. "And we'd eventually hit Florida. I don't know about you, but I'm not quite ready to retire to the Old Folks' Home State just yet."

"I guess that leaves only one other choice."

"Yep. Keep your eye out for the exit to 1-40, will you?"

"Will do."

It gets quiet again. I don't want quiet. What I really want is to find out how long Rick intends to ride with me, not to mention whether he wants to have sex again, or if last night was a one-time thing. True, he's said a few things already that sound pretty hopeful for the future, but I've run into too many people who talk big but never follow up.

Now what can I say that won't seem too intrusive, but might start a conversation?

"So, Rick, do you really have no destination in mind?"

"Nope. Just traveling around. When I retired from the Marine Corps late last year I realized I hadn't seen much of my own country outside of the military bases, while I'd seen a bit too much of certain other countries. After all, I joined up a little over 20 years ago, when I was almost out of my teens. So when I retired, I just put everything I figured I'd need into my backpack and started hiking along the highways. Every so often, someone would offer me a lift. If not, I walked."

That was one of the longest sentences I'd gotten out of him all morning.

"Where'd you start your travels?"

"Parris Island."

"What on earth were you doing there? I thought that was a training base for new recruits, not for those about to be discharged."

"It is. I was an instructor for my last few years in the service."

"Let me guess. Judging by the way you saved us from those roughnecks yesterday, I'd say you taught martial arts."

"Among other things, yes."

"Parris Island's in South Carolina, right? Near Beaufort. The other Beaufort, I mean. Not the one here in North Carolina."

"Yep."

"But I recall your saying yesterday that you had just come down here from Maine on a sailboat. Do you mean to tell me that you walked all the way to Maine?"

He laughed. "Yes and no. Like I said, I got picked up now and then, so I'd have to say I rode a lot of the way. In fact, I could have made it faster, except that I stopped for a while in various places, just to see what they were like."

"Sounds – interesting. But rather more exhausting than something I'd care to try myself."

"All that marching I did made me into a pretty good long distance hiker."

"Which I'm not." _Very nonchalantly now, Jerry old boy_. "Think you'll ever settle down anywhere?"

"Maybe. If I find the right place. Right now, I'm just not sure what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe I'll find that out somewhere along the way."

Okay, that's promising. Sort of. Best not to push it. But his arms around me had felt so good, and his cock inside me felt even better. If only I were as fit and good-looking as he is, I might have a better chance of hanging onto him for a while. Not that I'm terribly hard to look at, but I'm surely nobody's picture of a macho super-stud. More like a little wimp, if I must be honest. And the bifocals don't help any. I suppose it could be worse, I conclude with a mental shrug. At least I'm about the same age as Rick.

"There's the turn off to 40 West," he reminds me.

"Oh. Yeah, right. Thanks."

As I glance in the rear view mirror to change lanes, I catch a glimpse of my face. It still looks like I'd been in a train wreck, what with the leftover swelling and discoloration from the beating I'd gotten from the gay bashers yesterday. If Rick hadn't intervened --

_Yeah, Jerry,_ I tell myself grimly as I pull over into the exit lane _, but a lot more than your face would have been looking pretty gruesome by now if you'd gone over the railing on that bridge the way you had planned._

Once we get onto I-40, there isn't much more to do but keep following the highway around Raleigh and then follow the sun across the sky.

"You mind if I catch a few winks?" Rick asks.

"Be my guest."

He reclines the seat, settles into a reasonably comfortable position, and is asleep before we get many miles down the road. I wish I could fall asleep that quickly in a strange place, but I guess that comes from being a soldier for so long. I was never in the military, but I did work onboard Camp Lejeune for a couple of years as a CT tech, so I do have some idea of what it's like, at least on the surface. I must say the Marines are terrific patients, compared to civilians. Sure, there may be a few wimps, but mostly it's a case of "Lie down on the table." "Yes, sir!" "Hold real still." "Yes, sir!" "You doing OK?" "Yes, sir!"

And did I mention most of them have bodies to die for? And I don't mean just the men. There are a good number of women Marines these days, most of them in better shape than I am, I'm sorry to say. And, yes, I may be attracted to men, but I can admire a good-looking woman when I see one.

So I drive along in silence, thinking my wistful thoughts and daydreaming about having Rick as my lover for at least as long as it takes to drive as far west as he decides to go. Every so often, I glance over at him. His legs are slightly parted and I can see the slight bulge of his cock in his jeans. It's all I can do to resist the temptation to pull off the highway, unzip those jeans, and take possession of what's inside.

Maybe later, I promise myself. Maybe later.

Much later on, he wakes up. We're going through Greensboro by then, so we stop for a late lunch. As we get back into my Scion, Rick offers to drive for a while so I can rest.

"You can drive stick?" I ask. Not too many folks still bother with a manual shift, but I like it better than automatic, as long as I'm not driving in city traffic.

Rick gives me a look.

_Duhh, Jerry_ , I tell myself. _He choked you unconscious to keep you from jumping, then drove the car down off the bridge himself. Remember?_

"Okay, I guess you can. I kind of forgot."

So we switch drivers. Despite being tired, it takes me a long time to doze off. I just didn't want to stop stealing glances at him from underneath my eyelashes. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought, since I didn't wake up for a couple more hours once I did fall asleep.

"We're getting into the mountains now," Rick informs me. "Just came around this curve and there they are."

I blink a couple of times and put on my glasses. Sure enough, far in the distance there's a mountain range in front of us. It doesn't look too imposing. In fact, they're kind of bluish and hazy and rounded.

"Not exactly the Rockies, huh?" I quip.

"No. Thank goodness!"

As we continue on, the hills get steeper and the mountains get nearer.

"Ever been to this part of North Carolina?" Rick asks me.

"Nope. You?"

He shakes his head. "The road signs say there's a town not terribly far ahead by the name of Asheville. Shall we stop there for the night?"

"Sure. Why not? It's as good as any other place." Then I remember something. "Uh, Rick? Can we find a cheap motel? I can't afford to live a life of luxury these days." And that's putting it mildly. Since I lost my job, my savings have been steadily dwindling.

"No problem. I'm not rich, but my military pension is pretty decent, especially since I don't have too much in the way of expenses."

"I don't want to scrounge off of you –"

"Hey, this is your car we're riding in, isn't it? And a room for two costs the same thing as a room for one."

"Well, if you want to look at it that way –"

"I do." He gives me a knowing grin. "And if you want to pay me back, I think you can find a way."

"If you're saying what I think you're saying, I can sure as hell find a way." _I'll spend the rest of my life paying you back, buddy. If you'll let me._

We stop at a Super 8 on the outskirts of town. Asheville doesn't look too impressive from here, but I grab a few brochures off the rack in the motel lobby as Rick checks us in. May as well find out more about the place, right?

One of the maps says "Asheville: Any way you like it". Hmm. That sounds interesting.

We eat at the Waffle House across the street. Rick pays.

Once we get settled into our room for the night, he pulls a small laptop out of his backpack and commences to set it up. He's still tapping away at the keyboard when I get out of the shower.

"Mind if I look up more info about this town when you're done?" I ask as I'm drying myself off. "Maybe I can find a thrift shop not too far away. I could sure use a change of clothes."

"Be my guest. I'm about finished here anyway." He stands up and stretches, then heads toward the bathroom. "That bathtub looks pretty inviting. I think I'll put it to good use."

For a brief moment, I hope he'll invite me to join him, but he doesn't. Oh well. Maybe he really does just want to relax for a while.

Still stark naked, I put on my glasses and sit down at the desk in front of the laptop and bring up Google. Yeah, I do need more clothes, but it's all I can do to keep my attention on what I'm supposed to be searching for. My mind keeps wandering into the bathroom. I know what I'd be doing, if it were me in that tub right now, with the hot water filling up around me, lapping at my body, my legs apart and my knees bent, as the water level creeps higher and higher up over my balls, then my cock. Oh yeah. You can bet I wouldn't be lying there relaxing.

I get hard just thinking about it. Then even harder wondering if that's what Rick's doing right about now.

Resolutely, I ignore my dick and search for thrift shops, jotting down the addresses of the ones nearest to us. From there I go on to find more info about this town that dares to advertise that it can be taken "any way you like it", checking out the attractions listed on the brochures I collected. If only I had more money and more time, this could be an interesting place to explore.

Almost an hour later, Rick is still in the tub. Either he's fallen asleep, or he's really taking his time jacking off. Just the thought of that brings my dick to life again. I shut off the computer and the lights and curl up on top of the covers on one of the double beds.

Maybe if I just lie here like this, when he gets out he'll take the hint.

It's nice and cozy, the bedspread is soft and smooth underneath me, and there's a gentle breeze blowing from the AC unit. When I close my eyes, I can almost see the road coming at me again, after all that driving. But I'm not driving now and I can ignore the road and just relax — and fall asleep.

I wake up to darkness, with teasing fingers playing across my ass. More fingers reach sideways into my crack, drawing it open, kneading the muscles beneath the skin. A fingertip massages my asshole, while other fingers reach and scratch across my buttocks, almost painfully. Automatically, my sphincter tightens and loosens in response to those intruding fingers.

I pretend to be asleep as long as I can. Dreamily, I wonder what it would be like to be a woman, feeling those fingers on the edge of my cunt, which is probably way more sensitive than my rear hole. Just the thought makes my ballsac tighten with anticipation. My penis aches to be touched, but I'm still determined to play possum.

Rick finally gets the hint and switches to my front, sliding my foreskin back all the way and teasing my cockhead, gently mostly, but also hurting just enough to drive me crazy now and then, as a fingernail presses firmly against my slit, then pulls away.

Finally, I can stand it no longer.

"Rick, I'm gonna —"

"Shh. Just give it to me."

I do. Rick catches my cum in the palm of his hand, then rubs it over my belly. When he hugs me up against him, I feel the ever-present T-shirt pressing against my chest.

The T-shirt. That explains why he didn't want me in the tub with him. He would have had to take it off. The closest I've come to finding out why was the other night, when I tried to wake him up by running my hand over the fabric, wanting to tease his nipples. All I could feel on his right side was hard lumpy flesh. Either he had been born deformed, or it was scar tissue of some sort. I didn't think it was anything he wanted to discuss with me, not now and maybe not ever.

But just now he had his arms around me, and it felt wonderful.

"Want me to get you off too?" I offer.

I hear his short laugh. "What do you think I was doin' in the bathtub for all that time?"

"Well, I didn't want to assume —"

"In this case, you would have been right. I'm good for now. Just go to sleep."

So I do. For the second time in two days, I fall asleep in someone's arms.

The following morning, while eating our complimentary breakfast at the motel, I pull a brochure out of my pocket and bring up something I've been thinking about since yesterday.

I hand Rick the brochure. "How would you like to go to Chimney Rock? It looks real interesting. I think I can afford it, since you paid for the motel last night."

He takes his time studying the pamphlet. "Looks like a lot of hiking, Jerry. You up for that?"

"Yeah. As long as I can take my time. I'll bet the view from the top is really spectacular."

"Umm," he says. "Well, all right, if you want to."

"You sure? You don't sound too enthusiastic."

"No, it's okay. Let's do it. We could stop on the way at one of those thrift shops you mentioned, so you can replenish your wardrobe."

I had gotten rid of all my belongings, including most of my clothing, once I had determined to kill myself, so my present outfit was getting rather grungy. Yeah, it was a stupid thing to do, I guess. But at least that meant I was free to simply drive away from my past life, once I decided to live instead.

So Rick goes to the Front Desk and arranges for us to stay another night. After stopping by our room to pick up a few things, we head out for today's adventure. While I search the racks at the thrift shop, Rick buys a couple of tan bracelets, fastening one around each wrist. Like the belt he usually wears, they appear to be made out of some kind of woven cord. The bracelets look very masculine on him, but I don't think I could carry off that sort of look. Too outdoorsy.

We head down the road for the half hour drive to Chimney Rock. For those of you who may not know, in geological terms, a chimney is a column of rock rising above the level of the surrounding area. This particular column of rock rises approximately 300 feet right next to a much higher cliff. As we approach the entrance to Chimney Rock Park, we get glimpses of the monolith that towers above us. Now and then, we can catch sight of the edge of a huge American flag blowing in the wind from its flagpole on top of the Rock. I can't wait to get up there and see the view!

When we stop to pay our admission, I get a surprise: the elevator that normally carries tourists up the cliff to the restaurant and gift shop on the ledge parallel to the Rock is being renovated. If we want to get up there, we'll have to climb up a steep trail.

We unfold our trail maps and look them over.

"You sure you want to do this?" Rick asks. "Doesn't look like an easy climb, with all those stairways."

What can I say? It was my idea to come here, so I can hardly back down now. Not in front of Rick, anyway.

"I can do it," I reply, full of false confidence. "So, shall we start by going up to the top of the Rock?" I consult my map. "Let's see. That would be the Outcroppings Trail."

"How about doing the trail to the bottom of the Falls first?" Rick suggests casually. "Sort of a warm up before the main event. Save the hard one for later."

"Yeah, I guess that would work." I'm a bit surprised that he doesn't want to start with something more strenuous. Then again, he may just be taking me into consideration. I'll be lucky if I can keep up with him, once we start climbing the stairs to the Rock itself.

Going down numerous flights of wooden steps to the Hickory Gorge Falls trail wasn't too hard, but the rest of the way is a steady climb on a dirt path through the woods. Not all that steep, but three quarters of a mile going upslope has me out of breath before too long. I have to stop repeatedly to catch my breath and cool off, even though it's early spring and not really all that hot.

Meanwhile, Rick isn't even breathing hard. After a while, I'm beginning to feel bad about holding him back. And if it's this hard for me to manage this trail, how will I ever get up the 315 feet of stairs to the Rock itself?

But I keep on trudging doggedly along, resting when I have to. By now, I'm beginning to feel like a real weakling. But Rick makes no criticism, just waits patiently for me to be ready to go on.

At long last, we hear the sound of flowing water that means we must be approaching the Falls. It's still a ways further on, but the occasional cool, damp breeze from the water revives my flagging spirit.

Finally, we are there, looking up at the long, black slide of falling water over rock. Nothing nearly as powerful and overwhelming as Niagara Falls, of course. This is just a fairly narrow band of water tumbling down from the top of the cliff, separating into several streams where rocks protrude, joining again later on, bursting into sprays of mist that sparkle in the sunlight, and eventually falling into a rocky pond, then out of that pool and over yet another edge, continuing its journey downwards into Hickory Nut Gorge and Lake Lure.

There's a wooden platform that gives a nice view, but by this time I really need to get off my weary feet for a while, so I find a niche in the boulders surrounding us where I can sit and lean back against a rock, while still having a good view of the Falls. Rick stands on the platform, leaning on a railing and contemplating the water.

We haven't encountered many other hikers thus far, but two young folks are also on the platform, with a small child who is quickly becoming bored and whiney. Maybe they'll go away soon.

I turn my attention back to the Falls, mesmerized by the steady flow and the constant noise.

Once the water runs over the edge at the top, most of it rushes down one of the relatively straight paths into the pool below, while some takes a longer path, bouncing off of protruding rocks, being sent off sideways from the main flow and diverted into a smaller waterfall of its own. Then there are some rivulets that barely make it into the pool, slipping down in sad dribbles onto almost flat rocks, then struggling across the surface to once again join the rush downhill. Other drops are blown off as spray, disappearing into thin air.

With a sinking heart, it occurs to me that I'm like one of those unfortunate dribbles. I'd gone on a lot of detours and hit quite a few dead ends in my life. Now I was beginning to feel as if I'd come to the end of yet another road and I was still left stranded. While my fellows hurried cheerfully down into the pool, I lie, like an exhausted teardrop, without the energy or inclination to go further.

Damn it, Jerry, you've got to stop thinking like this! It's the same kind of mindset that brought you to the Neuse River Bridge last night.

But changing your thoughts if you're feeling down is far easier said than done.

Is Rick nothing more than another dead end? Have I followed yet another wrong turn and gotten lost again?

I'm such a goddamn wimp that I couldn't even keep up with him on an easy hiking trail. I'm fooling myself if I even dare to hope he'll stay interested in me. After all, why should he?

At last, the family leaves the platform and heads back down the trail, whiney child in tow. Once they're gone, Rick strolls back to where I'm sitting. He looks at me.

"What's the matter?"

So I tell him about what I had seen in the falling water. I don't have the guts to tell him the rest of what I was feeling, only that I kind of identified with one of those useless dribbles that just couldn't seem to go in the right direction. By the time I'm done, I can't even look him in the face.

He steps closer to me, facing obliquely back down the trail and effectively blocking me in between the boulders on either side of me. His hand reaches out, taking my chin and forcing my head up.

"Watch the Falls, Jerry. Don't look away."

His thumb caresses my lips.

"Rick, what —?"

"Shh." He sticks his thumb into my mouth. "Suck on it."

I obey gladly, although I can't help wishing it were some other part of his body. Even so, I feel the familiar stirring between my legs.

"There's no one else here, and I can see anyone who approaches on the trail, but they won't be able to see you until they get much closer."

I feel his other hand unfastening my belt. Surely he wouldn't ...?

I look at him and try to mumble something around the thumb in my mouth.

"Eyes on the Falls," he repeats sternly.

Yes, he would.

"Now listen." Speaking slowly and distinctly, Rick goes on. "No two drops follow exactly the same path. Some go directly in sparkling cascades of water, some meander in rivulets and streams across slick, smooth rocks, and some follow a tortuous path from level to level over jagged edges and through agonizing twists and turns."

As he speaks, his hand has gotten into my pants and his fingers wrap around my equipment, squeezing and pulling almost tight enough to hurt.

"Some may go the long way around," he continues, almost as if he's giving a lecture, while his hand now concentrates on my hard prick, "splatting on unexpected outcroppings and crawling slowly across paths arid with depression and despair."

I want to look at him, but I won't. Instead, I focus on a tiny rivulet off to the near side of the churning water, fighting to keep my eyes where he told them to be, while my breath comes in gasps around the thumb I am still sucking devoutly deep into my mouth. Dammit, I'm gonna come. I know it. What if someone's on the trail?

Inexorably, Rick's voice goes on. "Yet even that sorry little drop will come at last to rest in the placid waters below, when the journey is done."

I don't know about that sorry little drop of water, but I can sure tell you what was now oozing out of my slit. I couldn't hold it back any longer. I can't even keep my eyes open as I empty my load into that insistent hand.

But Rick is still talking, more softly now. "All you can do is go wherever this path leads you. If you reach an end, then drop off onto something going in another direction. Then again, perhaps this time you'll fall all the way into the pool."

I don't know about that pool, but I sure as hell fall into something, and it's wonderful, and marvelous, and so good that it's almost holy.

Only then did I dare to look at Rick's face.

He concludes his lecture by spreading my cum on the rock next to me and grinning, before he pulls me into a tight hug and whispers, "After all, who can know for sure where any path will end?"

I cling to him as a drowning man clings to his rescuer, fighting back tears.

He keeps on holding me until a group of hikers appears down on the trail.

Heading back to our starting point is much easier, being mostly downhill.

"How did you know that no one would disturb us?"

"I didn't. But if anyone had come along, like I said, I'd have seen them in time for us to stop."

"I guess I'm just not real used to doing that sort of thing out in the open."

"I had a lot of experience when I was in the service: secretly, in out of the way places, anywhere two men could find a bit of privacy in the midst of a war." He waves his hand at the surroundings and smiles. "Not much different than this. Scenery is nicer here though. And the company's pretty decent. Sometimes we'd have enough privacy for a blowjob, but often not. I got so that I liked to use my hands."

"That always seems so distant, somehow."

"Not really. In some ways, it's actually more intimate, since both people aren't caught up in the frenzy of sex. Instead, one is able to think clearly about what he's doing and why."

"Well, when you put it that way, that's true. And it's certainly easier to disengage, if you have to."

"Yep."

When we come to the end of the trail and have to climb back up those flights of stairs at the beginning, I tell Rick to go on ahead, which he does. By the time I reach the top, he's had time to study the trail map in more detail.

"Looks as if we have to climb the Outcroppings Trail if we want to get to the level of Chimney Rock itself," he says dubiously. "What do you think? You up for that?"

"I am if you are. But I'm sure not gonna race you to the top."

"Don't worry, I'll take it slow."

He sounds a bit grim as he says that, but I don't know why, so I just nod, still panting for breath. "Gimme a minute." I point toward the restrooms. "How about a pit stop before we start climbing again?"

By the time I've gotten up the first set of new-looking wooden stairs, I'm already out of breath and my legs are burning. Rick climbs effortlessly ahead of me, and I just know I'm holding him back.

"Go on ahead if you want to. You don't have to wait for me."

"That's all right. Like I said, I'm not in any hurry. More time to look at the scenery."

He's smiling, but the smile looks a bit forced.

"Well, okay."

As we continue on, I can't help but notice that he's not looking at the scenery at all. Instead, he's staring doggedly at the steps in front of him, keeping to the side of the stairway that's near to the cliff face, rather than the other side. And he has a hand on the railing, even though, unlike me, he doesn't need to literally pull himself up the stairs.

When we finally reach the first outlook at Vista Rock, he's not beside me at the railing, staring down over the side to see how high up we are, the way I'm doing. And he's being awfully quiet, unlike me, who is exclaiming in delight over the scenery, even though I'm gasping for breath from the climb. Early spring flowers are budding around us, showing spots of white and yellow in the midst of the many shades of green spread out like a new carpet on the rolling hills and distant mountainsides.

The higher we get, the slower Rick seems to be going, even though he doesn't appear to be particularly tired.

At long last, I stagger up the final flight of stairs and lean gratefully against the rocky cliff face at the top. We're on a long, broad platform where the restaurant is located. It's closed now, without the elevator in service. The spectacular tower of rock that stands next to us, unconnected to the main part of the cliff, extends maybe 20 or 30 feet above us, where the top part spreads a bit wider than the main column. One more stairway bridges the gap over nothingness. I stare up at the huge American flag waving on the top of the rock, beckoning us on.

Rick stands next to me, also staring upwards, his face closed and distant.

"Almost there," I say.

"Yeah," he replies flatly.

I start climbing. When I look back at Rick, he's clutching both handrails even more tightly than usual, looking only at the stairs in front of his face. When we get to the top, I make my way over to the marker that indicates the highest point, not far from the waving flag and near the sturdy metal railing that circles the rocky platform, which measures perhaps 30 by 50 feet.

"Oh, wow! Look at that view!" I point over the railing and glance back at Rick. "That must be Lake Lure over there."

Inexplicably, he sits stiffly on a rock shelf near the middle. I wave and yell, "Rick, come on over here!"

Almost reluctantly, he gets up and walks toward me, but he's moving as if he's on thin ice and expects to fall through at any moment. That's when I finally realize the look in his eyes is one of absolute terror.

And everything suddenly clicks into place: Rick told me yesterday morning that he doesn't like heights. But it's more than that: he's scared shitless of them.

How can such a thing be possible? The fearless Marine who's been through a war? The man who rescued me empty handed when I was attacked? And he doesn't even want to stand anywhere near the drop looming before us on the other side of this sturdy railing?

Jerry, old boy, maybe you're not as big a wimp as you think you are, since this doesn't bother you in the least.

All this hits me while Rick is walking gingerly towards me. Instead of waiting for him to get here, I go back quickly in his direction, as if I've just noticed something new to examine and can't resist getting closer. "Just look at these trees! I can't believe they're growing out of the solid rock."

Now that I'm safely away from the edge, he joins me in my admiration of the wind-swept pines that have managed to survive up here. I sit down in the shade on the inboard side of the rocky shelf nearby. Evidently relieved, Rick sits down next to me.

Oh, shit! I'm the one who dragged him up here. He must hate me. But now what? Should I notice he doesn't like it up here and suggest leaving? Or would that just insult him?

I decide my best bet will be to pretend I don't know what he's feeling and just go on as I have been. But if he suggests we leave after this, I'll go along without an argument, even though I'd love to see more of the Park.

So once we get down to the platform again, I plead exhaustion and tell him we don't need to climb the Skyline Trail all the way to the top of the cliff.

Rick looks up at the tower of stairs looming before us, consults the trail map, then looks up again. "We've come this far. Let's go for it."

These stairs are the original ones, old and weathered wood without the nice new metal bracings on the lower parts of the stairways. For just a moment, I can feel a brief shiver of fear going up my spine at the thought of them collapsing beneath us. I can push that thought away, but I'm very aware that the man climbing in front of me can't.

And yet he keeps going, one hand on either railing, staring doggedly ahead.

When we reach solid ground, it's hardly much better, being a pebbled trail along the steep side of the mountain, with nothing between us and a rocky, wooded slope but a low ledge of squared-off timbers, perhaps a foot or two high.

Predictably, Rick walks close to the mountainside, not the edge. But walk he does, looking more uncomfortable than he did on the stairs, if such a thing is possible.

I refrain from making excited remarks about the scenery, which would only draw his attention to how high up we are. Besides, I'm out of breath again.

Not many other folks have chosen to climb this path, compared to the ones below. I suspect the park has a lot more visitors later on in the season, when schools are closed and families are here on vacation. That's fine with me. I don't much appreciate the company of children anyway, unless they're remarkably well-behaved. I suppose someone's got to raise the nasty little creatures, but it sure ain't me, babe!

Omigod! What if Rick loves kids and wants one someday?!

Wait a minute, Jerry. You're starting to sound like a woman already planning a family with a man she just met. Get a grip, you monumental asshole! Let's just take things the same way we're climbing this mountain, huh? One step at a time.

Yeah, that's the ticket. One step at a time.

Of course, I was so far lost in thought that I stumbled over a rough spot on the trail and Rick had to catch me before I hit the ground.

"Uh – thanks," I mumble, much embarrassed.

"No problem. Just don't fall over the edge, okay?"

"I'll try my best not to, don't worry."

Not too much further on, we reach Exclamation Point. In the past, the trail went all the way to the top of the Hickory Nut Falls, but according to my map, that section is closed now, under renovation. Perhaps that's all for the best, given Rick's almost panic-stricken expression.

The Point itself is a very large expanse of rock, somewhat uneven but mostly flat or sloping slightly, enclosed by a metal railing. It sits at the top of the cliff and is the highest point in the park.

There are only a few other stalwart hikers up here, and they're mostly spread out along the railing, taking photos of each other. The view is indeed spectacular, but I do not join them there. Instead, I find a spot over towards the woods that back up against the exposed rock and sit down, taking off my cap and waving it like a fan to cool my overheated face and body. I'm not sure I'd like to be climbing these trails in the heat of midsummer.

Rick sits down next to me without saying a word.

I glance around, checking that no one is within hearing distance.

"You don't like heights, do you?" I say softly.

"You noticed, huh?"

I nod. "Look, Rick, I'm sorry I dragged you up here. Sometimes I can be real oblivious —"

He waves away my concern. "Not your fault. This is something I needed to do."

I'm not sure how to react to that. Does he always do stuff that he's afraid of? Have I done him some sort of a favor, or disgraced him by recognizing his fear?

"Well, you did it," I hazard, waving my hand around vaguely. "We made it to the top."

"Yeah. Now all we have to do is get down again."

"I hadn't thought about that."

Rick almost laughs. "Don't worry, buddy. That's usually easier than goin' up. I know what's there now, and I know what it's like. I'm even starting to feel a bit comfortable up here."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Oh, yeah! But I doubt I'll take up rock climbing as a hobby anytime soon."

Good. If he can joke about it, he must be feeling better.

Before we leave, Rick follows me as I go over to the railing for one last look at the surrounding mountains. We make our way slowly along the semicircular perimeter of the rocky Point, heading for the trail. The few people who were up here before have already left.

As we pass the wooden rain shelter beside the trail, I take a glance inside. Just a bench against the back wall, and a window that looks out over the trail.

"Uh ... Rick ...?"

"Don't even think it."

"But we're all alone up here. We could —"

"Give me a break. We're still way up the side of this god-awful cliff. Save it until we're back in our motel room, will you?"

He sounds more amused than annoyed, which is really what I hoped for.

Nevertheless, I sigh and say sadly, "Spoilsport," as I rejoin him on the trail.

We aren't very far along before we see a woman and a youngish teenage boy coming up the path towards us.

Rick nudges me and says, "See? We might have been caught."

"Naw, you'd have —"

Suddenly, Rick sucks in a breath and the expression on his face changes. I follow his glance. The boy has stepped up on top of the squared-off timbers at the edge of the trail, and is walking along on them, hands held out by his sides.

"Look at me, Ma!" he calls out cheerfully.

"Will, stop showing off and get down from —"

Her voice segues into a shrill scream as the boy trips, turns his ankle, stumbles forward trying to recover his balance, then goes over the side of the trail headfirst. I can only watch in horror as he rolls and slides down the steep and rocky slope towards the edge perhaps 25 feet below us. There's no way to know exactly what's beyond that drop off, but displaced bits of wood and small rocks slide over and out of sight.

Time seems to slow down, as it usually does in an emergency. I see the boy try to grab at bushes, but they can't hold him back. He slips easily over a rocky bit of ground, hitting his head as he goes, then comes to rest against a cluster of slender saplings that seem barely capable of holding his weight.

Rick is off the trail and climbing down the slope before I can even take in the situation. I have time only to shout, "Rick, no!"

Of course, he ignores me.

I can only watch as he lowers himself feet first to the base of a good-sized tree growing slant-wise about one body length below the trail. From there, he manages a controlled slide down to the large stump of a broken tree. The trunk itself lies on the ground at a slight angle towards the boy. The forked upper branches of the downed tree straddle a large rock outcropping, which holds it in place. It doesn't appear to have been dead too long, since it isn't bleached white and rotten like many if the other tree trunks scattered along the hillside.

My heart is in my throat as Rick makes his way along the downed tree. Branches break off beneath his feet, but most of his weight is pressed against the wood and the earth as he slides and lowers himself down towards the rock that holds the trunk in place.

This puts him closer to Will, who still lays across the fragile-looking saplings, either unconscious, dazed by the fall, or just too scared to move. That's probably for the best, at this point. If he starts flailing around in panic, the small bit of vegetation that holds him will let go and he'll slide over the edge for sure.

By now Rick has reached the rock. Propped behind it, he wraps his legs around the tree trunk, flattens his upper body along the ground, and reaches out a hand toward the boy, who is now off to one side of his position and just a bit lower.

He's close, but not quite within Rick's reach.

Will starts to move, craning his head sideways to look up at his would-be rescuer.

"Lie still, son! I'll get you out of there. But don't move right now. You understand?"

The boy nods. I can see blood running down over his face, but head wounds bleed a lot, so it might not be anything serious.

Rick pulls himself back behind his rock, then does something that I can't quite make out. He seems to be fumbling with his belt. Somehow, he ends up with a long length of heavy cord.

Getting back into position, he leans out and swings the end of the cord over to Will, so that it lands draped across the boy's chest.

"Tie this around your waist, then use the extra to tie it to your belt also. Can you do that without moving too much?"

Will nods.

"Good. Go very slowly. Make sure the knots are tight. Tell me when it's secure."

I hold my breath as the boy struggles to follow Rick's instructions.

"Ready, sir," he says at last. Got to be a Southerner, I think inanely. They're the only kids who would automatically call their elders sir or ma'am, no matter what the circumstances.

Meanwhile, Rick has tied his end of the cord to the tree trunk, then fastened it around his own waist. The slender cord doesn't look to me as if it would hold one of them, much less both, so I have to hope that he knows what he's doing.

Once again, he flattens himself against the ground, leaning out sideways and down, his legs locked around the dead tree.

He reaches his right hand over to Will, and the boy reaches towards it gingerly. They fall short, but only by a few feet.

"Okay, Will, slowly turn over onto your stomach, then lie flat on the ground and crawl out towards me. Use your elbows. I've got the other end of the rope, and it's strong enough to hold both of us, so don't be afraid if you slip. As soon as I can, I'll grab you and pull you across. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy! Now come on over."

Will's mother lays next to me as we look down from the trail, her breath coming in short sobs of terror and despair. I reach for her hand. She takes it. Together, we watch the ones we love risk their lives.

Will obeys, cautiously moving away from behind the saplings.

Their fingers touch. "A little further, son. You can do it."

Will nudges himself forward, pushing off from the saplings, but they give way beneath his weight, leaving him clinging desperately to the earth beneath his fingers.

Rick leans further out and grasps the boy's wrist.

Holding the cord in one hand and Will's wrist in the other, Rick hauls the boy up by sheer strength. Once Will is close enough, he gets a good grip on Rick, who maneuvers them both back behind the rock outcropping.

Beside me, Will's mother whispers softly, "Oh thank God."

Will cries out in pain as he tries to use his foot to help Rick get him into a secure position.

"What's wrong?"

"My ankle hurts."

"Let me take a look." He examines the boy's left ankle. "Could be just sprained, or broken."

Rick looks up at us. "We're going to try to climb back up."

As my time sense returns to normal, my mind engages itself again. Rick's plan doesn't sound like a very good idea. Dare I contradict him?

Yes. I must.

I call down, "Are you both secure there? Nothing's going to give way?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't try to go any further. Have you got your cell phone on you?"

Mine is back in the car.

Rick feels around in his pocket. "Yes."

I pull out my trail map. I remember seeing a notice about where to call in an emergency somewhere on that map. I make a frantic search of the paper, at last finding it down in the right hand corner. "Call this emergency number. It's the Ticket Plaza. Tell them what happened. They should be able to get a rescue team up here."

Rick glances quickly at the slope below him. I can see the terror on his face and I know full well he wants desperately to be back on the trail with us, even if he has to climb up there himself, dragging Will behind him.

He glares at me, not dialing the phone.

"Look, don't be a fool. Maybe you can climb back up here, but can Will make it without messing up his ankle even more? You just said it may be broken. He needs to stay as still as possible so he doesn't make it worse. If you're safe there, stay there. Don't risk a fall."

For a moment, I think he'll refuse, but then he bites his lip, nods, and takes out his phone. "Give me that number, Jerry."

I do, and he starts dialing.

I can't make out the conversation clearly, but Rick finally cuts the connection. "They'll have a rescue team up here within a half hour," he tells us.

"Great! Then all we have to do is keep everything stable until they get here."

And then we wait, Will's mother and I leaning over the timbers, talking to both of them, trying to keep their minds off of where they are. Will's ankle is hurting badly by now, but Rick holds him, making sure he keeps still and encouraging him. I can't hear all he says to the boy, who is basically sitting on his lap, his back to the slope, but what I can make out is mostly Rick praising his courage, telling him he can hang in there, and that sort of thing.

Good. If Rick can focus his attention on someone else, he's less likely to give in to his own fear.

Will's mother digs a water bottle out of her shoulder bag, looking questioningly at me.

"Good idea," I tell her, taking the offered plastic bottle.

Holding it up, I yell down, "Rick! Catch!" then I toss it down the slope as accurately as I can.

Happily, it falls close enough for Rick to get hold of it. He gives some to Will, then takes a few sips himself. A little water won't cure anything, but it might keep them both hydrated and lessen the likelihood of shock for the injured boy.

As we wait for the rescue party to get here, no other hikers come along the trail in either direction, which is probably just as well. There would be nothing they could do anyway.

The time drags on, and I'm running out of things to say. At one point, I ask Rick about the cord that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Remember the bracelets I bought at the thrift shop this morning?"

"Yeah. Those tan things. But they were just bracelets."

"They're woven in a way that unravels very quickly. And they're made out of paracord."

"Paracord?"

"Yeah. It can hold a lot more weight than it looks like it can."

"You're not going to tell me you're psychic and knew you'd need them today, are you?"

He laughs a little, which is what I had hoped for.

"No, of course not. I just thought they might come in handy someday. They're not called survival bracelets for nothing. You may not have noticed, but the belt I usually wear is made the same way, and it has a lot longer cord once it's unraveled. That's what I used, not the bracelets."

"Tell you what: you get the both of you up here in one piece and I'll make the cord back into a belt again."

Now it's Rick who's surprised. "You know how to weave that kind of thing?"

"No. But I'm pretty good at craft stuff. And I'll bet I can find out how it's done on YouTube."

Will laughs out loud. Rick gives me a look and replies, "You got yourself a deal."

After what seems an eternity, a group of Park rangers finally appear around the bend further down the trail. They're carrying one of those basket stretcher things, along with a lot of coiled rope and other stuff. Somewhat to my surprise, the leader of the team appears to be a hefty-looking woman.

She takes a close look at the situation, clearly thinking about the best way to retrieve our people, then asks us some questions.

Before very long, they have the stretcher rigged up and anchored, ready to be lowered down for Will.

Rick apparently has a good idea of what they'll be doing. He calls up to them.

"I can help you with the stretcher. Bring down an extra rope and harness for me, and I can climb up myself."

"You don't need to do that, sir," one of the rangers replies, as he straps himself into his own safety harness.

"Yes, I do," Rick insists.

The leader looks down at them, then asks me a few questions about Rick. I assure her that he knows what he's doing and how he got the boy out of a dangerous situation already.

"All right, let's give it a try. Even if he can't manage the climb, he'll be safer if he's secured by a harness. If we have to, we can haul him up ourselves." She points to one of her men. "Tyson, you go down with the litter. It's a steep slope, but we should be able to pull the kid up headfirst without any problems. Be sure he's tied in real good and protected with padding. And put an air splint on the kid's ankle before you move him. You got all that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The actual rescue is almost anticlimactic. Everything goes just as planned, even to the point of Rick being able to climb up along with the basket litter, helping the ranger to keep it steady.

As they get closer to us, I can see that Rick's shirt is ripped down the front and there are dried bloodstains on his T-shirt. Probably from when he slid down the tree trunk. But it's not enough blood to be dangerous, so any damage is probably superficial. Yeah, but it's in the area of the scars on his chest. Not a good thing.

I don't completely relax until they're all being helped over the timbered edge of the path and onto solid ground.

While one of the rescue team is bandaging the cut on Will's head, checking him over for any other injuries and starting an IV, the team leader approaches Rick. "You doing okay?"

"Sure thing, ma'am. Thanks for letting me help."

Then she notices the bloodstains on his shirt, reaching out towards him.

"You're hurt. Let me —"

"Don't touch me." Rick's voice, hard and cold, but with an edge that scares me.

Oh, no!!

Before I can interfere, she steps forward, clearly meaning to check out his injuries.

Rick grabs two handfuls of her shirt and lifts her up onto her toes.

"I said don't touch me! Try that again, and I'll —" He's moving toward the edge of the trail.

"Rick, no!"

I grab the now-struggling woman, so Rick can't push her over the cliff without endangering me also.

"I. Don't. Need. Help." His eyes narrow and his voice is ice cold and deliberate.

As quietly as I can, I say firmly, "Rick! Stand down!" He doesn't react. The others are starting to notice what's going on.

I do my best imitation of a tough drill sergeant. "That was an order, Marine. Not a request."

Much to my surprise, he obeys instantly. His victim staggers a little, then catches her balance. People are staring at us now.

I take Rick's arm and turn him away from the others so that we face towards the rocky outcropping on the side of the trail.

"The situation is under control. Now get yourself under control," I tell him quietly.

Rick bites his lip. His face goes white and his eyelids flutter, as he realizes what he almost did.

"Sit down against this rock, before you fall down."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Sit. I won't let anyone touch you."

He nods, then slides down the smooth rock until he's sitting, his knees bent in front of him. He hugs his knees and rests his head on his arms, his face hidden.

"Breathe, buddy. You're okay. And you're a hero. Got that?"

"Yeah." A muffled murmur.

One of the rescuers holds out a fresh bottle of water. I take it and place it in Rick's hand. "Drink."

The woman Rick threatened recovers herself quickly. She looks at me, then glances meaningfully at Rick. "He okay?"

"He will be. It's just the stress, that's all. You understand that, don't you, ma'am?"

"Yeah, sure, no harm done. Couldn't have been much fun sitting down there on the edge of a precipice, waiting for us to arrive."

Taking a look over her shoulder, she sees that her team has Will comfortable in the stretcher and ready to be carried down the trail.

"Go ahead," I tell her. "We'll follow a little way behind you."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Trust me, he'll be better off that way. He can walk down on his own."

"You sure?"

"You saw him climb up here on his own, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. But it's not standard practice."

"I know. But I also know Rick way better than you do."

She glances at the man still sitting with his back against the rock wall. He looks up at her, smiles, and raises the water bottle in a salute to the ranger before taking a long drink from the bottle.

Will's mother chooses that moment to come over.

"Thank you for saving my son," she says, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder.

Rick covers her hand with his and gives it a squeeze. "My pleasure, ma'am. He's a brave boy."

His voice is still a bit strained, but he's doing a pretty convincing imitation of normalcy.

"Here," he continues, unfastening one of his bracelets and holding it out to Will's mother. "Give this to your boy. He looks like the kind of kid who might need such a thing someday."

"Thank you," she says with a quaver in her voice. "I know he'll treasure it. When they stuck the IV needle into his arm, he didn't so much as flinch. He said he wanted to be brave like you."

Rick just shakes his head slightly and looks embarrassed.

The rescue leader watches all this and makes her decision. "All right." She pulls out a notepad. "Give me your names and contact info, plus a quick statement of what happened. We'll also need you both to fill out some forms, so be sure to stop by the Park headquarters as soon as you get down."

"Will do."

When the rescue team is on their way, I sit down next to Rick and place an arm across his shoulders.

"We should start down."

He nods, rising to his feet.

"I would have thrown that woman over the cliff," he says wretchedly.

I try to hide my shock. "No, you wouldn't."

"You don't know what happens when I get mad, Jerry. I lose control. That's how I survived. I went berserk when I had to fight. It shuts out the fear. I know it's not the best way to handle things, but I can't —"

I interrupt him. "You didn't kill those men who beat me up the other day."

"I wasn't mad enough then."

"But you were now, when all she did was try to take off your shirt? That doesn't make sense."

"It would if you saw what my chest looks like, and knew how it got that way." He takes a deep breath and tries to smile. "C'mon, let's get going. If they don't see us following them, they might decide to send more rangers up for me with a stretcher."

I think that's meant to be a joke, but at least he's moving.

"You want to tell me about it?" I ask as we make our way down the trail.

"No."

"All right. That's cool. But if you ever want to, I'll listen."

As I expected, I get no answer. He just takes another drink from his water bottle and offers it to me.

When we reach the stairway, we wait on the platform as the rescue team maneuvers the stretcher carefully down the stairs and around the 90 degree turns, letting them get a head start.

"You want to know why it worked when you gave me that line about it being an order?" Rick asks.

"Uh ... yeah. If you want to tell me."

"There was an officer once who used those same words to me, in a really bad situation. She was a pretty awesome lady. Tough as nails, and I mean that literally. She stopped me from doing something that I'd have regretted forever. Your voice and tone reminded me of her." He shakes his head. "She was one hell of a Marine."

"Was?"

"Yeah. She's dead."

After that, I think he's done talking. But he's not. As I'm about to start down the stairs, Rick takes my arm.

"Jerry, if I ever lose it and you think I'm going to hurt you or someone else, just say one word and it'll stop me." He takes a shaky breath. "Wyatt."

"As in Wyatt Earp?"

He nods.

"Who was he?"

"A sonofabitch who beat up people he thought were gay."

I'm tempted to ask more about this person, but the look on Rick's face stops me before I can even open my mouth.

"Don't ever use that name if it's not really necessary, OK? It'll bring me down hard."

"I won't. I promise." I'm not sure if I should do it or not, but I put a hand on his shoulder. "You won't ever hurt me, Rick. I trust you."

"Don't."

My blood runs cold at his answer, but I refuse to let it show in my face.

"C'mon. The stairway's clear. Let's go."

The rest of the way down was much easier than the coming up. Rick didn't even seem as nervous as he had been before, but he didn't have much else to say, so I took the hint and kept quiet also.

Nevertheless, I couldn't help but wonder whether his giving me that name for possible future use meant he actually thinks we have a future.

When we finally get down to ground level, we see Will being loaded into an ambulance, along with his mother. Catching sight of us, the boy calls out Rick's name then waves his arm, pointing at the bracelet he's wearing.

Rick and I wave back.

"Take care of yourself, kid," he says softly, as the ambulance drives away.

As instructed, we stop at Park headquarters to fill out all the necessary paperwork, with me doing most of the talking.

Once we're back in my car and I'm driving cautiously down the zigzag road away from Chimney Rock, Rick says, "Jerry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

All I can think of to say in reply is "You're welcome."

I insist that we stop at a drugstore on the way back to the motel, so I can pick up some first aid supplies. I'm not really surprised when he goes in and buys them himself.

Back in our room, Rick disappears into the bathroom for a while, coming out wearing only a clean T-shirt and, hopefully, a decent job of bandaging underneath.

I will not ask. I will not ask.

"Shower's all yours," he announces. If he's hurting, it doesn't show on his face.

"Thanks. I do feel rather grungy after all that happened today."

Later on, when we're lying in bed in the dark together and I'm trying to think of a good way to ask him if he's up for some action, Rick turns to me and asks. "Remember when we talked about hand jobs?"

"Yeah?" I reply warily. Surely he doesn't want to do that again, does he? At this point, I'd really rather do something a bit more interesting. But maybe he's hurting more than he's willing to show and would prefer that I just jerk him off. Sure, that's probably it.

"Want me to show you what I can do with nothing but my hands and my voice?"

The look on his face is strange, almost eager, as if he really wants to do me again. Hasn't he gotten tired of it by now? _Doesn't matter, Jerry. Just give the man what he wants._

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now, I want you to imagine everything I tell you is real. Got it?"

"Yep."

"Close your eyes and keep them closed. Relax. Hear only my words." When he goes on, his voice has a slow, almost hypnotic sound. "You are lying on your back, floating peacefully in an infinite sea. It is dark. You can feel the cool water surrounding your naked body, buoying you up and caressing your skin. You know if you were to open your eyes, you would see nothing but the midnight sky, sprinkled with stars like glittering diamonds strewn across black velvet. No moon shines down to disturb your peace with its harsh light. Beneath you there is nothing but ocean, rocking you gently on its waves. You feel safe being held in this strong embrace. Nothing can threaten you or harm you. You float without effort, barely conscious of where you are. Now and again, a wave may splash water over you and you feel the water run across your body, caressing you almost like fingers as it runs across your chest. You sigh and relax even further, lulled by that gentle stroking."

I realize I can actually feel that caressing sensation that Rick describes. I'm tempted to peek out from under my eyelids to see if he's touching me like that, but I resist. If he is, I surely don't want to stop him.

"Slowly, you become aware of the swelling pleasure in your groin. The water slides smoothly along your penis and presses softly against your balls, but only enough to make you aware of the feeling, as you rise and fall along with the steady motion of the water. The waves are small at first, but they grow higher as you continue to drift along, the cycle deepening, strengthening, building upon its own momentum. Rising, falling, but always growing, moving forward. The crest lifts higher and higher with each repetition, up and up, as if it would like to toss you to the sky, then it brings you safely down again into the trough. The water moves more insistently now. You feel it rush along your skin, tumbling over your hardening cock, pushing your balls around. Automatically, you open your legs, inviting the water to play with you, hoping it will take the hint. With your legs spread, you can feel the cool touch on your asshole, almost like a lover's caress, leaving you wanting even more."

Indeed, yes, I certainly do want more. I obey that coaxing voice and open my legs to the welcome caress of the water.

"Before long, the bottom of the wave strikes something, catches, slows, while the top stretches higher, reaching, always reaching, for the sky. There is the beginning of an urgency in the surrounding water as it strives to continue its journey through the night. As time goes by, its touch becomes more agitated, as if it wishes to go somewhere, but isn't quite sure where. You begin to feel that urgency in your body, as the water swirls around your sex, each tiny current sending a new thrill up your spine. But you find yourself wanting more."

Oh, yes! Oh, please!

"The waves lift you higher as they feel the sandy bottom rising inexorably beneath them. And the waves of pleasure inside you rise and fall along with the ocean, growing stronger all the time. Its grip on your cock hardens and quickens as the very tip of the crest begins to topple forward. You are so sensitive that you can feel the water flowing across your slit. At the same time, tendrils of cool water push into your asshole, driven by the pressure of the confused and tossing water that carries you inexorably forward, forward, toward that unknown destination. The wave curls, froths, ready to tumble downward, but yet defying gravity for a second longer, curling impossibly forward. But the sense of inevitability begins. Higher, just a bit higher, and finally there will be that incredible slide down the other side."

I can do nothing more than whimper and moan by now, feeling the wave lifting me to the edge of orgasm, my ass full of the sea and my cock battered by the salt water tossing around me.

"Finally, it crashes down, and you fall from the dizzying heights into the chaos and confusion below, as your brain drowns in fierce sensation, and the currents tear you in pieces and toss the pieces into the white froth bubbling around you, as you fall in terror and ecstasy, feeling your very self disintegrating into pieces, screaming out your joy."

And I have no doubt that I am indeed screaming, somewhere in another world of delight.

"Through the crash and push of the churning darkness that overwhelms you, you struggle upwards into the light and air, gasping for breath amidst the sensual salty fluid that washes all around your body, and that finally casts you up on shore, safe but still feeling the aftershocks of the temporary collapse of the world into that terrible and incredible thrill you have just experienced. And you know that you will crave the breaking of that wave of pleasure over and over and over again, for as long as you live and draw breath."

For a time, there's only silence. Then Rick's arms around me, and his voice. "Come back to me, Jerry. You can open your eyes again, if you're ready."

Almost reluctantly, I shake myself out of my imagination and return to the real world, where I've shot my load into Rick's willing hand.

"Oh holy shit!"

"Pretty intense, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Now do you see what I mean? If I were physically involved while I did that, I couldn't have kept it up, if you'll pardon the expression. I'd have been too caught up in my own response to keep talking."

Despite what he says, his cock stands hard and dripping, excited by his words. And there's a hungry but strangely forlorn look in his eyes.

"You didn't just make that up on the spot, did you? You've done it before."

"Yeah."

I'm tempted to ask him with whom, but I know better. In fact, I'm surprised I even got an answer to my question.

Instead, I smile. Then I turn over, gather my knees under me, and wordlessly offer him my ass.

Without a word, he takes it.

"How about we stay here for a couple of days to take it easy? We could look around a bit," I suggest, as we settle down to sleep.

"All right by me. Playing tourist might be fun."

"Yeah. But let's hope Asheville doesn't turn out to be quite as exciting as Chimney Rock was today."

"You can say that again, darlin'."

He turns over, facing away from me, clearly ready to get some shuteye.

I'm satisfied with his answer. After all, the longer we stay here, the longer we'll be together, right?

####

DATE with a TOWN

I wake up to the bright sunlight blazing around the edges of the closed curtains in our motel room. A glance at the clock next to the bed tells me it's almost 9 AM. Too late for us to get to the complimentary breakfast.

Oh well, I tell myself. I guess we both needed to catch up on our sleep, after the stressful time we had yesterday.

I roll over so that I can look at the man lying beside me, wondering, as usual, what a hunk like this is doing lying in my bed? The sheet is down around his waist, and the T shirt he always wears is twisted and pulled unusually tight against his chest, outlining the lumpy bandage that covers whatever damage he did to himself as he climbed down a steep rocky slope to rescue a boy in danger. Although I've never actually seen Rick without his T shirt, I know that the right side of his chest has already been damaged far worse than the surface scrapes he got yesterday.

My guess is that he's got some scars on his chest, maybe from his time as a Marine, that he doesn't want anyone to see, but I can't be 100% sure. It could just as easily be some sort of birth defect. Maybe someday he'll tell me, but I'm not holding my breath. Not that I'd care what his chest looks like. He could look as horrific as the Frankenstein monster and I'd love him anyway.

Whoa, Jerry! Did you really just use the L-word? Don't you think it's way too soon for that?

I remind myself this is only the third day we've been together, so I don't really know a whole lot about Rick. As far as that goes, he could be an axe murderer. But somehow I doubt it, especially after the way he risked his life to rescue that kid yesterday at Chimney Rock.

Then again, beyond the fact that I was ready to commit suicide when we first met, he doesn't know all that much about me either.

After I lost Alex, I pretty much gave up on finding anyone else I could love. Casual sex, sure. But love? Not on the program.

Of course, I was very young when Alex and I got together. He had at least 20 years on me, so he was sort of a father figure in many ways. Dear Alex! I shudder to think of what might have become of me if I hadn't met him when I did. I was so naïve and AIDS was still ravaging the gay community. Alex was my first and only love, and we were together for quite a few years. After his death, I pretty much gave up on finding anyone else.

Until Rick came along. My dick is getting hard now, just looking at him. But is that love, or just lust?

Oh, sure, some part of me knows it's way too early to even think about any kind of lasting relationship, but another part of me wants nothing more than to lie in bed with him and never get up.

At this point in my musings, Rick opens his lovely deep blue eyes and smiles drowsily.

"G'morning. I've ... uh ... got somethin' here I think you might want to help me with."

He has a very familiar look on his face, so I have some idea of what's coming next. (No pun intended, of course.)

I scoot over close to him, until we're lying face to face.

"What an amazing coincidence!" I quip. "So have I. How about we get rid of the covers and arrange ourselves in a more convenient manner for mutual enjoyment?"

"Why not? Judging by the amount of light in the room, we've already missed our free breakfast, so there's no rush."

"You stay where you are. I'll move," I offer. I figure his chest is probably more than a bit sore after the way he scraped it yesterday, but I don't mention that.

While I turn myself so that my head is in front of his groin, Rick grabs for the condoms on the nightstand, then tosses one to me.

"Here. But how about we don't put them on until it's absolutely necessary?"

"Good idea," I agree, as I close my hand around his shaft, feeling it react to my touch, just as I'm reacting to his. The only difference is that Rick's hand alternately pulls my foreskin back from my glans, then pushes it forward again with his strokes. He himself is circumcised, so I can't quite do the same to him. Nevertheless, he seems to be enjoying my ministrations. I don't realize he's doing it deliberately until he asks, "You like that?"

"O god yes!"

"Figured."

I love to watch and feel his dick extend to its full length as he becomes aroused, especially since I know that I'm the cause.

Between his cock in my face and what he's doing to me, it doesn't take long for me to be ready for more.

"Rick —"

"Yeah, I know. Me too."

Not wanting to stop the action, we each put a condom on the other's dick with our mouths, then start sucking.

Some cocks are just too big to be comfortable, especially for extended use. If Rick's was a little thicker, it would be difficult for me to get it into my mouth. I may have a big mouth in one sense of the word, but not in the anatomical sense. Unlike a lot of gay men, I agree with the women who say it isn't what you've got, it's how you use it. And it's also who it's connected to.

Things get frantic for a while, as we drive ourselves toward the building climax. I come first, pushing deep into his mouth as each spasm pumps out harder than the last. It's so intense that I have to remind myself not to bite down on the quivering cock in my own mouth. I struggle to breathe, pulling air in through my nose.

It isn't long before Rick returns the favor, releasing my cock and thrusting quickly. He pulls back a little and I can almost feel the cum spurting into the tip of the condom he wears. He gives a long wavering moan that sends a chill up my spine. I can almost feel an echo of his ecstasy in my own body.

I continue to hold him in my mouth for a while longer, sucking and tonguing him gently, as if he were a delicious stick of candy. I enjoyed feeling him get hard, and now I can enjoy feeling his erection subside.

"Hey, Jerry, enough already. You're not gonna get any more out of the spigot by sucking on it. We missed breakfast, so I could sure use a cup of coffee or somethin' right about now."

I take the hint, letting him go and getting out of bed. I peel the used condom off my drooping dick and head for the brewing gadget on the desk by the television. "What do you want? Coffee or tea? We've got both here."

"Coffee, darlin'."

He calls me darling now and then, but it always takes me by surprise. Our relationship just doesn't seem to be at the point where we start using such endearments yet. He once said it was a sort of a habit, and he'd explain some day, so I'm careful not to read too much into it.

When the coffee's ready, I carry both cups over to the bed. "Let's be decadent and have breakfast, such as it is, in bed."

He nods, and I stretch out beside him, both of us still naked. With my free hand, I reach over to his groin, running my fingers through the dark patch of curly brown hair surrounding his soft cock and balls.

"Have you ever considered shaving your pubic hair?" he asks. "Seems to be a big thing nowadays."

"No," I reply uncertainly, hoping he's not suggesting that I do that.

"Me either. Oh, I can see trimming it a little if you're really super-hairy down there, but shaving? No thanks. Why would an adult male want to make his crotch look like a child's? I just don't get it."

My hand still buried in his pubic hair, I give it a gentle tug. "Good. I like having something to play with like this, and I like it when someone does it to me."

"It's agreed then. We'll both remain as nature made us." He drains his cup. "I'm gonna go for a run, then take a shower and make myself presentable so we can go into town and look around a bit."

"Works for me," I reply, still sipping at my coffee.

Once Rick heads out the door, I start another cup of coffee brewing and take a quick shower. Rick still hasn't returned, so I fire up his laptop. On a whim, I check out what kind of medical facilities there are here in Asheville. Turns out there are quite a few for a city as small as this one. Since I'm a CT tech currently without a job, I bring up their list of openings at the Mission Health System website, since it appears to be the largest medical complex. I can't imagine being lucky enough to find something, but you never know, right?

I almost drop my empty coffee cup when the search results come up.

Damn if they aren't looking for a CT tech! It's only part-time, but that could be a foot in the door. Hmm. It's for the night shift on weekends. Can't be too popular a job, with those hours. In fact, judging by the date it was posted, this job's been open for several months already.

Well, Jerry old boy, why not? Filling out an application doesn't cost anything. Goodness knows, I've done that so often over the past few months that I've got all the info memorized. Odds are that I'll never hear back from them, but what the hell? Let's do it.

I've filled out the application and submitted it to the Human Resources folks long before Rick comes back from his run, so I sort quickly through the brochures I picked up yesterday in the motel office, looking for something that might give us a quick overview of Asheville.

When I find a promising possibility, I no sooner bring up the site on the computer in order to check it out in more detail than Rick returns.

"Look at this," I tell him as he comes through the door. "There's a sightseeing trolley that takes people to various places around town, telling about each one as they go. You can get out anywhere and then catch another trolley to continue. What do you think?"

He puts a hand on my shoulder and leans forward to look at the computer screen.

"Sounds good."

"It starts from the Visitor Center, and they even have a lot where we can park the car for the day."

"Give me a few minutes to shower and then we can go play tourist."

It's already late morning by the time we arrive at the Visitor Center parking lot. The Center itself is huge, with racks of brochures lining almost all the walls, a good-sized gift shop, generous information desk, and a booth where they sell tickets for the trolley.

We get our tickets, but still have some time to kill before the next trolley comes by, so we browse the pamphlet racks. It's rather overwhelming. All this variety, for a town that's just barely big enough to consider itself a city?

Just as I figured, Rick heads for the Outdoor Activities rack.

There's a lot of information available, all the way from ziplining, to white water rafting, to children's adventure parks. Me, I'm more interested in stuff like museums, history, crafts, that sort of thing, so I browse those racks.

I catch sight of a small rainbow flag on the top corner of a single-page handout titled "GayAshevilleNC.com". Without taking the time to read it, I stuff it in the canvas shoulder bag I bought yesterday at the thrift shop along with my other acquisitions.

Meanwhile, the brochures Rick picks up are growing quickly in number. He's already got a handful of them.

"Want me to take those? That's what I got this bag for, you know."

"Sure, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. We can sort out your stuff from mine later on."

The announcement that our trolley is now ready to take on passengers comes over the loudspeaker, so we head outside and board the bright red tour bus that's designed to look like an old-time trolley.

I suppose I could describe every single stop and give a running commentary on the drivers' spiel, but I'll spare you all that. Let's just say that we saw a lot of refurbished houses from the 1800's, incredibly gorgeous mansions of varying ages, historical buildings, churches and hotels, a downtown area that is literally chockablock with artsy shops, tiny pocket parks and streets so narrow that I greatly admire the skill of our driver in manipulating her rather clumsy vehicle through this area at all.

This part of town has got to be several square miles in size, with streets taking off in every direction. I have to struggle just to follow our route on the map that came with our tickets. There may be a few modern buildings here and there, but overall the entire downtown looks like something out of the past, except for all the cars, both parked and trying to thread their way through the traffic and the many pedestrians. And this isn't even the busiest part of the tourist season. It must be a real madhouse during the fall foliage season in October.

Rick nudges me. "Good thing we didn't take your car, huh?"

"You got that right! You know, we're almost halfway through the tour." I point out our location on the map. "How about getting off here and walking around for a while? Maybe have some lunch?"

"Works for me. I'm pretty hungry, and there seems to be at least a dozen restaurants to choose from on every corner."

Of course, he's exaggerating, but not by much.

We disembark at something called the Grove Park Arcade, in the midst of what looks like a flea market going on along the sidewalk. Vendors in individual booths offer handmade crafts of all sorts. The Arcade itself is a huge old building turned into an indoor mall containing yet more craft shops, specialty food stores, and restaurants.

"It's nice to see people selling their own things like this," I remark. "So much lovely stuff! And all these shops full of local crafts! Sure wish I could afford to buy some of it."

"Maybe someday you'll be able to. Just because you don't have a job right now doesn't mean you'll never have one. You told me you were an x-ray tech, didn't you?"

"CT tech, actually. But I can do x-rays also."

"Healthcare's a big thing these days. You'll find something."

"I wish I had your confidence, Rick." In more ways than one! I almost mention the application I sent to the hospital, but decide against it. After all, I probably shouldn't even have bothered. Even if, through some miracle, that job actually comes through, it would mean I'd have to stay here, and it's entirely possible Rick won't want to stay with me. He's been traveling around by himself for a long time, so why settle down now?

After our walk through the building, we stroll aimlessly around the crowded streets, eventually coming upon a deli offering an assortment of exotic sandwiches, where we stop for lunch.

We sit at a counter against the front window, watching the traffic and the tourists go by. Rick nudges me.

"Did you see that bumper sticker?"

"No. What did it say?"

"Keep Asheville Weird."

"I'm tempted to laugh, but I think it just might be meant seriously, given the variety of people I've seen here so far."

"You may well be right."

While Rick finishes up his iced tea, I once against consult our street map. "The Basilica of Saint Lawrence isn't far from here. Want to take a look at it?"

"What's a basilica?"

"Sort of an honorary title given to an old or historically significant Catholic church, if I remember correctly."

Rick looks at me with a slight frown on his face. "You're Catholic?"

"Well, no, not any more. But I was raised Catholic. Once upon a time, I was an altar boy. And before you ask, I'll tell you that no priest ever molested me. The ones I knew were pretty decent guys. If things had gone otherwise, I may well have become a priest myself. But that never happened, for reasons that should be fairly obvious."

"There are gay priests."

"Maybe now, but when I was young, any priest who was gay was also deep in the closet. And I'm not the kind who can keep a secret, or pretend to be something I'm not. That just doesn't work. I'm a lousy liar."

"So why aren't you still Catholic?"

I shrug. "As I grew up, I ran across stuff I just couldn't swallow anymore. Nowadays, I usually say I'm an agnostic, since I can't absolutely be sure there's no God. But if ... and that's a big IF... there is a God, I'm damn sure it's not the Christian version."

I look at Rick, belatedly wondering if he's a True Believer of some kind and I've just insulted him. Might as well take the bull by the horns. "How about you?"

"Let's just say that if I wake up and find myself dead, I'll be overjoyed. That would mean there really is some kind of life after death. But I seriously doubt that's the way the universe works."

"Me neither. But sometimes I do miss the ritual of High Mass. Even so, that had become pretty rare by the time I was born."

"Well, if you want to visit this basilica, I have no objection to seeing what it's like."

We enter through the side door, which has a sort of a vestibule containing information about the building. As usual, I pick up a pamphlet.

As we walk into the nave, I realize this is probably the most elaborate Catholic church I've ever been in. Very different from the modern churches I'm used to seeing. We're surrounded by stained glass windows high on the walls, life-size statues, ornate side altars, and an extremely large crucifix above the main altar, including yet more statues at the foot of the cross, plus detailed mosaics on the side walls. The mosaics give everything a sort of Middle Eastern aura.

A huge oval dome covers the area above the nave, with another smaller dome over the sanctuary.

It's all so strange, and yet all so strangely familiar.

Rick breaks the silence, saying in a hushed whisper, "I've seen pictures of cathedrals in Europe that look a lot like this. The sheer amount of detail is overwhelming."

I consult my pamphlet. "The exterior style is Spanish Renaissance. And the building was constructed entirely without wood, just stone and tiles and things like that. It was completed in 1909."

No one else is here, so we wander along the aisle that's outside of the pews. The peaceful silence is nice, after the hustle and bustle of the downtown area surrounding us. I have the urge to genuflect and cross myself, then slip into a pew and kneel down to pray.

But what would I be praying to, when I don't believe in God?

Relax, Jerry. Old habits die hard. This is just another one of them.

Yet still, I sometimes miss the faith I had as a boy, and I guess I always will.

As we leave the Basilica, I am strangely silent. It's almost as if I left my innocence behind me in that ornately beautiful building.

Jerry, you asshole, it's been a lot of years since you were innocent in any way, shape, or form. Get over it!

We make our way back to the trolley stop and wait for a while, just watching the people as they walk by. All kinds of people, young, old, some black, some Hispanic, yet mostly white. Occasional folks in truly odd clothing, some flamboyantly gay, some just unusual.

I begin to wonder if we're really still in the South.

In time, our trolley arrives and we head out of the downtown area into a more open section of Asheville. Our new driver and tour guide informs us that the next stop is the River Arts District, a former industrial area served by the railroad, which had been left to decay in more recent years, but later began to attract artists who needed inexpensive buildings for their studios in the 1980's, and is by now experiencing considerable growth and attracting more tourists all the time. This sounds interesting!

At first, the dilapidated buildings don't appear too promising. But as we get closer to our stop, I see something else.

"Rick, look! There's a train track!"

"Um, yeah, Jerry. That's definitely a train track. More than one, for that matter."

"I like trains!"

"Yeah, well, I guess they're okay."

My enthusiasm is somewhat dampened by Rick's evident lack of enthusiasm, but I do look around this unusual half-deserted rundown section of town with more interest than I had initially felt. As a tourist attraction, it doesn't seem too promising, but there are some brightly-painted storefronts to be seen from our vantage point on Clingman Avenue, which is slightly higher than most of the other streets. (Have I mentioned that Asheville is a very hilly city? Not surprising, since it's surrounded by mountains.)

Our driver stops for a moment, but goes on quickly, as no one is waiting to be dropped off or picked up at this stop. We continue on down and through the center of the district, crossing the RR tracks and then heading along a road next to the narrow river that can almost be seen through the trees. Our driver points out some of the studios and restaurants to be found along the way. I notice that we're now following alongside the tracks, and there are several locomotives and other cars coming into sight, all sitting motionless in the rail yard.

I stand up and stare out the window as the driver tells us we're passing one of the very few roundhouses still in existence, even though this one is no longer in use. I can't see much more than one of the curved brick walls, but I'm still standing there and watching as we swing around a curve and go across an overpass, where I manage to catch a quick view of the rail yard.

I sit down, disappointed that I hadn't thought fast enough to suggest that we get off at the River Arts District stop.

"You know, Jerry, we can always come back here tomorrow if you'd like to look around some more."

Damn! Of course we could. Why didn't I think of that?

"We could even take the car," he goes on. "It wasn't very crowded back there. I saw plenty of parking spaces."

"You don't mind? You didn't sound very interested in trains."

"No, but I did find the area interesting. Kind of reminds me of what I've heard Greenwich Village looked like in the old days, with all the starving artists and their studios and all."

"You've been in New York City?"

"Yeah. On my way up to Maine." He winks at me. "After all, like any other gay guy, I had to take a look at Christopher Street."

"Find anything interesting there?"

"What do you think?" he replies smugly.

I give him a smile and a nod, then let the subject drop. Christopher Street is a well-known gay hangout and pick-up area in the Village. A good-looking guy like Rick wouldn't have had any trouble picking up someone in a place like that.

The last part of our tour brings us to Biltmore Village, not far from the famous Biltmore Estate, a truly humongous mansion built in the late 1800's and now a major tourist attraction. The Village, on the other hand, is a quaint collection of very nice gift shops and restaurants, but neither Rick nor I feel the need to browse around, so we just continue on back to the Visitor Center and our motel.

My trusty shoulder bag now holds a good-sized bunch of brochures, so I dump them all out on top of the bed and begin sorting through them.

Rick flops down on the other double bed and kicks off his shoes.

"Whew! Who'd think just being a tourist could be so tiring? I do believe I'm just plumb wore out."

I almost tell him it's probably not playing tourist that tired him out. It's way more likely to be our trip to Chimney Rock yesterday that's getting to him. Risking death to save a boy's life and causing oneself further injury isn't exactly guaranteed to improve one's stamina. Which reminds me —

"Rick, don't you need to change the bandages on your chest?" I ask, trying to sound casual rather than nagging.

"Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea, wouldn't it?"

He sits up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wince. I'd like to offer to do it for him, but I know he'd refuse, so I return to the pile of brochures in front of me as he heads into the bathroom and closes the door.

By the time he's finished, I've got three stacks of brochures sitting in front of me on the bed.

"Here we go, Rick: yours, mine, and ours. Take your choice."

Of course, I've strategically placed something on top of the "ours" pile, knowing it will attract his attention.

It works. He picks up the one that says "GayAshevilleNC.com".

"Holy fucking shit! All this gay stuff in an out of the way place like this? I've got to see the website."

As Rick fires up his small laptop, I just sit on the bed and smile.

"C'mere, Jerry. Take a look at this."

I stand up behind him and read over his shoulder. The site is even more amazing than the brochure. "Sure would be a nice change to be where gay is okay, huh?"

"You ain't just whistling Dixie, darlin'."

"I seldom whistle Dixie, Rick." But I just might, if I lived here. With you.

Rick laughs shortly, then starts clicking on the numerous links on the website. Meanwhile, I settle back down on the bed and go through the "mine" stack of pamphlets, arranging them in the order in which I would like to visit them, if we stay here long enough.

When he's gone through everything on the gay website, Rick begins searching for other things available in Asheville. Every so often, he updates me on what he's finding.

"Lots of martial arts, Jerry. Even a Tao Institute that teaches Tai Chi."

"You interested in Tai Chi?"

"Maybe. It's one of the martial arts I've never studied."

"White water rafting. You ever done that?"

"No, but it sounds like fun."

"Hot air balloons!"

"Really?"

"Stargazing tours."

"Nice!"

"Rick, it's getting late. Don't you think we'd better get to bed? I'd really like to be up in time for breakfast tomorrow."

"What? Oh. Yeah, it's almost midnight. Guess I'd better shut down the computer, huh?"

As we settle into bed and turn the lights off, Rick asks hesitantly, "You mind if we just go to sleep tonight? I'm more tired than I expected to be."

Okay, I'm a little bit disappointed, but tomorrow's another day. Maybe his chest is still hurting. "No problem. I'm pretty beat myself."

As my brain shuffles back to consciousness from the middle of a pleasantly erotic dream, I realize that I was awakened by a strange sensation. The shaft of my limp penis is being held in a gentle grip, while something soft and small seems to be lightly tickling my foreskin. As reality slowly erodes the edges of the dream, I realize this is probably Rick's doing. I slit my eyes open. Yep, I can see his silhouette against the faint light showing through the curtains on the window. He's lying on his side facing me, so both hands would be free.

I could easily ask him what he's doing, if I could just wipe the grogginess out of my head. Meanwhile, the strange tickling sensation continues, and now it's beginning to be distinctly pleasant. If he were to stop whatever he's doing, I could probably sink back into sleep.

No, this feels too nice. I'll just lie here and concentrate on whatever is being done to my cock. The feather-light teasing slides gently along the length of my foreskin, then back, then forward again, but this time a little further around. Each stroke ends near the tip. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can feel the swelling begin inside me, flowing outward and along my shaft. But only slowly, as the tickling sensation is not strong enough or hard enough to provoke a quick erection.

I just want to lie here languidly, somewhere halfway between waking and sleep, feeling this delicious but frustrating stroking. It can't be one of his fingers. It's too small and too soft for that. I could move. I could ask him what he's doing. But that would break the spell. I'd rather simply enjoy this, here and now, with the strange and complex man who has somehow become my bed partner.

I feel the urge to arch my back, but instead I continue to lie slackly in his grasp. I turn what could have become a sigh into a soft exhale of breath. Rick may realize I'm no longer fast asleep, but I'll play this game if he will. It's far too delicious to interrupt.

Now the barely-felt sensation seems to be concentrating on the wrinkled skin at the tip of my foreskin, teasing at the opening, touching and retreating. Inside its protective sheath, my glans becomes more sensitive. It seems to anticipate what might be coming. It swells slightly. If that keeps up, it will soon begin to push its way clear of its cover. I try to relax, telling it to slow down, don't rush this

As usual, it doesn't listen. But Rick must have also become aware of what's happening. The stroking softness presses itself carefully inside, encountering my slick cockhead. At that touch, I suck in my breath as my entire groin is transfixed by that tiny point of fierce pleasure on the sensitive hidden skin.

The unknown intruder holds there, pressing so gently that I can hardly feel it. My breathing steadies. Again, I relax. It moves, penetrating deep into the recesses around my moist glans, circling, lifting the outer covering slightly as it does this. Never in my life have I felt this sort of thing.

But I'm determined not to be the first one to break the spell. I make my best attempt to hold back my growing erection, with limited results. I steady my breathing, still feigning the sleep that has long ago deserted me.

With a resigned sigh, Rick breaks first. "You like this, don't you, Jerry?" he asks, leaning over me and whispering in my ear.

"Oh yeah. Like is not the word. I love it."

"Figured." Without saying anything more, he pulls me into his arms, then guides me gently over so that my back is against his body.

His fingers stroke their way down my back, and this time I arch my back in invitation. Rick opens me gently with his fingers, then feeds his half-hard cock into me, so slowly, so carefully that it seems almost frustrating, but isn't. Except for small movements now and then, our bodies are still, resting contentedly against each other.

"Rick, we forgot —"

"Condom in place and ready for action, sir," he replies, with amusement in his voice.

Then we are quiet again. Everything seems almost dreamlike with its silence and peace, as we deepen our joining in tiny increments. Rick is still barely hard enough to remain inside me, but stiffening a bit more each time my muscles clench in a hard spasm around him. It's almost as if we're flowing together to form one being, so slowly, so imperceptibly that we'll never notice when we've became one. There is no thrusting, no pushing, no panting effort to reach final ecstasy, since we are not actively seeking that ecstasy, but merely allowing it to flow over us. I feel his penis twitch now and again, but that's all.

As he penetrates further, my cock reacts, but there will be no touching, no frantic stroking to bring it to fullness. I will simply lie here and let it happen. The convulsive spasms in my groin become stronger, more frequent, until a sweet thrill burns within me each time.

I want nothing but to lie here forever this way, feeling this sensation, feeling his arms encircling me, his legs pressing against mine. All the multitude of tiny sensations that would be ignored in the usual frenzy of sex are now noticed and appreciated. A half-breathed sigh. A quiet "mmm" now and then. Perhaps an intake of breath. Our cocks are hard now, as he presses in more deeply, touching that sensitive spot inside me. Even so, there's no rush, no frenetic striving, only a tighter longer-lasting spasming inside me, a growing pleasure that comes by itself, without any effort on my part.

His cock twitches more strongly. He is feeling it too, this pressure that is not pressure, the rhythm flowing and building seemingly by itself. My balls are pressed tight against my groin, a bit of moisture forms at the tip of my penis, the foreskin now entirely retracted from my swollen glans. Relax, relax. No hurry. This is itself a sharp sweet pleasure of its own.

When finally my release comes, it is hardly more delicious than what I have been feeling all along, except that now I can notice the swift slide of fluid through my urethra, not with the usual hard jerking spasms but only as a flow that ebbs and strengthens over and over as it runs out of my body. I squirm just a little, my ass trying to fit tighter against Rick's groin. He sucks in a breath, pressing against my buttocks. I can feel the spasms run down his cock, can almost imagine I feel his seed flowing slowly and copiously inside me. I will it to soak into me, become a part of me, but I know that's nothing but fond fantasy, since he's wearing a condom. Ah, but it makes for a satisfying fantasy nevertheless!

I sigh yet again and relax against him. Neither of us moves. We just rest together as our bodies slowly recover from what we've done.

I'm about to say something when I notice Rick's soft and regular breathing and realize he's fallen off to sleep, not even taking the time to disengage his wilting cock from my hole. I continue to lie very still, feeling his body relax against me, his organ slowly softening and returning to its usual size as it retreats of its own accord, eventually sliding out entirely.

I have no urge to wake him up. I'm content to simply lie here with him in the peace of the night, until I too drift back into sleep.

When morning comes, we awaken in a rather sticky puddle, complete with a used condom that appears to have spilled its contents out onto the sheet. All we do is grin at each other, then set about cleaning up the mess as well as possible, removing the sheet and bundling it up on the floor.

"Remind me to leave a generous tip for the housekeeper today, Jerry. Okay?"

"Will do."

"Rick," I finally ask, "what was that?"

"What?"

"That thing you used on me at first."

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"Yes! But what kind of fancy toy was it?"

"Nothing but a Q-Tip, darlin'. Nothing but a Q-Tip."

After we have our complimentary motel breakfast, Rick goes out for a run, but promises to keep it short, since we want to go to the River Arts District today. I sit at the computer, drinking my second cup of coffee and looking for information about making quick deploy survival belts, since I promised Rick that I'd put his belt back together again. I have the paracord neatly coiled and ready in a plastic bag, along with the buckle. Now all I have to do is find out how to do it.

Re-weaving the belt turns out to be much easier said than done. There are lots of variations on the basic weave, but only some of those techniques result in something that can be pulled apart for emergency use in a matter of seconds, rather than minutes.

It takes me a while, but I finally find a website that has very detailed photos of each individual step, along with clear directions. No time to start working on it now, but I look over the instructions as I sip my coffee, then bookmark the site for future reference. Looks doable, once I figure out the concept behind it. No big hurry. I did promise him I'd do it, but I didn't say exactly when. Maybe I'll work on it this afternoon. Or tomorrow.

Speaking of this afternoon, it might be a good idea to check the weather report. Hmm. Not very promising. Mostly cloudy, possible rain.

Rick picks that very moment to come in the door, so I show him the forecast.

"We may get wet," I say cautiously, wondering if he'll still want to go.

"Tough shit. I doubt that either one of us will melt. I'll be ready in a few."

Good. Hanging out in our room wouldn't be a bad thing, but I'd really like to see more of this town.

When Rick comes out of the bathroom after his shower, I do a double take. At first glance, it looks as if he's wearing a blue skirt. No, it's more like a blue kilt, style-wise.

"What?" he asks, as I continue to stare. "Haven't you ever seen a utility kilt before?"

"Uh ... no."

He strolls over to stand in front of me, turning around so that I can get the full effect of his strange outfit. It's medium blue, comes to just above his knees, pleated, three metal and black leather closures at each side, and two large cloth pockets hanging around his waist. All this is topped by his usual T shirt, but this one's in black instead of white. As usual, he has black socks and running shoes on his feet.

"What do you think?" he asks.

I'm not sure what to say. "Nice legs."

He laughs. "What's the matter, Jerry? You ashamed to be seen with a man in a skirt?"

"No, just surprised. I'd be proud to be seen with you even if you were dressed in drag. But aren't you afraid people will stare?"

"There are a lot of things I'm afraid of, but being stared at isn't one of them. Not anymore, at any rate. Besides, I want to see the reaction I get in this town that claims to accept things any way you like it, as it says in the brochure."

"Okay, I'll ask the clichéd question to a man in a kilt: are you wearing anything underneath?"

"Go ahead and see for yourself."

I do. Rick is wearing his usual boxer briefs.

"What's the matter? You disappointed?"

"Well, yeah. Maybe a little."

"I don't intend to get myself arrested for indecent exposure if the wind blows too hard. Asheville or not, we're still in the Bible Belt."

So it is that we set out for the River District, Rick in his kilt and me in my usual nondescript casual clothes.

We park the car in the lot in front of the Curve Studios on Riverside Drive, looking at the show windows. Mostly pottery. Then we start walking. I'm determined to see everything there is to see, if only from the outside. I have a route planned that should take us past most of the studios with the least amount of walking.

We go up Lyman Street, crossing the railroad tracks and heading up to Depot Street. There doesn't seem to be very many people around. Maybe the forecast of rain has discouraged them from coming out. The sky is already overcast. Oh well, after the crowds we saw downtown yesterday, the virtually empty streets are a welcome relief.

Unfortunately, the streets aren't quite empty enough. A bunch of teen-age boys are hanging out together, leaning against the fence on the other side of the street. I see them nudge each other and point at us.

"Rick —"

"Yeah, I know. Just ignore them."

As we continue on, one of the boys says loudly to the others, "Hey, look! A man in a skirt!"

The others join in the laughter.

Rick seems not to be at all discomforted by all this. For me, it brings back memories of being bullied and taunted as a sissy when I was their age, not to mention my recent beating by some gay bashers.

"Wanna borrow my high heels, dearie?" another boy yells.

I'm ready to hurry on as fast as possible, but Rick turns and waves at them. "Sure, honey. What color are they? I prefer pink myself," he replies, a broad smile on his face.

The kids just stare at him, dumbfounded. Well, I suppose that's one way to handle being heckled. Never would have thought of that myself.

We stroll along Depot Street, checking out the assortment of shops and studios that line the roadway. I keep half an eye on the RR tracks behind the buildings on the right side of the street, curious to see if a train comes by. We take our time, glancing in windows as we go up one side of the street and down the other. All kinds of paintings, jewelry, pottery, handmade textiles, wire sculpture, more jewelry. All nice to look at, but nothing I could afford to buy.

By the time we get back to the end of the street, the sky is dark and threatening. I suggest lunch at the café on the corner of Clingman Street. I take a quick look down Lyman, glad to see that the boys are no longer standing around the fence.

We have some unusual sandwiches and even try a beer from one of the local breweries, of which Asheville has a myriad. I'm no beer connoisseur, but it tastes pretty good to me.

As we sit there, rain starts pouring down outside. So we each get another beer and settle down to wait it out.

When we finally get back on the street, it's still cloudy and the pavement is slick with water. I consult my street map and tell Rick, "Okay, now we go up Roberts Street to West Haywood, then back to the car."

"We don't have to see it all today, Jerry. Leave something for another time."

_What if there is no other time?_ I ask myself.

Aloud, I reply only, "It's not all that far, and we've been sitting down awhile. We need to walk off those beers."

Rick takes the bait. We head up Roberts Street.

More jewelry, handmade lamps, reclaimed wood furniture, pottery, paintings, more paintings, and did I mention paintings? And glass, my favorite medium for artwork! We have to go in and browse for a bit. Rick acts as if he's humoring me, but he seems pretty interested when we're inside.

It's midafternoon by the time we cross back over the tracks on West Haywood Street. Just a few more studios before we'll be back at our car.

With the exception of those rude boys, none of the few folks that we've encountered along the way have bothered to do more than take a passing glance at Rick. A few even gave us a smile and a thumbs up.

We're in the homestretch to our car when some photos in the window of a small building sitting all by itself catches my eye. The sign over the door reads "Murals by Mollie".

"Rick, look here! Didn't we see this on the side of one of the buildings?"

He follows my finger to the photo. "Yeah. That does look familiar."

A woman's voice chimes in unexpectedly from behind us. "It ought to be. It's just down the street."

We turn in unison, to find the woman herself standing in the doorway of the studio. She's wearing one of those long gauzy India-type skirts and a peasant blouse. The stereotype would be that she's a ditsy aging hippie, but the no-nonsense expression on her face says otherwise.

She extends her hand. "Hello, boys. I'm Mollie. Pleased to meetcha."

Rick shakes briskly, as he might with another man. When it's my turn to do the honors, something about her makes me think up a snappy comeback. Taking her hand, I ask gallantly, "Do I have the honor of meeting Mollie of the Many Murals?"

I lower my head, and kiss the air just above her fingers.

Without missing a beat, she curtsies and replies, "Indeed, kind sir, you do. And if you wish to see more of them, please honor my humble shop with your presence."

"C'mon, Rick. Let's have a look."

"Oh. Sure. Yeah." He sounds a bit taken aback, but gives her one of his charming smiles as we go in the door.

"Feel free to look around, gentlemen. If you have any questions, just ask."

She goes over behind a wide table in the center of the room and busies herself among the papers and photos scattered around on the table, some of which are taped in place while others are arranged in loose piles. Before turning my attention to the studio, I spend a few seconds studying her curiously. Mollie is about my height, which isn't saying much. At 5' 9", I'm below average for a man, but she'd be well above average for a woman. Slender, small-breasted, possibly a bit older than she appears, long dark hair hanging loose down her back. If I were straight, I'd find her attractive.

I look away before she can notice my appraisal.

Large photos of her completed works cover two entire walls, while smaller sketches showing some of the details in close-up are clipped to the wall beneath each mural.

They're all bold, striking compositions, with colors that immediately catch the eye. Some appear to be a sort of a cross between the ordinary and the fantastical.

Rick and I go from one to another, pointing out various things and sharing our impressions quietly.

"These are really good, Jerry," he concludes.

"You got that right. Look at this one with a rainbow arching over Asheville, bleeding all its colors down onto the town like rain."

"Excuse me, but is that one of those utility kilts you're wearing?"

Rick turns to her. "Yes, ma'am, it is."

"Never seen one before. Except online, of course." She looks him up and down, as if trying to decide whether she likes what she sees or not.

"Nice legs," she concludes at last.

Much to my surprise, Rick's face turns a rather bright red. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't have told him that," I quip. "He'll be impossible to live with for the rest of the day."

She laughs. "Somehow I doubt that." Mollie looks at us both with a speculative expression on her face. "In fact, I'll bet you've told him the same thing already."

Now it's my turn to blush, while Rick grins.

"I was right, wasn't I?"

We both nod.

"In fact, I'll lay odds you two are a couple."

Rick and I look at each other.

"Well ... uh ..." he stammers.

I come to his rescue. "Mostly just friends right now, but who knows?"

Rick shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"No, not really. Just curious. I'm afraid I'm a very curious person. So tell me, do you live here in Asheville?"

"No. We're tourists."

"That's okay. Tourists are a big part of the town now, so you'd fit into my mural just fine."

"Huh?"

"Mural?"

Mollie waves her hand over the various papers spread across the table. "This one, of course. I've been laying it out for the last week or so, but it's still in the planning stage. It's going to be on the sidewall of my building. Come over here and I'll show you what I've come up with so far.

"At this point, I'm just making sketches of likely possibilities for the people I want to include. The final version may not come out looking exactly like the folks I have in mind, but I want a variety of people in the scene, so it can be representative of the modern population of Asheville."

She picks up a large charcoal sketch, which shows a railroad crossing with a train coming through the intersection. A crowd of vaguely drawn people stand in groups or alone, watching the train and clearly very excited over what they see. Okay, fairly ordinary so far. But then I notice that the buildings in the background all look exactly as they are today, while the train is a steam engine that belongs far in the past. There's an almost mystical feel to the scene, suggested by some faint blurriness here and there around the train.

"The steam engine is a symbol of Asheville's past, since the railroad was extremely important in bringing business, and later on, people to the town," she explains. "I want a mix of modern folks, both tourists and residents, in the foreground to display the diversity we have here." She looks up at us with an infectious grin. "You guys would fit in just fine, especially with the kilt."

Rick and I look at each other.

"I'm game, if you are," I tell him.

"Well, I'm not so sure."

"I'll give you guys some space, so you can talk it over," Mollie offers, casually strolling over to the other side of the room with a collection of sketches in her hand.

"C'mon, Rick. It'll be fun."

"I don't feel right about being painted on the side of a building."

We go back and forth for a few minutes, as I argue for it and Rick hems and haws.

"Rick, please. It's going to have a train!"

"So?"

"I like trains."

"Well, you could always go ahead and let her paint you, without me."

"It would mean a whole lot more to me if you were included."

"All right," he finally decides, rather grudgingly. "If it means so much to you, let's do it."

"Yo, Mollie!" I call across the room. "I convinced him."

"Finest kind!" she replies cheerily, coming back over to us.

I haven't heard that expression in ages, and never in this part of the country. She's probably from Maine, or one of the other New England states.

Suddenly she's all business, taking down our names and contact information. When we tell her we're at the Super 8 motel, her forehead furrows into a slight frown. "Are you two going to be around for a few days?"

I look to Rick for an answer, since he's the one paying the bills.

"We could be. Why?"

"Well, I can take some photos today, but it'll take me a little more time to make the sketches I'll need."

Once again, I look at Rick hopefully.

"Sure. No problem."

"Great! Let me get my camera ready and we'll make a start. The sketches can wait for tomorrow." She gives us a glowing smile. "Would you care for some green tea with ice? I've got some in the fridge, and I'm going to pour some for myself anyway."

Rick smiles back at her. "Yes, ma'am. That would be nice."

Once the photo session gets under way, Mollie comes up with a wide variety of poses for us. Her enthusiasm must be catching, since Rick appears to be enjoying himself immensely. When he looks at her, I see a sort of a gleam in his eyes. Rick makes a few slightly off color remarks about some of the positions she puts us in, but Mollie has a snappy comeback for every one of them.

Sometimes, he almost seems to be flirting with her. Briefly, I entertain the possibility that I should perhaps be jealous. But I convince myself he's only being his charming self. After all, he's gay, isn't he?

No, wait! Not long after we first met, he told me he was also attracted to women.

I have no more time to wonder, as Mollie declares that she's gotten enough photos. In an excess of joy, she wraps an arm around each of our waists and gives us each a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Great job, boys! See you tomorrow, and we'll —"

Suddenly, her body stiffens and her eyes go wide, as she glances up at something behind Rick and me.

"Well, well, what have we here?" says a harsh voice.

We both turn around.

A rather large man leans arrogantly against the side of the doorway with his arms crossed, glowering at us.

"Did Mollie invite you two clowns over for a little action?" he asks nastily.

This is too much for me.

"If she were looking for action, she'd hardly want a couple of gay guys, now would she?"

He looks at me as if I had crawled out from under a rock. "Could be you're one of those creeps who swings both ways and spreads AIDS to normal folks, huh?"

Putting his hands on his hips, he turns away from me and proceeds to look Rick up and down.

He's got a good three inches on Rick, and at least thirty pounds, which seems to be all muscle. Guess he figures that gives him some kind of an advantage.

"So what's your interest in my girl here?" He jerks his thumb at Mollie.

"I'm not your girl, Waylon."

He ignores her, still glaring at Rick.

"We're just friends," Rick replies.

"Friends, huh? Well, she doesn't need any friends."

"Everyone needs friends."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mollie step behind her drawing table, one hand reaching down under the edge.

"I don't think you're getting my drift, pal. Fact is, I don't want you two bothering her anymore."

"You're the only one who's bothering me," Mollie states coldly. "I said I didn't want to see you again, Waylon. Can't you just let it go at that?"

"No," he replies, striding into the studio as if he owned the building and heading toward Mollie. "I've had about enough of this nonsense."

Rick steps in front of him.

"So have I. Get away from her."

"Make me."

Rick takes a deep breath and shakes his head in disgust. "You don't want to do this, buddy."

"Yeah, I do." He reaches out to give his opponent a shove.

I've seen Rick take on a bunch of guys who had knives and baseball bats, so I'm not too worried.

As Waylon pushes against Rick's shoulder, Rick steps back, at the same time grabbing the hand, twisting it around and pressing his thumb hard into the top of the now painfully contorted wrist. With a curse, Waylon goes to his knees, trying to relieve the pressure on his wrist.

"Shit! What are you, some kind of karate expert?"

"You might call it that," Rick allows mildly. Keeping his grip on Waylon's wrist but lessening the pressure, he allows the big man to get to his feet, then forces him relentlessly backwards. At exactly the moment when Waylon starts trying to pull his hand free, Rick releases his grip, leaving the other man to stumble awkwardly backwards and out the doorway. He lands on the sidewalk on his well-padded ass.

As Rick closes and locks the heavy wooden door, a string of curses can still be heard through the wood.

Rick goes over to Mollie, who still stands behind her table. "He'll be back, you know."

She nods, then brings her hand up into sight, holding what looks to me like some kind of an automatic pistol.

"I'll be ready for him when he does."

Rick meets her eyes with a stern expression.

"Do you know how to use that, or are you just trying to scare him off?"

"I know how to use it. And I will use it, if I have to."

"That may not be the best solution."

"Got a better idea? I've already taken out a restraining order against the son of a bitch, but he just ignores it."

She puts her gun away.

"So what's the deal about him?"

"He's been bugging me ever since we had sex a few times a month or so ago. I told him I didn't want to be involved with him anymore, but he didn't take me seriously. He's been stalking me ever since, but getting crazier about it lately." She shrugs. "Some men only have to share your bed a couple of times and they think they own you from then on."

I glance surreptitiously at Rick. I wish!

"I just don't see him as your type," Rick replies, with a shake of his head.

"Oh, Waylon can be very charming, if he wants to be."

I figure it's about time I get into the conversation. "I've known men like that before, as far as the false charm is concerned."

"So have I," Rick says. "He's not too hard on the eyes either."

Mollie laughs. "You've noticed, huh?"

"Of course."

I'm not terribly overjoyed at the way they're looking at each other. "I guess it's about time we got going, huh, Rick?"

"What? Oh, yeah. You're right. Mollie, will you be okay by yourself?"

"Yeah. I'll just make sure to keep my gun nearby. Don't worry. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing."

We walk the short distance to our car. The streets are drying out and the sky is brightening up a bit.

"How about we take a walk along the railroad tracks a little way?" I ask Rick.

He looks at me skeptically. "I thought you were the one who didn't like to do a lot of walking."

"Normally, I don't. But it's been a long time since I walked along a railroad track."

He shrugs. "Fine with me. I'm always up for some more exercise."

We head back around the corner and towards the tracks.

"So what do you think of Mollie?" Rick asks me.

_Aha, here's my chance to see what he thinks of her_.

"Very impressive lady. I like her. How about you?"

"I'm a sucker for women in long loose skirts."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Always have been. It's not so much that it's a hippie thing as that it just looks more graceful than what most women wear nowadays."

"That's true. It's certainly what I'd wear, if I were a woman." I decide to go out on a limb. "Do you like women also?"

"Sure. Some of them are terrific people."

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Oh, you mean do I like to screw women?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now and then, yes, I do. How about you?"

"I've never tried it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You should. Broadens one's horizons."

"If it were a woman like Mollie, maybe I would."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. She's so talented, and confident. And —" I grope for words — " rather charming in a unique way."

Rick smiles. "Well, one never knows what the future might bring."

I haven't got the nerve to pursue the subject any further. By now, we're at the RR crossing. I choose what looks like the main set of tracks and start walking in the direction of the rail yard, stepping carefully over or on the wooden cross ties. If you don't literally watch your footing, you can easily end up with a sprained ankle.

"Jerry, there's a sign over there that says 'No trespassing'. Maybe we're not supposed to be here."

I shrug. "Just ignore it. We're only going along the tracks, not all the way into the rail yard. That's probably what they want us to keep away from."

We continue in silence. The smell of the creosote on the ties, the unsteady footing, the long band of track stretching off into the distance all bring back memories, some good, some bad.

Rick breaks into my musings.

"What is it with you and trains, Jerry?"

"I had a train set as a kid. It was my favorite toy."

"Thomas the Tank Engine?"

"Yeah, when I was little. But by the time I was a teen-ager, I had built a really fancy layout of model trains in the basement of our house. There were buildings and people and forests and mountains with tunnels, all on a big piece of plywood set on a couple of saw horses. It was all just steam engines, in an old-fashioned setting, not the modern diesels."

"Sounds quite elaborate."

"Oh, it was! But it was also the only one of my interests that my father actually approved of, so he worked on it with me. Everything else I enjoyed doing was pretty sissy, and he didn't appreciate that at all."

"Was that the father you told me about who sent you to karate classes to make a man out of you?"

"Yeah. He wasn't a bad guy. He just didn't understand that I didn't want to become his idea of a man. I used to walk along the tracks a lot, just like this, trying to figure out what life was all about. Dad and I didn't live in the best section of town, but no one ever bothered me out along the tracks. I used to find all kinds of interesting stuff there too."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah. Mostly spikes that had worked their way loose from the wooden ties and were lying around near the tracks, but sometimes other things also. Huge bolts and twisted bits of metal. Dad was better than I was at figuring out what they had been used for. Sometimes he even walked with me. I had quite a collection back then."

Further ahead, I can see a number of boxcars and even a lone engine sitting motionless on a siding. Much as I'd like to study them up close, I decide we'd better not get any nearer to the yard. We turn around. It's almost time for the sun to be going down, but the thickening clouds in the west don't bode well for us staying dry much longer. We pick up the pace on the way back.

We're almost up to the crossing when I notice the growing rumble behind us. I recognize it before Rick does, since it's a sound I've heard many times before.

"There's a train coming this way."

He turns around and confirms what I just said.

"Don't worry, it's not that close and it's not going very fast."

"How do you know?"

"It's coming out of the yard and there's a crossing just ahead, so it won't really pick up speed until it's through the crossing."

"Oh." He glances back over his shoulder again. "Maybe we should get off the tracks anyway, huh?"

I look around. "Sure. No reason to give the engineer a heart attack."

We go off to the side of the rail bed, well clear of the tracks, and continue walking.

I point ahead to the street, frowning. "Rick, isn't that the same bunch of boys who made fun of your kilt standing next to the crossing?"

"Looks like them."

"Shit! I'll bet they've seen us coming and are just waiting to harass us again."

The bells start ringing, the lights start flashing, and the gates come down at the intersection. The train horn blows several times, deafeningly loud.

"That's the warning signal that the train's about to cross an intersection," I tell Rick. "Two longs, one short, one long."

"Morse Code for the letter Q. Is there some reason they use that letter?"

"Nope. No particular reason."

I turn to watch the train approach. A long black engine, with the silhouette of a rearing stallion on the front. Norfolk and Southern. No, that's what they used to call it. Now it's just Norfolk Southern.

I look back to the crossing, almost in front of us by now. The boys are still standing there, their attention focused on the approaching engine. Something in the back of my mind disturbs me.

Then one of the boys ducks underneath the gate and I realize what it is. "Oh, shit!" I yell and start running.

I know what he's going to do. He's getting ready to run across the tracks in front of the train. The train is now almost in the crossing, as the boy readies himself. I can hear myself screaming "NOOOO!" as I sprint forward, but my voice is drowned out by the howl of the train's horn and the screeching of the wheels as the engineer engages the emergency brake.

I'm almost on top of the boy when he glances towards me, then turns to the tracks and starts forward. I can see that he's already too late. I run full tilt into him, trying to push him sideways and away from the engine that now looms above us. But we stumble together, unable to catch our balance before we'll fall against the wall of metal moving along next to us. A moving train can't stop fast, brakes or not.

I barely have time to realize that we're falling towards the train before we're both yanked sideways and thrown down to the ground alongside the track. Rick lies with his arm across us as the wheels skid along the rails, sparks flying, so close that I can feel them landing on my face. The edges of some of the cars spread beyond the tracks, passing close above our heads. Rick's voice is almost drowned out by the noise as he yells, "Stay down! Stay down!"

My eyes are squinted against the dust and hot air, but I still get a much closer look at the wheels than I ever wanted to see. The couplings between cars clank by in what seems an endless procession. I turn my eyes up at the side of a tank car, only to see brightly colored graffiti passing by.

At long last, the final car rolls beyond us, much slower now as the emergency brakes are taking effect. Even so, I watch the back end of a black tank car cross the intersection and continue on, as the train's momentum carries it down the line. It will take quite a distance to come to a full stop

Rick is first to get up. He gives me a hand.

The boy gets to his feet like an old man, his face white, his entire body trembling.

His friends stare at us, wide-eyed.

"Everyone okay?" Rick asks.

The boy nods.

My glasses are sitting sideways on my face from the fall, so I straighten them automatically. It's all right. We're okay. But a sudden fury flares up in my heart and overflows into action.

I grab the boy's shirt and shake him as hard as I can. "Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?" I demand, barely able to keep from shoving a fist into his face. "You could have been killed!"

"They ... they ... dared me," he manages to say, trying to pull loose. "I had to show them I could. If you hadn't interfered --" he begins.

"You'd be dead. You didn't have the timing right."

"How do you know?" one of the others demands.

Releasing my hapless victim, I turn a scathing look on the speaker.

"Because I've done it myself, you amazing asshole! When I was about your age, me and a friend tried that same trick together." I deliberately leave a dramatic pause before I spit out the rest. "I made it. Jimmy didn't. After the train went by, there were pieces of his body spread out along the tracks for a very long way. Is risking that sort of useless death really the only thing you can think of to prove your courage? Are you that fucking stupid?"

I'm not sure if the boys are angry or ashamed, but I know that I'm going to start shaking in another second from sheer emotion. Even worse, I'm not really sure if I'm yelling at these clueless children or at the idiot I once was for doing the same thing.

Rick steps in front of me, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder and looking him in the eye. "You sure you're all right, son? Not feeling faint or anything?" The kid shakes his head, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders.

Keeping his hand in place, he looks up at the others.

"All right, guys. No harm done. Unless you want to be in deep shit for trying such a dumb trick, I suggest you make yourselves scarce before that train stops or anyone else shows up. We'll do the same, as long as you promise never to do this again. Deal?"

The boy who heckled us earlier looks around at the others. He's clearly their leader. "Deal, mister," he says.

"All right. Once you're out of here, I want you all to sit down together and talk about what happened. It'll help you come to terms with it. Got that?"

"Yep. Got it," the leader answers, waving a hand at his friends. "C'mon. Let's go."

Rick turns to me. "We'd better get going also."

"Yeah, good," I manage to say. With his hand clasped around my upper arm, we hotfoot it toward where my Scion is parked and prepare to make good our escape. By the time we reach the car, I feel as if I'm going to faint.

"Your face is white as a sheet, Jerry. Give me the keys and get in. I'll drive."

He pulls out of the lot, then turns down on Lyman Street, following the same route the trolley had taken yesterday.

"Lay your seat back, buddy. Breathe. It's all over."

I do my best to take his advice. It works. The blackness starts clearing away from the edges of my vision.

As we pass by the rail yard, I ask Rick, "Why'd you do that?"

"What? Grab you two so you'd fall away from the train?"

"No, you idiot! Why did you let them go?"

"Why not? No one was hurt. Sure, they did something stupid, but that's not a crime. If it were, we'd all be in prison."

"Well, yeah, I guess. But they almost —"

"Almost doesn't count. They learned their lesson. No need to get them into trouble. They're just some boys, trying to figure out how to be men. Can't really blame them for that."

"No, I guess not." I run what happened through my mind, trying to think clearly. Had anyone noticed? No bystanders came running to see what happened, so maybe there was no one else around. "Trains usually have onboard cameras covering the track ahead of them, mostly to document accidents. The engineer will report what happened."

Rick shrugs. "With any luck, he saw that we were all okay. I doubt anyone will follow it up."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Even if they did, what would they have to go on? We could hardly be identified. Just a bunch of kids and a couple of bystanders."

"I hope you're right."

"So do I, darlin'. So do I."

It gets quiet for a few minutes. Then, just beyond the overpass on Meadow Road, Rick asks, "That bit about your friend getting killed. Did that really happen, or did you just make it up to scare those kids?"

"It happened. That's how I knew what they were planning to do. I've been there before."

"Tell me about it."

I don't think I can, but I do. "Jimmy and I had each done it a few times before, but that day we decided to try a double run. I would be waiting closer to the approaching train and go first, while he would be a short way further along and make his run next. We figured to give the engineer a real scare."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying for calmness as the memory flashes vividly through my mind.

"But the train was moving faster than we had calculated. I almost didn't make it. I tried to warn Jimmy, but it was too late. He waited a second too long." I close my eyes, trying to hide the tears. "I saw him get hit. And I saw what happened next."

Jimmy's scream, which stopped suddenly as he went down in front of the engine. The blood, the mangled pieces of what was once a human being. The nightmares I had for months. My father making me go back to the railroad tracks with him. The way he sat beside me there for most of the day and we talked. How he held me when a train came by, going down the line at full speed.

I have to stop myself from rocking back and forth and keening, as I did that day long ago.

Rick pulls the car over to the side of the road, then wraps his arms around me, as the tears run down my face.

"There's nothing I can say that will help, Jerry. Other than that I do understand what it's like to see a friend get killed."

I nod, trying desperately to get control of my emotions. Slowly, I make sense of what he just told me. Not now, Jerry. Think about it later. You're not up to that right now.

I reach into my pocket for my handkerchief, only to realize I wrapped it around the railroad spike. Rick hands me a tissue from one of the pockets in his kilt. I wipe my face and blow my nose. "I'm okay. You can let me go and drive."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Neither of us says anything as we drive through town. When we pass by the Mission Hospital, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Like a ton of bricks, it hits me that we both could easily have been dead by now, lying on stretchers in the hospital's morgue.

Whatever was left of us, anyway.

We're almost back to the motel when Rick asks cautiously, "And after all that, you still like trains?"

"Yeah." I try for a smile. "It wasn't the train's fault that we were being stupid."

"I guess not." He shoots me a sideways glance. "You doin' okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll live."

"Glad to hear it." He gives me another quick glance and a wink. "I'd miss you if you didn't."

"Gee, thanks, buddy," I reply in the same joking tone that Rick used, while deep inside I'm hoping he meant it. _Get real, Jerry. The man is just kidding._

"We seem to be doing pretty good at rescuing showoff kids these days, huh?" he says.

"Yeah. Maybe we should just call ourselves the Rick&Jerry Rescue Service."

"Sounds too much like Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream."

"Or Tom & Jerry, if you remember those old cartoons," I add.

"Would you prefer Jerry&Rick?"

"Umm. I guess not."

"How about Jack&Jerry?" he suggests.

"Huh?"

"Instead of Jack and Jill."

"Now I know you're nuts!"

"Ben&Jerry's with nuts? Yeah, I'll go for that!"

"All right, all right. Enough already!" I reply, throwing in the towel. We both laugh, perhaps just a bit too loudly.

By the time we get back to our motel room, we've gotten over our manic bout of nuttiness. Rick closes the door behind us, then turns to me. We look at each other for a long moment, until Rick finally speaks.

"You know, a narrow escape from death can be very arousing."

"Um ... yeah, I noticed that."

Without breaking eye contact, Rick pulls down his underwear and steps out of it. Now he really is naked underneath his kilt.

An image forms in my mind. A very exciting image. But do I dare?

There must be something in my expression that makes him curious.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure you'll like it."

"Try me."

Okay, I'll do it. Here goes nothing.

"Put your hands on the desk and bend over."

There's no way in hell he can't realize what that means, but he obeys anyway.

I lift the kilt and turn it up over his back, exposing his muscular butt.

Oh dear God, what a view! In addition to the nice ass, I can see his balls hanging loosely in his sac just in front of that beckoning cleft.

"Spread your legs. Further. Good." The cleft is wider now. All mine.

But I want him to be ready. I want to see those balls pulled up against his groin, all set to go.

I draw the fingers of each hand along that sensitive area just along the bottom of his cheeks, close to the tops of his thighs. A shiver runs through his body.

For a few more seconds, I tease him with light touches, then I smack him hard with both hands right where I've been stroking him. He jerks upright with a gasp of surprise.

"You didn't expect that, did you?"

He shakes his head.

"And I didn't tell you to straighten up."

He leans over even before I can order him to, so I know he's played this game before. Best not to push him too far though. Well, maybe a little bit more, just for good measure.

"Stay there while I take off my pants. Don't move, or I'll make you very sorry."

I make a big deal out of removing my shoes and tossing them aside, then unzipping my fly and stepping out of my pants and underwear. I'm so hard now that I almost forget about a condom. I drench the condom with lube, rubbing more over my hands.

Rick hasn't moved a muscle while I do all this. Lucky for him.

I move over behind him. "You're a big boy now, so I'm not going to coddle you," I warn, spreading his buttocks apart and rubbing lube around his hole. "I'm going to take you fast and deep with my first thrust. You got that?"

When he doesn't answer right away, I reach between his legs and give his balls a quick hard squeeze. "Answer me, soldier boy."

"Yes, sir!"

Grabbing his hips, I carry out my threat, forcing him open and penetrating him to the hilt. I know full well he can accept this without too much of a problem, but I need this right now. It's like there's something inside me driving me deeper, harder, faster. Is it anger, fear, the joy of survival? Or perhaps just lust? I claim his ass as mine, make his body mine, show us both how intensely I desire him. I know it's a little crazy, but I want to possess him entirely, force him to acknowledge my ownership of his heart and soul.

I pound him unmercifully, and he allows it, jerking back against me with each thrust, until I come, digging my fingers into his hips and holding him to me until I'm finished.

"Oh shit!" I whisper, mostly to myself. "Nothing should be allowed to feel this good."

Exhausted, I lean against his back, my cock still up his ass.

"Did you come yet?" I ask.

"No."

"Don't touch yourself. Right now, you're mine."

I reach one hand around him, taking hold of his hard cock. Slowly and deliberately, I tease him, bringing him to the brink a couple of times, then stopping. He's whimpering softly when I finally deign to take him to climax.

As I release him and step back, I give him one last smack on the ass, then pull his kilt back into place.

"Fucking shit, Jerry, where'd you learn all that?" he asks as he turns to me.

"Probably the same place you did: from someone else. Or maybe it's that kilt you're wearing. It gives me strange ideas when I see a man in a skirt."

"In that case, I'll have to wear it more often."

"Does that mean you like to take it that way?"

"If I'm in the right mood, yes. But sometimes I like to be the one on top. It all depends."

"On what?"

"Whichever one of us is wearing a kilt at the time, I guess."

We get a laugh out of that.

"C'mon, let's get cleaned up." He begins stripping off his sweat-drenched clothes.

"Go ahead and shower. I can wait."

His back still to me, he says the last thing in the world that I expected.

"Let's both of us take a bath at the same time."

"Okay." I try to sound as if this is no big deal, just a way to get washed. But I wonder what he intends to do about the ever-present undershirt: keep it on, or take it off?

I don't have to wonder long. We both strip off our clothes as fast as we can -- except for the plain white T shirt that Rick wears under everything else, even other T shirts.

He kneels down to run the water.

"How about we keep the door open, but turn off the light?" I suggest. "It'll be more cozy that way."

Even though I'd dearly love to see what's beneath that T shirt, I still want to make things easier for Rick. Without the bright overhead light, his secret will be safer when it's covered only by the wet and clinging cotton fabric.

"Good suggestion." He steps into the quickly filling bathtub. "Here, let me sit down facing the faucet, then you sit between my legs. It'll still be pretty crowded, but I think we'll fit better that way."

Even after I lay my glasses on the side of the toilet and my vision turns blurry, I can still see well enough to get into the tub without stepping on Rick.

With both of us sitting down, the water level rises up to the overflow drain, so I turn off the faucet. I reach for the washcloth and soap, but Rick takes hold of my shoulders and guides them down so that I'm lying against the front of his body, my knees sharply bent and my head almost on his shoulder.

"You comfortable?" he asks.

"Yeah. Well, I mean as much as possible. How about you? You sure I'm not hurting you like this?"

"I'm fine."

I know the upper part of my back has to be lying against Rick's chest, so I try not to rest my shoulders too heavily against him. I think I can feel the now-soggy weight of the bandage that covers the fresh scrapes and abrasions he got at Chimney Rock, so at least there's some cushioning between us.

I'm just lying there letting the hot water relax me, still basking in the afterglow of sex.

"Jerry, do you realize this is the first time you've fucked me?"

"Umm. Yes, you're right. I wasn't even thinking about that while I did it. Too much else on my mind, I guess. You don't mind, do you?"

"Hell no! I've always thought you have to be a real man to take it up the ass."

"Never thought of it quite that way, but I like the concept. It's not all that easy, especially the first few times."

"Do you remember your first time?"

"I sure do. I was barely legal, and just trying to discover what gay was all about. It was during a Gay Pride Parade in Boston. As we were marching along yelling the usual slogans, an older man struck up a conversation with me. We spent the rest of the parade learning about each other. After the festivities were over, we went to his place. By the next morning, I was no longer a virgin."

"How'd you like it?"

"It hurt, even though Alex did his best to get me ready and didn't rush things at all. After a little more practice, I got used to it and started to like it." I smile at the memory. Dearest Alex, after all these years, I still miss you. Rest in peace, my love. "After that, we were together for almost 10 years."

"Not a bad track record. Better than mine, for sure."

"I owe Alex a lot. I was with him until his death."

"I was with my last lover until his death also, but we didn't have anything like your 10 years."

I'm tempted to ask more about that, but the sadness in Rick's voice doesn't seem to invite further inquiry.

"So how about your first time?"

"You're not gonna believe this, but mine was with a woman."

"You're shittin' me!"

"No, not exactly. Well, maybe a little."

"You wanna explain that?"

"I was just a young Marine in a bar near our base, trying to pick up a statuesque lady who was clearly older, and hopefully more experienced than I was. By the time she got around to inviting me to her place, we had both had a few drinks, but I was in much worse shape than she was. It was pretty hilarious, actually. She had to hold me up as we walked into her apartment, and I practically passed out on the bed. By the time the fog cleared out of my brain, I realized I was lying facedown, my knees bent up underneath me, tied hand and foot and just about every other way you could think of. I hadn't a clue as to what was going on, but my lovely date was dressed in the typical silky black corset, dark stockings, high heels, and everything else a horny young man could desire. When I saw this vision from out of my dreams, I nearly shot my load right then and there."

He chuckles to himself.

"And then she pulled out her very impressive dick and put it to me."

"She was a drag queen?"

"Yep. And one hell of a good fuck. The first time was a little rough, just as you said. But by the time the weekend was over, I knew a lot of things I'd never known before. And get this: her name was Lola."

I break up with laughter, which probably didn't feel too good against Rick's chest, since he shifts position a bit, holding me away until I stop laughing.

"Okay, I can't beat that for a mind-blowing first time. Not by a long shot," I admit when I can finally talk again.

After we go out for dinner, Rick settles down on the bed and turns on the television, flicking through the channels until he finds something interesting, while I decide to once again tackle re-weaving his survival belt. I turn on his computer and pull up the directions I had found earlier in the day.

Needless to say, I make a lot of mistakes before I get the hang of it. I have to do it over and over before I can wrap my mind around the basic concept, much less convince my fingers to do what my head commands.

It takes numerous attempts to get even one row done correctly, so that it pulls apart when I test it by tugging on the cord. Most of my attempts result only in useless tangles.

After a while, Rick finds the repeated tangles most amusing.

"Jerry, you don't really have to do this. I could easily just buy myself another one."

"I promised I'd do it," I reply shortly. "I keep my promises."

He shrugs. "Up to you."

At long last, I manage to come up with all of two inches' worth of properly woven belt. With a sigh of relief, I set it aside for now. This will take more time than I thought.

Later on, as we're settling down to sleep, Rick scoots over and lays his head on my shoulder, something he's never done before.

"You know," he says, "I kinda like this town. How about you?"

"Well, it's a pretty oddball place."

"Yeah, and we're just as normal as vanilla ice cream, right?" When I don't reply, he goes on, "It's kind of like Provincetown, where the gay population is just another part of the diverse mix of folks living there."

"I've been to P'town lots of times. Always kind of wished I could live there."

"Until I went on my trek up to Maine, I had only heard of it but never seen it. Much smaller than Asheville, but it has the same sort of feel. Very historical, arts-and-crafty stuff, very dependent on tourists economically, scenic surroundings, except that P'town has the beaches while Asheville has the mountains."

"In that case, I guess you could call Asheville the Provincetown of North Carolina."

"Yeah."

Now what can I say? Don't want to sound too eager.

I'm tempted to tell Rick about the job application, but decide it would be too soon. If I don't hear back from the hospital before we're finished with the sketches for Mollie's mural, and Rick wants to move on, I'll just write it off and go with him.

"Well, I'm game to stay and look around some more, if you are," I suggest, trying to sound casual.

"I wouldn't mind staying here for a while either. But even though my military pension is pretty decent, we should probably find a cheaper place to stay. This motel isn't the Ritz Plaza, but it does cost a bit more than I can afford on a regular basis."

"Maybe we can find something cheaper. How about I check out other motels in this area online and see what the rates are?"

"Yeah, might be worth a try. Save it for tomorrow though, will you? I'm kind of worn out, in more ways than one."

"Now that you mention it, so am I. Let's hit the sack."

"Yeah. And let's just sleep."

"Last time you said that, you woke me up in the middle of the night."

"This time I won't. I promise."

Just like me, Rick always keeps his promises.

Damn!!

####

DATE with an ARTIST

Rick and I wake up early to the sound of thunder in the distance. I squint my near-sighted eyes, trying to make out the numbers on the alarm clock next to the bed.

"It's 5:27, or maybe 37. Too early even for the complimentary breakfast."

"We could go back to sleep," Rick suggests blearily.

Lightning flashes faintly around the edges of the curtain in our motel room, followed shortly by another impatient grumble of thunder. It's not quite here yet, but it's not very far away either.

"Or not," Rick concludes.

"We don't have to be at Mollie's until 10 AM. We could always —"

I don't have to go any further before Rick replies, "Yeah, we could, couldn't we?"

He holds out his arms, and I roll over into them.

As usual, Rick is sleeping in nothing but the white T-shirt that he never takes off. Well, of course, he does take it off in order to put on a clean one, but never when anyone is likely to see him. I know he has a reason for hiding his chest, but I'm not sure what it is. I can guess that it may be the scars from a nasty wound, since he's a retired Marine and he could well have been in the recent wars in the Middle East. But I could also be wrong on all counts. For all I know, he could have been in a bad car accident. No use guessing. Someday he may tell me. Or not.

As for me, I sleep stark naked all the time. Much easier to jack off if I want to, and until I met Rick five days ago, I wanted to a lot.

So Rick's T-shirt is the only thing that keeps me from feeling his entire body touching me, but that doesn't stop me from feeling his cock between my thighs, just below my ball sac. Pulling my legs tighter together, I pump my hips back and forth. I can tell he's getting harder and longer with each stroke.

A gust of wind tosses a handful of pebbles against the window. No, more likely it's hail, since I can hear it rattling down on the pavement in the parking lot.

"Shit!" I exclaim. "My car."

"Don't worry, it's probably okay. Doesn't sound too loud. Nothing you can do about it now anyway."

He pulls me tighter against him and kisses me, his mouth open to receive my tongue.

For a little while, we play dueling tongues and dueling dicks, while the storm announces its arrival with assorted flashes and cracks of thunder. It's not quite here yet, but it's not very far away either.

I've always loved thunderstorms. Even as a child, I'd sit by the window and watch the lightning thread its way through the clouds or leap down to the earth below. Used to drive my Dad crazy that I was fascinated by stuff like that, instead of the usual baseball or football games he watched on TV. Poor Dad. He should've had an athlete for a son, not a fairy like me.

Brightness flashes again outside the window, with a sharp crack right on its heels.

"Pretty close," I remark.

"In case you haven't noticed, darlin', so am I."

"I've noticed. Straddle me and I'll suck you off," I offer in return.

"Sure thing! Just let me get a condom."

In less time than it would take to tell, Rick's cock is aimed down at my mouth, as he kneels over my chest, my arms trapped between his knees. He leans forward and I lift my head to take him in.

Although I'm securely pinned in place while his cock pumps down into my throat, I love the feeling of being at his mercy. In the dim light, I can see his tight belly, the muscles flexing as he thrusts his hips up and down. I can almost see underneath the edge of his shirt, but his chest is still hidden in shadows.

More thunder, louder than before. It seems to inspire Rick to move even faster.

My erect cock is making itself known by now, begging for a part in the action. I reach down for it with a hand, and give it some encouragement.

Rick's cum spurts down my throat, and I realize we had both forgotten about a condom. Oh well, too late now. For once I can enjoy swallowing his cum and tasting it in my mouth afterwards.

My body responds to this now-rare treat. I milk my own cock fast and hard. As I come, a sizzling crash of thunder follows immediately after the lightning. I almost expect to hear the William Tell Overture start to play in the background as I shoot my load onto my belly.

Rick jumps at the nearby lightning strike, pulling abruptly out of my mouth and ending up on his feet next to the bed. Before I can say anything, he relaxes and sits back down.

"That one was real close, huh?" he says.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"I forgot the condom."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. When it was too late."

"At least oral sex isn't as risky as other things I could mention."

"It would sure be nice if we didn't have to use them all the time though."

"Um. Yeah. How about we both get tested for STDs?" he suggests. "That would be a start."

I try not to sound too enthusiastic, since his suggestion could well mean that he's considering a permanent relationship. Or not.

"No problem. There's probably a free clinic somewhere in town."

"There's a VA hospital just down the street a ways. I'll phone them later and see if they can do that without my having to make an appointment months in advance," he says wryly.

"Sounds like a plan. Just think how much money we could save on rubbers. We'd be rich."

He laughs, as I hoped he would.

It's still too early for breakfast and we're not expected at Mollie's studio until 10, so we wash up and lie down in bed again.

Relaxed and satisfied, we fall back to sleep. By the time Rick wakes me up, we barely have time to get dressed and go grab some bagels and coffee from the motel's complimentary breakfast just as it's beginning to be shut down for the day.

We head over to the River Arts District, arriving at the small studio building almost half an hour early. There's a light on inside, so we head over to the door, which turns out to be unlocked.

Mollie gets up from her place behind the worktable and comes over to greet us with a hug.

Today she's wearing a long gauzy white skirt with an embroidered outline of green leaves wrapped around one side, and a peasant blouse the same color as the leaves. With her long hair and lack of makeup, she still reminds me of a love child left over from the 60s. That's not a bad thing, since I like that look.

"Would you care for some coffee? There's a fresh pot over in the corner."

I take her up on the coffee since I'm not really much of a morning person and I need a bit more wake-up juice.

After that, we get to work. Well, Mollie gets to work. Rick and I just stand and pose as she tells us to, while she sketches us from different angles.

We're going to be in the mural she'll be painting on one of the outside walls of her studio, but it's mostly still in the planning stages. The main emphasis will be on a train, an old time steam engine somehow appearing mystically coming down the track here in modern day Asheville. Rick and I will just be some of the many people watching the arrival of this amazing train from out of the past.

While we're standing there beside each other, I have a lot of time to think about our present situation.

I don't know if Rick and I would still be here if we hadn't run into Mollie yesterday. Perhaps we would have moved on, or perhaps not. But that's in the past. What I'm concerned about now is the future.

Will we stay here together for a while, or not? And if not, will we each go our separate ways? I guess it's too soon to tell.

I've really enjoyed Rick's company over the last few days, not to mention the sex we've shared.

But that's not really long enough to make a decision. Well, all right, maybe I've made my decision already, but that doesn't mean Rick has.

All of a sudden, my cell phone rings. As I take it out, I recognize the number, and a flock of butterflies immediately materialize in my stomach.

It's Mission Healthcare, where I had just submitted an application for a job two days ago. In my wildest dreams, I hadn't expected them to get back to me this soon. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't really expected them to get back to me at all.

"I've got to answer this. Just keep on with what you're doing," I say as I start over to the outside door of the studio.

"Hello? Yes, this is Jeremy Langsten speaking. An interview? Yes, ma'am, I can be there this afternoon. What time? Yes, that works for me. Where shall I meet you? All right. Yes, ma'am. I'll be there."

I end the call, leaning against the outside of the door as I wait for my heart to stop pounding. Of course, an interview isn't the same as a job offer, but it's a chance.

My mind going a mile a minute, I think of everything I'll need to do before I have to show up at the hospital at 1 PM. First off, I need some decent clothes, like at least a sport jacket, a tie, slacks, that kind of thing. I've got to leave right now, if I hope to make it on time.

What shall I tell Rick and Mollie? Better not let them know what's going on just yet. Easier on my ego if it turns out that I'm not hired.

Getting myself under control, I put away the phone and head back into the building.

"Guys, I'm going to have to run out on you. Something came up."

They look at me, surprised.

"Is anything wrong?" Mollie asks.

"No. In fact, if it works out, it could be something good."

"What is it?" Rick this time.

"I'll tell you after I find out how it goes," I say, hoping to stall them off.

"Okay. Well, no problem as far as the sketching goes. I'll need some individual drawings of each of you, so I'll just start on Rick and do you later on today, or tomorrow, however it works out." She turns to Rick. "That all right with you?"

"Sure. Go ahead, Jerry. We'll make out without you for a while."

We all look at each other and then laugh. Rick is almost blushing.

"Hey, I didn't mean it that way."

Mollie and I give him a skeptical look.

"Really, I didn't," he insists.

I have to search through a number of thrift shops before I have a reasonably complete outfit suitable for an interview. Even so, the tie isn't really a perfect match for the sport jacket, and the pants are a bit too tight, but passable.

Nevertheless, I arrive at the interview on time. A bit too early, in fact, so I have the opportunity to sit in the waiting area and begin worrying about how it will go. I really hope I don't get asked any of those bullshit questions that seem to be the style lately. Stuff like "What do you consider to be your worst shortcoming?" Come on now! Does anyone really answer that sort of thing honestly? Are you going to tell someone you hope will offer you a job what your worst fault is? Of course not. You're going to give them an answer somewhere along the lines of "Well, I have a tendency to be a compulsive perfectionist. Everything I do has to be exactly right." Or maybe "I get too caught up in what I'm doing and forget that I'm on overtime." The only thing you're not going to tell them is the honest truth.

The receptionist's voice interrupts my train of thought.

"Mr. Langsten?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Ms. Kostin will see you now."

Much to my relief, it turns out that Ms. Kostin doesn't deal in bullshit. She asks reasonable questions about my work history, why I decided to go into radiology, what made me want a job at Mission Health, etcetera.

Then she throws me for a loop.

"If we hire you, would you be willing to cross-train into MRI?"

"Yes, ma'am, I most certainly would. If I hadn't gotten hired for CT shortly after I graduated, I had planned to sign up for a 6-month course in MRI at the community college. I don't claim to know much about it, but I can learn."

She scribbles down a few more notes and we're done.

As I leave the building, I think back over the interview. It seems to have gone well, but I've thought that often before and never gotten a call back, so I can't be sure.

If I do get a job offer, will Rick stay here in Asheville with me or go on his way? Well, no use worrying about that until it happens, right? Time to head back to Mollie's for more sketches.

No sooner have I parked the car in the lot next to the studio and gotten out than a large and very angry-looking man comes around the back side of the building, striding in my direction.

Uh-oh! That's the dude we tangled with yesterday. This is not good.

"Hello, Waylon," I say rather grudgingly.

"Hello, faggot. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I thought Mollie made it pretty clear that she doesn't want you around when you barged in on us yesterday."

He waves a hand in dismissal. "Oh, she's just playing hard to get. You don't know anything about what women really want."

"Judging by how you acted yesterday with Mollie, I know a hell of a lot more about women than you do."

"Yeah, right. Tell me another one. You probably wouldn't know which hole to fuck." He glances around. "So where's the karate kid today? I thought you two were an item."

"If you mean Rick, he's inside with Mollie. She's making sketches of him for use in her latest mural."

"Is that so? Well, you just tell her I don't want to see her hanging out with you two perverts. And I better not see either of you around here anymore either."

He turns his back and stomps away, leaving me staring at him in astonishment, wondering how anyone can be that dense.

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief as I walk around the corner of the building and go in the front door.

"You'll never guess who I just ran into —"

I stop dead in my tracks, taken aback by the sight of Rick standing in the corner posing, while Mollie snaps a constant stream of photos and he changes position according to her running dialogue of what he should do. I wouldn't have been so shocked at this, except that Rick is wearing nothing more than his T-shirt and his briefs, which do very little to conceal his erection.

They turn around and look at me in unison. A long moment elapses before any of us break the spell. Is that a look of guilt on his face or just surprise?

"Hi, Mollie, Rick," I finally say. "Mind if I ask what you guys are up to?"

Mollie recovers first, holding up her camera. "Taking photos of a good-looking male body for future reference." She waves her hand at Rick. "Unfortunately, that's about as naked as he's willing to get. Wouldn't even take off the T-shirt."

Okay, I guess that makes sense.

"He never does," I quip lightly. "Personally, I think he's got a tattoo of a naked woman on his chest and he's too ashamed to show it to anyone, since he's supposed to be gay."

Of course, I don't believe that for a minute, but it conjures up an amusing image.

"I do not!" Rick says fervently. But he doesn't lift his shirt to disprove my theory. Instead, he grabs his jeans off the chair and pulls them on.

"I guess that's the end of the photography session, huh?" Mollie ventures, putting down her camera. "So who is it you just ran into, Jerry?"

I tell them about my encounter with Waylon, still trying to dismiss the memory of Rick standing there nearly naked with his cock stiffly at attention.

They both agree with my assessment that Waylon is a prime asshole.

"The nerve of that man. Telling me who I may or may not have as friends!" Mollie retorts. "What's gotten into him?"

"Sex, darlin'. Or maybe I should say lust for your delectable body?" Rick suggests.

Is that just flattery? Or a reflection of his own feelings for her? Even worse -- he called her darlin'!

Mollie snorts disdainfully. "Bullshit! I know I'm no beauty queen. I'm much too old to pose naked, even for a third rate porn calendar."

"It's those skimpy clothes you wear," I suggest, feigning prudish disapproval. "Far too revealing."

We all laugh, and the tension is broken.

Mollie invites us to have a late lunch, since she has a huge pot of homemade soup simmering on the stove in her living quarters upstairs. Rick goes up with Mollie to bring it down, then we all retreat to the back room just beyond the stairs, which functions as an office and, behind a curtain strung across the back part of the room, a storage area. With the door left open, Mollie can sit where she's able to see back into the studio, in case a customer comes in.

Later on that evening, Rick and I are back at the Super 8. I'm working on the quick-deploy survival belt he used a couple of days ago at Chimney Rock. In a burst of misguided enthusiasm, I promised to re-weave it, so now I've got to make good on my promise. It's harder than I thought it would be.

I've got the hang of the weave, but it's still all too easy to make a mistake by turning a loop in the wrong direction. Paracord is a bitch to work with, since it twists and turns itself into a kinky mess if you give it half a chance. I have to keep straightening it out. It reminds me of how easily my own feelings can get all twisted out of shape with very little effort on my part.

"Damn it, this stuff is all messed up again!" I exclaim impatiently.

Rick glances over at me as he continues to look through the list of the night's schedule of offerings on HBO. Like me, he's dressed only in his T-shirt and briefs. But no erection is visible now.

He laughs. "Paracord is like rope and wire: its sole purpose in life is to get tangled."

"Hmph. Most uncooperative."

"Yep. Hey, look! There's a good movie on tonight called 'Partners', an oldie but goodie from the 80's about two cops unwillingly assigned to a case together. One is straight and super macho and the other is obviously gay. I saw it once, but it's worth watching again. How about we just watch TV for a while and then go to sleep? You can keep working on the belt while the movie is on."

"I saw that one years ago. Can't you think of something more interesting to do?" I look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Well, we don't have to screw every night, do we? After all we're not teenage boys anymore."

"Speak for yourself, buddy."

Rick leans over and wraps his arms around me. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing at all. Being around you just makes me horny."

Rick kisses me, and I respond in kind. He takes the belt out of my hands and drops it down to the floor.

This is what I wanted all along. Now I can demonstrate that I'm a much better fuck than Mollie could ever be.

Without breaking the kiss, I start working Rick's briefs down far enough to get at what's inside. He does the same to me, and it turns into a combined effort to undress each other without pulling our lips apart, which results in some interesting complications. I know better than to take off Rick's T-shirt, but he has no compunctions about removing mine, until we reach the point where we have no choice but to separate, in order that he can pull the shirt over my head.

We laugh, then commence hugging and groping each other. In a few minutes, we're both ready to go.

"I want you in me," I say softly, nibbling on his earlobe.

"You got it, darlin'. Or maybe I should say you're going to get it. Let's see if we can do it while lying on our sides. I feel kind of lazy tonight."

I turn away from him and reach for the nightstand by the bed. "Hang on a minute. I'll get a condom and some lube."

In a very short time, I feel his body close behind me, one arm over my hip.

I arch my spine, giving him a better angle. As he parts my ass cheeks, a wave of satisfaction washes over my body and mind. His slick cock glides smoothly into me.

There's only so much moving we can do in this position, but it's more than enough to arouse me, especially when his hand reaches down for my cock.

Knowing Rick can't get in as deep as he might prefer, I deliberately clench down tighter on him, especially as he pulls back.

Ha! I think in triumph. Let's see Mollie do better than this! Unless she's still a virgin, she's probably all stretched out by now from overuse or maybe all dried out from early menopause. See what you've got with me, Rick? A much tighter hole than she could offer you.

Yeah, that's nasty, I know, but that's how I feel as his cum spurts into me. I follow shortly thereafter, messing up yet another bed sheet.

"Maybe someday we'll remember to lay out a towel first," Rick remarks with a chuckle as he pulls out.

"Yeah, we should, shouldn't we? But then we'd just mess up the motel's towel," I point out, rolling over.

With his arm beneath my head and my face against the ever present T-shirt, I hear him say, "Maybe someday we'll remember, if we have our own sheets and towels to consider, darlin'."

That remark gladdens my heart, but I let it pass. Instead, I point out a bit archly, "You called Mollie 'darling' this afternoon."

Rick replies casually, "Oh, so that's what's been buggin' you. Relax, Jerry. Mollie's a sweetheart, but I'm not about to move in with her."

I'm not exactly sure how to take that, but I think he's trying to be reassuring. Okay, good enough. For now.

So here I am the next morning, sitting working on Rick's survival belt, while Mollie finishes up a few details in some of her sketches of Rick. She already did that for mine earlier on, but I got tired of standing so I'm taking a break, while Rick leans against the brick wall at the rear of the studio.

Every so often, I look up at them, but they're so intent on what they're doing that they hardly notice me. My mind wanders, as my fingers go through the repeated looping and pulling of the tan paracord.

Yet again, my mind runs through the endless loop of what may happen if I get that job offer. Do I, don't I? Will he, won't he? He loves me, he loves —

Shit! Why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can't life be simple and straightforward every now and then?

The paracord resists as I try to pull a loop up tight. Damnation! I was so distracted that I did that one backwards!

Annoyed, I unravel that row and try again.

That's what you get for not paying attention, Jerry, you idiot! Give it up. You can't predict the future.

Deciding that I'm probably giving myself some good advice, I turn my full attention back to the belt.

As I do the next row, I realize something about the weaving. Just like crochet and knitting, this seems to be basically a series of loops, each one of which loops thru another. It's quite strong, but if you pull on the loose end before the job is done, the whole thing unravels and comes apart.

Something like the way our relationship is held together, as long as I don't pull on the loose end before the project is finished?

I can't figure out if that's a comforting thought or not. I sit slumped in my chair, staring vacantly at the half-finished belt in my hands.

"Jerry? Yo, Jerry! You still alive, or did you drop dead on us?"

Mollie's laughter follows Rick's smartass question. With a long-suffering expression on my face, I take off my glasses, shake my head, prop my head up on my fingers, and try to look exasperated.

Rick's hand lands gently on my shoulder. "Mollie says I'm done, so I'm gonna go for a run. Maybe she'll have your sketches finished by the time I get back. Okay?"

"Sure. Okay."

Once he's gone, Mollie scoots her chair over near me.

"You don't have to get up, Jerry. I'll just do a couple of studies of your face."

I nod and she arranges the sketchbook on her lap.

"Rick's quite something, isn't he?" she says. "You're lucky to have him."

"I know. I never thought I'd run into a man like that. He's a real hero."

"What do you mean?"

I'm not sure how to explain it, but I've got to at least give it a try.

"Rick runs in where angels, or at least most people, fear to tread. And that's an admirable quality in many ways." I sigh. "I don't know what he sees in me. I'm not like that. Or at least not as a usual thing. I'm just not the hero type. I'm more likely to hesitate and move more slowly."

"Oh, I've got reason to think that sometimes you're not so slow."

"Well, yeah, maybe sometimes. But that's not my standard practice."

Mollie sketches quietly for a few moments. Still looking down at the paper, she says carefully, "I know what you and Rick did the other day. There was a short mention on the news that night about a man in a kilt and his companion pulling a boy out of the way of a train. The clip of the video taken from the engine was so fast and blurred that I wouldn't have recognized you two if I didn't know you already."

Phew! Note to self: warn Rick not to wear his kilt for a while, or at least not around here.

"Just as well. We didn't really want to be recognized. It was a spur of the moment thing, that's all."

Still looking down, her pencil scribbling away, she replies lightly, "That's not how I saw it."

And we leave it like that, with me weaving and her drawing.

Then an idea strikes me.

"Mollie, Rick and I are thinking of maybe sticking around Asheville for a little while longer. Do you know of any cheap places that are for rent?"

"As it happens, I do. Want me to show it to you?"

"Uh -- yeah. I guess it's nearby, huh?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, it's just upstairs."

I do a classic double take. "What did you say?"

She stands up, setting her sketchpad aside. "Upstairs. Come on. I'll show you."

As we climb the stairs, she explains, "This building was way smaller than the other buildings around here, and it was in pretty poor condition when I bought it several years ago. As I got more orders for murals, I was able to afford to do some renovating. Instead of living in the entire top floor, I split it in half and made it into two apartments, one of which is where I now live. I figured the other one could be rented out, to help pay the mortgage. It's not quite finished, but it's livable."

At the top of the stairs, I can see a narrow hall that runs down the center of the building, with a door on either side. At the far end, there's a window with what appears to be a fire escape just outside.

"This one is mine," Mollie says, indicating the door on the left. "The other one is up for grabs."

She unlocks the door and waves me in. "It needs a lot of work, but the basic necessities are all in place. Unless you consider a TV to be a necessity."

"Not by a long shot," I reply, as I go inside.

There's a short entryway with a closed door to my left, and then it opens out into a long rectangular area that runs crosswise to the entryway. The ceiling is quite high, as is usual in old industrial buildings. To my left, I can see a small kitchen area with counters and cabinets around a window, complete with stove and refrigerator. To the right, what appears to be a living room runs all the way to the other side of the building, again ending at a window in a brick wall.

Mollie follows me in, opening a door at the corner of the entryway and the living room.

"This is the bedroom. All I've got is a mattress so far, but there's more furniture stored downstairs, including a fancy headboard and footboard with old-fashioned bed posts at each corner. It's pretty heavy, so I haven't gotten around to bringing it up yet."

I peek into the bedroom. A double-size mattress lying beneath yet another window. With the sunlight outside, the entire place is bright and cheerful even without any of the indoor lights on.

"And here's the bathroom," she says, leading me to the closed door in the entryway. "I'm really proud of this tub."

As I follow her over, I wonder how anyone could possibly be proud of a bathtub.

I don't have to wonder for long. The tub is indeed something to see. It looks like an old-fashioned claw foot bathtub, but it's deep and quite long, with both ends swept up higher than the main body of the tub itself in a way that would clearly make it comfortable for two people to share the bathtub, one sitting at either end. The faucets and drain are in the middle of the tub right next to the wall. There's a hand-held sprayer for rinsing off, plus a showerhead that arches up above the tub and also supports a metal oblong railing that holds a shower curtain that can be drawn all the way around the tub.

To make it even more impressive, Mollie has painted the outside of the tub a lovely bright blue, leaving only the rim and the elegant clawed feet in their original white. The shower curtain is a deep gold, with scattered flecks of that same bright blue. I find myself already thinking about just the right shade of pale gold that would be perfect on the walls.

"I put in the interior walls myself, but they still need paint. The outer walls are all brick, so they're pretty much okay. A few of the windows have cracked panes. The central heat and air conditioning is already in place, so that's not a problem. As I said, there's a lot more furniture stored downstairs. I've been waiting to get the painting done first. But all the basic necessities are here."

She stops the monologue abruptly. "Silly me. I'm running on and on about this and I don't know if you're even interested."

"Oh, it's lovely! Lots to be done, as you said. But it has possibilities."

I'm already running images through my mind of what I'd do if I lived here, but there's one big question I need to have answered first.

"How much are you asking for rent?"

"Well, now, that would depend."

"On what?"

"On how much work you, and I assume also Rick, would be willing to put into it."

"I'm not sure whether or not Rick wants to stay in Asheville much longer, but I could ask him. Since neither of us has a job just now, I don't see a problem with us being able to put some work into this."

"Well, let's say both of you agree that you'll help me get this place into decent shape over the next few months. In that case, I'd be willing to let you live here rent-free. Once it's in good condition, we can renegotiate the terms. Goodness knows, with summer approaching, I'm not going to be able to do much renovating anyway. Besides, I like you guys. I'd rather have you and Rick here than have it sit empty all summer."

We walk out into the hall as she talks, and Mollie closes the door behind us.

A few minutes later, she and I are sitting downstairs having a cup of coffee when Rick comes in from his run, somewhat out of breath but looking very cheerful nevertheless.

"Hi, guys. How's it going?" he greets us. "All the sketching done?"

"Yep," Mollie says with a smug smile. "But we've got something better than that to show you."

"What is it?"

"Follow me and you'll see," she goes on, heading for the stairway.

I let Mollie do most of the talking as she shows Rick around the apartment, following them with my fingers crossed.

"So what do you think?" she asks him finally.

He looks at me. "Jerry?"

I just nod and smile.

"It's a deal."

"You can move in as soon as you like, but I'd suggest getting the painting done first, so the fumes can air out."

"Yeah. Good idea. I guess we can afford to stay at the motel for a couple more nights without going bankrupt."

I breathe a sigh of relief. This is really going to happen!

"Okay," I suggest, "how about we evaluate the situation, make up a rough list of what we have and what we need, decide on the colors you want on the walls, that kind of thing?"

And that's what we do. By the time we're finished, it's getting dark, so we call it a day and go back to the motel, with a promise to return tomorrow morning and get to work.

I'm still pretty wound up from all the plans we've been making, my brain full of ideas and possibilities. Rick lets me babble on for quite a while as we have dinner at the Waffle House across from the motel.

When we return to our room, we have a serious talk about what skills we each have to contribute to all the repairing and renovations we've committed ourselves to doing. It turns out that he knows more about the handyman stuff and I know more about -- what else? -- the interior decorating, so we conclude that it's doable.

I finally realize that all this manic planning is really a cover-up for something I'm still afraid to mention. But I've got to do it sooner or later, so it may as well be now.

"Rick, do you really feel all right about this? Staying here for a while, I mean?"

"Yeah, I do. What's the matter? You wanna move on?"

"Hell, no! I like it here. Of course, that's just a first impression. Maybe Asheville has its downside, like most places. Maybe in the long run, I'll feel like moving on."

I deliberately try to leave the future open so as not to seem like I'm trying to trap Rick into staying here with me, if that's not what he wants.

He thinks about it for a while, taking another bite out of his BLT and chewing it slowly. At last, he says, "I know what you mean, but we're not committing ourselves to stay here forever. We only agreed on a few months. Still, it may be this is about as far west as I want to go, at least for now."

"So do I, but I don't want to be scrounging off of you. Maybe I should look for a job. There are a lot of hospitals and doctor's offices in this town. Perhaps one of them will need a CT tech."

Okay, I know I'm stretching the truth a little, since I've already applied for one job. But that doesn't mean I can't keep looking, so it's not quite a lie, is it?

Rick is thinking again. I'm beginning to realize that he considers things pretty carefully, as long as the situation doesn't involve emergency action.

"That would be a big help," he finally concludes. "My military pension is nice, but it's not really enough for two people to live on just by itself."

"Great! I'll check the want ads tomorrow."

"To tell the truth, I've been thinking about suggesting that. I just wasn't sure you'd be interested in sticking around."

Shit! And I've been worrying myself to death all this time for fear he'd want to leave!

I almost laugh. "Funny thing. I've been wondering the same about you."

"Well, you could have brought it up sooner."

"Well, so could you."

This time, we both laugh.

The next two days go by in a flurry of activity. Between cleaning and getting primer and two coats of paint on the walls, moving furniture up the stairs, scouring thrift shops for all the everyday things needed to furnish an apartment, checking out flea markets and yard sales for chairs and such, repairing the broken windows, and all the other things needed to create a comfortable living space, we have no time to think about anything else.

Mollie helps when she can and makes dinner for us each night, and each night we fall into bed at the motel exhausted, but it's a good feeling.

Especially the second night, when we know that moving day will be tomorrow.

Next morning, we check out of the Super 8 and head over to Mollie's, arriving just in time with a box of doughnuts for breakfast. Mollie has the coffee maker already up and running.

"All right, what have we still got left to do?" she asks. "I'm pretty sure you guys don't have tons of stuff to move in, so that won't take long."

I look over my list. "Well, we still need curtains for the windows, cooking utensils, stuff like that."

"Food," Rick adds. "After all, Mollie's not going to cook for us all the time, now that we'll have our own kitchen."

"Right you are," Mollie chimes in. "In fact, I expect a few home-cooked meals now and then, as part of your rent." Rick and I look at each other. "What? You're not going to tell me you can't cook, are you?"

"Well, I can't say I'm a gourmet chef, but I've always been able to cook for myself without starving," I say.

"My mother taught me how to make basic meals," Rick adds. "That was a long time ago, but I guess I can remember most of it if I tried."

"Okay, so I won't expect caviar and chicken cordon bleu, but that's okay. Now, seems to me we've got some more stuff in the storage room, like that table that will have to be put together, not to mention those chairs you bought yesterday and that chest of drawers. You two can go out shopping for the small stuff later. Let's get moving."

Later that afternoon, Rick and I are carrying our purchases in from our car when we're rudely interrupted.

"What the fuck are you two doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from my girlfriend."

"Give it a rest, Waylon," I tell him. "She's not your girlfriend. Haven't you realized that yet?"

He strides in the door to the studio, with us hot on his heels.

Mollie looks up from what she's doing on her worktable and scowls. "Out!" she says. "Now!"

"Aw, Mollie, don't be like that." Then Waylon realizes we've followed him in, holding bags of groceries in our arms. "Now what? I told you two to get lost."

"Waylon, we're moving in here," I point out. "Isn't that pretty obvious?"

He looks at Mollie. "Is this for real?"

"Yep."

"Next thing you know, you'll be screwing these two perverts."

"Even if I did, what makes that any of your business? I'm not your wife. I'm not even your girlfriend. I told you to leave me alone. I even got a restraining order."

"That's just for show. I know you still want me."

"You've got your head stuck so far up your ass that you can't see what's right before your eyes."

He walks toward her. "Please, sweetheart, don't be mad with me."

He reaches out for her.

She smacks him hard across the face.

"No means no. Not yes. Not even maybe. Just plain no. And a restraining order means HELL NO! What part of that don't you understand?"

"How dare you --?!" He growls, one arm pulling back as if to punch her. Before he can follow through, Rick is behind him, swinging him around by his shoulder.

"You heard the lady. Get lost."

"Don't tell me what to do, you filthy son of a bitch!" Waylon says, backing away a few steps and reaching under his fancy suede jacket with all the fringes on it. He pulls out a handgun, pointing it at Rick. "Now get out of here, or I'll —"

He hasn't even finished the sentence before Rick has knocked the gun aside, pulled it out of the big man's hand, then stepped in and punched him in the stomach so hard that it knocks the breath out of him.

Waylon staggers back and ends up sitting on the floor, trying desperately to get air into his lungs.

Rick hands Mollie the gun, butt first. "Hold on to this for me, darlin'."

He goes over to Waylon and drags him up to his feet. "As for you, you overstuffed bag of shit, you're going to wish you never met Mollie by the time I'm through with you."

I'm still trying to digest what happened, while Rick starts taking Waylon apart. I see the fire of hatred in Rick's eyes and the way he's hitting the other man, and I know he's gone over the edge. As Waylon hits the floor once again, I grab Rick from behind, hissing fiercely but quietly into his ear what he told me to say in such a situation. "Wyatt! Rick, Wyatt!"

He freezes, and I give a sigh of relief.

"Let me handle this, Rick. Just keep him under control, okay?"

He nods, sweet reason coming back into his eyes.

Pulling the big man to his feet, Rick twists Waylon's arm up behind his back, and then gets him in a choke hold to keep him still and upright.

"Try anything, and I'll break your arm," Rick tells his captive. "And then I'll break your neck. Got that?"

"Yeah, yeah! I get it! Let go!"

"Not bloody likely," Rick replies grimly.

I take a stand in front of Waylon. "Now, I can turn Rick loose on you again, or you and I can talk. Which is it?"

The big man glances as far over his shoulder as he's able, then looks at me. "So talk already." Somehow, it sounds more like a challenge than an agreement.

"Start off by telling me what makes you think Mollie is yours."

"I fucked her a couple of times."

"So what? Do you belong to everyone you've ever fucked?"

"No, of course not! But I'm a man."

"And what makes a woman different in that respect?"

"Sex just means more to a woman."

Mollie breaks in on our conversation, still holding Waylon's pistol in her hand, but pointing it down at the floor. "Bullshit! Sex can mean a lot of things, to a woman or to a man. Sometimes it's only sex. Sometimes it's friendship. Sometimes it's just that you're in the mood. Only some times does it mean love."

Waylon looks unconvinced. They glare at each other.

All right, I got myself into this situation. Now what am I going to do about it?
And out of nowhere, the answer to my question pops into my head. I smile. This just might be fun.

"You're a pretty decent-looking guy, Waylon. Big strong man. Just what I like best," I tell him. "I'll bet your dick is big and strong too, isn't it?" I stroll around a bit and look at him from several directions as I speak, as if inspecting a prime piece of meat, no pun intended.

"And, oh my, what a nice ass you've got to go with it." I glance at Rick. "What more could gay guys like us want?"

Waylon looks surprised, and then uncomfortable.

"I'm sure Rick would like to see your gorgeous hunk of American manhood too. How about If I just lower your pants a little? I reckon we could get a good look at you then."

I grab his belt buckle.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

"What's the matter? Wouldn't you like to have that big dick of yours in my mouth? In fact, I can almost taste your cum shooting down my throat." I lick my lips and grin. "And I'm sure Rick has something he'd like to stick into that purty ass of yours. It might hurt a little at first, but you'd come to enjoy it after a while. They always do, you know. Besides, I'm sure a little pain doesn't scare a big brave man like you, does it?"

I step in close and grab Waylon's crotch.

"No! Stop that, you damn faggot!"

"Oh, you don't like what I'm doing? Come on now, I can't believe you mean that. Just go along with it. You'll see. Before you know it, you'll be begging to have Rick's cock up your ass. That's how it is, you know, for a man. He always wants sex. Doesn't matter if you don't want it right now. I'm sure we can change your mind, if you'll just give us a chance. We know what a man really wants."

"I'm no fairy! Get away from me, you disgusting pervert!"

I draw back, aghast. "You don't want us to get you off?" I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. "I can't understand this. Oh wait, you just don't want it with a guy, is that it?"

"Yeah, you dumb ass! About time you got that through your head. I don't want to make it with a man."

"Hmm. This could be a problem. Let's see now \-- Mollie, do you happen to have a strap-on?" I give her a wink. She takes the hint and nods. "Then we're all set, aren't we, Waylon? How about if Mollie fucks your fine ass with her strap-on? Would you prefer that? You do know what a strap-on is, don't you?"

His eyes are wide and panic-stricken. "Yes. I mean, yes, I know. And no, I don't want that either!"

Rick gets into the game, putting some pressure on his captive's arm and making him wince. "Maybe we don't care what you want, buddy. Maybe all we care about is our own satisfaction, not yours."

He sounds very convincingly vicious. If he spoke to me that way, I would be very afraid.

"No! No, please —!"

"Oh, you don't really mean that," I tell Waylon carelessly. "You're just being coy. That's all right. We understand. You have to say that, so we don't get the idea that you really are just as perverted as we are."

"No! No, I really mean I don't want it!"

I give him a look.

"So, what you really mean is that no means no, right?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"It doesn't mean maybe, or possibly, or keep on trying and I'll give in?" I suggest hopefully.

"Yeah, that's what I —"

He finally realizes what he's saying. I can see it in the expression on his face.

"Oh, shit!" Waylon exclaims. "Oh, fucking shit!"

Mollie walks over and stands before him, studying his face. "Rick, I think it's safe to let him go now," she says softly.

"Is that true, Waylon?" Rick asks the defeated man.

He nods and mumbles, "Yeah." Looking directly at Mollie, he goes on. "I apologize. Please forgive me for being an asshole."

Almost reluctantly, Rick releases him. "I'll give you this much, buddy. You may be a slow learner, but you are teachable."

"Mollie?" Waylon says again, a plea in his voice. "Could we at least be friends?"

"I'll ... think about it. That's all I can promise now."

He takes a deep breath and says, "Guess that will have to do." He turns to Rick. "You mind if I get my gun back?"

Rick looks to Mollie, clearly leaving it up to her.

For a long moment, Waylon and Mollie stare at each other. Finally, she says, "How about if I just hold onto it for a few weeks, as a token of your sincerity? If you don't give me any more bullshit, you'll have it back then."

Tight-lipped, Waylon nods curtly. Then he turns and walks out the door, leaving the three of us standing there staring after him.

"Jerry, that was terrific!" Mollie declares, sliding Waylon's pistol underneath the table where she keeps her own hidden weapon.

Rick claps me on the back. "Good work, buddy! You totally defused the entire situation with nothing but words."

"Hey, words are my strong point," I reply. "Just like action is yours. I couldn't have taken that gun out of his hand the way you did."

"Actually, you could have," Mollie says, "if you'd been able to tell the safety was still on, like Rick did."

I look at Rick. He smiles and nods.

Then my cell phone rings.

"Hello? Oh, hello, Ms. Kostin." The interviewer at the hospital! My heart is suddenly in my throat. "Yes, ma'am, I'm definitely still interested in the position. Thank you so much! Next Tuesday for Orientation, 8 a.m. Yes ma'am, I'll be there."

By now Rick and Mollie are staring at me, curiosity warring with excitement on their faces.

"Then I'll start next Friday at 11 p.m. Yes, two nights would be fine. Weekends are not a problem. I know I have to start somewhere. Thank you, Ms. Kostin. I look forward to working for Mission Healthcare."

I end the call, then collapse into a chair.

"So you gonna tell us what that was all about? Sounds like a job offer."

"Mission Health!" Mollie says. "That's the biggest healthcare organization in Asheville. It's said to be a good place to work."

"I sure hope so, since I'll soon be one of the CT Techs on the graveyard shift every Friday and Saturday night."

Rick grabs me into a hug, lifting my feet clear off the floor.

"Congrats, darlin'!" He gives me a loud and ostentatious kiss on the mouth.

When he puts me down, Mollie adds her congratulations.

"Take it easy, guys," I beg. "It's just part time."

"Doesn't matter. It's a foot in the door."

"Well, they did say they might want to cross-train me into MRI in the future, if I work out okay."

Rick slaps me on the back so enthusiastically that I stumble forward into Mollie's worktable. But I don't care. I'm employed again!

"We've got to have a combination housewarming party and celebration of your new job," Mollie says as she goes to the door and turns the OPEN sign to CLOSED, then locks the door. "I'm going upstairs to start on the dinner right now. Come on up whenever you're ready. It won't take long. It's just leftover stew from yesterday."

As Mollie heads up the stairs, Rick and I look at each other for a long minute, not sure where to go from here.

"Jerry, all that stuff Mollie said to Waylon about how sex can mean nothing or everything?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you believe that?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I guess I do."

"And?" I ask, hoping I know where this is going.

"Have you thought about what it means between us?"

"Uh ... yeah, I have."

"So what does it mean?"

"You're the one who started this, so you go first."

""I don't know if I can. After someone I cared very much about died, I swore I'd never love anyone else ever again."

"That's funny. So did I."

"I broke my promise."

"So did I."

"Does this mean we love each other?" Rick asks uncertainly.

"I think maybe it does. Or at least it might."

"Do we have to decide right now? It's not like we've been together very long."

"You've got a point there. But we can keep it in our minds as a definite possibility, can't we?"

"We can do that, yes."

With that settled to our mutual satisfaction, we go up to our new apartment to clean up and get dressed in some nicer clothes for the planned celebration.

Rick steps out of the tub after his shower while I'm finishing up shaving at the sink, carefully keeping his back to me as he goes over to the clean T-shirt hanging on a hook on the wall.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" I ask, keeping my tone light.

"What is it you want to know?" His tone is guarded. He thinks he knows what I'm going to ask. Quickly, he pulls the shirt over his head, still facing away from me.

I wash the shaving cream off my face.

"Who's Wyatt?"

I can see his posture relax as he realizes it's not about his chest.

"He's a bully I ran up against in the Marine Corps. We were both in the same martial arts class."

"And?"

"He was big and tough, and he had a habit of beating up the weaker guys, especially if he thought they might be gay. I stopped him once, when I saw him doing it. After that, he had it in for me. We had a few bouts with each other in class, but that was just practice. The instructor stopped us any time we seemed to be losing our tempers.

"Then one night he attacked me on the way back from class. Physically, we were pretty evenly matched, but I was the better student, since I took the martial arts training very seriously, while he didn't. I was getting the better of him when he pulled a knife on me."

Rick leans forward, parting his hair to show me the scar on his head. I knew about it, but just assumed it was from the war, same as his chest.

"I lost it entirely," he confesses. "I attacked so savagely that it's a miracle I didn't kill him." He stops and takes a deep breath before going on. "By the time we were pulled apart by the MPs, I wasn't in really good shape myself, but Wyatt ended up with permanent brain damage. I was lucky. There were witnesses who testified that he had attacked me with a knife, so it was judged to be self-defense."

"I'd say he got what he deserved," I say tentatively.

"He deserved the beating, but he didn't deserve to live the rest of his life as a drooling idiot."

"Well, maybe not, when you put it that way."

"My martial arts instructor was so disgusted with what I had done that he chewed me out in front of the entire class the following day, then handed me a knife and proceeded to beat me up without causing any major injuries, just to show me what I should, and could, have done, instead of letting my rage control me."

Rick gives me a rather abashed look. "My Sensei was a Japanese-American whose parents had been interned during World War II. Not even as tall as you are. Of course, I tried to defend myself, but I didn't have a prayer against him."

Rick smiles, clearly remembering his instructor.

"Since then," he continues, "I've tried hard not to lose control except in life or death situations. There have been times when it's saved my life and the lives of some of my buddies."

"Does everyone react like that in battle?"

"No. Only some of us."

"So where does that rage come from?"

"I don't know. It just happens. I'll deliberately try to call up that memory of Wyatt lying in the hospital bed and the scorn in my Sensei's voice when I start to lose it. But sometimes I can't seem to do that."

Dare I ask more?

"That ranger at Chimney Rock. All she did was try to help —"

"Don't go there, Jerry."

"It has something to do with this, doesn't it?" I reach out my hand, intending to place it over the scar on his chest, but he blocks my arm and holds it away. For a long moment, we stare into each other's eyes. His face changes and I am suddenly afraid. Very afraid.

"Don't even ask," he says, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper. "That's not something you want to know."

Then the rage is gone, tamped down perhaps by his remembrance of Wyatt. He releases my arm and turns away.

"Rick, I do want to know, but I promise I won't ask again. You'll have to tell me."

"You don't know what I really am, Jerry."

"Yes, I do. And I respect you for what you are. Ah, hell! I love you for what you are, warts and all, you sonovabitch."

To my total astonishment, he starts to cry, silently, his shoulders shaking and tears running down his cheeks. He turns away from me, grabs a hand towel, and covers his eyes as he struggles to regain his composure. Then it's over, and he's just washing his face in the basin.

"Thanks, darlin'," he says, as he dries the tears and the water away. "I appreciate that."

Not much later on, we're across the hall and I'm knocking on Mollie's door. "It's us, Mollie."

"Come in. Door's unlocked." We walk into the entryway in her mirror image apartment. All the lights are off, leaving only a goodly number of candles to brighten the gloom of the dying daylight outside the windows.

"Ta Da!" she exclaims, indicating the candlelit table set with elegant dinnerware, silverware, linen napkins, and champagne glasses, each one entirely different from the other. In the sink, a large bottle rests in a pile of ice, while the stew simmers fragrantly on the stove.

"Would one of you gentlemen be so kind as to open the champagne, while I dish out the main entrée?"

"Sure." I head for the sink and grab the corkscrew, leaving Rick to hold out the plates for Mollie to fill.

I manage not to get champagne all over the place, then fill our glasses, none of which match but all of which are very classy.

"To my new neighbors," Mollie proposes.

We drink.

"To our new landlady," I propose.

And we drink again. Then we look at Rick.

"To the mural that will one day adorn the side of this building," he adds.

We drink yet again. Then we dive into the stew, and make short work of it.

Mollie holds up the empty champagne bottle. "It looks as if we've pretty much killed off the good stuff, but there's still some cheap wine in the fridge, if we want to keep drinking."

"At least we don't have to worry about driving home, if we drink too much. I think I could make it across the hall. How about you, Rick?"

"Not a problem, darlin'. But how about we get the dishes done first, while we're still sober enough to do so? Mollie, you go relax on the couch while Jerry and I take care of the cleanup, okay?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," she says. "I hate doing dishes."

Once everything is squared away, we sit around on the sofa and the floor in the living room, savoring the cheap wine and talking.

While none of us are really drunk, we do feel a bit tipsy, making jokes that probably wouldn't be so funny if we were cold sober, and telling tall tales of things that have happened in our lives.

I haven't felt so comfortable and so much at home in ages. For a minute, I think about Alex, my first and almost my last, real lover. I know he'd be proud of me now, and that gives me a glowing feeling deep inside. Maybe I'm not a failure after all. Or maybe it's just the wine that's making me feel so good.

The more we drink, the stranger our conversation becomes. No real surprise there, huh? That often happens. In this case, we start trading saucy comments, as if we're all flirting with each other. You know, Mollie says something like, "Too bad my favorite guys are gay. Just my luck!" Then Rick says, "Well, you know, girls aren't all *that* bad as long as you don't get too close to them." And I say, "Want me to pose naked, so you can make an anatomically correct drawing of a middle-aged fairy? I promise I'll even spread out my wings nice and wide for you."

Silly, huh? Somehow we find it all totally hilarious.

And then Mollie asks, "Want to try something really kinky?"

"Like what?" I reply dutifully.

"Have sex with a woman."

"You mean that? For real?"

"Now that you ask, yes, I think I really do."

She sounds remarkably sober.

And suddenly, things turn serious.

Rick looks at me. "I'm game if you are."

What can I say? "Well, I -- uh -- haven't had a whole lot of experience with that kind of thing. Sounds a little weird to me. Do people actually do that?"

"Jerry, sweetheart," Mollie says, resting a hand on my knee. "They do much much weirder things than that. Trust me, I know."

I'm still wondering how to play this. "Well, if you're sure. After all, I wouldn't want to be accused of taking advantage of someone when she was drunk."

"Oh, I'm not all that drunk. And neither are you."

Rick just sits there. I think he's interested, but is leaving it up to me to make the decision. I must admit that I find her very attractive, for a female. And my dick seems to be feeling the same way. A quick glance tells me that Rick's is also.

I go for it. "Oh, sure. Why not? So what do we do first?"

"Well for starters one usually takes off their clothes, or at least most of their clothes," Mollie says, with a glance at Rick.

"Or we take each other's clothes off," he suggests.

"That sounds good," Mollie decides. "I'll get things started."

She leans over to Rick, who's sitting on the floor next to the sofa, and removes his shoes, then does the same with me.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now it's your turn, Jerry."

I take off her shoes and Rick's socks. Rick takes off Mollie's socks and my socks. Mollie starts the next round with my belt and Rick's belt.

And so it goes, until I'm down to my boxer briefs, Mollie is in her panties (she doesn't bother with a bra, as Rick learned to his surprise when he took off her shirt) and Rick is still wearing his T-shirt and briefs.

I was surprised also. Sure, I've seen women's breasts now and then, but usually not up close and personal. Mollie's are rather on the small side, but I very much prefer that to huge tits, as far as appearance goes. Her nipples are not much bigger than mine, but they're quite a bit perkier, perhaps because she's getting aroused.

Then I realize that Mollie has been looking at me while I've been looking at her breasts. And so is Rick.

"What's the matter, darlin'?" he says with a grin on his face. "Never seen a woman's breasts before?"

"Not very often," is all I can think of to say.

"Well, it's your turn now, so stop gawking and get moving."

Obediently, I pull off Rick's briefs, exposing his half-hard cock, then take off Mollie's underwear.

Rick looks at Mollie, who sits there naked on the couch and is apparently not at all discomforted by that. He shrugs. Nothing more to take off there. So he turns to me and takes off my boxer briefs.

Mollie's turn. She looks at Rick.

"Sorry, darlin'. Game's over. T-shirt stays where it is."

"Oh no, the game is just beginning," she retorts. "But may I ask what's the deal with the shirt?"

I'm not sure how Rick is going to react to this. Much to my surprise, he says calmly, "War wound. It's just that I don't like to look at it if I don't have to, and it's nothing anyone else would like to look at either." He shrugs. "It's really no big deal. Lots of guys are a hell of a lot worse off than I am. I'm one of the lucky ones: I'm alive, and I can walk, talk, and think fairly straight, so I'm not complaining."

Mollie and I exchange looks.

"Okay, if that's how it is, that's how it is. The shirt stays on. Now, how about you guys come take a look at my bedroom? I'm sure you'll like it."

We do. She has an old-fashioned bed with a canopy, conveniently king size. She also has a clear glass bowl on her dresser that's full of multicolored condoms in their little foil packets.

Rick and I take the hint. We each grab a packet from the bowl.

Mollie smiles widely. "I sure do appreciate men who don't start weeping and wailing about using condoms, but just get on with it."

"Hey, we're used to these," I tell her. "Can't speak for Rick, but I lost someone very important to me in the AIDS epidemic."

"I didn't, but the Marine Corps is into using protection at all times, and the habit sort of stayed with me. After all, there are other things besides just HIV out there, even if it's not terribly infectious for heterosexual folks."

We all stand there looking at the bed for a long minute. There's a quilt covering the bed. It has the appearance of something old and possibly handmade. Mollie turns the dimmer switch and the bright overhead lamp becomes much softer. She glances at Rick and then the bed. He takes the hint, stretching out on the side closest to the door. Mollie takes my hand and pulls me over to the other side. She crawls into the middle, dragging me down with her.

"All right now, boys, do I really have to be the one to start the action?"

Without giving us a chance to respond, she takes both our cocks, one in each hand. She's clearly done this sort of thing before. Rick leans over her, kissing her on the lips, massaging the breast nearest to him. Not to be outdone, I take off my glasses and set them on the nightstand, then move closer to her also, putting my arm around her slender waist.

Okay, Jerry, go for it. Can't be too much different than sucking a man's nipple.

I take her other breast into my mouth, sucking cautiously. Without thinking about it, my hand circles her breast, caressing and squeezing very gently.

Oh yeah, this is nice. Not much different at all. Just a little softer, and there's a lot more to play with. I run the tip of my tongue back and forth quickly over her nipple, just as I sometimes do with the tip of a man's dick. Much to my surprise, she arches her back, pressing her chest up towards me and inhaling softly.

Rick's mouth replaces his hand on her other breast. Mollie squirms and gasps beneath our combined assault on her breasts.

I watch through half-closed eyes as Rick's hand moves south. When it comes to rest over her pubic hair, her body tenses and she draws in a shaky breath through her mouth.

I guess I would do the same thing, if he was rubbing me that way. In fact, just watching and feeling her response stiffens my cock considerably.

I didn't expect to enjoy this so much. The closest I ever came to sex with women was a few experimental dates with girls back in high school, and I never got any further than first base, much less hitting a home run. None of it turned me on, so I pretty quickly gave up.

Other than that, the only entirely naked women I've seen have been in porn movies or anatomy books, so I at least have a rough idea what they look like down there.

Which is just as well. Rick disengages and leans back, groping for a condom. "Take over for me for a minute, Jerry."

Take over? Oh, I get it.

I reach my hand down her belly and between her legs. Everything is rather wet, but that's as it's supposed to be. With my mouth still clamped on her breast, my fingers go in search of the source of the moisture. Sliding between soft flesh, I run my fingers back and forth.

Mollie seems to like it, judging by the way she gasps and moves against me, forcing my palm where I assume her clitoris must be. Judging by her moan of pleasure, I'm in the right place.

I can feel her opening like wet satin beneath my fingertips, instead of the usual muscular ring around a man's anus.

I notice Rick watching me, his erection encased in bright orange latex. By now, Mollie has bent her legs and spread them apart, her head thrown back, making the same sort of soft noises I would be making if someone's hand was on my sex.

Rick moves between her legs, kneeling and leaning forward, one hand holding his orange cock. "Open her for me, Jerry."

With my thumb on one side and my fingers on the other, I spread apart those welcoming lips. His cock slides in between my fingers. Slowly, I ease my hand out from between them.

My mouth has by now released her breast, as Rick covers her with his body, pumping into her.

Whew! Now I can just lie here and watch. Or I could help things along a little. Yeah, I could, couldn't I?

I open one of the packets, checking the condom. As I had hoped, these are the lubricated ones. I unroll it over two of my fingers, then kneel next to Rick and slide them along the cleft of his ass until I reach my target. He responds to my touch on his hole by moving faster. Mollie seems to like it, since she's thrusting up against him now, driving him in deeper.

Her body stiffens, tenses up, her face grimacing as if with great effort, as her climax takes hold of her. Somewhat to my surprise, I realize that it seems to last longer for her than it does for me. Maybe that's just a woman thing.

Rick pumps desperately now. Then he pushes in deep, moaning softly much as he often does with me. I can feel the spasms of his ejaculation as he comes.

He collapses on top of her, gasping, while my fingers retreat.

All right, I guess it's all over now. That wasn't so bad, I tell myself as they both lie there recovering from their exertions.

Then Rick says, "Now it's your turn, buddy."

"Uh — I'm not so sure —"

"Jerry, please," Mollie says, touching her hand to the side of my face. "I want you in me also."

"Well, I'm kind of more used to being on the bottom."

"That can be arranged," she says. "But there's something we should do first. Rick, hand me another one of those rubbers, will you?"

He opens the package and holds it out to her.

"Oh goody," she says gaily. "Blue. My favorite color."

She puts it into her mouth and then places her mouth over my now somewhat enthusiastic cock, sliding it expertly down over my shaft. Without further ado, she sits up and mounts me.

All this takes me totally by surprise. Before I get over that surprise, she has a hand around my shaft, guiding my cock into her as she settles down on top of me.

And there I am; all of a sudden I'm fucking a woman. Or maybe being fucked by a woman, since she's the one doing most of the work.

Yet again, she takes me by surprise. "Feel free to close your eyes and pretend I'm a man. I don't mind. Whatever works for you is what works for me."

I don't even get a chance to take her up on her suggestion before Rick gets into the act, spreading my legs and kneeling behind Mollie. He takes hold of her hips and helps her move on top of me.

I feel his penis and balls hit my ass on each downstroke as I'm driven repeatedly deeper into unfamiliar territory.

But is it really so unfamiliar as all that? If I did close my eyes, would I be able to tell if it was a man's or a woman's body enclosing me? I focus hard on the sensations. Yes, perhaps I could, if I really tried. In anal sex, there's a little more tightness around the entry due to the sphincter. But right now there's a bit more of a clenching spasmodic feeling than there is with a man. Other than that -- well, other than that, the single-minded concentration on what I'm feeling has somehow intensified my arousal and enjoyment.

I can't help myself. I'm thrusting up into Mollie now, doing my own version of gasping and moaning and trying to reach that wonderful moment when I know I'm going over the edge. I don't care anymore who or what I'm fucking. All I know is that overwhelming sensation as I finally empty myself into a willing receptacle that accepts my cum.

Mollie leans forward, her breasts pressing against my chest as her lips kiss the side of my neck.

"There. See? I knew you could do it," she says into my ear.

I'm still inside her, but I can feel my erection slowly fading into the past. For a minute, we stay that way, until she lifts her hips a bit and I slide out.

I feel my condom being removed. That must be Rick's doing.

"Way to go!" he says. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Okay, I can't resist a wisecrack. "I didn't. I had it in Mollie."

We all laugh.

After we get cleaned up, we find ourselves back in the living room. Mollie picks up the wine bottle and swishes it around.

"Hey, guys, we've still got a little bit left. Let's divvy it up. Get your glasses."

There's barely a mouthful left for each of us, but Mollie raises her glass in a toast. "Here's to Jerry's new job."

Rick follows suit. "Here's to a new place to live."

So what's left for me to say? I raise my glass to Mollie. "And here's to a new friend-with-benefits."

We drain our glasses.

####

DATE with the PAST

I wake up shortly before dawn on the morning after the night before. I have a bit of a hangover from all the wine and champagne we drank to celebrate our first night in our new apartment, but I could have felt worse, all things considered.

Rick is still sound asleep next to me. I don't want to disturb him, so I just lie here for a while, thinking about how lucky I am to be with him. Not only do we now have our own place, but I have a job at one of the local hospitals. Okay, so it's just part-time, but it's a step in the right direction.

Off in the distance, I hear the whistle signal of a train crossing an intersection. Loong, loong, short, looonng.

It reminds me of my childhood, so I smile to myself. Very likely that train will be coming in our direction, since we're living practically right next to the rail yard in the River Arts District in Asheville.

Things got rather strange last night, when I ended up in a threesome with Rick and our new landlady, Mollie. It was my first time with a woman, so I'm sort of surprised that it happened. But then again, Mollie's not exactly what you'd call an ordinary woman. Still, I can't help but wonder how she's feeling about it. I hope there's no awkwardness between us.

I'm still thinking back on that when the approaching train sounds its horn once again, but now it's at the intersection barely a block away, so it's a lot louder. I can even hear the rumble of the engine.

At the first blast, Rick leaps out of bed, crouching and looking all around as if we're under attack.

"Whoa, Rick!" I say as I sit up, not sure whether it's safe to approach him when he's in panic mode. "It's okay, buddy. Just a train."

It takes a moment for that to sink in, but he sits back down on his side of the bed.

"Train. Yeah. Right," he says slowly, giving me a sheepish grin. "I should have known."

"You've heard train whistles before."

"Not when I'm sound asleep, and not usually so close that I can hear the noise of the engine."

Rick doesn't react too well to being startled. I'm pretty sure it's that PTSD thing that comes from being in a war or some other dangerous situation, but he's never actually said that.

"Yeah," I tell him. "I guess that could be a bit startling, if you're not used to it. Don't worry. Once you've heard it enough times, you won't even notice it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. I lived practically on top of a railroad track when I was a kid. Trains do make noisy neighbors. But that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes that whistle in the middle of a sleepless night can be awfully comforting to a lonely boy. Almost like a greeting from a familiar friend." I can't help but smile at the recollection. I keep talking, giving Rick a chance to chill out. "I still like to hear it. It's not really a whistle, you know. The old steam engines were the ones with the whistle. Nowadays, it's a horn."

"You really are a railroad freak, aren't you?"

"Hmph. We prefer to be called railfans."

"Ha! I think you'd just like to stand on the tracks without your pants then bend over when a train comes so you can let it run right up your ass."

Good. He's joking around. Things are back to normal.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't go quite that far. But it does sound sort of sexy, now that you mention it."

"I suppose it could be done, but you'd have to be able to stretch further than you do now. Better start practicing, if you hope to be fucked by a train anytime in the near future."

"I think I'll pass on that. After all, you've got a much more comfortable implement that could be shoved up my ass. It's usually just a tad bit less destructive than a train engine would be."

"What? Are you telling me you'd only want the engine, not the entire train? Wimp!"

I can't keep a straight face any longer. Once I start laughing, Rick joins in.

"Okay, enough nonsense," he finally decides. "No use trying to go back to sleep, since it's close to morning anyway. How about we try out our gorgeous bathtub?"

"Good idea. Let's do it."

Since we both sleep naked, we have no pajamas to take off. Well, there is that T-shirt that Rick always wears, but I know from past experience that he won't even take it off in the bathtub, so that doesn't count.

As Rick heads into the bathroom to start filling the tub, I reach into the drawer of the nightstand on my side of the bed and pick up a little surprise that I bought the last time we went shopping.

As I join him in the bathroom, I keep it carefully hidden in the palm of my hand.

Mollie outdid herself with this bathroom. The tub is truly a masterpiece, very deep and easily long enough to hold two people at the same time.

The faucet is on full blast. By the time we've both taken a piss, the tub is already halfway full.

"Better turn the water off until after we get in," I suggest. "Otherwise it might overflow."

"How about we shut off the light also?" I add. "It's already getting brighter outside the window. That would make it nice and cozy."

That will also make it easier to conceal my surprise, but I don't say that out loud.

I step carefully over the high edge of the tub and settle down under the water. I look up from under my eyebrows at Rick with a long-suffering glance and ask, "Are you sure you don't want to take off that shirt? I don't have my glasses on and even if I did, it's dark enough in here that I couldn't see much anyway."

Rick gives me a smile as he shakes his head.

Oh well, it was worth a try.

I'm beginning to wonder if he wears that damn T-shirt even when he takes a shower all by himself. Seems to me it would be rather awkward to get washed if he does. However, I've never seen a wet T-shirt hanging up to dry, so perhaps he doesn't.

The symmetrical design of the tub, combined with the placement of the faucet in the middle, allows for two people to easily fit into it at once, especially if they each have their heads at opposite ends. After a bit of jockeying around, we find a comfortable position, with Rick's longer legs underneath mine, his knees apart and a foot on either side of my waist. Meanwhile, my legs are in the same position except that they're on top of Rick's legs.

As we both immerse ourselves as much as possible, the water level rises all the way to the bottom of the drain beneath the faucet. That gives us water at least a foot deep, and probably a bit more. Such luxury! I could almost float, if I tried.

Also rather an extravagant waste of water, unfortunately. Rick must be thinking along the same lines, since he says, "Good thing this is set up so that it can be used as a shower also, or we'd be running Mollie's water bill sky high, not to mention just plain wasting water."

"Yeah, I guess we'll have to keep the full bath routine to a minimum. Maybe only on special occasions."

"That would work. Um, Jerry, do you think we could get just a bit closer together? It might feel kind of better that way, don't you think?"

We squirm around a bit, until our cocks are in contact, floating contentedly alongside each other. Combined with the hot water surrounding us, that feels really nice. Not terribly arousing, but it very possibly could be, if we wanted.

I close my eyes and contemplate where we should go from here.

Sure, we could always jerk each other off, but that would be active enough to slosh water over the sides of the tub, since it's so full. There must be something involving less motion. Let's see now.

I reach down and touch Rick's cock, but I'm not sure what to do next. He takes the hint and does the same to me. It's arousing but frustrating, both at the same time.

Then Rick ratchets things up a notch, sliding my foreskin all the way back, then swishing my cock gently back and forth through the water. Ah, delightful! I can't quite do the same to him, since he's been circumcised so his glans isn't as sensitive as mine is.

But I can do something else. I use my index finger and thumb to encircle his ball sac, then carefully squeeze his testicles downwards, as far as I can without hurting him. Using my pinky and ring finger, I gently stroke the tight flesh at the bottom.

As I continue my ministrations, Rick's finger slides over my cockhead and rubs my slit, in time with what I'm doing to him.

My left hand moves almost of its own accord, feeling for my right nipple, then pinching and pulling on it. Not all men have sensitive nipples, but I do and I'm glad of it. I'm not sure about Rick, because I haven't ever dared to reach under that omnipresent T-shirt to find out.

I glance over at him. With the dawn beginning to shed its light into our bathroom, I can see that his eyes are closed and he appears totally relaxed and at ease. Much to my surprise, his left hand slides up under his shirt, clearly heading toward his own left nipple. Good. His mind is elsewhere and he can't see what I'm going to do.

As I slowly bring my other hand down to the center of the action, I slip my forefinger into the small soft plastic ring on my little surprise. It's waterproof and covered with nubby silicone. I rub it gently back and forth along Rick's only half hard cock.

"Um, that feels nice," he says sleepily.

Thus encouraged, I keep on doing it, enjoying the feel of his penis getting even harder.

"Jerry, what are you —"

"Shush. It's an experiment."

"Huh?"

"Just relax." I slide down further into the water until I can get my hand around both of our cocks at the same time.

Rick's eyes are still closed, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. By now, we're both pretty aroused. Time for the really interesting part of my experiment. I hope he'll like it, but one can never be sure. Sometimes what turns on one man only annoys the other.

I press the button on the back end of my little device and it comes to life, vibrating against the shafts of our combined dicks.

I tried this out on myself ahead of time, but it takes Rick entirely by surprise.

"What the fuck —?"

"You like?"

"Well, yeah. I guess. But what —?"

"Nothing but a finger vibe, darlin'," I say, imitating Rick's tone of voice and his regular use of darlin'.

"A vibrator? Under the water?"

"They make waterproof ones now, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well, I can't say I've been in the habit of buying sex toys lately. Usually my hand works well enough."

"So does mine. But there's something to be said for a change of pace now and then."

"Given how fast that thing is moving, 'change of pace' is a pretty good description."

With that, I move the vibe up against his cockhead. His whole body stiffens and he gasps. When he tries to thrust forward against my hand, I conclude that he likes it.

"Hold still. You'll get water all over the place."

He obeys, with difficulty. "Oh dear god, Jerry! That feels so good."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" I shift position, trying to get a little more action for myself. I manage to get the bullet-shaped vibe into a position between our hard cocks, then wrap my other hand around both of them, pulling slowly but regularly.

We're still in no great hurry. The water holds us in its gentle embrace, only sloshing around a little.

By now, Rick's not the only one having trouble holding still, but the movement of the water over our bodies just adds to our excitement.

I come first, but I keep working on Rick until his cum joins mine in the water.

I lift my hand, wiggling the little vibrator back and forth on my finger.

"Uh, Jerry, dunno where you got that thing, but maybe we should see what else is available that's also waterproof."

"I got it the other day, while we were in that novelty shop. There wasn't a whole lot of choice, but I bet we can find lots of toys like this online."

"Great idea!"

Well, I guess that was a hit, wasn't it?

We're still soaking in the tub when Rick says, "You know, back when you wanted to commit suicide by jumping off that bridge?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm surprised you didn't think of jumping in front of a train instead."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that. Such a thing never even crossed my mind. Why would I want to traumatize an innocent engineer, probably making him suffer from guilt for the rest of his life?"

"Mighty thoughtful of you."

"Well, I figured the bridge wouldn't really care. But now that you've brought up the subject, I have a question for you."

"Fire away, darlin'."

"When I tried to jump off the bridge, if I had made it over the railing, what would you have done?"

"Probably jumped in after you."

"In the middle of the river?"

"I'm an excellent swimmer. Also, In case you haven't noticed, there were concrete platforms around the bottom of those bridge supports in that section of the bridge, and they're above the water. Just another reason why the Neuse River Bridge wasn't exactly the best choice. You'd have to deliberately drown yourself within easy reach of a platform."

I'm not willing to give up just yet. "Still, something could have happened. You could've hit the water wrong and been knocked out, for instance."

Rick shrugs. "Maybe, but not likely. Besides, you could've been hurt when you kept me from being shot by that gay-basher. That didn't stop you."

"But you're afraid of heights, and that bridge was pretty damn high."

"Yes. But fear is meant to be conquered." He laughs. "Okay, that sounded pretty pretentious. But the fact is I've seen too many people die. Now I want to see people live, if I possibly can."

Half-joking, I suggest, "Maybe you should join the local Rescue Squad."

"Maybe I should." The tone of his voice says he took that seriously. Well, why not? After all, it wouldn't be a bad thing for a man like Rick.

We get out of the tub and dry off. I wonder how he'll handle the wet T-shirt this time. Maybe he'll take it off in front of me?

Nope. Instead, he wrings out as much water as he can from the fabric while leaving it on, then heads across the hall and into our bedroom. I follow him, as casually as I can, still drying my hair. He goes to his dresser, over next to the shared clothes closet, while I go to my own dresser on the opposite wall, but I don't turn away far enough to lose sight of him.

Keeping his back to me, he pulls the wet shirt over his head, dries his upper body, then puts on a fresh T-shirt.

I turn quickly toward my own dresser, not wanting him to catch me watching him, feeling somewhere between being miffed and being disappointed. Oh well, someday maybe he'll trust me enough to show me what's under that damned shirt, but today's just not going to be the day.

"So what shall we have for breakfast?" I ask, stepping into my boxer briefs, then putting on my glasses. "Now that we have a kitchen, we can't justify going out to eat all the time."

"How about if you get the coffee maker going, while I fry up some bacon and eggs?"

"Sounds good to me," I say. I head for our kitchen area, not bothering to put on more clothing. "I'll put some bread in the toaster. No, wait, we don't have a toaster yet. Guess we'll have to settle for just bread and butter today."

Rick joins me, wearing only his briefs and T-shirt.

As the eggs and bacon begin sizzling in the frying pan, he remarks, "Feels strange to be cooking for more than one person."

"Yeah," I reply, as I measure out the coffee. "One cup or two?"

"I think two." He grins as he flips the eggs. "Sounds awfully domestic, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Not sure if that's a good thing or not. Domestic can get pretty boring after a while."

Rick reaches out and smacks my ass. I almost pour the water on the counter instead of into the coffee maker.

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen," Rick says, laughing. I shake my head and give him a pained look. He just laughs louder.

Before long we're sitting at our table having breakfast, still mostly naked and looking out the window at the expanse of open lawn across Riverside Drive.

"I can't help but wonder who owns all that property," Rick says idly. "There's a chain link fence along the road, but no houses or buildings. I know the French Broad River is out there somewhere, but the trees at the far end of the property are so thick that we can't see it."

"Maybe we should ask Mollie," I suggest. I take another bite of eggs, then change the subject. "I guess I should enjoy my free time, since I'll be starting my new job in a couple of days. I'm not sure how I should handle being on the night shift. I'll have to learn to sleep most of the day, at least on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday."

"No 'at least' about it. The best way to handle that kind of thing is to stick to that schedule all the time, which means stay up all night and sleep most of the day."

"But that would cut down on our time together," I object. "Not to mention it would be very inconvenient for you."

"I'll manage. I've had to adapt to a lot of things in the military."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Yeah. Besides, that will give me a lot of time to hang out with Mollie."

I know he's kidding from the tone of his voice, but I choose to take his line and run with it. "Humph! So much for happily ever after."

"Come on. You know I didn't mean that." Then his expression changes. "Seriously though, we do need to think about what sort of relationship we want with each other. We're not exactly married, you know."

"I'm not so sure I want to be married, even if it were legal. How about we each give it some thought over the next week or so, then compare notes on how we want to see this work out?" I suggest. "That would give us a little time to see how we do living together. Sure, things have been fine so far, but we've only known each other for what? Nine days or so?"

"Something like that, yeah. And that sounds like a plan, darlin'. I could use more coffee. How about you?"

"Yeah. Me too."

He returns with the coffee pot, and fills our cups.

As I mix in some sugar and milk, I say as casually as I can manage, "Not too long ago, you said that someday you'd tell me why you call people darlin'. How about now?"

Rick considers. "Yeah, I guess that would be fine. You ever read superhero comics when you were a kid?"

"No, can't say as how I did. Never cared for comic books."

"Um. Well, I did, and I kept right on reading them, even when I grew up. I've got a huge collection of the ones I liked best in one of those climate-controlled storage units."

My first thought was OMG, he's a hoarder? Then I realize he couldn't be, if he could spend months wandering around with nothing but what he could fit into his backpack.

"So what does this have to do with calling people darlin'?"

"I'm getting there. Be patient. My favorite comic series was the X-Men and my favorite character —"

"Let me guess. The guy with the claws."

"Yeah! How'd you know, if you didn't read comics? No, wait. You watched the X-Men movies, right?"

"Uh-huh, and I just figured you'd want to be the one with the built-in lethal weapons."

"Well, you got that much of it right. Logan was, and is, my favorite."

"So, darlin'?"

"Logan's a bit different in the comics. Not as handsome as Hugh Jackman, for starters. But I don't want to bore you to death while I go on and on about the X-Men. I'll cut to the chase. There was a long story back in the early 90s that really impressed me. Logan kept calling the girl darlin' or lil' darlin'."

Rick shrugs and looks a bit embarrassed. "So I just found myself calling people darlin' too."

"Even men?"

"Well, only if I thought they wouldn't mind."

"Did you ever use it to the wrong guy?"

"Yeah. But only once."

I don't ask what happened since I have a pretty fair idea.

"Well, you can call me darlin' anytime, as long as you don't sprout claws like that Wolverine guy."

Rick laughs. "It's a deal."

I know he's waiting for more, so I give it to him.

"I don't mind if you call Mollie that too, if you want. I won't be jealous. After all, she's a real darling, isn't she?"

Much to my surprise, he gives me a quick kiss.

"Thanks, Jerry. I knew you'd understand."

For the next couple of minutes, we just sit there sipping our coffee and thinking our thoughts.

"You know, that blue guy with the German accent?" I suggest tentatively.

"That would be Nightcrawler."

"He was my favorite."

"Yeah, I liked him too. In the comics, he and Logan were really good friends."

I give Rick a suggestive look. "Just friends?"

"Well, some of the fans thought they were lovers. Some even wrote stories about them screwing each other."

"Really?"

"Yep. And it got pretty damn graphic in some of those stories."

"That could make for some very interesting reading."

Rick nods. "It was. You can find the stories online, if you look for them."

"Maybe I will, one of these days. That is, once I can afford my own computer."

"Unfortunately, nothing like that ever actually appeared in the comics, much less in the movies."

"Too bad."

Rick smiles at that, clearly agreeing with me. "Did you see the third movie in the series?" he asks. "I was very disappointed when Nightcrawler wasn't in it."

"Yes, I saw it. And yes, I was disappointed about that also. The way he could teleport and all, he could have been spectacular in that final battle."

"Maybe the writers figured Nightcrawler could've won it too easily, by teleporting over to the bad guys and taking them out of action all by himself."

"Hmm. I never thought of that."

"How about some more coffee?" Rick asks, abruptly changing the subject.

"No, thanks. I've still got plenty in my cup."

He gets another cup for himself, then sits down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. We just sit there for a while, looking out the window.

Maybe it's because I'll soon be working again that my thoughts wander back to the man responsible for my career, among other things. Alex would be proud of me, if he could see me now. A job, a lover, and a great town like Asheville.

A new idea occurs to me. Rick can't seem to talk about his past, but I can talk about mine. This might be a good time to let him get to know me a little better, since we seem to be approaching a real relationship.

But how can I lead up to it?

I'm still staring out the window, trying to come up with a good opening. Off in the distance, I hear the faint wail of a train whistle.

"Another train," Rick observes sourly.

"Yeah. I'm afraid you'll have to get used to that sound, since we live practically on top of the tracks."

And there's my opening.

I continue, "I like to hear the trains. As I said earlier, it reminds me of my childhood. We lived right next to the tracks when I was growing up in the Midwest."

Rick takes the bait. "Whereabouts in the Midwest?"

"Michigan, just outside Detroit. My Dad and I had a rundown little house in a deteriorating neighborhood. The best thing about that house, to me at least, was the railroad tracks that ran by just beyond the edge of our backyard."

"Only you and your Dad?"

"Yeah. I never knew my mother. From the day I was born, it was just him and me."

"That's a bit unusual."

"It was more than unusual back in the early 70's when I was young."

"You want to tell me about it?"

I smile to myself. I've hooked my fish, as planned.

"Sure. It's no big secret, but it was kind of complicated. According to Dad, they got married way too young. When my mother finally decided she wanted out, she discovered that she was pregnant. She wanted a divorce and an abortion. He refused both. After several weeks of arguing, they settled on a compromise: Dad would cooperate with the divorce if she would have the baby and then give him custody."

"Shit, that's really unusual!"

"I know. But it worked. I never met my mother; never even knew her name. And frankly, I don't give a damn. Dad did the best he could, but it wasn't always easy. Of course, I didn't realize that as a child, but when I got older, I noticed how difficult it had been for him. Fortunately, he made a decent salary as a mechanic at a local car dealership, but we weren't exactly rich by any means.

"Anyway, as I mentioned before, the trains fascinated me. Dad always said I would stop crying if I heard a whistle. He used to tell me that the first word I said was 'Da', but the second one was 'train'."

"I expect most little kids would be afraid of the noise," Rick says. "Not to mention the train itself, if they saw one."

"Not me. I'd run to the window or the back door whenever they'd come by. Dad took the hint. I had storybooks about trains even before I was old enough for Thomas the Tank Engine. Ever heard of 'The Little Engine That Could'?"

"No, can't say I have."

"Google it. Anyway, I can imagine how bored poor Dad must have been after reading it to me just about every night. I had the whole thing memorized, but I still liked to share it with him."

"So he sounds as if he was a pretty decent guy?"

"Yeah, he really was. He did the best he could, but I just never turned into the kind of son he really wanted. I was a scrawny little kid who wasn't very good at athletic stuff and mostly wanted to read books and play with my model train set. I got good grades in school, but I was the class sissy by the time I got to middle school, and it only got worse after that. To make it even more complicated, Dad was Catholic, but not overly so. Still, we went to Mass almost every Sunday. I liked the ritual and the cool outfits the priests wore. When I was old enough, I became an altar boy. I even thought I might want to be a priest, but that was before I hit puberty and realized just how powerful a sex drive can be. I also realized it was thoughts of boys that turned me on, not girls. But how could I tell my Dad all that?"

"You once told me he sent you to a karate class."

"Yes. He was hoping I'd learn to fight and be tough, or at least be able to defend myself. I was terrible at it, of course, and my heart wasn't really in it. But I had a huge crush on my sensei, who was a cute Chinese guy barely as tall as I was, which isn't saying much. But alas, my attraction wasn't returned, and I eventually quit the class when I just couldn't keep up anymore." I shrug. "Dad wasn't a bad guy. He just didn't understand. Lots of parents have done far worse by their children, so I really can't blame him."

"So then what happened?"

"Shortly after I graduated from high school, Dad was killed in an accident on his way home from work. I had just turned 18, so there was no question of being put into a foster home. I was on my own. Once the shock wore off, I decided to make a new start in a place where I could find other gay people like me. I sold the house, took the money, and headed for Boston."

"Boston? Why not New York City or San Francisco?"

"Too big. Boston sounded a little more cozy and historical. I stretched my meager inheritance as far as I could, working at whatever job I could find while I decided whether I liked it there.

"Then I met Alex. It was at my very first Gay Pride Parade. Rainbow flags were everywhere. Thousands of gay men and women marched together, all the way from extravagantly over-dressed drag queens to lesbians in full leather on motorcycles. I was amazed. For the first time, I felt that I not only wasn't alone but I was proud of what I was."

Yeah, Jerry, but are you real proud of telling Rick your standard story about Alex a few days ago? Don't you think you owe him the whole truth this time around?

"Uh -- Rick -- I've got a confession to make before I go on. You remember that night at the motel while we were in the bathtub together and I told you about Alex being the first one to have anal sex with me?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, yes, he was my first time for that, but he wasn't by any means the first time I had sex with a man. I sort of cleaned up that version a bit, as I usually do if I tell anyone about Alex. The real truth is a bit more sordid. I'm sorry, I —"

"It's okay, darlin'. It did sound a little too good to be true. But I've done that sort of thing also, prettifying some parts of my life to make it sound more respectable to others. So you don't have to be ashamed."

Whew!

"What really happened was that my money started running out, so I did what all too many gay young men have done to supplement their income while practicing their newfound sexual freedom: cruising the streets and getting paid for blowjobs. That lasted for quite a few months, until I met Alex. I was lucky enough not to get AIDS, since the epidemic was still going strong in the early 90s and I wasn't taking any precautions."

"So did you and Alex hook up at that Gay parade, the way you said?"

"Yes and no. Being the klutz that I am, I stumbled over something in the street while I was marching. I twisted my ankle and fell down. A total stranger helped me up and guided me over to the curb, out of the way of the marchers. He took a look at my ankle and came to the conclusion that it might be broken so I should go to the hospital. When I told him I didn't have enough money to do that, he said he'd take care of it, hailed a cab, and took me to the Emergency Room at Massachusetts General. That was Alex. I suppose I could say that he quite literally picked me up right off the street."

Rick gives me a small laugh at my weak effort at a double entendre.

"Anyway, after I had been x-rayed and a cast put on my ankle, he invited me to stay with him for a few days until I got the hang of walking around on crutches and had recovered a bit.

"To this day, I can still see the smile on his face as he welcomed me to his apartment. Alex was no spring chicken. He was in his late 40's when we met, but he was a handsome guy. I have no idea why he thought I was worth all that trouble. Most other folks would have left me there on the sidewalk.

"Well, a few days extended into a few weeks and we seemed to hit it off in a lot of ways. Turned out that he was a doctor, part of a group practice of General Practitioners, and he also volunteered at an AIDS clinic. Obviously, he wasn't hurting for money. I don't know exactly why he trusted me enough to take me into his home and leave me alone while he was out at work. Not that he had all kinds of valuables lying around, but I could've ripped him off pretty seriously if I'd wanted to.

"While I was there, I told him about my childhood and how I ended up in Boston, how I was barely getting by, etcetera. But I didn't mention how I made money on the side.

"After months of living off of his kindness, I felt I had to do something in return. I offered myself to him, since that was all I had to give. That's when he told me he was HIV-positive and probably got the virus years ago before it became well known. He was one of the lucky ones who was able to afford the latest AIDS drugs and he was even luckier in that he responded fairly well to them. Not everyone did, you know, especially the earlier drugs. And not everyone could afford the price either, but Alex could. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have lived as long as he did.

"Anyway, after Alex finished telling me all this, he smiled sadly and asked, 'Ready to take back that offer of sex, Jerry? Most folks do. I understand.'

"My offer still stands," I told him without the slightest hesitation. "You took a risk just bringing me here. I owe you."

Even though I knew it might jeopardize our budding relationship, I admitted my own transgressions and told Alex I sometimes even did it without protection, if the price was right.

He shook his head. "I'd never ask anyone to do that, considering my HIV status. In fact, once I tell them that, most men refuse to have sex with me even with condoms. I can't say I blame them. I appreciate your offer very much but I don't want you to take a risk, just because you feel obligated to me."

"Alex, you're the only person who reached out and helped me, and the only one who showed any interest in me. Other than my Dad, you've been the most decent person I've encountered so far in my life. I want you, if you'll have me." I paused, studying his face. When he smiled, I added, "So where do you keep the condoms?"

He told me. I got them. We used them. And we kept on using them for the rest of his life. We were very very careful when it came to sex."

I hesitate for a minute, and Rick breaks into my monolog. "I seem to recall that you were perfectly willing to make do without a condom the first night we had sex."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly at my best that night. Maybe it was a sort of reaction against having to be so terribly careful all that time with Alex. Or maybe I just couldn't worry about such a thing, since I'd just gotten you to agree to have sex after I had been expecting to be dead. I was actually glad that you insisted on protection."

"Why? Did you think I was HIV+?"

"Hell, no! I just didn't want to risk spoiling your interest in me, is all. A lot of guys turn into assholes when you bring up safe sex at such a time."

"Okay. So go on with the story. What happened next?"

"From then on, Alex and I were a couple. I learned a lot about gay sex from him, but more than that, I learned a lot about life. I was just a lost boy when we got together, but he got me thinking about the future and what I wanted to do for a career. He had had a reasonably successful practice, but he had recently taken in several partners in order to give himself more time to volunteer at the local AIDS clinic.

"By the time we got together, the tide was turning on AIDS. But even though it was towards the end of the worst part of the epidemic, people were still dying.

One day, Alex gave me a course catalog from the local community college. When I asked him why, he just shrugged and said perhaps I'd find some line of study that would catch my interest.

I flipped through the catalog and for some reason Radiologic Technology caught my eye. Maybe because I had always been interested in how the body works, or maybe because Alex was in the medical field himself and I was trying to please him.

With his encouragement, not to mention his willingness to pay my tuition, I decided to give it a try. My high school grades had been pretty decent, so I put in an application. Although the RT program was already full for the upcoming year, I began by taking the general courses that I would need if I were accepted for next year. I figured if I could make a good showing in the basic stuff, I'd have a little better chance of being accepted. And if I couldn't keep up and flunked out — well, that would be the end of my proposed medical career.

As it turned out, I did well, and I was glad I had gotten a lot of those courses done ahead of time, because once I began the RT classes, they were far more difficult and time-consuming, what with all the clinical time devoted to hands-on practice.

Alex helped me a lot with my studies, explaining things and challenging me with questions. By the time I graduated and took the required test in order to become a registered Rad Tech, I wasn't exactly at the top of my class, but I wasn't at the bottom either.

With Alex as a reference, it didn't take me very long before I landed a job at Massachusetts General. A year or two later, I cross-trained into CT and passed that registry also.

Alex was so proud of me! But about that time his health began seriously deteriorating. As things got worse, he had to give up his medical practice. I wanted to quit my job and take care of him, but he wouldn't hear of it. He had made so many friends working at the AIDS clinic that there were plenty of others who would look out for him while I was at work.

He was able to stay at home right until the very end. When he died, he was in pretty bad shape. It was the pneumonia that finally killed him. He refused to go into a hospital, because he knew he would be put on a ventilator, which would only serve to drag out his death. I was right there with him when he died, just sitting holding his hand and watching him struggle to breathe. Then the struggle was over. He took one last gurgling breath and exhaled for the last time."

"Jerry, I —" Rick starts, but I cut him off.

"No, Rick. You don't have to say anything. By that time, it was almost a mercy. His suffering was over. And in some ways, my life was over too. Oh sure, I went on living. But something inside me had died. I went to his memorial service, listened to all the condolences, then went back to work and did my job. But there was no joy in life anymore. It took a long time for me to begin to recover. Alex's estate took a while to go through probate, and his lawyer did all the work. When the dust finally settled, I ended up with a bit of an inheritance. It turned out his will gave half of his remaining money to me and half to the AIDS clinic. His finances had been seriously depleted by all the medications and hospital care, but there was enough left so that I had some choices about where I wanted to go from there, now that I was on my own. I had already moved out of Alex's high-class apartment into a less expensive studio apartment.

Right about that time, being a traveling technologist was a pretty big thing. You work for an agency that sets up temporary assignments all around the country, rather than just working at a permanent site. I wanted to get away from Boston and all my memories of Alex, so I traveled for a few years, only coming back to my empty apartment when I was between jobs.

Then the market for traveling techs decreased, and I found myself not getting enough assignments to pay the bills. I had been at Camp Lejeune on one of my assignments, and I got an offer of a part-time job with one of the many companies that provided mobile CT scanners at hospitals that couldn't quite afford to get their own. I expected the job to go full-time after a while, so I moved down to North Carolina. But full-time never came, and my money started running low. Late last year, the company I worked for lost the contract on the base, and I was out of a job. By the time I picked you up by the side of the road six months later, I had given up all hope."

I hold out my hands and shrug. "The rest is history." I look at Rick. "Guess I was lucky in a lot of ways, huh?"

He nods. "I'll bet Alex would be proud of you, if he could see you now."

How odd! That's just what I thought a couple of hours ago.

But I won't tell Rick that. Instead, I nod and say, "I hope so. But enough about the past. What shall we do today?"

"If you'll do the dishes, I'll fire up my laptop and see if there's anything exciting going on around here."

"Deal."

I've barely finished scrubbing the frying pan when Rick announces, "I think I've found something."

"What?"

"The local AIDS Project is holding free testing for HIV and other STDs at one of the community centers today."

He looks at me and I look at him. Neither of us seems to be sure about the reaction of the other. Is this an insult, as in "You could be infected"? Or "I could be infected"? Or what?

"You think that would be a good idea?" I ask carefully.

"Well, assuming we both come up negative for everything, that would be a first step toward our not having to use condoms all the time. What do you say?"

"I say that sounds good. Let's do it."

"Do you think Mollie would be interested?" he asks, rather hesitantly. "I mean, after last night —"

"Is that really a question about whether we want to have sex with her again, Rick?"

"Yes, I guess it is," he admits.

"In that case, I'm all for it. After all, variety is the spice of life."

From the wide smile on his face, he likes my answer.

"We can ask her," I suggest.

"I hope she's OK with what we did last night. She seemed to enjoy it, but we'd had a few drinks. Sometimes people have second thoughts."

"Instead of wondering, let's get dressed and go find out. She's probably working in her studio by now."

Mollie is exactly where we expected her to be. She looks up from her drawing table as we walk into the studio on the ground floor, directly beneath our apartment.

"Good morning, boys. You're up earlier than I expected, after last night."

She greets us both with a hug and a kiss. I meet Rick's eyes over her shoulder. He gives me a quick nod, which I take to mean we agree that Mollie is fine with last night.

"So, darlin', how's the mural coming along?" he asks.

"I'm just about ready to start work on the outside wall."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Do you know how to handle a pressure washer?"

"No. But I can learn."

"You're on. I hate that job. Okay then, that's settled. So what are you guys up to now?"

I explain about the free tests.

"What's the matter?" she asks. "You think you may have caught something from me last night?" But her smile and tone of voice says she doesn't really mean that.

"Well, one can't be sure these days," I reply, playing along. "Women are well known to be very promiscuous, so you never can tell."

"Of course," she retorts, giving me a fake slap on the face. "That's why I insisted we use condoms, remember? Seriously, I think getting tested is a good idea. Mind if I go with you?"

"Not at all. Maybe you can even tell us how to get there."

"I can do better than that. We can go in my car. Where's it being held?"

I give her the address and we head out the door.

The tests are nothing very exciting. Just the usual peeing into a cup and getting a needle stuck into your arm to draw some blood. And the price was surely right. Go to a doctor's office and you'd pay a lot more than free. As usual, the test results won't be available right away, so we'll have to wait a few days to find out.

When we get back, Mollie takes us outside and shows Rick how to use the pressure washer to clean off the sidewall of the building, where there are no windows to get in the way of her mural.

Mollie stands there supervising. "With luck, putting a mural on the wall will act as free advertising for my business," she tells me. "I could use a few more commissions to help make ends meet."

"Rick and I may be able to pay you some rent, if you need it," I offer. "It was very generous of you to say we could stay here free for a few months in return for helping with renovations and such, but now that I have a job —"

She smiles and shakes her head. "No, I can get by for a while. I know you guys aren't exactly rolling in dough. With luck, business will pick up before the summer arrives. We'll talk about it then, okay?"

"Thanks, darlin'," I say in my best Rick imitation.

"Now you're starting to sound like him. Give me a break, huh?"

We laugh. When Rick turns his head to see what we're laughing at, we just laugh louder.

Mollie glances up over my shoulder, and says softly, "Don't look now, but Lonnie's coming down the street."

"Huh?"

"Lonnie, the one you and Rick saved from being hit by the train several days ago, remember?"

"He's by himself?"

"Yep."

"Well, at least he probably won't be yelling insults at us, the way he and his buddies did when we first encountered them."

"Give them a break. They're not bad kids. They're just teenage boys."

I turn around. Yes, that's the boy all right. Rick is entirely occupied with the pressure washer, so I guess it's up to me to find out what he wants.

"Hello," I say as genially as possible. "How's it going? You and your friends doing okay?"

"Yeah. We're good. I just — I mean — I came to apologize for being an asshole the other day."

"In what way? Calling us names, or running in front of the train?"

I guess I sound a bit too unfriendly, since Mollie nudges me with her elbow.

"Well, both. I guess." He looks at the ground, unable to meet my eyes.

"Hey, it's okay, kid. I was a young asshole myself, once upon a time." I hold out my hand. "My name's Jerry Langsten. What's yours?"

"Lonnie," he manages to say as we shake hands. "Lonnie Jameson."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jameson. And as far as the train is concerned, you're welcome. Very glad I didn't have to watch you get splattered all over the railroad tracks. It would've ruined my day entirely."

Fortunately, he realizes I'm trying to be funny and laughs.

"I don't think it would've done much for my day either."

Good. The kid has a sense of humor. I turn around to Rick, calling out, "Hey, Rick! Look who's here!"

Rick turns, smiles, and shuts off the pressure washer, then heads over toward us.

"This is Lonnie Jameson," I tell Rick. "He came by to thank us."

Rick smiles even wider, and introduces himself, offering his hand just as I did.

"You and your buddies do what I told you to do?"

"Yes, sir. We talked about what happened. You were right. It helped me get over the close call I had, but I'm still kind of freaked out, you know?"

Rick puts a hand on the boy's shoulder and looks him directly in the eyes. "Believe me, son, I know."

Can this be the same man who won't talk to me about his own past?

Lonnie looks at Rick with adoration in his eyes. Can't say I blame him for that.

"Hey, Mollie, how about showing our young friend here that sketch of the mural you're working on?" Rick suggests. "I'll bet he'd like it."

"Sure. Lonnie, you want to see it?"

He nods.

"I've also got some lemonade in the fridge," Mollie adds. "We could all take a break and have an early lunch. Anyone want a grilled cheese sandwich? Lonnie, you're included too, if you're hungry."

Once we get inside, the boy takes one look at the sketch of the mural and exclaims, "Awesome! I love it!"

"What do you like best?" I ask.

"The steam engine, like it's coming out of the past somehow. I'd love to see that kind of engine for real."

"You like trains?"

"Yeah. I've always wanted a model train set, but my Mom can't afford that kind of thing. I understand that, but —"

"But you still want one, huh?"

He nods.

"I had one as a kid, but it's nothing like the kind of stuff that's available now. If I had a computer, I could show you some incredibly beautiful layouts."

"Go ahead and use mine," Mollie offers.

Lonnie looks at me with longing in his eyes.

"C'mon, buddy," I tell him. "It's in the office. Follow me and we'll see what we can find."

A couple of sandwiches and several hours later, Lonnie and I are still admiring the fantastic layouts on Dave's Model Railway on YouTube, not to mention following all the other links to similar sites.

When we're about done, I mention that Mollie is going to use Rick and me as characters in her new mural.

"Do you think she'd put me in it too?"

"Probably. But you'd have to ask her, not me. Are you really serious about that?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go find out right now."

Mollie isn't inside the studio, so we go outside to look for her. As it turns out, Rick offered to pressure wash the entire building, instead of just the one wall where the mural will be. We have to circle around to the other side in order to find them. Rick appears to be just about done, since he's in the process of shutting everything down and cleaning up.

When Lonnie asks about being in the mural, Mollie agrees, as I thought she would.

"But I've got to have your mother's OK first," she adds. "We'll be starting on the first coat of paint later this week, weather permitting. I could make a few sketches of you today."

"I'm sure Mom won't mind. I'll call her right now."

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he gets in touch with his mother, then lets Mollie have the phone so they can talk it over. I can't help but notice that Lonnie has an old cell phone, not one of the new smart phones. From what he's said so far, his family isn't very well off.

Once everything has been settled, Rick shakes his head in mock dismay. "Just what we need: another crazy railfan. I just don't understand what you guys find so interesting about trains. They're nothing but big noisy machines that pull stuff around."

Mollie punches him in the arm. "Rick, you're hopeless."

"That's what they tell me, darlin'." He turns to me. "Looks as if we're about done here. I'll put this stuff away, then get cleaned up and take a shower."

"Okay. I'll be up in a while."

By the time I get upstairs, Rick is finished with his shower. He walks out of the bathroom wearing nothing but that twice-damned T-shirt, and announces, "I've got something for you."

Glancing significantly at his half hard erection, I reply, "I can see that."

"No, darlin'. That's not what I mean. Something even bigger and better."

I'm about to tell him nothing could be bigger or better than his cock when he says, "You wanted toys. It just so happens that I've got one of my own. Come into the bedroom and I'll show you."

Of course, I do as he suggests, with no idea of what he's up to. He digs his backpack out of the closet and takes out a velvet bag. Now I'm really getting curious.

As he hands me the bag, a strange expression comes over his face. It's somewhere between awe and sorrow, but I can't tell which.

Whatever this is that I'm holding in my hand, it's heavier than I expected.

Rick sits down on the bed. "Go ahead, take a look."

I do as he says.

It's a solid glass dildo in a lovely shade of pale blue, in the shape of a very detailed erect cock. It narrows significantly at the bottom and then spreads out into a wide circular disc, somewhat like a butt plug.

"Well, it's certainly bigger, but I'm not sure about it being better," I remark.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Jerry. I want you to take this for me."

"Uh — I'm not too sure about that. It's pretty big."

"I'll have you begging for it before I'm finished." He pats the bed next to him. "C'mere."

Between his words and the look on his face, I'm already getting excited. He wants this rather brutal-looking thing up my ass, and I find that I want to take it. Or more accurately, I want to give him whatever he wants.

I've felt this way before several times, while Alex and I were together. Being twice my age, he had been a sort of father-figure and the man who had literally taught me how to be gay.

Well, all right, but Rick is my age, and he's nothing like a father. So what is he, that I feel this urge to obey him?

Stop thinking, Jerry. Just do it.

"I'm game, but I'm a bit skeptical about the begging part."

"Don't be. Get out of your clothes and lie down on the bed."

Why is he being so insistent about this? Is there something about this particular dildo that I don't know? Does it have some meaning to him? Should I ask, or not?

I choose not. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me.

I do as he says, getting rid of my clothes and setting my glasses carefully on the nightstand, then lying back on the bed.

"Now what?"

"Just relax."

Rick scoots over alongside me and plants his mouth hard over mine. For a long while, we kiss, our lips and tongues the only part of our bodies touching each other. Then his fingers begin stroking my chest with light, teasing caresses. His tongue probes deep into my mouth, and I suck it harder, wanting even this small part of him inside me. His palm flattens over my nipple, fingers holding the soft flesh surrounding it while his hand moves in small circles, squeezing and releasing rhythmically.

His tongue stifles the moan that forms in my throat. I reach to hold him in my arms, but Rick stops me abruptly, squeezing so hard that it almost hurts, as he breaks off the kiss.

Instead of reclaiming my mouth, he lowers his head to suck my other nipple. I can't help squirming underneath his assault on my senses.

Then his other hand trails languidly down my belly towards my groin.

Oh yes! Yes! Keep going! Keep — Damn!

The hand disappears. But his mouth and other hand continue their work on my chest. Not all men have sensitive nipples, but I sure do. If this continues much longer, I may even come just from this.

"Rick, please. I'm going to —"

"Oh no, you're not," he says calmly, as he stops everything he's doing. One hand squeezes my cock just at the edge of the glans, while the other hand takes hold of my tight sac and carefully pulls down on my balls.

"Not until I give you permission, anyway," he adds smugly. "Now just relax. Take a few deep breaths and let all the tension flow out of your body."

I try to oblige, but my heart's not really in it.

"If you come now, you're not going to get the dildo later." He sounds so deathly serious that I dare not disobey him.

"Aw, shit! Okay, okay. Whatever you say."

"That's a good boy."

It doesn't take long for me to lose the urgency to ejaculate.

Rick's hands soon find something better to do. His fingers begin exploring my ass, but only lightly, frustratingly, almost as if he were using a feather. I squirm and moan, but he ignores me.

At last, a trickle of lube runs over my asshole. _Yes! Yes! Please! That's what I want!_ But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg out loud.

He pulls one of my legs up and back, propping it with his forearm. A finger slides into me, slick with lube. And a second finger. I know perfectly well what he's doing. He'll stretch me open as far as he can, and then that beautiful blue glass dildo will follow the path his fingers have prepared.

That beautiful *big* glass dildo, I remind myself, involuntarily tensing just at the thought.

His fingers curl and gently stroke just inside my hole. "Easy, darlin'. It won't be that bad," he whispers in my ear.

Yeah. Easy for him to say.

A third finger enters me. "I'm going to stretch you. Let it happen."

As he spreads his fingers slowly apart, I feel the burning sting of skin and muscle being too far opened. I can't do this, and if I can't do this, how will I ever do what comes next? I must tell him to stop.

"Can't," I moan.

"Yes, you can."

Panic rises through my mind. _He's gone crazy!_ _He's going to force me! He's going to rip me open! Why am I letting him do this?_

With three fingers still inside me, Rick fumbles around with something for a few seconds, then says, "Relax, Jerry. I'm just going to give you a taste of your own medicine."

Something presses against that place between my balls and my ass. Something that vibrates. Of course, my little finger vibe!

I feel the sensation against the root of my penis. It's so intense I almost want to squirm away. I can almost feel it against my prostate.

"No," Rick says calmly. "Hold still."

The vibrations move closer and closer to my spread open hole, circling around, touching the fingers still inside me. Back and forth, around and around. For endless minutes, he teases me.

Incredible sensations flash deep into my body.

I'm going to come. I need to — Oh please —

Rick's voice, as if he'd read my mind. "Not yet."

Bit by bit, his fingers force me open even wider. I'm moaning now, fighting the urge to let go. The muscles in my pelvis are contracting spasmodically.

The head of the dildo replaces Rick's fingers. Each time my muscles relax, it goes in a little further, twisting and turning as he works it in. When it reaches the point of pain, I can't hold back a groan.

Why am I doing this? Just what the fuck am I trying to prove? And to whom? Rick or me?

"Please, Jerry. This is very important to me. Many years ago, I used this on the only man I ever loved."

Omigod! I have to do this!

I want to open myself to him entirely. But that isn't all. I want to open myself wide enough to take in the entire world in all its glorious beauty. An insane but joyous feeling, as if I could accept the entire universe into my body and make love to it forever. My lower body thrills to the sensations, melting, wanting.

"Now, Rick, now! Please! Put it in!" I beg abjectly.

Tears come to my eyes unbidden, as that big monster slides the rest of the way into me. The burning pain peaks and then diminishes somewhat, and I know the narrow part of the dildo is in my asshole, with the base pressed hard between my cheeks.

From then on, I ride on waves of growing ecstasy, as Rick controls the ebb and flow of pleasure with the slightest motion of the dildo and the little vibrator. It doesn't take much, just a subtle twist or push. Certainly not the insistent pumping of a live penis. Instead, this is controlled by a hand, not by an entire body that's also striving to reach its own orgasm, but only by a partner consciously using it to prolong my pleasure, rather than consummate his own. I feel his hand wrap around my swollen cock, forcing me to a higher plateau of ecstasy.

Something deep inside me wants this, needs this. Not just the sex. Not just the pleasure. Something more. I want to hold this man and be held by him. I want him beside me, in bed and otherwise. I want to rely on him, and know he relies on me in turn. I want him to admire and respect me as I have gotten to admire and respect him. I want him to — no, I can't go there. I dare not want his love.

But ... Oh! ... This is so sublime! I can't find words to describe it. I can only feel it. And I am filled with wonder, as I feel my body pushing out spurt after spurt of my cum, as if it's trying to turn me inside out.

As I come back to earth, I'm very aware of the tears running down my cheeks from sheer exertion, as I gasp for breath.

"Oh shit!" I tell myself out loud as the intensity fades. "Nothing should be allowed to feel this good! Nothing!"

Rick chuckles. "That's what? — the second time you've told me that, darlin'?"

"Maybe so, but it's true, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. Sure is."

He starts working the dildo out of me, carefully. It hurts a bit, but not like before.

Rick looks at me with that shit-eating grin on his face. "Told you you'd beg, didn't I?"

"Yeah. And as always, you're right."

Now that I've caught my breath, he straddles my chest and points his very hard cock at my mouth. "Now take care of this for me."

"Uh — Rick, haven't you forgotten something?"

"Huh? Oh yeah." He grabs a condom from the nightstand and slips it on.

I open my mouth like a baby bird waiting for its meal, as he leans up and over me, driving himself down my throat. It only takes a few thrusts before he comes. I really wish we could do without the rubbers, since I'd like to swallow his cum. Oh well, maybe someday we'll be able to do that.

Later on that evening, Rick and I are sitting on our couch watching TV. I'm mostly paying attention to the paracord belt that I've been weaving for the last few days. I'm coming down the home stretch, and I'm determined to finish it tonight.

As I struggle with the last row before I attach it to the buckle, I try to keep from appearing frustrated, since I'd like to surprise Rick with the finished product. Fortunately, he's totally absorbed in the show he's watching, so he doesn't notice what I'm doing.

At long last, I get it right. With a grandiose gesture, I get up and genuflect before him, holding out the finished belt with both hands. "Here you go, m'lord. Try it on for size before I attach the other part of the buckle, just to make sure."

He does. "It's fine."

"Good."

"I'm not meaning to insult your handiwork, but are you absolutely sure this will pull apart the way it should?"

I hadn't expected him to ask that question, but I knew what I'd have to do to prove it.

"Well, I guess there's really only one way to find out, isn't there?"

I pull on the remaining part of the cord, unraveling several rows before Rick grabs my hand.

"I believe you already! Enough!" he says. "Shit! I didn't mean for you to do that!" But his expression tells me that he's impressed by my action, and not only because it was a success.

"No problem," I tell him. "It's only a few rows. I did it once, so I can do it again." I wrap up the remaining cord into a small ball around my fingers, preparing to reweave what I had just pulled out. "Maybe I'll make one for myself when I have the time, but it would have to be a different color. Does this stuff come in rainbow colors?"

Rick laughs. "Yes, I believe it does. And you can probably get a lavender buckle too."

"Good! That's more my style than this boring old tan." I start working on the belt again.

"That 'boring old tan' is the basic color I wore as a uniform for 20 years."

Oops! I just made a blunder with that last remark.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that in a derogatory way. I really know very little about the Marines, and the military in general. It's like a whole other world, even though I worked at Camp Lejeune for years. Maybe if you'd tell me more about it —"

He cuts me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. It's almost as if he's throwing up a shield, ready to push me away from him.

His eyes narrow and his voice goes hard and dead as he replies, "There are things I can't talk about, Jerry. Sometimes it's best to just let sleeping dogs lie."

"Yeah. Until someday those dogs wake up and bite your ass."

Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but it was out of my mouth before I had time to consider.

Rick turns away from me, so that I can't see his face. "I can't go there. It hurts too damn much."

I knew he wasn't even remotely referring to physical pain.

I let the subject drop and go back to working on the belt. It isn't long before it's done, buckle and all. I cut the cord, then do a double take.

"Wait a minute. Why is there this much left over?" I hold up the cord that still remains, even though the belt itself is finished.

Rick inspects it, frowning slightly. "Well, it's not a whole lot, maybe ten feet at most. And the belt was getting a little loose on me. It probably got stretched even more when I used it to rescue Will."

"Yeah, I guess that would explain it." I pat my stomach, then put the ball down on the coffee table. "Sure wish I could say that my belts are getting looser, but they're not."

I hand him the finished belt, saying, "I hope you never have reason to unravel it again."

He takes it, removes his cloth belt, and puts the new one around his waist. "I hope so too. Thanks, Jerry. It looks as good as new. I know that took a lot of work."

"Hey, I promised I'd do it, didn't I?"

He nods, then leans down and kisses me gently. We go back to watching television together.

By the time it gets dark outside, Rick and I are both ready for a good night's sleep, since we'd been up since way before dawn. Sex wasn't even mentioned. My last thought before I fell sleep was the hope that Rick wouldn't be awakened by the inevitable train horn.

As it turned out, that was to be the least of my worries. This time, I'm awakened by Rick moaning and crying out in his sleep. He seems to be struggling to move, but unable to do so.

Figuring he's having a nightmare, I reach over and grab his shoulder, trying to shake him awake. But instead of waking up, he turns on me, cursing viciously and wrapping both hands around my neck, choking me. I can't breathe, much less say "Wyatt" to bring him to his senses as he once told me to. Instead, I panic, trying ineffectually to pull his hands loose. When that doesn't work, I grab his genitals and squeeze hard.

That gets through to him. His eyes open, but it takes a few eternal seconds before he realizes what's going on. When his mind finally clears he releases me.

As I gasp for air, I can hear him saying, "Oh fuck! Oh shit! Jerry! Talk to me! Are you all right?"

I try to tell him yes, but can't quite get the word out yet. Instead, I give him the thumb to forefinger circle that means OK.

"I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to —"

"I know," I finally manage to say. "It's OK."

"No, it isn't. Maybe you shouldn't wake me up next time."

"I can't just lie here and listen to you moaning."

"Well, if I ever grab you like that again, don't even try to pull loose. Grab the pinkie fingers on both of my hands and pry them backwards. If that doesn't do it, pull harder until you break or dislocate my fingers. That would probably get through to me."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Fuck hurting me! Better a couple of broken fingers than for me to choke you to death."

He's really upset now. I try to calm him down, but it doesn't seem to be making him feel any better.

Finally, he heaves a big sigh and moves away. Sitting up on the side of the bed with his back to me, he says calmly, "It's time I tell you why I'm so fucked up, so you know what you're getting into by being with me. But first I'm going in to the bathroom to wash up and pull myself together a little more. While I'm doing that, I'd appreciate it if you'd go into the living room and sit on the couch and wait for me. It will be easier to talk sitting up."

All I can say is "Okay."

A few minutes later, he sits down next to me and starts talking, not looking at me but rather facing straight ahead, as if he's speaking to the wall. At first, his voice is strained and hesitating, but once he gets going, the words come easier.

"I enlisted in the Marine Corps as soon as I finished high school. Not very surprising, since I was a military brat."

"So your father was a Marine?"

"Not quite. It was my mother. She enlisted back in the days when women Marines weren't nearly as common as they are now, which isn't saying much. It wasn't easy for her, by any stretch of the imagination. But she stuck with it.

"Since we lived west of the Mississippi River, I was sent to Camp Pendleton in California. After my Recruit Training, I was assigned to the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit."

"Rick, I may have worked on a Marine Corps base, but that doesn't mean I know a whole lot about the military," I remind him.

"It's a unit that can be activated quickly anywhere in the world, since we're stationed on Navy ships, usually larger ships like aircraft carriers and such. We're the ones who can be landed ashore wherever needed.

"After all, Marines are called Marines for a reason. They started out as soldiers onboard sailing ships. They weren't part of the crew, but they joined in the fighting on both land and sea, when necessary."

"Is that why they use so many nautical terms on a Marine base, almost as if they're really on a ship? As in 'onboard Camp Lejeune'?"

"Exactly."

"Did you know you were gay when you enlisted?"

"Not really. I just took it for granted that I was straight like everyone else. After all, I had screwed a few girls by then, even if I never had a real girlfriend. It was only after I had signed up and found myself primarily in the company of other men that I realized how turned on I got when I saw them naked and all. Even then, I tried to deny it. After all, the last thing I wanted was to be seen as gay, since this was a couple of years before Don't Ask, Don't Tell, so there was still an absolute ban on gays in the military. I sure as hell didn't want to get a dishonorable discharge when I had just gotten started in my military career. I wasn't in for a few years, you know. I meant to make this a lifetime commitment.

"Once DADT was established in 1993, things got a little easier. Gradually, I found other Marines who also desired men. Of course, some of them were just young and horny and would take whatever they could get. There isn't all that much difference if it's a male or a female when it comes to getting a blowjob. But we all kept a pretty low profile about that sort of thing, pretending what we really wanted was a woman.

For some of the guys, that was probably the truth. I tried to convince myself I was one of them. Whenever my buddies and I were on leave, I'd go with them to the local strip club and act as enthusiastically as the others over the idea of fucking the strippers. Sometimes we were lucky enough to pick up a prostitute, and I went along with the action. I wasn't so gay that I couldn't fuck a woman, if the opportunity arose.

It took quite a while for me to realize that I truly preferred men.

Meanwhile, just about every year I would be deployed on one of the Navy ships. Prior to 911 and the start of the war in Afghanistan, most of what we did was provide humanitarian aid to disaster areas and participate in training exercises, sometimes with other countries. I enjoyed being onboard the ships, since I'd always wanted to go to sea. But it was most certainly not a luxury cruise. We were crowded together belowdecks like sardines in a can. Same as with the old time sailing vessels, space is at a premium on a military ship. It's meant to get as many of us as possible where we needed to be as fast as possible, anywhere around the world.

Once the war began, we were more directly involved in combat, but where I was stationed in Afghanistan, things weren't as intense at that time.

In 2002, while I wasn't deployed, there was a new Martial Arts program started, with its own style, which was essentially a combination of many fighting styles that had been developed for both unarmed and armed combat. I enrolled, hoping to build on what I had learned as a recruit. As it turned out, I had a talent for that sort of thing. It became a big part of my life.

Something else happened in that class, something that changed my life. I met Luis, the man who would become my first real love."

_Aha!_ I thought. "So that would be the man you referred to when you pushed that lovely blue dildo up my ass?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Rick takes a deep breath, then exhales, as if he's trying to steel himself to go on.

"Remember what I told you about Wyatt the other day?"

"The bully who beat up people he thought were gay. He attacked you and you beat the shit out of him, right?"

He nods.

"Well, Luis was one of the guys he picked on. Not too surprisingly, Luis and I became friends. There are quite a few Mexican-Americans in the military, and they're mostly second generation young folks trying to get ahead in the world. Anyway, I helped Luis with the Martial Arts class. He had the determination and the guts, and he had gotten the required tan belt as a recruit, but it took him a bit longer to learn the more advanced moves. We practiced together. When he got his gray belt, he told me he'd never have made it without my help."

"I take it you did a little better than Luis did?"

"Yeah. I made green belt. Whenever I wasn't deployed, I kept working on it, and eventually I made it up to black belt, then also qualified to serve as an instructor for every level up to and including black belt several years before I retired. That's what got me my final assignment at Parris Island, teaching Martial Arts to the new recruits. Normally, I'd have stayed in California at Camp Pendleton, but as it happened, Parris Island was short of instructors at the time and requested reinforcements from Camp Pendleton."

He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head slightly.

"Kind of ironic that I retired the same year that the entire US military finally decided that gays, lesbians, and bisexuals were perfectly acceptable, huh?"

I just nod.

"But that's recent history, so let me retrace my steps a bit. Back in 2002, Luis and I were both struggling to be straight, but we were slowly losing the battle. Just to make things worse, he and I were assigned to the same fireteam, so we were thrown together all the time."

I interrupt Rick in order to ask, "What's a fireteam? I'm assuming it isn't a bunch of firefighters."

Rick laughs.

"Sorry, I keep on forgetting you don't know all this military lingo. A squad is composed of twelve men. It contains three fireteams of four men each. Every fireteam has a leader and three riflemen. Clear now?"

I nod. "What was Luis like?"

"He was nothing special as far as looks were concerned, dark eyes, dark hair, that sort of thing. But he had a fighting spirit that I admired. He was an inch or two shorter than I am, and not quite as muscular. I always had a feeling he was trying to prove something by becoming a Marine.

"Eventually, we each admitted to ourselves that we were at least bisexual, if not gay. We started playing around in secret. Before very long, we were lovers. But we still had to keep it hidden. It wasn't easy, but we managed. No one ever found out. We were just good buddies, as far as the Corps ever knew.

"By then, the war in the Middle East was on in earnest. In 2003, our unit was deployed to Iraq. And we got our first real taste of war.

"It wasn't quite what I'd expected. I suppose I should've known better, but I had memories of the old World War II movies, where there's actually definite battle lines, and our heroic soldiers were the beloved liberators.

"Iraq was nothing like that. Maybe I should've concentrated more on the few Vietnam War movies instead. It was hard to tell our enemies from our friends. We hadn't been trained for this sort of thing. Our enemies had gotten better at using IEDs by then —"

"Wait a minute. IED's?" I ask.

"Improvised Explosive Devices. In other words, homemade bombs. Over half of the casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan during those early years were from IEDs. We were still driving around in Humvees that weren't much different from the ones that civilians used, as far as armor and protection from explosions went. Later on, the Humvees would change for the better."

Suddenly I have a premonition about how this is going to go, and it isn't good. But I dare not say anything for fear it will stop him from talking.

"A couple of months into our deployment, Luis and I were involved in providing humanitarian assistance to the local population, which included medical care. We were sent out in a Humvee to deliver some medical supplies to an outlying clinic in a mostly friendly village. It was late in the day when we got started, so the sun was already approaching the horizon by the time we were only a few miles from our destination. That's when the shit hit the fan. I was driving and Luis was in the seat next to me. The rest of the truck was full of supplies, even the back seats. It was expected to be an easy delivery, so only the two of us were involved.

We were driving down a narrow dirt road in the middle of nowhere when we hit the IED. I can't remember the exact details of the explosion, but we must have hit it with the right front tire, since the truck was blown up into the air, turning over sideways and continuing to roll after hitting the ground. At some point, I was thrown clear, because the next thing I knew, I was lying down flat on my back, struggling to catch my breath. The Humvee kept on rolling.

As soon as I could breathe, I got to my feet and staggered toward the vehicle, looking for Luis. I can remember seeing some blood on the right side of my torn jacket, but I didn't feel any pain. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe just that I was totally focused on finding Luis.

I found him partially under what was left of our truck. It was upside down, the doors blown off and the roof partly collapsed from the roll.

At first, I thought he was pinned under the wreckage.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Luis? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

His eyes flickered open. "Rick?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you caught on anything, or can I pull you out?"

"I don't think so. I ... everything seems numb. I can't feel my legs."

I could see the panic in his eyes.

"Easy now. Can you feel anything at all?"

I squatted down, trying to look under the truck, but there was so much debris scattered around that I couldn't see much.

"I hurt some. But only around my hips. Nothing below that."

I knew Luis well enough to know that he was in more pain than he'd admit, but I wanted to find out if he was badly injured.

"Let me try to pull you out."

I took him by the shoulders, pulling carefully as I slid him clear of the Humvee.

He winced and bit his lip as soon as I began to move him, but that was all.

There was no resistance, so I was able to get him clear. His pants were red with blood from his waist down. I opened the buttons on his fly, trying to get at whatever was bleeding. I had to get out my pocket knife in order to clear away the fabric, since I dared not lift his hips or pull his pants down.

"Oh fuck. Oh shit," I murmured, even as I pressed my hand flat against the seeping wound on the inside of his thigh, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Rick? What is it?" He struggled to lift himself on his elbows.

"Don't —"

But he was already looking at his crushed and mangled genitals, the white shards of bone of his shattered pelvis, the position of my hand and the blood that still leaked steadily between my fingers. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was a dead man.

"Maybe it's a good thing I can't feel all of that, huh? Must have broken my spine when the truck rolled over me."

He tried to give me a smile, but I didn't have the courage to return it.

"Get out of here, Rick. Just go. It could get dangerous if the ones who set that IED are still in the area."

"No."

"Rick —"

"I won't leave you."

"There's nothing you can do for me. I don't want to live like this anyway. Take your hand away. Let's just get this over with, huh?"

"Luis, please, don't —"

"Just give it up, damn it! Get away from here!"

"No."

Luis knew I meant it. I can be very stubborn when I want to be.

"Okay then," he said. "But promise you'll leave after I —"

I cut him off. "I promise."

"Swear."

"I swear I'll leave."

Then Luis looked at my chest. "You're hurt."

That was when it really got through to me that I had been injured. I looked down at my torn and bloody shirt. "It's nothing. Not serious."

"Let me see."

I ripped the shredded fabric away to find a chunk of raw muscle oozing blood in the area where my right nipple used to be.

"See? It's not deep. I'll be fine. Save your strength."

"What for? I know it's over," he said, his voice getting weaker even as he spoke.

I knew he couldn't last much longer. I just didn't want to believe it.

"Kiss me, lover," he whispered.

I did as he asked. He opened his mouth to my tongue."

Rick closes his eyes, clearly struggling to control his emotions. I keep silent, waiting to see if he'll continue or not.

The dim light of early dawn begins to find its way into our kitchen window, casting a faint shadow over his face. And still I wait.

"How do you pour all your feelings into a dying man's mouth?" he finally says. "I don't know, but I sure as hell tried my best.

With one final effort, Luis grabbed me and pulled me down on top of him, pushing my hand away from his thigh. I let him do it.

I swear I could feel my own blood mixing with his, as our bodies touched and he pulled me tighter against him.

It wasn't long before I realized he wasn't responding anymore. Tears running down my face, I sat up, still holding him in my arms. I cursed and sobbed and swore, hardly knowing what I was doing.

When I ran out of tears and curses, I got up, still holding Luis. He may have made me promise to leave after he died, but I never promised to leave him there.

I struggled to my feet, still clutching him to my chest. I let my rage take over then, because I knew it would carry me further than the despair and grief that I would otherwise feel. I started walking toward the village that had been our destination, cursing with every step I took as I staggered toward the setting sun.

After awhile, even my berserk anger couldn't keep me going. When the adrenaline wore off, I realized how weak I was getting. It became harder and harder for me to keep walking.

I don't know how far I managed to go, but eventually I collapsed. As I went down, I could see people coming toward me on the road, but I had no way of knowing if they were hostile or friendly.

The last thing I recall before I passed out was wishing I had thought to shoot myself sooner, because now it was too late."

Rick stops talking. He turns away to wipe the tears from his eyes.

Oh dear God! And I thought I had good reasons to kill myself. They pale in comparison to his.

"I guess I was lucky," he finally says. "The locals who found me lying there were on our side. They kept me safe until a rescue team arrived. My wound wasn't serious, but it took a long time to heal. Of course, I could never tell the doctors about Luis being my lover. Not in those days. So I had to hide my deepest feelings, acting as if he had been a close buddy, but nothing more.

"I was sent back to the States to recover from my injury. As my chest healed, I played the game of being a good little Marine, ready and eager to see more action. I had nightmares now and then, but so did many of the other patients. That was pretty much par for the course.

Back then, no one knew much about PTSD, myself included. I just knew I was dead inside and all I could think of that might keep me alive was killing the ones who were responsible for Luis's death. I knew I was kind of crazy, but it was a very quiet sort of crazy and I kept it well hidden.

Sure, I knew full well that I could never find the people who had set up the IED. That wasn't even a remote possibility. All I wanted to do was take revenge on my enemies for Luis's death, and my enemies were everyone who wasn't an American. The last thing I wanted was to be discharged due to psychological damage, so I acted the way the doctors wanted me to, keeping my rage and hurt buried under the veneer of measured sorrow for the death of my friend and my determination to get back into action.

I worked hard to get my body up to speed again. It took a long time in Rehab to get back the normal range of motion in my right arm by stretching and loosening up the scars from my injury, but I did it. I was on light duty during that time. Like a robot, I just did my job. There was nothing inside me anymore. Live or die, I didn't care. But if I lived, I wanted to get back to the war, so I could take my revenge.

As soon as I was cleared to do so, I went to the advanced Martial Arts classes, where I could take out some of my frustration and anger in an environment where I knew I had to keep control or be severely disciplined.

In late December of 2004, we were deployed once again, heading for Iraq. We had barely started out when we were diverted to Sumatra, where there had been a huge earthquake and tsunami. We were to help out by providing disaster relief to the survivors.

At first, I was disappointed at the delay in getting back into the Middle East War, but I changed my mind as I found myself helping to save lives instead of taking them.

I realized then that there's much to be said for obeying orders without question. It all depends on what those orders are: herding people into gas chambers or delivering food and water in disaster areas. Either way, a disciplined military can deal with some situations better and more efficiently than anything else.

It felt good to be helping people, for as long as it lasted. But as soon as we moved on to Iraq, the memories of Luis took over again, and I was eager to get into the battle.

It didn't take long before I was back on the front lines, if such a term could really be applied to the sort of brutal warfare that generally takes place when a lot of the folks you thought you were liberating just want you gone from their country. We Americans tend to forget what it's like to fight a war on our own territory. After all, that hasn't happened to us since the Civil War, and even then, the Southerners got the worst of it.

I managed to successfully represent myself as just another gung ho Marine, ready to do my duty, rather than a maniac who just wanted revenge. But underneath I was different. In action, I let my rage take control. I shot to kill whenever I had the slightest reason to do so. I knew full well that the real enemies were the men, especially the young men, so if I had a woman or a child in my sights, I tried hard to keep myself under control. But if they posed an active threat to me or my buddies, all bets were off.

Killing the enemy made the darkness go away for a while, but it always came back. Revenge doesn't leave you happy for very long. It feeds on hatred and rage and hurt, and later on, shame, when you realize that you're no better, and perhaps even worse, than the enemy that you hate. On numerous occasions, I should've died as a result of my reckless actions when I let that blinding rage take over.

I'd always had a quick temper, but since Luis's death, there's been an abiding anger at the world somewhere inside me. It's there, and once it gets loose, I can't always call it back."

Rick gets quiet for a moment, then looks at me.

"I never told anyone about this before, Jerry. If you end up hating me for what I was, I won't blame you in the least."

Before I have a chance to reply, he raises his hand.

"No, don't say anything. The story isn't finished yet. You're probably going to laugh at this. I survived that craziness partly because I thought about the Wolverine, recalling how Logan went into berserker mode, wanting so much to be a good guy but willing to take on the dirty work so others wouldn't have to, accepting his guilt as best he could, but always protecting others.

"When my rage overcame me in a firefight, I'd feel as indestructible as Logan. Too many times, I survived when the odds were against me. I even got a few medals and promotions."

He stops and looks at me. "That's kind of insane, isn't it? Seeing yourself as a comic book character?"

"No, not really. As long as you're trying to be the good guy, not one of the villains. In fact, it makes sense to me. You really are a lot like the Wolverine in some ways, you know."

"Thanks. That's a real compliment."

He reaches over and takes my hand. We sit like that for a while, just staring ahead and not looking at each other without speaking. The room brightens noticeably, as the sun rises.

Eventually, Rick gets back to his story.

"After our unit was sent back to the States, I tried my best to be sane. While I was at Camp Pendleton, I started thinking about things that I had deliberately ignored before, and I started doubting the reasons we were involved in the war. We attacked Afghanistan when a group of terrorists, not the country itself, blew up the World Trade Center. Then we attacked Iraq based on weapons of mass destruction that weren't there. Then the report that Iraq had not been involved in 911 and the things our own people did at Abu Ghraib.

"What do you do when it's not black and white, but only shades of gray? And sometimes the gray on your side can be darker than the gray on the other side? We weren't the good guys anymore. There were no good guys. Only, maybe, a lesser of two evils."

"How did you deal with that?" I ask.

Rick shakes his head. "Not very well. But I had been part of our disaster relief mission in Sumatra, so I knew I had done at least one good thing, and might well do more in the future. So I didn't give up on my commitment to my country and my chosen occupation.

Nevertheless, after losing Luis, I never let myself care too much for anyone, and especially not one of my fellow Marines. Sure, I was loyal to the men in my squad, as always, but I didn't dare to get involved, since I wasn't willing to suffer that loss again. It was simply too dangerous to care too much, since we were in a situation where death lurked all around us, ready to pounce at any time.

Of course, I continued having sex with men, but it was all meaningless. A quick blowjob in a dark corner here and there, hidden and furtive. If I got too friendly with someone, I backed off. It was just sex, nothing more.

No one else was going to hurt me by dying. No one else was going to mean what Luis meant to me. I was determined never to be that vulnerable again."

Rick stops talking. I wait to see if he's going to continue, and when he doesn't, I try to pick up the conversation.

"I can understand that. I felt much the same way after Alex died. For a long time, there was no one that I dared to care about."

I put my hand on his, take a deep breath, and dare to say, "Until you came along."

Rick nods in acknowledgement, then looks down at the floor.

"I'm no big hero, Jerry. I've done and seen things I wish I could forget, but I can't."

He stops, looking so distraught that I want to put my arms around him, but I'm not sure that would be the right thing to do, just now. Instead, I wait to see if he has anything more to say.

He does, and the sorrow in his voice cuts me to the heart.

"Now you know what I'm really like. And I wouldn't blame you in the least if you ran out the door right now. I'm dangerous. You should be afraid of me."

This time I know what my answer should be.

"I am afraid of you, sometimes. But I also see another side of you: the man who saved my life. The man who saved that boy at Chimney Rock. The man that pulled Lonnie and me away from the train. And the man that didn't break Waylon's neck when he could have. Whatever you were in the past, what I see now is a man who runs into danger when others run away, in order to save lives. And I love you for that, among many other things."

When Rick makes no reply, I figure it will take more than words to convince him of my feelings. So I decide to take a chance, knowing full well that I'll be risking his anger by doing it.

I lean over and kiss his T-shirt, over the scarred area.

Rick pulls away, his eyes narrowing. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I can hear the anger in his voice already.

"Go ahead, Rick. Hit me," I say, staring back at him as unflinchingly as I can. "Beat me up for daring to touch your precious T-shirt. I deserve it."

Then his face changes. For an uncomfortable amount of time we both just sit there in silence. Then Rick leans forward and picks up the small ball of leftover paracord that's still lying on our coffee table, staring at it intently but saying nothing.

When he turns to me, I know there's something really serious on his mind.

"Jerry, there's something I have to try. It's a little — strange. And I'm not real sure how it will work out."

"Tell me what you want."

"Give me a minute to get things ready." He holds up the paracord. "Do you mind if I cut up this stuff?"

"No, I guess not. There's nowhere near enough there for another belt anyway. Maybe a bracelet — Whoa! What are you —?"

Rick unclips his remaining survival bracelet from his wrist and starts pulling it apart.

"You'll find out in a minute," he says grimly.

He straightens out both lengths of paracord on the coffee table, then folds them in half. Picking up the scissors that are still lying there, he cuts them each in half. Next, he folds the remaining four pieces in half again.

When he starts tying one of the folded cords around his left ankle, I can't resist asking, "Rick, is there some method to your madness?"

"Yep. Doubled up like this, they'll be wide enough to hold me in place without cutting into my wrists and ankles."

"You mind explaining that?"

"When I'm finished. Be patient."

So I'm patient. It doesn't take very long before he has one tied around each ankle. After that he starts on his wrists.

By now, I'm getting very curious about all this.

When he looks up at me, I meet his eyes, cocking my right eyebrow up in an unspoken question. I can see the conflict on Rick's face but I don't know what's causing it

Finally, he takes a deep breath, and begins to speak. "I want you to tie me to the bed. Nothing real fancy, just so I can't get loose."

He hesitates for a moment, not looking at me. I keep silent.

"Then I want you to take these scissors and cut off my T-shirt. I won't be able to stop you, or hurt you in any way, even if I lose control. Okay?"

"Okay so far, if you're sure you want this. What's next?"

"I want you to touch my chest. Feel the scars, look at them as much as you like. Do whatever you want. I don't know how I may react, but no matter what I say, if I say anything at all, don't pay any attention to me. Just look at me, touch me, see what I've been too afraid to show anyone else for way too many years."

"I could do that without tying you up."

"No. That's part of it. I have to be physically unable to attack you or stop you. That's the only way I can be sure that I won't hurt you. I want to know I can trust you, even if it means I have to be unable to control the situation in order to find that out."

"Rick, you really don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. Please, darlin'. This is something I need to do, whether I like it or not."

What can I say to that?

"All right. But only on one condition. You have to take off all the rest of your clothes before I tie you down."

"Why?"

"For now, let's just say it's because I don't want to have to slice up your clothing in order to get it out of my way, since you'll be tied to the bed."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You don't have to understand. You just have to agree."

"Sounds harmless enough. I agree."

With that settled, we head for the bedroom.

"I guess it's a good thing we got the bed all put together yesterday," I say in an effort to lessen the tension. "Otherwise I'd be trying to tie you to a mattress on the floor."

"Also a good thing that the bed has those nice bedposts," Rick replies. "Makes it easier to tie people up."

"You plan on doing that very often?"

He shrugs. "Who knows? Now go ahead and tie me to the posts."

I look at the knots at his wrists. "Those ropes won't pull tight if you struggle, will they?"

"Nope. It's a bowline, a sailor's knot. It doesn't slip no matter what you do with it. You can use a square knot on the bedposts. You do know how to tie a square knot, don't you?"

"Other than my shoelaces, that's about the only knot I do know how to tie. If you're determined to do this, let's get on with it."

Rick strips down to his T-shirt and lies spread eagled on his back.

After I get his wrists and ankles tied, I step back and just look at him. He's gorgeous, his muscles taut as he locks his fingers around the bedposts, his chest expanded beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His eyes are clenched shut, as if he doesn't even want to see this.

I stand there watching him for a few minutes, just admiring his body. His penis is entirely limp, sagging down between his open legs. The situation clearly doesn't turn him on. He's set to endure this, not enjoy it. I'm not quite sure how well this is going to work, but I know it won't be pretty.

I strip naked also, then consider my options. Should I get right to it, or take my time and allow the suspense to build?

I think the latter.

I go to the bottom of the bed and kneel down. With each hand on one of his ankles, I slowly begin to rub his feet.

"Jerry —"

"Shut up. It's not your choice anymore. I'm going to do this my way."

As I move up to his ankles, I check that the restraints have enough slack not to harm him, but not so much that he can squirm loose. From there, I work my way up his calves, massaging the tense muscles for a bit, then I drag my fingertips very softly up the inside of his thighs.

He inhales sharply as his limp penis begins to stir to life.

"You're not supposed to —" he begins.

I slap the inner sides of both thighs. "Be patient. I'm getting there."

He tries to pull his arms down, as if he'd like to stop me. The ropes prevent him from doing that. He curses under his breath and relaxes.

"That's a good little soldier," I say mockingly. "Just obey my orders and everything will be fine."

He doesn't laugh, just calls me a few nasty names, and points out that Marines don't like to be called soldiers. I think I'm beginning to get a rise out of him, and I don't mean his dick. If he's going to get mad, let him get mad now. Maybe he won't be thinking too straight and he'll get it out of his system before I reach his chest.

I plant a wet kiss on the tip of his cock as I crawl further up toward his chest. As I start kissing and licking his belly, occasionally taking a bit of his body hair between my teeth and pulling at it, he squirms against his restraints.

When I lift the bottom edge of his T-shirt, he starts begging me not to do this and pulling against the wooden bedposts until I'm afraid they're going to break. I grab the scissors, while simultaneously hoping the bed doesn't give way under the onslaught and Rick doesn't get loud enough for Mollie to hear. Shifting around until I'm kneeling over his thighs, I slice a few inches up the front of his shirt.

He's fighting hard as I do that, but he can't get loose. His desperate struggle has disintegrated into mindless rage, so I just brace myself, plant my rear more firmly over his legs, grab each side of the fabric and rip the shirt apart. When the neckband resists, I pull both edges sideways, leaving his chest totally exposed.

Rick freezes. I can see tears leaking from the corners of his tightly closed eyelids. Good. That's probably for the best.

I look down at his chest. Yes, the right side is as big a mess as I anticipated. It isn't very pretty at all, taut shiny skin pulled tight across his ribs, combined with patches of lumpy hardened scar tissue. Even a few dried scabs on the scrapes he got when he saved Will at Chimney Rock not too many days ago. To add to the damage, there's no nipple at all left in the middle of this unsightly expanse of scar tissue.

But I've worked in a military hospital and I've seen worse things than this. I also know that's not what Rick needs to hear right now so I don't say it. Instead, I tell him, "Shit, what a mess you are! No wonder you keep this hidden. It would gross out most people. I'll bet it looked even worse before it healed over. I'm surprised the doctors didn't fix it better. You know, some kind of plastic surgery or something."

I didn't really expect that Rick would answer me, but he does. "They couldn't. A lot of the muscle was gone, and the rest got infected." His voice comes out strained, as if each word is being torn from his mouth. "They had to cut away a lot of the skin that was still left. The surgeons did try skin grafts, but some of it just wouldn't take."

"Will it hurt if I touch it?"

"Only if there's too much pressure."

"Is there any sensation?"

"Not a whole lot, except where my nipple used to be. It's very sensitive there."

The more he talks, the calmer he becomes. Good. Let's keep him talking.

"This is really pretty hideous. Like I said, a lot of people would be grossed out. I understand why you hide it."

"Jerry —" he objects.

"Shut up. I'm not done yet."

I run my fingers lightly over the scars. I can see from his expression that he can feel exactly what I'm doing, but he keeps control.

"Doesn't feel so nice either," I add. "But you know what? It's part of you and it's always going to be part of you. And because it is part of you, I love it just as much as I love the rest of you. Maybe even more, now that I know what happened. No part of you can disgust me, Rick."

"It doesn't bother you to touch me there?" he asks.

"Hell, no! Like I said, it's part of you, and I love every part of you. You underestimate yourself, Rick. And you underestimate your friends also, by hiding this from us beneath a T-shirt. Do you really think this makes any difference to us? If so, think again."

"Jerry, this isn't something I want everyone to know. I hate to be pitied."

"Everyone as in Mollie?"

He nods. "When, and if, I tell her, I want to be the one doing the telling."

"Don't worry, I understand. I'll keep my mouth shut."

I lean down and kiss his mangled chest, softly, slowly, over and over until I've covered the entire area.

Rick lies there quietly beneath me, not even trying to pull away from my lips.

"Some things leave scars on the body," I tell him, in between kisses, "while others leave scars on the mind. The worst things leave both. I can't replace Luis any more than you can replace Alex. It doesn't work that way. But they're both dead, and we're alive. And together."

Then I go back down and lick everything I just kissed, while my hand goes over to his remaining nipple, massaging it until it decides to grow tight and hard beneath my caressing fingers.

"When you do that," he murmurs, "I can feel a sort of weird response on the other side also. Like it arouses the ghost of the nipple that isn't there."

"That's almost scary. Do you want me to stop?"

He seems to be thinking about it, while my fingers continue to play with the tip of his nipple.

"No," he says at last. "Better the ghost of a feeling, than nothing at all."

Leaning forward, I place my lips gently against the scar, in the area where his missing nipple should be. There's no loose flesh for me to suck on, just the tight skin of the scar, but I open my mouth and let my tongue roam around in a small circle.

Rick takes a breath and lets out something between a sob and a groan.

From the way I'm lying on top of his crotch, I can feel that his cock is reacting to my ministrations. I squirm around a little until my own erection fits snugly between his open legs, welcoming his cock in between my thighs and holding us together even as I continue to lick his chest. Now and then, I pause to tell him how beautiful he is, how wonderful he feels underneath me, and how brave and strong he is.

It doesn't take long before he begins to move against me as well as he can, considering that he's still tied tightly to the bedposts.

When the combined squirming, thrusting and twisting becomes intense enough, we both come.

Then we just lie there together, sharing the sticky mess between us and sucking in air. Finally, Rick manages to speak.

"Get off of me, you miserable son of a bitch. Let me loose."

Despite the words, I can tell he's not angry. I roll off him and stand up.

"What will you do if I untie you?" I tease.

"I'll fuck the living shit out of you, that's what."

So I do. And he does.

And Rick never wears that goddamned T-shirt again when we're alone together.

####

DATE with DISASTER

It's late afternoon and I'm just waking up. The bedroom is dark as usual, due to the heavy curtains on the window above our bed. I could get up, but I'm in no hurry. It's Wednesday and I don't have to go to work at the hospital.

It took me a while to get used to working all night from 11 PM to 7 AM every weekend, but now it just seems normal to go to bed in the morning and sleep until afternoon. Of course, I've got to stick pretty close to this schedule even when I don't have to work, but that still gives Rick and me some time together in the late afternoon and early evening.

He says he really doesn't mind tiptoeing around the apartment during the day, but I'm not sure he really means it. I'm also a bit worried about him having to sleep alone when I'm at work, considering the nightmares that often torment him. But I don't want to ask him about that and he hasn't brought it up, so maybe he's doing a little better in that regard.

It's been two whole months since I started on the weekend night shift on Friday and Saturday. Just last week, Sunday was added to my schedule. I'm earning a decent salary, so I can't complain. Sooner or later, I'll start cross training into MRI and my hours will change. I bought a laptop last month and signed up for some online courses in MRI, just to get a head start. I've been able to make some real progress. After all, I need something to do on the nights when I don't work and Rick is asleep.

Rick spends a lot of his time helping Mollie with renovations on the building, plus working with her on her murals, so he's pretty much occupied with that most of the day.

I know he's having sex with Mollie now and then, but I don't mind. Shortly after I started this job, we agreed on an open relationship, and it's not like I'm being shortchanged or neglected. I also know I'm welcome to join them, but I'm not really into women, although I love Mollie dearly. She's been so good to us over the past couple of months. I know full well that she's no threat to our relationship. I trust her.

I yawn and stretch, still too lazy to get up.

The bed shifts behind me as Rick rolls over. His arm slides around my waist and he pulls me back against him. As usual, we're both naked, so it feels so deliciously good.

Wait a minute, why is he in bed with me now?

"Rick?"

"Who else would it be?"

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it feel like I'm doing?"

"No, I mean why are you here to begin with?"

"I figured you'd be waking up soon and I was feeling horny, so I snuck into bed to surprise you, when you woke up. Want me to leave?"

"Hell, no!"

His lips press against the back of my neck, alternating between kisses and small nips. The stubble on his cheeks rubs roughly against my skin, and I squirm and arch my back. He reaches around me with one arm and starts playing with my nipples. He knows I can't resist that for long. I feel his cock begin to stir against my ass. If he continues to hold me like this, mine will soon do the same.

"I need to be in you, Jerry," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

I reach my hand over to the nightstand and grab the bottle of lube and a condom, then pass it back over my shoulder, wordlessly letting him know I want his cock up my ass as much as he does.

Yeah, we're still using condoms, even though the STD test we took just before I got this job was negative. In another month, we'll try again and if it's negative, we've agreed to stop with the rubbers.

Still not entirely awake, I shift my hips a bit, bending and folding my top leg forward, giving him better access to his goal.

I close my eyes and wait for him to enter me. I am almost relaxed enough to drift back to sleep, my own penis just barely beginning to fill and expand. His slick cock presses into me, slowly, almost dreamily, as if there's no hurry. It hardens even further inside me, and that satisfying fullness spreads through my insides. But he doesn't move, and he isn't quite reaching that sweet spot that can make me feel even better.

"I just want to lie here like this for a while," he says. "You okay with that?"

"Um-hmm."

He shifts his weight slightly, resting more against my back as he pulls me even closer. It's so warm and comfortable here in our very own bed.

I can feel the hard muscles of his chest pressing against my back, and I remember the time not all that long ago when all I would feel was his ever-present T-shirt. His cock twitches inside me. I know I'll want more before too much longer, but right now it just feels good.

"I've got a surprise for you," Rick says.

"Yeah? What is it? Another new sex toy?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I bought a pickup truck. Now I won't have to borrow your car all the time."

"You didn't have to do that, you know. I don't mind, especially since I'm usually asleep all day."

"Yeah, well, I just figured it was time. With no rent to pay, I've been able to save up enough for the down payment. Sometimes I do want to go out on the weekend nights and it's rather embarrassing to ask Mollie to loan me her car. Besides, it'll come in handy for carrying stuff around for Mollie."

"Rick, may I ask you something that's really not my business?"

"Tell me what it is and I'll decide."

"Do you still keep your T shirt on when you're with Mollie?"

"No, I don't. Why? Are you jealous?"

"Not at all. Just curious. I'm glad you feel that comfortable with her."

"I never would have been able to, if you hadn't started the ball rolling." He hesitates. "You really don't mind about me and Mollie?"

"You want the honest truth?"

"Always."

"Sometimes, when I'm feeling a bit down. But mostly I'm okay with it. We did agree to an open relationship, after all. It's not like you coerced me into it."

"Mollie won't take your place, or anything like that, you know. She's very happy to be my fuck buddy and doesn't want it to turn into anything more serious. You look surprised. What's the matter?"

"I wasn't sure she knew what a fuck buddy is."

Rick laughs. "Mollie knows a hell of a lot more than you might think she does."

I'm not sure how to respond to that.

"How about we go for a ride?" he suggests. "It's a beautiful day outside, not too hot and not too cold. I've been wanting to just drive around the outskirts of Asheville and see what's out there."

"Sounds good. Let's do it. I'll have a quick breakfast and we'll be off."

I'm almost ready to disengage and get up, but Rick hugs me tighter.

"There's something we need to do first, unless you want me to have a bad case of blue balls all day."

"Heaven forbid I do such a thing to you. Fuck me, lover!"

So he does. But we're in no big hurry to reach a climax. We stay in this same position, lying on our sides with Rick behind me. He starts thrusting, slowly and languorously. Of course, it's not possible to penetrate as deeply when lying like this as it is in some other positions, but that's not what we want just now. We take it slow and easy, not so much working toward orgasm as just allowing it to happen when it will. When I know I'm getting close, I reach down and give my cock a little help. As I come, Rick does also.

We lie there for a while, then get up and shower together in our fancy bathtub.

I dig out some fresh jeans and a shirt from my dresser and toss them onto the bed, then I pick up my glasses and wipe them with a tissue, as I usually do before putting them on in the morning.

Meanwhile, Rick is almost finished dressing. Even without my glasses, I can tell he's in the process of getting into his blue utility kilt. I can't help teasing him about it. Sighing dramatically, I slide my glasses on and then look him over and shake my head.

He glances up at me and asks, "What?"

"You going to wear your skirt again?"

"Sure. I haven't worn it for a while. I just feel like it. Is that a problem?"

"No, not really." Then I continue, trying hard to keep a straight face, "I don't guess anyone would take you for a woman, even in a real skirt."

"I surely hope not!" he quips. "Besides, you enjoy looking at my gorgeous legs, right?"

"Well, actually, I do."

We both laugh.

As soon as we're dressed, we head out to the new truck, planning to pick up something to eat at one of the fast food places in the area while we're driving around.

On our way out, we take a quick look through Mollie's studio and her office, making sure everything's okay. Mollie herself is away for the week, visiting some friends in South Carolina.

As we walk along the side of the building, we go past the mural that now decorates the entire side of the building. I admire it for the umpteenth time.

An old steam engine somehow appears mystically coming down the track into modern day Asheville. Black smoke steams out of the smokestack, but the air surrounding it is tinted in billowing shades of pastel colors as the train comes into the station. The townsfolk are standing around staring in amazement at this ghost from the past.

Rick, Lonnie, and I are some of the people watching this train arrive. We're standing close to the engine, looking upwards. Of course, it's not an exactly detailed portrait of us, but just a suggestion. However, it's easy to pick out Rick because Mollie painted him wearing his kilt. Lonnie stands between Rick and me, also staring at the train. There are over a dozen other onlookers, all based on real townsfolk from the River Arts District where we live.

When we get to the end of the parking lot, Rick points to a white pickup truck.

"There it is," he announces proudly. "It's a 2001 Ford F-150. V8 engine. Manual shift. You can hardly get that anymore, you know. It only had 170,000 miles on it, which is pretty good for such an old truck. It was a great deal for $5,000. So what do you think?"

I know next to nothing about trucks and engines, so I don't know how impressed I should be by Rick's description.

"Um. It's very nice. And it doesn't look that old at all."

"Yep. No dents, no rust, inside in fine shape. The previous owner was an old guy who obviously took pretty good care of it." He opens the door on the driver's side. "Here, take a look. Nice, huh?"

This I can answer. "The upholstery is almost like new. He must've just used it to go to church on Sundays."

Rick smiles. "Hop in. Let's take it for a drive."

I go around to the other side and climb up into the cab.

"There's a map of Asheville and its surroundings in the glove compartment," Rick says. "I got it so you could keep track of where we go, so we can find our way back again."

"What? No GPS?"

"I'm afraid not. Can't afford it right now, but maybe soon."

I fasten my seatbelt and get out the map, and we're off on our little adventure.

"You know, I could probably find us with my cell phone."

"Sure. But it's more fun to follow a roadmap, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

I get my first close look at the gearshift. "Whoa! Six speeds and they're not arranged the same way as the five on my Scion."

"Does that mean you don't want to take the wheel for a while?"

"Not just yet. Maybe someday."

Once we get outside of what we jokingly call the Beltway, the highway that makes a circle around Asheville, things get a bit more countrified. There are rundown areas with trailer parks, often near railroad tracks; industrialized areas of crowded factory buildings; the occasional cluster of new housing developments with their cookie-cutter homes; farms tucked away in picturesque valleys, and rather steep mountain roads.

All the while, I dutifully trace our route on the map, trying not to get us lost. We're roughly northeast of the city. We drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway for a time, deciding that someday we'll have to explore it further.

Rick pulls over on the side of the road that overlooks one of these bucolic valleys. He shuts off the engine and we take our donuts and coffee out of the paper bag. The coffee is pretty cold by now, but the scenery makes up for it.

We're finishing up our food when Rick turns to me, an odd look on his face.

"Jerry, do you remember a couple of months ago just before we started talking about our past experiences, you said that I should join the Rescue Squad?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm considering doing just that. I even looked up the requirements to volunteer."

He sounds a bit hesitant, as if he's not sure I'll like the idea. As far as that goes, he's right. Yes, I did say that, but what if he gets into a bad situation and it triggers his anger at somebody? Or brings up flashbacks to the war that would leave him panic stricken? I've seen that happen before and mostly been able to defuse his rage, but I wouldn't be there with him, if he were on the Rescue Squad. However, I know I can't tell him that. So what can I say?

That's when I notice the water bottle in the cup holder below the gear shift. I make a show of picking it up, unscrewing the cap, and taking a few swallows, stalling for time to figure out what I should say.

"I guess it must be kind of hard on you, spending all day trying not to wake me up, huh?" I venture, returning the bottle to its place.

"It's not just that. I need a goal to work toward. Something I'd like to do for the rest of my life. You know. I feel useless just sitting around all the time."

"You're not useless. You're helping Mollie with the renovations and upkeep, not to mention working with her on her murals. That's mostly what pays our rent, you know."

"Well, the renovations are nearly done now. I could still help her out when necessary. It's not like the Rescue Squad would be a full time job."

"Um. Wouldn't you be on call a lot? Or have to go to meetings all the time?"

"Not all that often, but sometimes. I'd have to go to some training sessions at first, but that won't last forever." He glances over at me and smiles. "What's the matter? You afraid you'll never see me again if I have to be somewhere else in the evening now and then?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I am," I admit. "After all, we don't have much time together as it is, considering my work schedule."

"You won't be working the night shift forever. I'm sure you'll get on the day shift sooner or later and things will be more normal for us."

"I wish I were as sure of that as you are." All right, let's take the bull by the horns. "Are you sure you could handle the stress?"

He frowns. I hold my breath, waiting for his reply, afraid I've ticked him off for even bringing up such a thing.

Finally, he answers, staring straight forward while he speaks.

"Honestly, Jerry, I'm not sure. I know what you're thinking and I've asked myself that question over and over. I still don't know the answer. But I have to find out. Am I just a shell-shocked soldier who can't handle stress anymore and have to be protected from the gruesome side of life, for my own good?"

"Rick, I didn't mean —"

"No. That's exactly what you meant. My sanity may well be compromised by some of the things I've done. My respect for myself most certainly is. But now, I want to make up for that. Goddammit, I want to save lives, not take them!"

"You saved my life."

He smiles. "I know. And that's exactly when I realized that had to be my goal for the rest of my life, if I want to make up for some of the things I've done."

"You don't need to make up for anything. You were a soldier in a war —"

"I went beyond what needed to be done. Don't try to justify me. All the words in the world won't bring back the people I killed. Only my deeds can begin to wash the blood from my hands. If anything can," he adds bleakly.

"You're not the same man you were during the war. You're different now. You're someone else."

"Oh, really? When I look in the mirror, I see the same face I've always seen, Jerry. No matter what I tell myself, it's still me."

Once again, I'm at a loss for words. I reach over and take his hand in mine, entwining our fingers. We sit there for a few minutes in silence. I know he wants me to agree with him about the Rescue Squad, but I just don't feel right about it. Finally, I raise our combined hands to my lips and kiss his fingers.

"How about we head for home?" I suggest.

He nods. I release his fingers. He starts the truck and pulls out onto the road.

"Okay. You're the navigator. Tell me where to go."

I turn my attention to the map, looking for the most direct route, instead of retracing the way we came.

We're on a straight stretch of a two-way highway with a fairly steep downhill slope. In the distance, I can see a railroad crossing. Much to my surprise, I hear the whistle signal of an approaching train. The lights begin to blink and the gates start coming down. There are three automobiles ahead of us on the road. They all come to a stop, as the leading locomotive comes into view from the right side of the road.

I've been a railfan all my life, but I still enjoy the sight of the locomotives. There's something just so fascinating about the power and majesty of machines that can haul a mile or more of freight cars across the country. The train moves at a moderate speed, not slow but also not as fast as it could be going. Perhaps there was a curve in the tracks a short way back, so it had to slow down.

By the time we pull up behind the already stopped automobiles, the engine has continued on and the rest of the train is going by. A long string of boxcars, then some tank cars, then other groups of more specialized cars. The kinds of cars are fairly random as far as order goes, but they're often in alternating small groupings here and there.

I'm enjoying watching, but Rick is clearly getting bored, judging by an elaborate long-suffering sigh. By now, a string of boxcars has just gone by and a series of white tank cars are lumbering across the road.

"I'll bet you sent us this way just in the hopes that you'd see a train," Rick says.

"No, really, I didn't —"

Then all hell breaks loose.

Something catches Rick's eye and he glances in the rearview mirror. "Oh shit!"

I look around and see a fully loaded log truck barreling down the road toward us at full speed, smoke billowing out from the wheels. My first thought is simple: we're dead.

No sooner do I realize the danger than the truck swerves into the left lane, speeding past us and the other parked cars and crashing headfirst through the crossing gates and into one of the tank cars. After that, everything seems to happen in slow motion, even though it only takes seconds. The noise of the heavy truck crashing head on into the train, and then the piercing squeal of the steel wheels as the tank car is knocked off the rails and topples over on its side, wrenching itself free from the front part of the train. The log truck is dragged a ways into the woods next to the road, pulled along by the momentum of the skidding tank car. As the truck bed tumbles over, logs pour off the truck, crashing down and rolling in a crazy mess all over the highway and into the woods, but fortunately none of them land on the automobiles. One more tank car tips over onto its side as it follows the first car off the rails, falling away from us and toward the far side of the road. The last few tank cars left in the train come to a screeching halt, but don't tip over.

The noise of all this happening in the space of seconds is overwhelming.

While I'm still trying to take in the situation, Rick yells at me, "Call 911!" Then he jumps out of the pickup, heading toward what remains of the log truck. At first, I think he's gone crazy, but then I realize he's probably going after the truck driver. Between the tangled mess of logs and the shattered truck having been dragged a fair distance into the woods alongside the highway, I knew it was going to take a while for him to get through to the driver.

I pull out my cell phone and start dialing. Trying to remain calm, I tell the dispatcher what happened and where we are. As soon as the call is finished, I climb out of our truck and check on the passengers in the cars ahead of us. No one has been injured, but they're mostly still in shock over what they'd seen. An elderly lady in the front car has her own phone in her hand, dialing frantically. I tell her I already got the message through.

And that's when I notice a faint smell of ammonia in the air. This time I'm the one to say "Oh shit!"

I look over at the tank cars that are still upright on the track. Sure enough, I can read the words "anhydrous ammonia" on the nearest tank car, along with the required warning signs. I already know that's one of the hazardous chemicals that are often transported by rail, much of the time in white tank cars just like these. If I can smell it, it's leaking out of one or more of the overturned cars. If the leak is serious, we're all in grave danger, since inhaling too much of this stuff can be fatal.

I look around for Rick, wanting to warn him, but I don't see him anywhere. He must be still out there with the truck driver.

Okay, then I have to handle this on my own. I pull the tail of my shirt out of my pants and hold it over my nose and mouth. It won't help much, but it might help a little.

Beginning with the lady in the front car, I quickly explain the situation and tell her to turn around and get out of here immediately. Then I do the same with the other two cars. Once the drivers get a whiff of the air, no one objects.

I rush back to our truck and get in quickly, trying not to let much of the outside air come in with me. And still there's no sign of Rick.

Then a terrible thought hits me. _Omigod, were there any other cars on the far side of the track? If so, the passengers may not know they're in danger! Worse yet, they could be crushed beneath the derailed tank cars!_

From here, the wrecked tank cars block most my view of the other side of the tracks. Grabbing the water bottle out of its cup holder, I pour some of it over my makeshift breathing device in the hopes that will make it work more efficiently. Then I jump out of the truck and run back to the intersection. It seems strange to see the huge iron wheels lying on the roadway completely detached from the white cylinders containing the gas, but that often happens if a tank car is knocked over. I've seen that same sort of thing in the books I read as a youngster, when there were pictures of train wrecks.

I pick my way carefully through the scattered wreckage and make my way between the tank car lying across the road and the one that's still upright. No automobiles. I glance at the overturned tank cars, checking for a leak. No huge white plume of vapor escaping so far. I'm almost ready to go back when I decide to go a little further toward the derailed cars, just in case I've missed something.

That's when I see the leak. Even though the first tank car is down the tracks and into the forest, I can just make out a faint haze of vapor seeping out from underneath the front of the car, where it was hit by the log truck. It's low down to the ground, so the damage is almost surely beneath the car. With luck, it's not a really bad leak, but it's still dangerous.

By the time I climb back over to our side of the tracks, I can see Rick struggling towards me through the maze of scattered logs. He must have noticed the ammonia smell also, since he's covering his face with his own shirt. He's breathing hard when he reaches me, and I can see that his bare legs under the kilt are all scratched up and bleeding.

"The driver's dead," he gasps. "Nothing I could do. Let's get further away from here and wait for the Rescue Squad."

But we don't even have a chance to get into our truck when another car comes along the highway. We run up the road, flagging them down and turning them away.

Thankfully, the next thing we notice is sirens and flashing lights, as the Rescue Squad truck arrives, followed closely by several police cars and a fire engine. Rick and I run over to the truck as the driver's door opens and a man gets out. We both do a double take at the sight of our old enemy, Mollie's ex-boyfriend, Waylon.

He glances at Rick and his kilt, but all he says is, "Are you the ones who called in the accident?"

I nod, but before I can get a word out of my mouth, he's already noticed the smell. "Come around the back and get inside," he orders us.

We obey, climbing in as fast as we can.

Waylon is already on his radio, telling the others to get into protective gear before they go outside. When he's done, he looks at us. I tell him in as few words as I can what took place and mention that I saw what looked like a leak in the first tank car. He jots down a few notes on a clipboard.

"What about the driver of the log truck?"

Rick coughs and clears his throat before he replies. "Dead."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Nothing you can do for him now."

Waylon nods, his lips set in a grim line. He motions for one of the other Squad members to come over. She's a rather intriguing-looking woman, not young but not old either. Her appearance suggests a mixture of various races and ethnic backgrounds, but I couldn't even begin to guess exactly what they are.

"This is Kimani," Waylon says. "She's our Paramedic and she'll check you over to find out if we need to call an ambulance to send you to the hospital."

Rick looks at me and I look at him. "We're good. We didn't inhale enough to do any damage."

"Let her decide that."

Rick starts to object, but Waylon cuts him off. "That's an order, not a suggestion. Now do as I said and let me get on with the rest of my job. Okay?"

I see the flash of anger that comes over Rick's face, but before I can even think of intervening, it disappears. He just nods.

As Waylon heads to the front of the truck, he turns to us and says quickly, "By the way, you guys did good."

It doesn't take Kimani very long to determine that we haven't inhaled enough ammonia to do any real harm, but she makes us rinse out our eyes and wash our hands and faces, since ammonia vapor can be very caustic. She hands us each an oxygen mask and tells us to spend a few minutes breathing, while she cleans the cuts on Rick's legs. Fortunately, none of them are deep enough to require stitches, so she just covers them with gauze pads held on by the stretchy plastic stuff they use these days instead of cloth bandages.

We leave with disposable face masks to wear back to our truck and instructions to take a shower as soon as we get home, packing our clothing into a plastic bag until we have a chance to wash it. And, of course, she also tells us to see a doctor if we notice any significant throat or eye irritation.

As we head back to our truck, we can see people in bright yellow protective equipment swarming around the overturned tank cars.

Rick turns the truck around and we start back up the road. Roughly a mile away, the police have set up a roadblock to stop any oncoming traffic. I've already got the map open, looking for another way home.

At first we drive in silence, except for a cough or two.

"Not a very good day to be wearing your kilt, huh?" I remark, trying to lighten the mood and keep my mind off of the dead truck driver.

"I'm afraid not," Rick agrees.

Then it gets quiet again.

We don't say much the rest of the way back, other than me telling Rick which way to go.

By the time we're just about there, I start feeling strange, but not in a bad way. More like an overwhelming wave of relief. I'm alive. Rick's alive. We could have been dead, but we aren't. That thought starts running through my mind, like some sort of a mantra. We faced that final darkness and we survived.

That sounds awfully selfish, doesn't it? But I can't help it. Maybe I can just blame the adrenaline. I feel restless, as if there's something I want to do, but I don't know exactly what it is.

I tell myself, _Be calm. We're almost home. You can fall apart then if you need to._

But I don't feel like falling apart, even though I'm a bit on edge. In fact, I'm not sure how I feel, but I manage to keep my cool for the rest of the drive.

By the time we park the truck, I can hardly wait to get inside our apartment. The moment the door closes behind us, I know I have to speak.

"Rick, I don't know what's wrong. I feel -- strange -- I want -- Damn! I don't know what I want! I just want to hold you -- feel you -- touch you --"

He gives me a small laugh. "Relax. I know what you mean, and it's not all that unusual. I'll bet your cock is hard too, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not the main thing."

"I know. I feel the same way. Let's lose the clothes." He grabs my shirt and starts opening the buttons.

"Wait a minute! Let me find a plastic bag to put them in. Then we need to get washed off real good, like the lady said."

"All right." He grinned. "But let's make it snappy, huh?"

In a very short time, we're even more aroused than we were before, after scrubbing each other in the shower until we're both squeaky clean. We don't even bother to dry off or go into the bedroom, just wrapping our arms around each other and hugging as if we never intend to let go.

"I want to kiss you all over," I say, all the while kissing him frantically, his face, his eyes, his ears, anything I can reach without letting go of him. "I want to see and feel that you're alive. I want to feel your heart beating beneath my hand. I want to devour you and hold you forever. I want to feel you alive and clinging to me."

It's as if I need to know on a very visceral level that the man I love is alive, not just with my mind, but with my entire body. We could easily have been lying dead in that train wreck, just a couple of ruined bodies being pulled from the wreckage. I have to feel Rick safe in my arms. Each touch is thrillingly magnified, each kiss proving that he's still here with me.

Judging by Rick's reaction, he feels the same. It becomes a sort of feeding frenzy, both of us wanting all of the other, not just sex. Clutching, grabbing, holding, writhing against each other, yet somehow avoiding our genitals, as if it would be too soon. But when his fingers almost accidentally brush the back of my balls, I know I want that also and so does Rick, judging by the hard cock that's currently jammed against my belly.

Suddenly, I'm on fire and I can't wait any longer. I pull away, just far enough to get my hand between us and take hold of his cock, as he does the same to me. A few rough strokes and I know I'm about to come. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to, and neither can Rick. I can feel the pulsing of his cock in my hand. It seems to go on for a long time, but that can't be real. It's as if we're each pumping out a vital part of ourselves, offering it to each other in unison. As if we're sharing a part of our innermost being. Somehow a precious gift is given and being joyfully received. Or is it just a sort of celebration that we're still alive? In the face of death, are we proclaiming and affirming our own survival?

Or am I looking too deeply for a meaning?

When I've caught my breath and returned to the real world, I open my eyes and find Rick looking back at me, a smile on his lips.

"I don't know what came over me," I gasp. "That was so intense. I never felt like that before."

"I know exactly what you mean. It's not unusual at all. I felt that way every time Luis and I connected after we had a close call. The adrenaline, the excitement, the relief that it's over and we're safe."

"But it felt so -- so -- incredible."

"Yup. But the only way to get that particular kind of high is to damn near get killed. Most of the time, we block the idea of death out of our minds, for the sake of our own sanity."

"Well, if that's the price, I'm not too sure I want to do it again real soon. It might be addictive."

We lie there together on the cold bathroom floor, just holding each other. I notice that Rick is staring off into the distance, as if he's remembering things. Luis perhaps?

"Hey, you okay?"

"Actually, yes, I am. I was thinking about Luis. But it didn't hurt as much this time as it used to. Maybe telling you about him sort of defused the memories. I've been sleeping better since then also. Not nearly as many nightmares as before. That's not to say I don't still have some bad times, but they're not as bad as they used to be."

He runs his fingers through my wet hair, ruffling it up. Then he grins and says, "Not only that, but I haven't nearly killed anyone in a fit of rage lately either. I guess that could be considered an improvement, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"How about we get dressed and have a bite to eat?"

"Good idea. But first let me get those soggy bandages off your legs and put some fresh ones on."

By the time we're done, it's getting dark outside. I glance at our kitchen clock.

"Let's fire up your computer and take a look at the local news. Maybe they'll have something about the train wreck," I suggest.

"You really want to see all that again?"

"I want to know how bad it was. They should have everything pretty well stabilized by now."

"Okay."

As I expected, the train wreck appears on the news. It feels strange to see the derailed tank cars in the background, while a reporter interviews Waylon. He tells essentially the same story we told him about the truck driver deliberately swerving around the stopped cars, then goes on to say they found the leak and have gotten it under control. More equipment will be coming to clear up the wreckage, but in the meantime, this section of the highway is blocked off. Much to our surprise, he even mentions us, as two civilians who were on the scene and took action by calling in the wreck, attempting to help the driver, and sending others away from possible danger. Overall, he comes across as very competent in handling the situation.

As the reporter winds up the story, I look at Rick.

"Good ole Waylon may not be as big an asshole as we thought, huh?"

"Perhaps not. Even if he isn't very good at dealing with women, it seems like he knows how to run his Squad. Got to give him credit for that."

As Rick turns off the computer, I think back over the wreck. Suddenly, I know I need to ask Rick something.

"What exactly happened to the truck driver?"

"You sure you want to know the details?"

"Yeah. I figure he could've rammed into the parked cars and perhaps saved his own life, since that may have slowed him down and kept him from running full speed into the train. But he didn't. We owe him."

"Yeah. Okay. I was pretty sure I knew what I would find, but I had to go anyway, in case there was something I could do to help. When I got close to the truck, I could see that the cab had been crushed between the weight of the logs behind him and the tank car. It was all bent and twisted, but I was able to pull the door open slightly. The steering wheel had been jammed into the driver's chest. Or maybe I should say the driver was jammed into the wheel due to the weight of the logs behind him. There was blood running out around the wheel. He could barely breathe, much less talk, but when he saw me, he forced out one word in a faint whisper. 'Brakes ...' 'Failed,' I completed for him. He gave a small nod of his head, as blood started trickling out of his mouth. I leaned close as the life faded from his eyes and said, 'You saved lives by your quick action. You will be remembered for that, I promise you'."

By now there are tears running down Rick's face, but he ignores them as he goes on, "It was only then that I noticed the ammonia smell and covered my nose and mouth."

Meanwhile, my imagination gives me a vivid image of the dying truck driver.

"We could have died like that," I whisper.

Rick wipes his eyes and glances at me. "Jerry, you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just that it would have been us crushed inside our own truck, if that driver hadn't swerved."

"That's right. And the people in the other cars in front of us. But you did a good job getting those others away from possible danger."

"I did, didn't I?"

I think about that for a minute, as Rick just sits there in silence.

"I don't know if I'd have done the same, if I were the truck driver," I finally say. "I hope I would, but I just can't be certain."

"That's the kind of thing you do without thinking, since there's not enough time to think, just react. You either do it or you don't. There's no guilt if you don't. Sometimes you just freeze."

"I guess you know more about that sort of thing than I do, huh?"

"Yeah."

"It didn't bother you?"

Rick doesn't answer immediately. I wonder what he's thinking. I'm not sure if I want to know or not.

"It was a lot like Luis's death," he finally says. "That occurred to me as I was trying to reach the truck. But I had to put it out of my mind, in order to deal with the situation. Don't forget, I've seen a lot more violent death and gruesome injuries than you have. After a while, you kind of get used to it."

"How could anyone get used to that sort of thing?"

"Honestly, they don't. They just realize they have to keep going instead of breaking down because they have no alternative."

I don't know what to say to that either. Rick just stares at the other wall.

"Ghosts never die, Jerry. You have to learn to live with them. But they can't hurt you anymore, if you don't let them."

I guess he's right. Memories flash through my mind. Danny, my boyhood friend, hit by a train as I watched. My beloved Alex, wasting away on his deathbed. Those are my ghosts. But Rick must have a whole crowd of them inside his head.

"Don't know about you, Jerry, but I think that adrenaline is still running through my veins. I'm about ready for another round."

I laugh. "I don't think it's the adrenaline talking this time. I think you're just plain horny."

Rick puts his hand over my groin. "Well, whatever it is, I think it's affecting you also."

"Now that I think about it, I do believe you may be right. But this time, let's try the bed."

"I'll vote for that."

"Good. Then it's unanimous."

As soon as we get to the bedroom, Rick stretches out on the bed, his hands under his head. "I'm feeling pretty lazy right now, Jerry. And besides, you wouldn't want me to knock the bandages off my poor injured shins, would you? How about you do all the work this time?"

"I think I can handle that."

I take off my glasses, set them on the nightstand and look down appraisingly at Rick's body. "Hmm. Without my glasses, I can't see things very well, so I guess I'll just have to get real up close and personal. Spread your legs."

I crawl up between his thighs, being properly careful of the bandages as I do so. I prop my head up on my hands. "Let's see now. Oh yes, this is a much better viewpoint."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just looking. I love to watch your cock get stiff for me. It fills and stretches so nicely, then stands up at attention like a good little soldier, all ready for action."

I rub my finger teasingly along the bottom of his shaft. It reacts very visibly.

"Oh yeah. Like that. Ah, this is truly a thing of beauty!"

"Jerry, you're making me self-conscious. It's just an ordinary dick."

"Ordinary?!" I exclaim disdainfully. "Perish the thought! It's gorgeous! So nice and red and swollen with promise. Such delicate veins. So straight and symmetrical. Surely any gay man or straight woman would fall to their knees and worship such a wondrous dong."

"Aw, dammit, Jerry, you're embarrassing me."

"Shit, now you scared the poor thing. It's wilting a little. I suppose I'll have to do something to perk it up again. How's this?"

I stroke my fingers lightly over his pubic hair, from the base of his cock out over the crease of his thighs, pulling at the hair as I go, very gently.

"You're tickling me," he objects.

"But it feels good, doesn't it?"

He arches his back. "Oh yeah."

"Ah, that's much better," I remark, as his cock stiffens again.

I lift his balls with one hand, cradling them gently and massaging a bit. Rick sucks in a shaky breath.

I flick the tip of his glans lightly with a finger, and his whole body jerks.

"Ow!" he protests.

"Oh, come on now. I'm just trying to get the attention of this magnificent example of gorgeous manhood."

I lift his ballsack far enough to get a finger behind it and begin tracing my way down toward his ass. "Oh, now I do think we're getting somewhere." I lift his legs over my shoulders and hold his cheeks apart. "Now what could this be? Oh yes, methinks it's a beauteous puckered rosebud, ready to open just for me."

Rick laughs again. "Dammit, Jerry, you've been reading too many of those gay male romances."

"Hey, some of them are pretty hot. But if you don't like that name, how about I call it a tight little fuckhole that's just waiting to be opened by my monster cock, which is now dripping thick streams of pre-cum from its slit in the anticipation of being rammed into your fiery furnace. You like that better?"

He cracks up entirely at that one.

"You're making me laugh."

"Maybe so, but I'm also making you hard, in case you haven't noticed. Now let's see. Where was I? What am I supposed to do next?"

"Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

"I think I'm supposed to ram my fist up your asshole. How does that strike you?"

"Now you've been watching too many of those fist-fucking porn videos. I knew I shouldn't have let you buy your own laptop."

I give a long-suffering sigh. "Am I to suppose you don't want me to do that?"

"I most certainly don't! Your monster cock will be more than adequate for me."

"Well, if you insist. Guess I'll just have to use a finger instead. Don't move. I'll be right back."

I get up and go to the nightstand to get a condom, just so I'll be prepared. But first, I'm going to tease him a little more. This is getting to be fun.

I unroll the condom onto my by now very eager cock, and scoop up a gob of lube on my fingers.

"Scoot down more," I order him. "So your ass is at the edge of the bed."

He does, letting his legs fall off the bed so that his feet are on the floor. I kneel down between his legs once again.

"Okay, where's that tender rosebud gotten off to?" I look closer, again spreading his cheeks. "Oh, there it is. Just waiting for my eager battering ram to force open the doorway to your heart."

This time, Rick suppresses a laugh.

"I suppose I should get this trembling virgin ready before I enter him forcefully and cruelly."

By now, Rick has gotten into the spirit of the game.

"Oh please, sir, don't do this! Your enormous member will surely split me open and I'll bleed to death!"

"Oh, I don't think so." I slather the lube over his asshole, working my finger around the edge but not opening it.

I'm having so much fun with this that I can't stop now. I've got to keep this going as long as I can. I stand up and lift his legs once again over my shoulders.

"Oh yes, just look at that sweet tunnel of love, all ready to receive my own enormous prick. And I'm so ready to stretch you open with my hideous fuckrod, little boy. I'm so going to enjoy your screams of agony as I probe your innermost depths."

Meanwhile, I'm teasing his asshole with light touches by the tip of my glans, rubbing it up and down and then hitting his hole a few times with my penis.

"You really want my big cock, don't you?" I continue. "You can stop pretending. I know you're one of those perverts who loves to take it up the ass. Well, now I'm going to give you just what you want, and you're going to love it. Are you ready to take my huge and wondrous wang into your throbbing hole?"

Rick laughs again. "Ready as I'll ever be," he replies. "Shove your magic wand into my fiery furnace and shoot your hot creamy essence deep inside my yearning body."

So that's exactly what I do. I shove my slick cock into him all the way, then pull out slowly and do it all over again a few times.

After that, I settle down to fucking him in earnest.

When I realize I'm getting close, I slow down a little and wrap my hand around Rick's straining cock.

"I want to see your load shoot out of that gorgeous hunk of manmeat before I give you my magical elixir. Do it!" I demand, fucking him enthusiastically, about to let myself go. "Now!!"

He does. As I come, I manage to give a long imitation of an evil laugh. I look down at him with a gloating look on my face as I stare at the sticky gobs of semen scattered over his chest.

"Ha!" I exclaim in triumph. "I've filled you so full that it's coming out of your mouth! I've conquered the biggest and bravest Marine who has ever lived! He's mine! All mine!"

I pull out and fling myself on top of him, planting a very sloppy kiss on his mouth.

He retaliates by tickling me mercilessly, as I beg him to stop.

We both dissolve into peals of laughter.

"Damn, Jerry, that was hilarious!"

"Maybe we should've recorded it and sent it into one of those porn sites that show amateur videos."

That just starts us laughing like maniacs once again.

Finally, Rick catches his breath. "You know, all that silliness was a good thing after what happened today, don't you think?"

"Yeah. You're right."

Exhausted, we flop down beside each other on the bed. After a few minutes, Rick turns away and gets comfortable, as if he's about ready to go to sleep. I could get up and go into the living room to spend the rest of the night, as I usually do when I don't have to go to work at the hospital, but for some reason I'm reminded of Rick's telling me he's considering joining the Rescue Squad. I didn't much like that idea then, and I don't much like it now, but all my reasons are starting to sound awfully selfish. Would it really be fair to try to stop him just because I want him around as much as possible? Or because I have some misgivings over the possible risks, not to mention how he might react badly to the sort of situations he'd have to face? Or do I just want to hang onto him and try to make him dependent on me to keep him out of trouble, so that he'll never leave me? Is that what real love means?

No, it's not. If I really love him, I have to let him do his own thing.

"Rick," I say very softly, "are you awake?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Remember how we talked about you joining the Rescue Squad?"

"Yeah?" he replies, his voice guarded as if he's expecting an argument.

"I think you should go ahead with it."

He turns over so that he's facing me.

"You really mean that? You don't mind?"

"You were made for that sort of thing. Go for it."

His face brightens into a big smile and he takes me into his arms. "Thanks, darlin'. I was hoping you'd say that."

####

DATE with a FESTIVAL

Well, here I am again, still studying MRI on the computer so I'll be ready when I start training on the real thing come next Monday. The past weekend was my last night in CT, so over the last few days I've been changing my sleep schedule back to something that resembles normal. It's not all that easy to go from the night shift to the morning shift, but it was very generous of my employers to give me this much time off. Not every hospital would do that.

I'm finally getting a handle on MRI physics, but it's a lot more complex than CT, which is essentially a glorified x-ray machine. I'm looking forward to some hands-on training, instead of all this theoretical stuff.

So here I sit staring at the computer, trying to stay awake for a few more hours instead of hitting the sack, as I'd like to do just now. Rick left early this morning to help Mollie with her latest job, a new restaurant that's about to open in downtown Asheville. This time, it's an indoor mural, instead of the usual outside of the building. This could start a whole new fad, which may mean a lot more business for Murals By Mollie. I've seen some of it and it's quite impressive. It covers an entire wall and has paintings of the more well-known buildings in Asheville, like the Biltmore Mansion and Pack Square, not to mention some of the old churches and civic buildings. It's a bit surreal, with the background much smaller than the chosen buildings. But then again, Asheville itself is rather surreal, so why not?

On top of that activity, Rick was approved as an Associate Member of the local Rescue Squad a couple of weeks ago. He can only go on calls under the supervision of an Active Member for the next three months, but that doesn't bother him. He's been learning as much as he can, both through the Rescue Squad and the Red Cross classes that are available to the public. He's really gotten into this, so he's been very busy lately, between working with Mollie and taking all these classes. I think he's just found his calling, which is a good thing.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that he's now taking lessons in Tai Chi. I don't know how he has the energy to do all that, but he seems to enjoy keeping busy.

I take off my glasses and rub my tired eyes. Maybe a short break is in order. Maybe I should just lie down on the couch for a few minutes. Yes, that would be a good idea.

As I make myself comfortable, my mind turns back toward Rick but in a different direction. In a few more weeks, we'll take our third STD tests. If everything turns out negative, we'll be able to dispense with the condoms. It seems as if we've been using them forever, but that's not really true. Of course, I know Rick is having sex with Mollie now and then, but I also know she's a devout believer in condoms and birth control pills, so they're not having unprotected sex. Sure, there's also the fact that it's not 100% certain that condoms will stop infection, but after all, how careful is careful? To be absolutely and positively safe from sexually transmitted diseases, you would have to never have sex at all. Let's face it: that's not going to happen.

Am I just a little jealous of Mollie having access to Rick like that? Well, maybe. But we did decide on an open relationship. Perhaps if I had someone else also, I would feel better about it. Or would I just feel somehow guilty, even though I wouldn't be cheating? Now and then, it crosses my mind that I could lose Rick to someone else. Not so much to Mollie as to another man, maybe someone on the Rescue Squad. After all, they've got to be more his type, more heroic. The kind of guys who'll rush into danger, while the rest of us run away.

But enough of that. I'm probably just borrowing trouble when it's not even there.

As for the condoms, it's really not as if they totally spoil our enjoyment, but it sure would be nice to do without them. I suppose it will become commonplace for us soon enough, but is any orgasm ever really commonplace?

As usual, just thinking about Rick makes me horny, but I try to ignore that. It will feel so good to be able to fuck with nothing at all between us. Nothing to stop us from giving and accepting each other's semen in any way we want. It's a deeper intimacy, built on an even deeper trust. I can hardly wait to feel him shoot his load deep into me. Just the thought makes me —

Oh shit! I realize that my hand has strayed down to my crotch, rubbing my swelling cock through the fabric of my jeans. That's what I get for letting my imagination go down that road. Too bad Rick's not home yet. Oh well, I can take care of this myself.

I push my pants down over my hips, spit into my hand to get some lubrication, then wrap my fingers around my shaft, stroking gently as I go back to imagining Rick and me together with no rubbers.

We'll be in no big hurry, just taking our time and wanting to savor every moment. We're lying next to each other, with me behind him. I've already slathered lube over my cock and I'm ready to enter him. He reaches back, lifting his upper butt cheek to give me easier access to his ass.

"Take me, Jerry," he whispers. "I want it so much."

So I do. My cock slides into him easily. I take it slow, pushing in just a bit at a time. My sensitive cockhead feels the way opening up before its advance and I open him deeper. Back and forth, slowly at first and then faster, I begin to fuck him. His body tightens around me, increasing the friction between us, taking me to a higher level of sensation than ever before.

"Fill me, Jerry. Fill me," I hear him whisper, his voice strained and urgent.

I'm more than ready. I push deep in and hold it there, my cock quivering with ecstasy as my cum is released into him in successive waves of pleasure.

As the feeling subsides, I relax and sigh.

That's when I realize I'm just lying here on the couch, my hand grasping my softening cock and my cum splattered all over my belly.

Damn! I tell myself. Just jerking off shouldn't be allowed to feel that good!

I almost laugh, since I have a tendency to say that almost every time we have sex.

On a sudden impulse, I let go of my cock and wipe up a gob of my cum, rubbing it between my fingers and looking at it up close.

Is this all it is? Just a few blobs of slimy white gunk? Why am I so fascinated by this sticky stuff? What good is this bit of goop? There are times when it almost seems silly for men to fixate on it so much.

But it's not just that. Maybe it's more psychological than physical, but I love the idea of another man's cum being deposited inside my body, whether orally or anally. It's as if a small part of him is left with me. And it works the other way around also: I like to pump my cum into someone else. Sure, it may well be due to an innate drive toward procreation, even though we aren't really going to make babies. But somewhere in our ancient heritage, our bodies were driven to enter our sperm into the race against other men's sperm, in order to send our genes on into the future. Gay or straight, contraceptives or not, the urge is still there.

Or is it just that the sensation associated with expelling this stuff is so intense? That would be enough by itself to motivate us guys to do it as often as we can.

Then again, at least as far as a man is concerned, ejaculation is routinely taken as a proof of orgasm. Just watch a few porn videos and you'll see that the actor almost always pulls his cock out of whatever hole it was in so the audience can see that he really is coming. Or if it's a blowjob, the receiver usually opens his or her mouth to show their partner's cum.

Of course, a woman can't provide that sort of confirmation. She could be faking it, for all the watchers can tell for sure. But that's just porn, not what usually happens in regular sex.

Hmm. Maybe one of the other reasons why a lot of men don't want to use condoms is the fact that their precious semen ends up in a little latex bag that gets thrown in the trash, as if it were nothing but garbage.

Garbage. Maybe even dangerous garbage. Yeah, that thought is certainly a turnoff.

Semen may well help to create new life, but even though the AIDS epidemic is slacking off now, it's still the potential carrier of a death sentence. Cum is the most dangerous of the so-called bodily fluids. It's the thing that spreads AIDS more often than other fluids such as saliva. So do we both love it and fear it at the same time?

Now that I think of it, before modern medicine, many women died in childbirth, so our male ancestors must have realized that the precious seed that defines a man could very possibly condemn his beloved wife to death. How dreadful must that have been?

Damnation! Does it really need to be this complicated?

Enough psychologizing already!

I hear a distant rumbling noise coming from outside. It's almost inaudible, but it gathers strength with each passing second. Now it's right outside our kitchen window.

Since our apartment is alongside the railroad tracks that lead into the railyard, I've heard this sound many times before. I fully expect to hear the ear-splitting noise of the horn as the engine approaches the crossing.

When that doesn't happen, the unexpected silence surprises me. Why no warning signal?

Then my tired brain catches up to reality. The town has just recently arranged for the trains not to sound their horns as they approach this particular intersection.

This is a good thing, since the blaring noise of the train horn has sometimes triggered flashbacks when it woke Rick up abruptly from a sound sleep. At least that won't happen anymore.

I consider getting up and heading for bed, but it's just so cozy lying here. My eyes drift closed again, despite the sunlight shining into our window.

The next thing I hear is Rick's laughter. As I pry my eyes open, I see him standing over me with a wide grin on his face.

"Rise and shine, darlin'," he says.

I glance down at my still half-naked body. Oh, shit! I completely forgot to clean up before I fell asleep. I get up off the couch and go to the sink to rinse off the incriminating evidence.

"Why don't you take a quick shower and change clothes?" he suggests. "I'll make us some dinner."

"Sounds good to me."

While we're eating the heated-up roast beef, broccoli, and corn on the cob, we start talking about the upcoming weekend.

"Want to go to the Hendersonville Train Depot this Saturday ?" I ask. "It's not in operation as a depot but it's been turned into a train museum that houses a huge model railroad layout, among other things. I promised Lonnie to take him there."

"I'd like to, but Mollie really needs to finish off that mural before this week is out, so we'll probably have to work on Saturday. But after that, things will be a lot quieter for a while."

I'm a bit disappointed, but I push that aside. After all, we can't always do everything together.

"Hey," Rick says, " how about us going to the Gay Pride Festival the following Saturday?"

"What? You mean you're actually going to be free to do something like that on a weekend?"

"Yeah, darlin', it just so happens that I am. No murals to do, no classes, and I'm not on shift at the Rescue Squad."

"Wow, I can't believe it! But I thought all that was in June."

"The parades usually are, but Asheville has a Gay Festival in the Fall." He shrugs. "I saw it the other night on the computer. They've been doing it for years now."

"In that case, it's a date."

Well, my days off went by pretty quickly. By the time Saturday comes around, I've been sleeping at night and awake during the day, like most folks. I'd almost forgotten just how wonderful it was to wake up with Rick lying next to me, instead of going to bed at the same time he's getting up.

Right now, he's on his side with his back toward me. I scoot over against him and drape an arm over his waist. Soon the alarm will go off and he'll get up, since he and Mollie are going to put the finishing touches on her mural today. But until then, I can hold him. As always, I never could figure out how I managed to have such a wonderful man. If anything ever happened to him, I don't know what I'd do. No, don't even go there. He's just fine and he loves me. What more could I ask?

Of course, now that he's joined the Rescue Squad, I figure he'll be on the night shift now and then at the station, but that's way better than it was before.

The alarm goes off. Rick turns over, kisses me, and gets up. Time for breakfast.

This is the day Lonnie and I will be going to the Hendersonville Train Depot. It's only open from 10-2 on Saturdays and 1-3 on Wednesdays, so we didn't have too much choice, considering that Lonnie is in school during the week. Lonnie is far more interested in trains than his buddies are. They didn't want to go with us.

Lonnie shows up promptly at 9 AM. It's only about half an hour's drive, but I know there's been some construction going on in Hendersonville lately, so there may be detours.

"Thanks for offering to take me to the Train Museum, Mr. Jerry!" he greets me. "I've been wanting to go for a long time."

"You really don't have to call me Mister, you know. I'm okay with just Jerry."

"My Mom says it's disrespectful for me to call an adult by his first name."

"Oh. I see. Some kind of Southern thing, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, anyway, you don't have to thank me. I'm looking forward to it as much as you are. C'mon, let's hit the road."

We drive for a while in silence. He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes now and then. He seems a bit anxious, but maybe I'm wrong.

"So, Lonnie, how's everything been going lately?"

"Uh — fine. I guess. I'm just starting high school this year, so it's a bit nerve-wracking."

That surprises me, since he doesn't look old enough to be out of middle school.

"Got any plans for after you graduate?"

"Well, if I can keep my grades up, I'd like to go to the local community college. Mom can't afford much more than that."

"Any idea what you'd like to study?"

He shrugs. "Not really sure yet. But I don't want to end up waiting on tables like Mom does."

"How about your father? What does he do?" I ask casually.

"I don't have a father. I mean, I do, but he deserted us when I was 5 years old."

"Sorry. Guess I shouldn't have asked, huh?"

"That's okay. It's not a big secret. Can't say I miss him a lot either. He drank too much and wasn't a very nice guy anyway."

I don't know what to say about that, so I just keep quiet for a while.

Neither of us are very talkative on the rest of the drive.

The Depot was once an active passenger train depot. Nowadays it's a museum run and maintained by the Apple Valley Model RR Club, Asheville Division. Admission is free.

The first thing you see as you come in the door is a big screen that's running a video of a view from one of the model trains running on the tracks.

We sit down and watch it for a while.

"It feels as if we're in the train itself!" Lonnie whispers to me. "Awesome!"

When the video is over, we head for the next exhibit. There are several rooms full of model train set-ups, mostly freight trains, with a lot of emphasis on mountainous terrain. There are rustic towns, mostly old-fashioned in style. While most of the trains date from the near past, there are a few steam engines also.

A lot of the layouts depict real towns from both the past and the present alongside the RR tracks. Many of them are real businesses, some from the past and some that are still in existence. There are many tunnels through the mountainous areas.

I'm not surprised to see that most of the folks operating the trains are old men and boys.

I was so busy watching the trains going by and admiring the scenery that I lost track of Lonnie.

I had to go back to one of the other rooms in order to find him. He's standing next to a little old dude who's barely as tall as he is. He has a mustache and is wearing a RR style cap, so I figure he's one of the guys who runs the trains.

They seem to be deep in conversation, with Lonnie asking all sorts of questions about the layout and how realistic it is, geography-wise. I don't want to interfere with them, since Lonnie seems to be enjoying his conversation, so I just stand there and watch them.

Lonnie's barely 5 feet tall. Obviously, he hasn't reached his growth spurt as yet. He's not even at that awkward gangly stage. He has straight brown hair with just a slight reddish tint and it's in a shaggy cut with bangs that reach his eyebrows. I wonder if he mother cuts it for him. His hazel eyes right now are sparkling with excitement, instead of his usual imploring look, half-frightened and anxious.

Damn! Why does he have to be so cute?

Yes, of course, young folks can be very attractive to adults. Only a few generations ago, a boy Lonnie's age would very likely be married and a father. The equipment is there, and probably already in working order. But things are different nowadays, and young teens aren't considered to be adults.

Would I like to have sex with him? Yes. But what you might *want* to do isn't always something you *should* do.

I dismiss the thought.

Eventually he ends the conversation and we stroll around the rest of the museum together.

"A lot of these trains have a caboose, but I've never seen that on the trains that run near us," he says.

"They're not in use anymore. I kind of miss them too. You know, there's a caboose outside. We can take a look at that before we go."

Do I really need to say how much he enjoyed going inside the caboose? You don't get to see them these days, much less from the inside.

There's also a Thomas the Tank Engine layout outside, but Lonnie and I are both far too old to be interested in that.

Having seen all the exhibits, we head back to the car and start for home.

"That was great, Mr. Jerry!" he says. "Thanks so much for taking me there."

"My pleasure."

"I wish I could have my own model railroad, but that's not going to happen. My Mom just can't afford it."

"I had one when I was a kid, and it was pretty nice. It was one of the few things that my Dad liked to work on with me. But I was just as interested in the real trains that ran` behind our house. By the way, my Dad was a single parent also, like your Mom."

"Oh, I just assumed — I'm sorry."

"No problem. There are lots of single parents out there these days."

I steer the conversation back to the Depot, and we talk about it for most of the way home. At first I thought it was my imagination, but as we get closer to Asheville, Lonnie gets quiet and seems uncomfortable. I wonder if something is wrong.

I must admit that I'm a bit on edge also. Unwanted thoughts run through my head.

I really like this kid. I never felt this way about a youngster before. What's the matter with me? Maybe it's because I haven't known many teens? Or maybe because I saved him from getting hit by a train some months ago? Or could it be that we both have a lot in common? This is just plain weird! Maybe I'm becoming a sort of father-figure to the boy?

I pull into our parking lot and turn off the engine. Lonnie doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get out of the car. I glance at him. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh — could I talk to you about something, Mr. Jerry?"

"Sure. But it's going to get hot sitting in the car out here in the sun. C'mon inside. Mollie's truck isn't here, so she and Rick are still off working on her latest mural, but there's always a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge in her studio. I'm sure she won't mind if we help ourselves to some of it."

I'm not sure what this is all about, but if it has anything to do with sex, I figure it would be best to choose a more neutral place than our apartment.

Lonnie nods, but he's still anxious.

We go inside. He looks around at the drawings on the wall while I get us some lemonade.

"What are all these pictures of buildings for?" he asks as he sips his drink.

"Mollie's using them for her latest mural. It's a sort of montage of famous historical places in Asheville. Rick is working with her, doing much of the grunt work and simple background painting, while Mollie does the fancy stuff."

"She's got a lot of stuff about the Biltmore Estate."

"Yep. The Biltmore is the central focus, even though it's above and behind the others, up on a mountain."

"I'd like to see the final product. I'll bet it will be gorgeous."

We sit there for a while in silence, sipping our lemonade.

"Now then, what is it that you want to ask me?" I finally say.

"I — uh — I'm — I mean —"

He can't seem to make up his mind, so I encourage him. "Spit it out, son. I'm not going to bite you."

"I think I'm gay."

"Whoa! Wait a minute there. How do you know and why are you telling me?"

"I kind of got the feeling you and Rick were, you know, lovers."

I'm a bit taken aback by how easily we registered on this boy's nascent gaydar.

When I don't answer right away he goes on. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes. But tell me, why do you think you're gay? Have you had any experience with it?"

"No. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Maybe we could — you know?"

Yeah. I know all too well. If only the kid were a few years older. But he isn't. I'm not going to claim that I'm not tempted and I sure wouldn't mind having him in bed with me. Of course, I can't. But, damn, I sure do wish I could! He's so cute. Those soulful eyes — And it would be kind of nice to show him what sex between men can be like.

"Lonnie, I could get in a lot of trouble if we became sexually involved. I'm pretty sure you're below the age of consent."

"I'll be 15 next month," he offers.

"Um-hmm. And the age of consent here in North Carolina is 16."

Would it be so awful if I just gave him a quick blow job? I could take him into my mouth and show him how it feels when a man sucks him off. Pleasure him with my tongue. Take him deep and swallow his sweet innocent cum. No, Jerry, you idiot, don't even think about it!

Lonnie considers what I said, while I take a few more sips of my lemonade, wondering where this conversation is going to go from here.

"So how am I supposed to know if I'm gay or not if I haven't tried it?"

Good question. If I don't dare to touch him, what can I do?

Well, there's no law against teaching the younger generation about the facts of life, is there?

"For one thing, do you find men sexually attractive?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay, let's take a step back. Do you masturbate?"

"I like to jerk off, if that's what you mean."

"What do you think about while you're doing it? Girls or boys?"

"Well, there's this friend of mine —"

"Male or female?"

"Male. I imagine I'm touching his dick, playing with it until he comes."

"Have you actually done that with him?"

"No. But me and my friends sometimes do a circle jerk. That's not illegal, is it?"

"Nope. So it's just thoughts, as far as touching your friend goes, right?"

He nods.

"How about girls?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes I think about them too. How they'd look undressed. But not as often as I think about boys."

Maybe just a handjob? What harm could that do? He already knows what that feels like, since he just said he'd done it himself. Then he could do it for me in return. It's not like I would be traumatizing him. No, that's still sex. Damnation!

"You know, it isn't always a case of gay or straight. It could be both."

"You mean like bisexual?"

"Yep. There's a wide range of possibilities when it comes to sex. As your body grows and changes, your feelings can change also. Don't be in a rush to put a label on yourself."

I'm getting hard just talking about all this. It's a good thing I sat down behind the table so he can't see the bulge in my pants.

"There's a lot of stuff online," Lonnie says hesitantly.

"Yep. And lots of kids look at porn, if that's why you're blushing. After all, how easy is it to click on a button that says you're eighteen?"

He blushes even brighter.

"You needn't be embarrassed. If you weren't curious, there would be something wrong with you. But keep in mind that a lot of what you can find online is bullshit, or something meant for experienced adults, not young folks who are still in the process of sorting themselves out. Don't get me wrong. Sex can be the most beautiful thing in your life, but it can also go terribly wrong. There are diseases out there —"

"I know. AIDS and all that other stuff."

"Yep. So if you're going to start playing around with your peers, male or female, make sure you use condoms every time."

"Why? None of us has done anything risky."

"Not yet maybe, but someday you will. Practice with them, get used to how it feels, train yourself to be able to come using them. It will make it easier and safer later on."

Yeah. Do what I say, not what I do. Or to be more accurate, what I used to do when I was younger.

"You've heard about safer sex, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Jerry. I've looked it up on my laptop."

"So you're familiar with using condoms and all?"

He looks a bit embarrassed. "I know what they are and how they work, but I've never used one for real." He shrugs. "After all, I haven't had any reason to do that."

"Okay, I can fix that." I pull out my wallet and take out a condom, then hold it out to him.

"You keep one in your wallet?"

"Yeah. Like the Boy Scouts. You know, Be Prepared."

He grins at me as he takes it.

"Open the package and look at it, if you want to. Or wait until you're alone and try it on. Nowadays you can buy them in grocery stores right off the shelf."

Damn! It would be so much easier to just show him how it's done. I could lower my pants and slide it on. Or better yet, use his cock for the demonstration. Of course, he'd have to be nice and hard. I could make sure of that. Then after it's in place, I could — Aw, hell! There I go again.

If only there was an off button that a man could use in a situation like this. It would make life a whole lot easier. Think of something else. Rick, maybe. No. That will just make me hotter. How about being in prison for statutory rape and being constantly abused by my fellow prisoners? That would be pain, not pleasure. And it would be my own damn fault for not being able to keep my prick in my pants where it belongs.

Lonnie puts the package in his pocket, then looks at me.

"Do you and Rick use these things?"

"Yes."

"For real?"

"For real. Ever since we started having sex."

But we may be able to stop soon, if our next round of STD tests comes out negative. But I don't think that's really relevant right now.

We both empty our lemonade glasses then look at each other in silence.

"Well, I guess we ought to break this up. Unless you've got more questions?"

He shakes his head. "You won't tell my Mom what we talked about, will you?"

"Of course not. This is just between us guys."

He smiles. I stand up and he follows my example.

"Maybe someday you'll be lucky enough to find someone like Rick."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm actually hoping to find someone like you. I mean, don't get me wrong, Rick's a great guy and I totally respect him. But I think I'd get along better with someone like you as a partner."

Much to my surprise, he hugs me.

Omigod, can he feel my erection against him? Yes, of course he can. He feels so good in my arms. How much better would it feel to have my cock in his mouth? It would be so easy. We could go on from here. I could be the first — Jerry, no! Don't even go there, you fucking pervert! He's a kid. Just a kid.

"Thanks for being someone I can talk to about this," Lonnie says, his face still pressed against my shoulder.

I take a deep breath and step back out of his arms.

"You're very welcome. And if you or your friends have any questions, feel free to ask. I'll answer as honestly as I can."

He smiles and heads for the door. I sit there staring at the wall for a few minutes, then I wash out the empty glasses and climb up the stairs to our apartment.

Rick isn't home yet. That's just as well. There's something else I have to take care of before he gets home.

I go into the bedroom and jerk myself off, imagining how it would feel if my cock were in Lonnie's sweet little virgin ass, without a condom, fucking him gently until he comes and I pump my cum into him. After all, imagining something isn't the same as doing it.

Maybe someday, when he's gotten a little older, he'll still want to — oh fuck, Jerry! Don't fool yourself. By then he'll have found someone closer to his own age. And that's assuming he really is gay. Maybe he'll find out otherwise.

I get up off the bed and go into the bathroom to wash my hands.

Now how am I going to tell Rick what happened today? Wait a minute, why should I have to explain it to him at all? It's none of his business. And Lonnie may not even want me to tell anyone else, so it's better if I just keep this to myself. After all, nothing really happened, did it? So there's nothing to explain.

Life goes on, and I start my cross-training in MRI, 7AM to 3PM, Monday through Friday. It's quite fascinating to actually learn how it's done. I've got a really good lead tech as a teacher. By the end of the first week, I'm already getting the knack of using the computer to set up the most common scans, with her leaning over my shoulder. By the following week, she's no longer watching me so closely. Of course, this is just for the basic scans, not the more difficult exams, but I'm making progress. All of that theoretical info that I stuffed into my head really helps a lot.

Mollie's mural is finished by now, so Rick is around more often. Sure, he's still taking classes, but at least now he has more free time to hang out with me.

A few days before the Gay Pride Festival, I decide to look it up and see what it's been like in previous years. I'm still scrolling my way through past photos when Rick comes back from food shopping. He glances down at the computer screen, then starts putting away the groceries.

"Looks like fun, huh?" he says.

"Yeah." Then an idea hits me. I swivel my desk chair around so that I can see Rick's back, as he puts the cans up on the shelf. "You know, I'll bet Lonnie would get a kick out of it."

"Your little buddy? Why? Do you know something about him that I don't know?"

"Actually, yes. He and I had a talk after we went to the Train Depot. He thinks he's gay, but he's not sure just yet."

"Really?" He turns to face me. " Maybe the Festival would be an interesting thing for him to experience. Might help him make up his mind."

"His mother would have to okay it though. After all, we don't want to be accused of corrupting a minor."

"Heaven forbid." He comes over to me and wraps his arms around my neck. "Sure, invite him along." He nuzzles my neck and whispers in my ear, "How about I do a little corrupting of my new MRI tech?"

"Sounds good to me."

I get up and we head into the bedroom, leaving the rest of the groceries to wait for a little while.

Rick and I pick up Lonnie shortly before the Festival is slated to begin. We take my car, since Rick's truck doesn't have a back seat. Lonnie doesn't live very far from us. He's waiting for us on the sidewalk as we drive up, so we head in to downtown Asheville.

It takes us quite a while to find a parking space. I guess we should have started out earlier.

It's a longish walk to North Pack Square with the Vance Memorial poking its head high up into the air and that fountain a little further on with rocks in it.

We pick up a map of what's going on where and when from the Information booth.

There's a secondary stage set up at the opposite end from the main stage, and that catches Rick's eye immediately. It's a demo of some kind of martial arts called Krav Maga. I've never heard of that, but then again, why would I?

"You mind if we watch this for a while, guys?" Rick says. "I've read about it, but I never saw it in action."

"Sure. We have all day to look around. Might as well start here. Okay with you, Lonnie?"

"Yeah. It looks exciting, but what is it?"

"It's not so much a sport as it is a kind of realistic fight training. It combines a lot of techniques from boxing, wrestling, aikido, judo, and karate."

It looks very brutal to me. I look around at the vendors and the booths giving out info about local companies and organizations that are lined up all along the way. And this is just the edge of the Festival grounds.

It's been many years since I've been at a Gay Pride celebration of any kind. Haven't even thought about such things. I'm beginning to wonder why not. I used to go to the Pride Parades all the time. Now that I think about it, it may be that I just started to take it for granted that it was okay to be gay, so why all the demonstrations. Maybe I was wrong. We've made a lot of advances as far as gay equality is concerned. And now there are new and even more challenging things, like transsexuality and gender identity. Here in Asheville, we don't have to be afraid. We're pretty much accepted. But what about the rest of the country? Not to mention the rest of the world.

Since I'm not all that excited about the martial arts demo, my eyes wander around the crowd.

A lot of the other guys are wearing bright colorful outfits that pretty much scream that they're gay. But then again, why not?

Compared to many of the folks here, we're dressed pretty plainly, in just jeans and ordinary shirts.

I feel rather shabby compared to the colorful and sometimes rather outrageous outfits others are wearing. Maybe I should have worn something a little more obviously gay.

When the demonstration is over, we notice a food truck that sells hot dogs and such, so we decide to make this our lunch.

While we're eating, a frenzied beating of drums from the stage catches our attention.

Roughly a dozen women of all ages, but mostly older and mostly wearing very colorful outfits are beating enthusiastically on what looks to me like all kinds of bongo drums, not to mention other rhythmic items that I can't even begin to name. Very catchy rhythms. The ladies all seem to be having a great time with it.

We sit down and watch them while we eat. Lonnie glances around, wide-eyed and fascinated by all the people strolling by. And we still haven't even gotten to the main part of the Festival.

We finish eating and start making our way further into the crowd. Everywhere we go, there are booths of all kinds: businesses, churches, support organizations, healthcare, food, and, of course a huge abundance of vendors selling their wares, mostly clothing.

My eye is drawn to one of the booths as we walk by. This one offers a wide variety of hats along with the usual round buttons with slogans or symbols. One of those buttons just seems to jump out at me.

"How about we look around at this stuff? I see something I may want to buy."

"Sure. We're not in any hurry. Go for it."

Rick just stands there and watches while Lonnie and I peruse the merchandise.

Most of the buttons have designs or slogans that I've seen many times before, but one of them is somewhat different. Yes, it has a rainbow, but this rainbow arches over a dark and threatening cloud. I don't know just why it appeals to me so much, but I like it.

While I'm paying the vendor, I notice Lonnie looking at the display of hats. I'm about to offer to buy him one when Rick beats me to it.

"You want a cap, Lonnie? It's on me."

"Uh – gee – yeah."

"Take your choice."

He tries on a few of the hats, then he puts on a blue denim cap with a rainbow on it.

"What do you think?" he asks me.

"It suits you. Not too fancy but also not too plain."

Lonnie grins while Rick gets out his wallet.

I fasten my pin to my shirt and we continue weaving our way toward the main part of the park. As we cross over Market Street, we walk past a man with a bullhorn haranguing the crowd. His T-shirt has a big cross on the front, so it's not very hard to figure out that he's a Christian.

He's screaming at us, saying that we'll all end up in hell unless we find Jesus and change our evil ways. Some folks are trying to argue with him, but we just walk by as if he wasn't there. Even Lonnie knows better than to argue with someone like that. We can no more change their minds than they can change ours, but at least we don't heckle them by preaching to them outside their churches. Of course, not all Christians feel the same way about us, but those are mostly from the more liberal denominations.

We continue our stroll through the crowd.

As we get close to the Main Stage, Rick says, "I'd like to take a look at the Veterans Memorial while we're here. It's just a little further beyond the Main Stage, practically next to it."

"The Drag Show is going to start pretty soon," I remind him. "Maybe we could go there afterwards?"

"Sure. I'm not in any great hurry." Rick glances around. "Hey, look, there's an ice cream truck. How about we go over there for a snack?"

"Yeah!" Lonnie replies enthusiastically.

"Sounds good to me, but I need to hit the restroom first. There are some Porta Potties over there. You guys go ahead. I'll catch up with you at the truck and we can head over to the Main Stage."

As I approach the Porta Potties, I notice a pile of boards stacked up neatly behind the three portable toilets. Maybe someone didn't pick up after himself. Oh well, it's out of the way.

There's a man going into the toilet at the far end, carrying a large back pack. The middle one is occupied so I head for the one on this side of the row and step inside to do my thing.

As I zip up my fly, I hear what sounds like a burst of rapid gunfire, then a loud voice screaming, "You goddamned cock-sucking fags! You think you can celebrate your perversions in public like this? I'm gonna take you all down!"

More gunshots, followed by more vile insults and threats. The shooter is clearly close by, maybe even just in front of the toilets. The first thing that enters my mind is to just squat down in a corner and stay right here, where I'd likely be safe.

But no, I can't do that. I have to see what's happening.

Carefully, I turn the latch, opening the door just a tiny bit and peeking out. Yes, I can see him off to my left, just beyond that last toilet. He's sideways on to me as he fires at the crowd. He's just an ordinary-looking white guy with a crewcut, but I can't tell for sure what kind of a gun it is. It's certainly not a hand gun or an ordinary rifle. It can fire very rapidly and it looks like a skeleton of a rifle that mated with a pistol and has a long forward-pointing curved erect cock underneath it. He's swinging the rifle from right to left and back repeatedly, not aiming at anyone in particular. Walking slowly toward the fleeing crowd, he's yelling insults and curses as he goes.

Meanwhile, all hell has broken loose. People are screaming, running, standing frozen with fear. Some of his victims are already on the ground. I see more people falling, but what can I do? I have no weapon. If I run toward the shooter to try to stop him, he'll see me right away and I won't get very far.

Wait a minute! That pile of lumber behind the toilets!

I open the metal door wide and duck quickly back behind it. Circling around the back of the Porta Potties, I head for the lumber, then grab up one of the 2x4's that looks a bit longer than a baseball bat and continue along behind the toilets until I reach the end. I peek around. Yes, I'm behind him now, his attention still focused away from me. Here's my chance to stop him.

Time seems to slow down as I run the few steps between him and me. He doesn't notice me, still screaming obscenities at the crowd. I cock the board back over my shoulder and swing with all my adrenaline – enhanced strength at the side of his head.

He goes down. Just to make sure, I use the 2x4 to knock the rifle out of his hands.

I glance at his head. Lots of blood and pieces of his skull. He's not going to get up any time soon, if ever.

Then it hits me. Omigod, I've killed a man! The first thing I can think of is to run away before the police get here. I toss the 2x4 aside and run back around the Porta Potties, heading toward the other end.

I peek around the side of the last toilet.

No one has yet realized the danger is over. By now, sirens are blaring, announcing the presence of the police and the Rescue Squad, and probably fire engines also.

Maybe I can just blend into the crowd without being noticed.

I step out into the open and start running like everyone else, searching desperately for Rick and Lonnie. Yes, I see them by the ice cream stand! Rick is lying face down on top of Lonnie.

No! Please no! Don't let them both be dead!

It doesn't take me long to get to them, but it seems like an eternity.

Then I see Rick raise his head cautiously, looking around for the sniper now that there's no gunfire to be heard. He helps Lonnie up as I get closer.

Thank goodness! They're both okay!

"Jerry, get Lonnie out of here! Take him home. I've got to go work with the Rescue Squad."

"Go!" I say.

Lonnie looks terrified. I wrap my arms around him and hug him close. "It's okay, kid. It's all over. C'mon. We need to get out of here."

Lonnie nods. I keep my arm around his shoulder as I guide him through the chaos that surrounds us, heading for the street along the side of the park where it seems less crowded.

By now, the rescuers are in action, trying to stop the stampede of people who are still running, seeking out the wounded and dead, and trying to stabilize the situation. I catch a glimpse of Rick with the Rescue Squad medics, where he should be.

Someone on the stage must have grabbed the microphone, since I hear a woman's voice much louder than the surrounding noise proclaiming, "Shooter is down! Repeat, shooter is down! It's over! Don't panic!"

She repeats that over and over, trying to get through to the terrified crowd. Meanwhile, we've gotten away from most of the action.

"Do you have your cell phone?" I ask. "We need to tell your mother that you're all right before she hears it on the news."

"Yeah. She's at work now, but I know her number."

He takes out his phone. It's one of those old flip phones.

As he talks to his mother, I finally have a chance to relax and pull myself together. It would appear that I've been able to successfully fade into the crowd. No one will remember me well enough to identify me as the one who killed the shooter. Even though I could hardly be considered a murderer, and may even be a hero, I neither need nor want the publicity that would come along with it.

I can hear Lonnie talking to his mother.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. Take your time and finish your shift. Mr. Jerry is here with me and we're on our way home." He listens for a minute, then replies, "Yes, Mom. I'm sure I'll be okay. See you later."

Luckily for us, my car is parked at a fairly long distance from the Festival, so the traffic isn't too bad, despite all the emergency vehicles arriving and departing.

Much of the River Arts District where we live has been renovated and it's now a rather well-off area, but there are still a few places that aren't. Lonnie lives in one of the less classy areas. The house is definitely in need of repair. It's been made into two apartments, and Lonnie and his mother rent one of them. I haven't been inside yet, but I don't think it's going to look much better than the outside does.

As I park in front of the house, I glance over at Lonnie. He's looking somewhat freaked out despite his attempt at being cool.

"Would you like me to stay with you until your Mom gets home?"

"You don't have to, Mr. Jerry."

"I know I don't, but I'd be glad to hang out for a little while. I'm kind of shaken up after what happened, so I wouldn't mind some company."

I'm really not all that bad off, but it gives him an excuse to invite me in.

"Okay, sure."

He unlocks the door and lets us in. I'm right about the inside. It's clean and neat, but it shows its age in the faded wallpaper and the scuffed floor. No big screen TV in the living room, just an old TV set. They're getting by, but not by much.

"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Jerry? There's some iced tea in the fridge."

"That would be fine."

I sit down on the sagging couch and look around some more. A few framed photos of Lonnie and his mother decorate the walls. Some chairs that look as if they came from a thrift shop. Yep, they're not exactly rich.

Lonnie comes back with two glasses of tea. He places them on paper napkins on a coffee table that has clearly seen better times.

He sits down beside me, looking up at me with his soulful brown eyes.

"Why do they hate us so much, Mr. Jerry? What have we done that's so awful?"

I'm taken by surprise. I'm not sure what to say, but I've got to try.

"Good question, but I'm afraid there's no simple answer. But keep in mind that if most folks hated us enough to kill us, like that shooter, we'd all be dead. Most straight folks in our country don't hate us that much, and many of them are supportive of us. Sex and gender are complicated things, so it's no wonder that there's a lot of controversy about it."

Now where can I go from here?

"There isn't just one answer to your question. Religion, for instance: in some parts of the world, religions consider it a sin, sometimes even to the point of saying we should be put to death. But other religions don't, so you can't just condemn them all. At different times down through history, we've been accepted, and at other times not. Some cultures are okay with this and others are not.

"A little over fifty years ago in this country, we could have been put in jail for just being gay, or maybe in a mental hospital. Just like a lot of other minorities, we eventually organized and fought back, politically and culturally, but not by violence. Things have changed a lot since those days, but there are still people who are so bent out of shape by what we do in bed that they just can't get over it. Unfortunately, the current government is not on our side. But things may change again."

"But why can't they just leave us alone?"

"That's another good question. The only reason I can come up with is that we throw a monkey wrench into the idea of what a woman should be and what a man should be. And how about one of the newer things in the LGBTQ alphabet: transsexuals? That threatens the gender norms big time."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"I'm ashamed to say it, but the ones who do us the most violence are men. Maybe they have to hurt us deviants to show the world what a big strong man should be like. Or maybe – Heaven forbid! – he feels attracted to other men but can't accept it. Or maybe it's just that men are simply more likely to resort to violence than women are, which doesn't say much for our precious masculinity, does it?"

"Hell, no!" Lonnie replies.

He looks at me, somewhat shamefaced. "Mr. Jerry, remember when I tried to run in front of that train and you and Rick stopped me?"

"Yeah. But what does that matter now?"

"I was only trying to show my friends that I wasn't a sissy. That's kind of what you just said, isn't it?"

Damn! He's quick on the uptake for a boy of his age. Not only that, but he's willing to be honest about it.

"Yes, sort of like that. But you only risked your own life, not the life of someone else, so that's also very different."

He tries for a smile. "I guess what you said before is true: there are lots of reasons for hatred, just as there are lots of reasons for love. And sex. But what makes a man crazy enough to try to kill as many people as he can? Doesn't he know he'll almost surely be killed while he's doing it?"

"I wish I had an answer to that. Except in self-defense or to defend others, it's way beyond my understanding of why anyone would murder other people."

"I don't either."

And I sincerely hope you never do, my young friend. But I don't say that out loud.

"Don't let what happened today keep you from being whatever you decide you are, okay? It's not worth it. There will always be violence and death for one reason or another."

Lonnie glances down at the button I got at the Festival, with the rainbow and the dark clouds.

"Does that mean that the rainbow has triumphed over the clouds? Or is the black cloud about to cover the rainbow?"

I look down at it myself, seeking for an answer. There must have been a reason that I liked it so much, but what exactly is that meaning? And then I have it.

"I see it as a sort of symbolic warning. If we don't stand together and raise up the rainbow despite the thunder and lightning of the storm, the hard-earned rainbow of gay freedom and love will be dissipated and destroyed."

"I like that idea, Mr. Jerry. I like it very much."

We both reach for our iced tea at the same time, and take a few mouthfuls. As we set down the glasses and settle back onto the couch, Lonnie leans over and hugs me, his head on my shoulder.

"Thanks, Mr. Jerry. For everything," he murmurs.

Of course, his mother comes in the door just then.

I disengage myself from Lonnie and stand up, extending my hand and saying as calmly as I can, "You must be Lonnie's mother. I'm very pleased to meet you, ma'am."

She doesn't miss a beat as she smiles and takes my hand. "Pleased to meet you also. Lonnie's told me a lot about you and Rick. I'm very glad that Lonnie has someone he can trust and talk to about things."

Can it be that she's okay with him maybe being gay?

She releases my hand and sits down in one of the chairs.

"I'm sorry we took your son into danger."

"Don't be silly. How could you know? How could anyone know?"

She's right, of course. But I do feel a bit guilty about it. After all, what if — No, don't even go there.

We talk for a while about what happened. When we run out of words, I stand up and bid them good-bye.

I head out the door and into my car. It's not a very long drive to our apartment, but an interesting idea occurs to me while I'm driving.

Maybe I could help this kid in the future. Maybe now it's my turn to do for Lonnie what Alex, my first lover and my mentor, did for me when I was hardly much older than Lonnie. Not the sex, of course, but I could open a savings account to set aside money for Lonnie when it gets to be time for him to go to college. I won't tell him about it until much closer to the time he needs it. Yeah, why not? After all, I now have a fairly decent income, so I can spare a bit of it. If it happens that he doesn't get into college, he'll still need something to start off with.

The first thing I do when I get home is to turn on the news to see what's being reported and how bad it was. I won't deny that I also want to see if anyone may have gotten a photo of me. Hopefully not.

As it turns out, there were eleven deaths and at least fifteen injuries, perhaps more. That shooter did a shitload of damage in a very short time.

I'm about to shut off the computer when I hear the news reporter saying, "The person who took down the shooter remains unidentified. Although most folks were too busy trying to escape, a few people did catch a glimpse of a man with a board smashing the shooter's head, but then he disappeared. The person who took down the shooter remains unidentified. Whoever he may be, he doubtless saved the lives of many other people." She looks directly at the camera. "If you're out there, please know that we thank you for your courage and quick action."

I find myself blushing at the compliment, but I also give a sigh of relief that no one knows who I am.

Not much longer after that, Rick comes in the door. He heads directly into the bathroom to take a shower, shedding his clothes along the way. I don't disturb him, just pick up his blood-stained clothing and carefully put it all into a plastic bag and set it alongside our laundry basket to be dealt with later on.

He comes out of the bathroom, still drying himself off, and sits down next to me, stark naked.

"So how'd Lonnie react to what happened? Is he okay?" he asks.

"As well as can be expected, I guess. He didn't freak out or anything. We talked about it some, while we waited for his Mom to get home."

"Good."

He's awfully quiet for a while. That's kind of strange for him.

Then he turns to me and says, "There were at least eleven deaths and more than that injured. But it would have been many more if you hadn't stopped him."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. I saw what you did. I was peeking in that direction while I was lying on top of Lonnie, trying to see where the shooter was."

Oh shit! Is this a bad thing? Has he told anyone else?

"Rick --" I begin.

He raises his hand to stop me.

"It's all right, Jerry. I'm proud of you. You did what had to be done to save others."

"I didn't really mean to kill him, just stop him."

"Doesn't matter. You saved innocent lives."

He looks at me, an intense expression on his face. "Are you okay with what you did, or do you feel guilty?"

I don't even have to think about that for a second.

"Hell no! If someone is shooting at unarmed and innocent people, I have no compunctions about killing him to save others from being killed."

He nods his head. "You're a hero, darlin'. Even if no one ever knows."

He thinks I'm a hero. No one has ever called me that. And especially no one who really knows what it takes to be a hero. I don't know what to say.

Rick hugs me.

Tears come to my eyes, but they aren't caused by sorrow. Maybe it's the stress of what happened, or maybe it's because Rick thinks so highly of me for what I've done. I never thought he'd see me as a hero. Heck, even I myself never thought of me like that!

"You risked your life to save others," he says softly. "Let's face it, a 2x4 isn't much of a weapon against someone with an AR-15."

I try to pull myself together. "It is if you can sneak up behind his back."

"Not an easy thing to do, Jerry."

"I know. I was lucky. That's all." I try to lighten things up a little. I pull far enough away from Rick so that he can see me grin. "But I won this time, didn't I?"

"You most certainly did."

He leans down and kisses me hard.

Do I really have to tell you what happened next?

Two more weeks go by and still there's been no description and no photos of the "unknown hero", much to my relief. I don't want to be some kind of a hero and be always living through that again. I just want to move on with my life.

It's not as if I'm really struggling to get past what I did, since I know in my heart I did right. Never the less, I have flashbacks of the dead shooter's head, smashed and bleeding, while people scream and run. But I think that will fade away after a while.

I try to keep my focus on what I'm doing while working at the hospital. I can't afford to break down now that I've gotten to a good place in my MRI job.

I check in with Lonnie now and then, and we talk. He's doing well. He even told his buddies about maybe being gay and they responded favorably.

So here I am alone at home on Saturday afternoon, while Rick is on the day shift this weekend at the Rescue Squad. I'm feeling a bit down for no good reason, staring out the window of our living room, where the open field across the street is being cleared of bushes and weeds. There's going to be a walkway put in along this section of the French Broad River, which will help complete the Asheville Greenway. When it's done, it will connect three separate parks along one trail. It looks inviting, but it's still under construction. Too bad. I could take a walk, if it were all in place, but it's not. A little exercise might cheer me up. It's a beautiful fall day, warm and inviting.

Of course, I could just walk around the River Arts District where we live, but I've been into all of those shops already. Maybe I should take a walk around town instead. I could check out the galleries and craft shops. Looking at beautiful works of art can lift one's spirits. After all, staring at the walls isn't doing me any good, so why not?

I drive to the downtown area, find a parking spot, and start strolling around. I deliberately avoid Pack Square. It just brings up too many memories. Someday I'll go back there, but not just yet.

There are shops of all types to be seen, but I'm somewhat disappointed that I don't find many glass studios or galleries here. There are quite a few in the area where we live, so I thought it would be the same downtown. I do love to look at shiny glass sculptures.

Nevertheless, I wind my way through the streets, looking into the windows of the various shops and going inside if one looks interesting. There's a store that sells local honey along with honey from around the world. It even has a honey-tasting bar. There are shops for candles, drums, clocks, pottery, art galleries, hand-crafted jewelry, antiques, exotic clothing, and even a huge store that sells nothing but beads. Shall I go on? I think you get the picture. Not just a shopping mall for all the usual chain stores. And of course, there are plenty of restaurants.

Then there's the Grove Arcade. It's a huge building that takes up an entire block and has a multitude of small shops and restaurants, plus offices and luxury apartments on the upper floors. I don't even go in there. It's just too overwhelming, and I'm about ready to head for home.

I take a different route back to my car, still in no great hurry.

And that's when I find the Gay Glass Gallery, somewhat off the beaten track, just at the edge of the downtown area. There are no display windows, so I have no idea of what may be inside. Given the name of this gallery, I just have to go in and see.

A plaque on the door shows that they're open until 6 PM on weekends. I glance at my wristwatch. It's 20 minutes to 6. I won't have very long to look around, but I just can't resist the temptation. I open the door. It's quite a spacious building. Just inside, a man sits behind a large desk. He must be the owner.

"Welcome to my gallery," he says, standing up and extending his hand. "My name is Emil Janssen. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me."

My first impression is that he reminds me of Mr. Spock, but somewhat older. His hair is getting gray, but it's cut much like Spock's and he has that long face. On closer inspection, I realize that his ears aren't pointed and his eyebrows don't slant upwards. He also doesn't have that rather stern expression that's characteristic of Spock, and he's not quite that tall.

As I shake his hand, I manage not to say "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Mr. Spock?" since I'm quite sure he's heard that many times already.

Instead I just reply, "Thank you. I'll do that."

He sits back down and I wander slowly around the room. The glass sculptures are spectacular in more ways than one. From tiny to huge, they're all incredibly colorful and shiny. Some of the colors even seem to change as I shift the position of my head.

There's a large male torso with genitals, strikingly multicolored with those changing colors I just mentioned. Same thing with a female torso.

An erect penis maybe a foot high, made up of small pieces of various colored bits of glass, lit from inside. It could make a very pleasing night light.

Another graphic torso of a male with slantwise rainbow stripes.

In the middle of a red stained glass background, a stylized female vulva spread open, with rainbow colors highlighting the different parts.

There's a very realistic male torso lying on the ground facedown, his legs spread open just enough to see his cock and balls from behind.

In another case, a statue of two naked men hug each other. Same with two women in an adjoining case.

And that's not all, by any means.

Well, it isn't called a Gay Glass Gallery for nothing.

All of the sculptures are in glass cases with spotlights. A card inside the case gives the name of the glass artist and the title of the sculpture, if there is one. I can't help but notice that Mr. Janssen's name is on at least half of them, and his are the only ones that have that color-changing effect.

I just have to find out how he does that. I walk over to the desk.

"Mr. Janssen, I've never seen anything like this. The sculptures are beautiful, but how do you get the colors to shift?"

He gets up from his desk and comes over to me, a smile on his face.

"It's called dichroic glass and it's done by stacking layers of clear glass and micro-layers of metals or oxides. Unless you're a scientist, I don't think you'd like to hear all the picky little details, but you've surely seen the colors in soap bubbles and oil slicks, haven't you?"

I nod.

"Well, it's something like that. Just very tiny layers."

"It's a really dramatic effect."

"Would you like to see my private collection? It's back in my workshop. I only show it to those folks who have an enthusiastic liking of my works."

"Yes, I'd love to."

"Follow me, my friend."

He opens a door into his workshop. I can't even begin to describe or explain what I see, since it's all tools and other items that must be used for doing glass work. Just inside the door there's an old-fashioned wooden chest of drawers. He leads me over and pulls one of the drawers open, then turns on a light that shines directly into the drawer.

"Here are some of my favorites," he tells me. "Have a look."

Of course, I do. All the way across the width of the drawer, lying neatly side by side, I see a single row of what looks like smoothed down versions of naked men. Their legs are together and their arms at their sides. Their genitals are of a considerable size, with an erect cock that's tight up against the belly. Overall, it seems as if they've been melted down so that the surface is very smooth. And they all have that strange color-changing effect when I move my head, but the colors are different for each one. Some are taller than the others and some are fatter. They look as if they should be able to stand upright, since they each have a circular base at their feet.

"I have another drawer of females similar to what you see here," Emil says. "But unless I miss my guess, you're not very interested in seeing those."

"You're right."

He smiles. "You can pick them up, if you're careful. They can break, but not very easily."

I pick up one of the larger ones, turning it this way and that.

"Gorgeous! Really lovely!"

He smiles at the compliment. I'm sure he's heard that before, but something about the expression on his face seems to change a bit.

"They have other uses besides just admiring them, you know."

"What other uses?" I ask, confused.

"I'll show you. Take hold of the one you've got by the base, then wrap your other hand around the statue and slide it back and forth."

I do as he says. It's very smooth, but I can also feel varying widths of the sculpture. It feels vaguely familiar, but I can't quite pin it down. I look at his face and raise one eyebrow in a silent question.

"Move it a little faster."

I do as he suggests. And I realize what it is.

"You get it now, don't you?" Emil says, a broad smile on his face.

"Yeah. It's a dildo, right?"

"Yep. You got it. I keep these back here in private, not on display, since they're actually sex toys."

"Very classy."

"Would you like to try it out?"

Does he mean what I think he means?

"Maybe. What did you have in mind?"

"It's after closing time. All I need to do is lock the door and we'll have all the privacy we could want."

Oh great! Several weeks ago I get hit on by an underage kid, and now I'm being propositioned by a man who's not too far from being old enough to be my father. Kind of ironic, huh? Do I want to have sex with him? Well, why shouldn't I? Rick does it with Mollie, so why can't I do the same? Or am I just trying to play tit for tat? No. I honestly like this man. After all, it wouldn't be cheating, so why not?

I try hard not to act entirely surprised.

"Or do you already have a lover?" Emil asks carefully, before I can say anything.

"Well, yes, I do. But we have an open relationship. How about you?"

"We do also. Leon and I have been together for almost 13 years now. And I can assure you that I will respect your relationship with your partner and I promise that I'll do nothing whatsoever to come between you."

"Well – uh – we do have a rule that condoms must be used with other folks, no matter what. Is that agreeable to you?"

Emil just smiles as he replies, "What if we do something that cannot possibly infect either of us in any way but without condoms?"

I shrug. "About the only thing that would fit that requirement would be a mutual hand job, with gloves. Not terribly exciting."

"Leon and I came up with another idea, which doesn't involve rubbers. You may be interested in that."

"I may be. Let's hear it."

"It's quite simple. We only use dildos with others. And we use nitrile gloves when we do it. So no physical contact happens, and no cum ends up inside of someone else, not even on their skin. And, yes, we play it both ways, if desired."

"Interesting. I never thought of that, but you're right."

"So what do you say? Want to try it? Or maybe I should first ask if you're even interested in dildos, before we go any further."

"Well, it's not a regular thing, but Rick and I do it now and then." I glance down at the dildo in my hand. "I'm game. But I think I'd better find one that's slightly smaller than this one."

"That's definitely a consideration." He waves his hand at the drawer. "Go right ahead. Take your choice, while I lock the outside door."

By the time he returns, I've made my selection.

I hold it up. "This one. I like the iridescent blue and purple combination. And it looks to be about the right size."

He slides another drawer open.

"Here's where I keep the lube and the gloves."

As he takes out the above mentioned items, he points to a small medical sterilizer in the far corner of the workshop. "I use that on my dildos after each use, so they're all very clean to begin with. Even so, I also rub down the chosen dildo with wipes before I use it. But let's start off a little bit more personal, shall we?"

To my surprise, he steps up close and hugs me. I return the hug. It doesn't take long before we're squirming against each other despite our clothing.

He steps back a little and takes off my glasses, then sets them on top of the chest of drawers. "Don't worry, they'll be safe up there. Let's get some of those clothes off, shall we?"

He starts to unbutton my shirt, so I return the favor.

"It's easier if we just take off our own shoes and trousers." So we do.

Now we're both standing there in our boxer briefs. He's clearly taking charge of what's happening, so I just let him call the shots.

He slides the gloves onto his hands, then comes over to me, a slight smile on his face. His cock is clearly erect, since I can see a bulge in his briefs that matches my own.

He reaches between my legs, taking my cock and balls into his hands and massaging gently.

"Oh, yeah," I sigh.

It feels so good. He slowly pulls down my briefs.

"You're not circumcised," he remarks softly. "Neither am I."

He moves up against me, our upper bodies touching. He still has his underwear on.

"I get the feeling that you're just about ready for this, yes?"

"Oh, yes! Do it."

He chuckles. "It would be much easier if you lie down on the futon."

"Futon?"

"Right over there in the corner. Let me just go flatten it out."

He does. And he dims the lights before he leads me over to it.

"Lie down on your back and close your eyes, while I get everything ready."

The idea floats vaguely through my mind that it's kind of sexy to have someone telling me exactly what to do.

It doesn't take him long. He kneels at the foot of the futon, then lifts my legs up over his shoulders. Now I'm really spread open, in front of someone who's barely more than a stranger.

His fingers touch my balls, caressing slowly and gently. He runs the fingers of his other hand down the backs of my thighs, so lightly that it almost tickles. I inhale shakily.

The teasing fingertips retreat, only to return wet with what must be lube. He nudges my legs wider apart. A finger slides into me, then another.

I slit my eyes open just a tiny bit. He has a strange sort of smile on his face as he does this. In the dim light, he really looks like Mr. Spock. That's just plain weird, but if anything, it only increases my pleasure. After all, how many people get fucked by a Vulcan?

"I'm ready," I gasp. "Put it in."

"Very well." His fingers retreat. "Jerry, are you up for something a little unusual? Nothing unpleasant, of course."

Now I'm getting very curious. What does he have in mind? Heck, why not?

"Yes."

"You're going to keep your eyes closed and listen to me very carefully." I obey. "Good. Now, a little man is going to dive into you headfirst," he says softly. "He wants desperately to be inside you. He's going to squirm around as he does it."

I feel the round head of the dildo pressed slowly against me, while his other hand caresses the skin around my opening.

"You want to feel him inside you, just as desperately as he wants to be in your body. That's how he gets off. Relax. Let him in."

Easy enough to do that. The head slides in easily.

"Now you'll allow his wider shoulders to open you a little further. He twists and turns, slowly, carefully, as this little man tries to make his way in. Good. Very good. You're making him very happy."

His body narrows a bit, as he tapers down toward his waist. It feels wonderful. I want to pull him deeper in.

"That's it. Take it all the way," Emil's voice whispers.

Then I feel the oversized bulge of the little man's cock and balls slip inside me.

"Yes, he's lying on his back, as he struggles in deeper. Just let him keep going."

I know those lovely genitals will feel wonderful when they press against my prostrate. Yes, yes! Go ahead!

He pulls back a little, hesitating, teasing me. My aching cock is twitching, wanting relief.

"You want more, don't you? You want to give him a chance to come when you do."

Then the little man pushes in slightly, then pulls back. Back and forth, slowly, twisting, squirming as he works his way even further into me.

My breath is becoming shaky now. I'm sucking in air and panting.

"Ah, yes! The little man is about to reach his goal as his hard cock and balls hit that sweet spot inside you."

My entire body goes stiff, clenching on that incredible pressure gathering inside me. The little man moves quickly now, back and forth, around and around.

I'm ready. I'm so ready! I just need a little —

A hand wraps around my quivering cock as a fingertip runs over my glans. And just that gentle touch triggers my climax. I can almost feel the little man shoot his load along with me.

I come back to myself as I gasp for breath. Emil is still kneeling between my legs, smiling.

"So I guess you liked my little man?" he asks.

"Liked it? Hell no. I loved it! It was incredibly intense."

"Good. Not everyone can get into that sort of head space, but you seemed to be a rather imaginative guy."

He removes the little man – uh -- I mean, the dildo. Then wipes me off and gives me a hand to sit up.

That's when I notice that Emil has taken out what I assume is his own favorite dildo and laid it on the futon.

"Is that a hint?" I ask.

"Yes. But only if you want it to be."

It only takes me a second to decide. "Yes, but I'm really not very good at talking when I'm doing this sort of thing."

"Don't worry, I don't need the words. Just watching you turned me on. I'm ready to take it right now."

So I returned the favor. After all, what else could I do?

As we get ourselves back together again, he says, "If you want to come back for more, there are plenty of others that can be tried out. And if your partner wants to join in, Leon and I will be glad to have a foursome."

"I'm not sure if Rick would be interested, but it's a possibility."

There. That at least leaves everything open.

As I drive home, I mull things over in my mind.

Do I have to tell Rick about what Emil and I did?

Rick tells me about Mollie, but he doesn't talk about it every time, just in general. Considering our agreement, is it any of his business?

Strictly speaking, no. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't tell him. If Emil and I continue with this, I'm surely going to tell Rick about it sooner or later.

Damn, this is turning out to be more difficult than I thought it would be! We didn't set down rules about how our open relationship is supposed to work. Maybe we should, so that there are no misunderstandings in the future. After all, Rick is the one I want most. I seriously doubt that I'll ever change my mind about that.

On the other hand, it's kind of a risky situation, since there's always the fear that your lover will decide he loves his new interest more than you. But that can happen anyway, since it's just as easy to cheat and decide the same thing. I'm not even sure how Mollie feels about all this. I know her fairly well, but I've never actually asked her. Maybe I ought to. Is it possible to love more than one person at a time? Can I? Maybe. But I also know love can die. I've seen it happen to others, straight or gay, even if they're legally married.

Then again, sex can mean only friends, not serious love.

But back to the original question: Shall I tell Rick or not?

I'm beginning to understand what "It's complicated" means.

When I get back home to our apartment, I find Rick standing at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. On our small kitchen table, I see two mini bottles of champagne in a bowl full of ice. Just enough for both of us to each have a regular-sized champagne glass.

Rick turns around. "Good! You're here just in time. I was beginning to think you'd be late and I was about to take the beef stew off the burner, so it wouldn't get overcooked."

He notices my eyes focus on the champagne. "Unfortunately, we don't have proper champagne glasses, so I guess an ordinary glass will have to do."

"Not a problem. But what's the occasion?"

"This is our six month anniversary."

"Damn! I guess I forgot. Just give me a minute to wash up and we can eat."

By the time I get back, dinner is on the table. Rick opens both bottles and pours the champagne, then holds up his glass.

"Here's to our anniversary."

I raise my glass also, then take a sip.

As we start into the stew, Rick asks, "So where were you?"

"Just strolling around the downtown area, looking at the shops. That kind of thing. The weather was so nice I just didn't want to stay inside."

"Find anything interesting?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." Shall I tell him the whole thing about Emil? No, I don't think so. Not right now, anyway.

I tell him about the Gay Glass Gallery and the sculptures, but that's it.

"Sounds lovely. I'll have to go by there someday and check it out."

I smile to myself. "Yeah. Do that."

After we finish dinner and wash the dishes, Rick picks up both of our half full glasses of champagne, sets them on the coffee table, then sits down on our couch. "Come sit down, darlin'. I want to ask you something."

Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good.

I do as he asks. He puts an arm around my shoulders, holding me against him.

"So how is our open relationship working out for you?"

I'm totally taken aback by that question.

"Uh – I'm not sure. Why?"

"I thought it might be about time we discussed it. You know, like is it working okay for both of us?"

What does he mean by that? Does he want to change it? Is he not happy with what we're doing? Has he got a problem with it? Now I'm really starting to worry.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, let's start off with are you getting any action?"

I'm not going to mention how much I wanted Lonnie, since we really didn't do anything but talk. But I do want Rick to know about Emil. After all, he told me about Mollie right from the beginning. I figure I should do the same, but how shall I begin?

"Up until today, I hadn't. But I ran into someone who was very interesting. And we didn't even use condoms."

"Huh? I thought we promised –"

I cut him off. "Relax. What we did is as safe as can be, with no exchange of bodily fluids at all."

"O-Kay. So what exactly did you do?"

"Well, remember what I told you about the glass gallery?"

"Yeah."

"The glass artist doesn't just do displays. He makes some lovely dildos, among other things. He has an open relationship with his own partner but their agreement isn't about condoms. It's about dildos and wearing gloves, so the rubbers aren't needed. They've been doing it this way for 13 years and are very careful."

Rick thinks about it for a minute.

"Well now, that surely is pretty unusual, to say the least. But it does seem to be as safe as condoms, and maybe even moreso."

Whew! He gets the idea.

"Perhaps you'd like to meet him? I'm sure you'd love his glass sculptures."

"Sure. That is, if he doesn't mind."

"He won't mind at all. In fact, Emil – that's his name – said he'd be glad to meet you."

I take up my glass, and Rick does the same. We each take a sip of our dwindling champagne. But I'm still wondering if Rick is really happy with all this. Maybe he's just going along to please me.

"So that's all right with you?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"Sure. Why would it not be? After all, you don't have any problem with me fucking Mollie."

"But she's a woman and Emil's a guy."

"And that makes a difference how?"

I think about it, then shrug. "I guess not."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he says slowly. "I do like to make love to a woman now and then. And I do care a lot for Mollie."

"So do I. She's been a good friend to us."

We both sit there quietly finishing our champagne and thinking our thoughts.

Rick finally breaks the silence. "Got a question for you. How do you feel about our open relationship?"

Why is he asking me that now? Does he want out?

"It's good, I guess," is all I can think of on the spur of the moment.

"Uh-huh. Any misgivings? Any problems?"

"Well, I guess it's a little risky, now that you mention it. There's always the possibility that you, or me for that matter, to become enamored of that other person and decide you'd rather be with him, or perhaps her."

"Yes, I've thought of that also. But the way I see it, life is full of risks. Just look at the divorce rate nowadays even between straight folks. Marriage is no guarantee anymore. Just vowing to have sex with only one person doesn't mean you'll stay together for the rest of your lives. In fact, it may be more likely that people will stay together if they know they can have someone else now and then without guilt or deception." He shrugs. "Life is a risk regardless of what you do. After all, we could both have been killed at the Festival – but we weren't."

He puts an arm around my shoulders.

"Now," he says, "I've got another question for you. During the six months before we met, how often did you have unprotected sex with anyone?"

"That's easy. Precisely zero."

"You sure?"

"Yep. In fact, I can swear on my father's grave that I haven't had any sex during that time, protected or not."

Where the heck is he going with this? I decide to turn the tables on him.

"How about you?"

"Nope. It was always with condoms."

"Okay. So?"

"So I think we both know each other well enough by now to trust that neither of us is lying about this, right?"

"Yep."

"Then how about we do without the rubbers between us as of now? It'll be time for STD tests in a few more weeks and we can still do that also. But if it's actually been an entire year, we're already pretty damn safe enough to have unprotected sex with each other."

"And that means?"

He grins. "That means I propose that we do so immediately in order to properly celebrate our anniversary."

Rick holds out his almost empty glass. I tap my glass to his. We both swallow the last mouthful of champagne. Placing both glasses, on the coffee table, we get up and head for the bedroom, shedding our clothes as we go.

Somewhat to my surprise, Rick goes on his hands and knees on the bed, ass up in the air.

"Fuck me hard, Jerry!" he says. "I want to feel your cum being pumped deep into me. "

OMG, what an invite!"

But we're going to need some lube, so I open the drawer next to our bed and grab the tube. As I slather that slippery stuff all over my cock, I catch a glimpse of the little packets of condoms that are also in the drawer. I can't help but smile. _Sorry guys. You're not part of the action tonight. Maybe another time._

I enter Rick on one long thrust and start fucking him hard and quick, as requested. He pushes back against me.

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" he moans. "I want it all."

Without the usual layer of latex between us, it feels so delightful. Or is that just my imagination?

I'm not going to be able to keep this up for much longer, but I want Rick to come too. I slide my hand around to his cock, jerking him off in time with my thrusts. I can tell I'm not going to last much longer.

"Fill me, darlin'! Fill me!"

So I do. And I feel him come at the same time.

If only it could go on forever! But it can't.

Even so, my sperm is in him, and his will soon be in me. And it can be like this between us now, for as long as we want it to. Forget marriage! For us, this runs far deeper than words or promises, and it's much more intimate.

We're both gasping for breath, but we aren't in a big hurry to disengage. As my cock softens and begins to slide out, I imagine all those millions of sperm cells, fighting their way deeper into him, hoping to reach an egg that isn't there. _Sorry to disappoint you, guys, but you're barking up the wrong tree this time._

I manage to stifle a laugh at that thought.

Then Rick exclaims, "Damn! Nothing should be allowed to feel that good!"

"Hey, that's my line."

"Yep. But it's true, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

We both laugh, then cuddle up together.

Much as we'd like to do it all over again right away, only in reverse, we haven't been horny teenagers for a very long while, so we can't just get it up again after a minute or two. More like a half hour, if we're lucky.

Instead, we just stay in bed, snuggling together and talking about whatever crosses our minds.

It's not too long before we begin to snuggle somewhat more enthusiastically, our legs entangled, our groins rubbing together, our hands gripping each other's buttocks, kneading and pulling to increase the friction. Slowly at first, then faster and harder, our swelling cocks moving alongside each other's, our balls tightening. Such lovely sensations! It won't be much longer before we —

Rick interrupts my line of thought by whispering in my ear.

"I'm going to fuck the living shit out of you, darlin'. I want to fill you with my cum, as you did to me. I want to claim your body as mine, in a way no one else can. I want you to feel me coming inside you and have those few moments be all you're thinking of. And I want to see your face while I do it. Can you do that for me?"

"O god yes!! Do it!.

He smiles. "Just lie there and look at me. I'll get us both ready for another round."

"It would help if you turned on the light, if you expect to watch what's going on. It's pretty dark in here, you know."

"Good idea."

I shift around so that I'm flat on my back, my legs bent up at the knees. Rick picks up the lube, then spreads my knees apart and kneels between them. He makes a big production of slathering a handful of the stuff over his cock with his fist. Just watching him doing this makes my dick even stiffer. Then he lifts my legs up over his shoulders. He squeezes the tube again.

My eyelids flutter closed as I feel his fingers playing around my wanting hole.

He stops touching and slaps me lightly on one buttock.

"Don't close your eyes," he says. "Look at me, remember?"

Obediently, I force my eyes open.

I suck in a deep breath as I feel his slippery fingers go into me. He moves closer, replacing his finger with the tip of his cock. I stare into his face as he presses himself into me slowly, almost teasingly, opening my body to him.

Then he starts fucking me for real, fast and hard. It feels so good each time he hits that special spot inside me. Once again, I forget.

"Eyes, darlin', eyes," he reminds me, his voice sounding breathless from the exertion.

I obey.

His cock swells and quivers inside me. I'm thinking only of him as I feel the faint sensation of hot liquid spurting into me. It's a subtle feeling that may not even have been noticed if I were busy concentrating only on my own pleasure.

As I watch Rick's face, a sort of vision flickers before my eyes. His fluid sears my insides like a brand. A brand that will be permanent. But it doesn't hurt at all and I welcome it.

And with that thought I ejaculate between us.

Rick doesn't pull out right away. Instead, he keeps his cock buried inside me, leaning down into a long kiss as his dick slowly shrinks back to normal.

At long last, he pulls out, lying next to me.

And I am empty, and yet I am full.

We're in no hurry to get out of bed. I place my arm across his chest, pulling myself closer beside him and reaching for his other hand, which is bent up just beyond his shoulder, entwining my fingers with his. And I say to him, "Until death do us part."

He smiles a little and answers, "Or is it 'Until death us do part?'"

I shrug my shoulders just slightly. "Either way, it works for me."

"Me too, darlin'. Me too."

####

Author's Notes on the individual ebooks, which originally appeared at the end of each ebook.

### Date with a Bridge

The places I refer to are all real. However, I did take the liberty of moving the rest area a good number of miles from its true location, for the purposes of this story.

Here's an aerial photo of Jerry's "date". Image includes the Trent River Bridge in the lower left, and the RR trestle in the upper left. The Neuse River Bridge is the one with all the curlicues.

This image is a work of a United States Department of Transportation employee, taken or made as part of that person's official duties. As a work of the U.S. federal government, the image is in the public domain

Date with a Rock.

Want to see what Chimney Rock is like?

<https://www.romanticasheville.com/ChimneyRock.htm>

### Date with a Town

Want to know more about Asheville?

<http://www.exploreasheville.com/>

### Date with an Artist

Yes, I know the cover isn't an exact copy of Mollie's planned mural, but it's the best I could come up with, even after getting some help from an artistic friend. I trust that all of my readers can use their own imaginations to come up with their own version of what the mural looks like, even if none of them are exactly alike.

### Date with Disaster

The location of the train wreck is entirely imaginary. There is no such intersection in the Asheville area. However, this is based on a real train/truck crash that happened near New Bern NC over ten years ago. The cover shows the exact intersection where it happened.

I would like to dedicate this story to the driver of that truck, who did exactly what I describe in this story.

Like Jerry, I have always hoped that I would react as he did, in such a situation.

### Date with a Festival

Yes, I've taken some liberties about several locations in Asheville, but I trust no one will object.

This is the last eBook in the Rick&Jerry series. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it.

### From the Author

Of course, I'd be most grateful if you'd recommend this book to anyone you think would enjoy it, and also leave a review at your favorite retailer.

For those of you who don't already know, I'm the author of another erotica series also. The Orgasm Incorporated eBooks are far more perverted, omnisexual, bent, and twisted. They make Rick&Jerry look like a Young Adult Romance in comparison.

If you wish to contact me, my email address is karlfive@suddenlink.net

